European Dictatorships

1918–1945
Fourth edition

European Dictatorships 1918–1945 surveys the extraordinary circumstances leading to, and
arising from, the transformation of over half of Europe’s states to dictatorships between the
First and the Second World Wars. From the notorious dictatorships of Mussolini, Hitler
and Stalin to less well-known states and leaders, Stephen J. Lee scrutinizes the experiences
of Russia, Germany, Italy, Spain, Portugal and central and eastern European states.
This fourth edition has been fully revised and updated throughout. New material for this
edition includes:

• the most recent research on individual dictatorships

• a new chapter on the experiences of Europe’s democracies at the hands of Germany,
Italy and Russia
• an expanded chapter on Spain
• a new section on dictatorships beyond Europe, exploring the European and indigenous
roots of dictatorships in Latin America, Asia and Africa.

Extensively illustrated with images, maps, tables and a comparative timeline, and
supported by a companion website providing further resources for study (www.routledge.
com/cw/lee), European Dictatorships 1918–1945 is a clear, detailed and highly accessible
analysis of the tumultuous events of early twentieth-century Europe.

Stephen J. Lee was Head of History at Bromsgrove School in Birmingham, UK. His
publications include Russia and the USSR (Routledge, 2005) and Hitler and Nazi Germany,
2nd edition (Routledge, 2008).
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European Dictatorships
1918–1945

Fourth edition

Stephen J. Lee
Fourth edition published 2016
by Routledge
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© 2016 Stephen J. Lee
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been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
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or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification
and explanation without intent to infringe.
First edition published 1987 by Methuen & Co. Ltd.
Second edition published 2000 by Routledge
Third edition published 2008 by Routledge
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lee, Stephen J., 1945–
Title: European dictatorships, 1918–1945 / Stephen J. Lee.
Description: Fourth edition. | Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon : Routledge, 2016.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015050291| ISBN 9780415736138 (hardback : alkaline paper)
ISBN 9780415736145 (paperback : alkaline paper) | ISBN 9781315646176 (ebook)
LCSH: Europe—Politics and government—1918–1945. |
Dictators—Europe—History—20th century. |
Dictatorship—Europe—History—20th century.
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LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015050291
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Additional materials are available on the companion website at www.routledge.com/cw/lee

Again, for Margaret and Charlotte
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Contents

List of illustrations xi
Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45 xii
Preface xvii

Prologue: the seventeen dictatorships, 1918–45 1

1 The setting for dictatorship 5

The period before 1914 5
The impact of the First World War 8
The peace settlement and its significance 11
The crisis of democracy 14
The role of modernity? 17
The economic catalyst 19

2 Types of dictatorship 23
Dictatorship as a concept 23
Totalitarian or authoritarian regimes? 24
The ideological basis of dictatorship 28
Summary 34

3 Dictatorship in Russia 36
Lenin’s regime, 1917–24 36
The succession, 1924–9 54
Stalin’s rule to 1941 59
Soviet foreign policy, 1918–41 84
The Great Patriotic War, 1941–5 91
1945–53: mature dictatorship? 102
Reflections on Stalin’s dictatorship 108

4 Dictatorship in Italy 114

The rise of Mussolini to 1922: an outline 114
viii Contents

The rise of Mussolini to 1922: an explanation 115

Mussolini’s dictatorship, 1922–43 122
Mussolini’s foreign policy, 1922–40 146
War and collapse, 1940–5 157
The Italian Social Republic (RSI), 1943–5 163
Reflections on Mussolini’s dictatorship 166

5 Dictatorship in Germany 171

The Weimar Republic and the rise of Hitler, 1918–33 171
Explanations of the rise of Hitler 177
The Third Reich, 1933–45 186
German foreign policy, 1919–39 227
Germany at war, 1939–45 238
The Holocaust 248
Reflections on Hitler’s dictatorship 260

6 Dictatorship in Spain 266

Dictatorship to republic, 1923–30 266
Republic to dictatorship, 1931–9 269
Sides and issues in the Spanish Civil War 272
The outside world and the Spanish Civil War 280
The outcome and impact of the Spanish Civil War 285
Franco’s regime, 1939–75 292
Reflections on Franco’s war and regime 297

7 Dictatorship elsewhere 304

Dictatorship in south-western Europe 304
Dictatorship in central and eastern Europe 315
Dictatorship in the Balkans and Turkey 336
Dictatorships beyond Europe 361

8 Dictatorships vs democracies 369

Seven democracies destroyed 369
Three democracies marginalized 389
Two democracies defiant 395

9 Dictatorships compared 405

The role of ideology 405
Leadership 408
State, party and army 410
Social control 412
 Contents ix

Security and terror 416

Economies 418
Impact of war 420

Epilogue: Europe since 1945 424

Notes 427
Select bibliography 455
Index 464
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Illustrations

FIGURES
1 Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, 1870–1924 38
2 Joseph Stalin, 1879–1953, photo taken in 1927 58
3 Joseph Stalin, late in life, c. 1952 109
4 Benito Mussolini, photo taken in 1923 123
5 Benito Mussolini, 1883–1945 125
6 Adolf Hitler, 1889–1945, at Berchtesgaden 180
7 Adolf Hitler, c. 1940 247
8 General Miguel Primo de Rivera, photo taken in 1928 267
9 General Francisco Franco, 1892–1975 271
10 Antonio Salazar, 1889–1970, photo taken in 1964 306
11 Dr Engelbert Dollfuss, 1892–1934 320
12 Admiral Miklós Horthy, 1868–1957 327
13 King Zog, 1895–1961, photo taken on 6 April 1939 338
14 King Boris of Bulgaria, r. 1918–43 341
15 Ion Antonescu, 1882–1946 351
16 General Ioannis Metaxas, 1871–1941 355
17 Vidkun Quisling, 1887–1945 378

MAPS
1 The European dictatorships 1918–38/40 2
2 The collapse of three empires and the emergence of the successor states 10
3 The Soviet Union in the later phase of Stalin’s rule 110
4 The Italian overseas empire by 1939 158
5 Europe under Nazi influence by 1942 250
6 The Spanish Civil War 1936–9 275
7 The Portuguese overseas empire in the twentieth century 312
8 The dismemberment of Yugoslavia 1941 346
9 Greece after the First World War 354
10 Europe before 1989 425
11 Europe since 1991 426

TABLE
1 Numbers of Jews killed in the Holocaust 258
Dictatorships
Comparative timeline 1918–45
 Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45 xiii

Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45

RUSSIA ITALY GERMANY
1917 Collapse of Tsarist regime (Feb/Mar) Defeat by Austrians at Caporetto Paschendaele; military dictatorship
Provisional Government; Bolshevik (OLH) under Hindenburg and
Revolution (Oct/Nov); Cheka formed Ludendorff

1918 Closure of Constituent Assembly; Armistice (Nov); establishment of Surrender of Germany; end of Kaiserreich;
Treaty of Brest-Litovsk; Civil War; Fasci di Combattimento proclamation of Republic; Spartacus
War Communism; Constitution of uprising
LENIN 1917 – 24

RSFSR

1919 Civil War (–1920) occupation of Fiume by Bavarian Soviet Republic; Treaty of
D’Annunzio; political crisis; Versailles; Constitution of Weimar
inflation; unemployment Republic; formation of DAP

1920 Civil War; famine; war with Poland Political crisis (Giolitti, Nitti) Kapp Putsch; NSDAP – Twenty-Five
Point Programme

1921 Famine; defeat by Poland; Treaty Formation of PNF; split between PSI Reparations figure announced; formation
of Riga; Kronstadt Revolt; New and PCI; political crisis (Bonomi); of SA
Economic Policy violence organized by ras in rural areas

1922 Cheka closed down; Lenin’s stroke; Political crisis (Bonomi, Facta); March Hyperinflation; Hitler’s leadership of
Lenin’s Testament; establishment of on Rome (Oct); Mussolini appointed NSDAP
USSR PM

1923 Financial crisis; Codicil added to Acerbo electoral law; seizure of French invasion of Ruhr; peak of
Testament Corfu hyperinflation; Rentenmark and
Rentenbank; Hitler’s Munich Putsch

1924 Death of Lenin; Triumvirate of Election: Fascists 404 seats; seizure Dawes Plan; two Reichstag elections;
Kamenev, Zinoviev, Stalin; codicil of Fiume Hitler’s imprisonment; Mein Kampf
set aside; Constitution of USSR

1925 Trotsky dismissed as People’s Matteotti crisis and Aventine Refounding of NSDAP; formation of SS;
Commissar for War; Left Opposition Secession; Battle for Grain; Locarno Locarno Pact; Hindenburg elected
of Trotsky, Kamenev, Zinoviev Pact; fundamental law; Vidoni Pact President
MUSSOLINI 1922 – 43/5

1926 Trotsky, Kamenev, Zinoviev OVRA; Rocco Law; Ministry of German admission to League of Nations;
removed from Politburo; Treaty of Corporations; youth organizations Treaty of Berlin with USSR
STALIN 1924/9 – 53

Berlin under ONB

1927 Approval of Socialism in One Charter of Labour

Country; Left Opposition expelled
from Party; procurement crisis

1928 Internal exile of Trotsky; Stalin’s Electoral Law Kellogg-Briand Pact; Reichstag
introduction of requisitioning election

1929 Defeat of Bukharin, Rykov, Tomsky; Lateran Treaty with Papacy; Himmler’s leadership of SS; Young
Trotsky exiled from USSR; First Five reflation of the lira Plan; death of Stresemann; Wall
Year Plan; decision for collectivization Street crash

1930 Decree for collectivization and National Council of Corporations Reichstag election; collapse of Grand
against kulaks; Stalin’s article Coalition
Dizzy with Success

1931 Renewal of Treaty of Berlin Impact of collapse of Kredit

Anstalt; Harzburg Front; formation
of SD
xiv Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45

SPAIN & PORTUGAL C & E EUROPE BALKANS & TURKEY

1917

1918 Surrender of Austria-Hungary; Surrender of Bulgaria and Turkey

Hungary: Károlyi

BÉLA KUN 1919

1919 Austria: Treaty of St Germain; Bulgaria: Treaty of Neuilly
Hungary: Béla Kun’s regime

1920 Hungary: Treaty of Trianon; Regent Turkey: Treaty of Sèvres;

Admiral Horthy (1920–43); Poland: Little Entente (Romania, Yugoslavia,
Russian invasion Czechoslovakia)

1921 Spain: defeat of Spanish troops by Poland: Piłsudski’s defeat of Red Yugoslavia: Alexander I and Constitution
Riffians in Spanish Morocco Army; Treaty of Riga

1922 Turkey: defeat of Greek forces;

abolition of Ottoman Sultanate

1923 Spain: collapse of parliamentary Turkey: Treaty of Lausanne; Turkish

system; coup by Miguel Primo de Republic; Bulgaria: Stambuliski
Rivera overthrown; Romania: Constitution

MUSTAFA KEMAL ATATÜRK 1923–38

1924 Albania: Zogu’s invasion and
overthrow of Noli
PRIMO DE RIVERA 1923–30

1925 Albania: National Bank financed

by Italy
SMETONA

1926 Portugal: coup of Gomes da Costa Poland: Piłsudski’s coup Turkey: Civil code;
Greece: General Pangalos

1927 Albania: military alliance with Italy;

Romania: King Carol
HORTHY 1920–44

1928 Portugal: Salazar placed in charge Albania: King Zog

of finances
PIŁSUDSKI 1926–35

1929 Yugoslavia: abolition of 1921

Constitution by Alexander
ZOG 1928–39

1930 Spain: fall of Primo de Rivera Hungary: resignation of Bethlen Romania: Iron Guard

1931 Spain: victory of Republicans in Austria: collapse of Kredit Anstalt Turkey: 1931 Manifesto;
general election; abdication of Alfonso Yugoslavia: 1931 Constitution
XIII; Second Republic; Constitution
 Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45 xv

RUSSIA ITALY GERMANY

1932 Union of Writers; famine Mussolini’s Political and Social Two Reichstag elections; Hindenburg
Doctrine of Fascism; Rocco criminal re-elected President
law

1933 Famine; opening of Belomor canal IRI (Istituto per la recostruzione Hitler Chancellor; Reichstag Fire; Enabling
industriale) Act; ban on other parties; Gestapo;
Concordat; withdrawal from League of
Nations

1934 Second Five-Year Plan; assassination Syndicates replaced by national Death of Hindenburg; Night of the Long
of Kirov corporations Knives; Hitler as Führer; Nazi–Polish Pact;
Schacht’s New Plan; Nuremberg Rallies

1935 Franco-Soviet Pact; Russo- Stresa Front; invasion of Abyssinia; Nuremberg Laws
Czechoslovak Pact; divorce made Propaganda Ministry; workbooks
more difficult (libretto di lavoro)

MUSSOLINI 1922 – 43 / 45
1936 Stalin’s Constitution; abortion made Involvement in Spanish Civil War; Remilitarization of the Rhineland;
illegal; show trial of Kamenev and Rome–Berlin Axis Anti-Comintern Pact; Four-Year Plan;
Zinoviev Rome–Berlin Axis

HITLER 1933 –45

1937 Purges; show trial of Piatakov and Membership of Anti-Comintern Pact; Papal encyclical Mit brennender
Sokolnikov Ministry of Popular Culture Sorge
STALIN 1924 / 9 – 53

1938 Purges; show trial of Bukharin, Manifesto on Race; Chamber of Kristallnacht; Anschluss with
Rykov, Yagoda Fasces and Corporations; Fascist Austria; annexation of Sudetenland
School Charter

1939 Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact; Pact of Steel; invasion of Albania Acquisition of Bohemia and Memel;
occupation of E. Poland; Russo- Pact of Steel; Nazi–Soviet Pact; invasion
Finnish War of Poland

1940 Russo-Finnish War; assassination of Involvement in Second World War Conquest of Denmark, Norway,
Trotsky in Mexico Netherlands, Belgium, France; Battle
of Britain

1941 Invasion by Germany; resistance of Defeat in Balkans and North Africa Invasion of USSR
Moscow and Leningrad

1942 Wannsee Conference; German defeat

at El Alamein

1943 Soviet recapture of Stalingrad; Battle Allied invasion of Italy; Italian German defeat at Stalingrad and
of Kursk; recapture of Kiev surrender; dismissal of Mussolini; Salò Kursk
Republic; German occupation of North

1944 Recapture of Leningrad; Soviet Socialization law; deportation of ‘D’ Day landings in Normandy; July
advance into Poland and Balkans Jews to German camps; civil war Plot against Hitler

1945 Yalta and Potsdam Conferences German withdrawal; collapse of Salò Allied invasion of Germany; Soviet
Republic; death of Mussolini occupation of Berlin; Hitler’s suicide;
surrender of Germany

1946– Fourth and Fifth FYP; Comecon, Germany zoned; divison between
53 Zhdanov Decrees, Berlin Crisis, East and West Germany; Berlin
Leningrad Affair; death of Stalin blockade
xvi Dictatorships: comparative timeline 1918–45

SPAIN & PORTUGAL C & E EUROPE BALKANS & TURKEY

PIŁSUDSKI 1926–35
1932 Portugal: Salazar appointed PM; Austria: Dollfuss (1932-4);

DOLLFUSS 1932-4
Spain: Statute on Catalonia; Law of Hungary: Gömbös (1932-6)
Agrarian Reform

SMETONA

MUSTAFA KEMAL ATATÜRK 1923–38

1933 Portugal: Constitution of Estado Novo;
one-party system (UN); National Labour
Statute; Spain: fall of Azaña’s govt.

1934 Spain: Asturias revolt Austria: 1934 Constitution; civil Yugoslavia: assassination of
war; Fatherland Front; assassination Alexander; Balkan Pact
SALAZAR 1932–68
of Dollfuss; Schuschnigg (1934-8) (Ro,Yu,Tu,Gr)

1935 Turkey: Treaty with USSR;

SCHUSCHNIGG 1934–8
Bulgaria: Manifesto of Boris;
Greece: General Kondyles

1936 Spain: general election; invasions by Hungary: Daranyi (1936-8) Turkey: membership of League
Franco, Mola; help from Italy, Germany; Austria: Austro-German Treaty of Nations;
Non-Intervention Committees Greece: General Metaxas

1937

ZOG 1929–39
Spain: Franco’s success in Malaga Bulgaria: Constitution of Boris
and Asturias; bombing of Guernica;
Repub. success at Guadalajara, Teruel

1938 Spain: Catalonia cut off from Austria: Seyss-Inquart; Anschluss; Turkey: Atatürk succeeded by
Republican Castile; siege of Madrid; Czechoslovakia: lost Sudetenland; nönü; Romania: abolition of

METAXAS 1936–41
bombing of Barcelona Hungary: First Vienna Award 1923 Constitution

1939 Spain: Final victory of Franco; end Hungary: Teleki (1939-41) Albania: conquest by Italy and
of Spanish Civil War Austria: Nazification overthrow of Zog
FRANCE 1936–75

ULMANIS, PÄTS

1940 Spain: Meeting between Franco and Yugoslavia: Ustashi Croatia under
Hitler at Hendaye; Spain and Pavelić; Romania: Antonescu;
Portugal: neutrality in Second WW Greece: invasion
by Italy
1941 Hungary: troops for German Albania: resistance by NLC
invasion of Yugoslavia and USSR Yugoslavia: dismembered;
Greece: invasion by Germany
ANTONESCU 1940–4
HORTHY 1920–44

1942

1943 Bulgaria: death of Boris

Yugoslavia: Tito’s partisans

1944 Hungary: Horthy arrested by Romania: fall of Antonescu

Germans; Szálasi’s puppet regime
SZÁLASI 1944-5

PAVELIC 1941–3

1945 Austria: Democratic Republic Yugoslavia: Federal People’s

Republic

1946– Portugal: membership of NATO Soviet-dominated regimes Soviet-dominated regimes established

53 1949 established in Poland, Hungary, in Bulgaria, Romania.
Czechoslovakia Greece: civil war 1946-9
Preface
Foreword to European Dictatorships
1918–1945 (Fourth Edition)
Stephen J. Lee – in tribute

Stephen Lee’s many books derive their elegance from that restrained kind of passion which
was quite his own. The aspect of his style which first commands the reader’s attention is
its quiet focus. Each sentence is measured, precise, saying neither more nor less than it
needs to. Listen a little harder though, and you will sense an energy, even urgency in his
prose. His books are all touched by the personal, too, in the dedications which sit at the
front of each: ‘For Margaret’, ‘For Max and Joan’ and, later, ‘For Charlotte’. History was
his life force.
Stephen Lee (1945–2015) completed his first degree in African History in Zimbabwe
(known then as Rhodesia), aged nineteen. On his return to the UK, he studied European
History at St Peter’s College, Oxford, and qualified as a secondary school teacher in 1968.
From the beginning, his writing was intimately linked with his teaching. His wife, Margaret,
like him a member of staff at Birkenhead High School for Girls in the 1970s, was struck
by his meticulous and comprehensive teaching notes, and suggested that he work them up
into publishable form. A contract with Methuen followed, and his first book, Aspects of
European History, 1494–1789, was published in 1978. Then they came thick and fast, ranging
in subject matter from Peter the Great, to Gladstone and Disraeli, to Hitler and Nazi
Germany. His books have been translated into Estonian, Slovenian, Turkish and Japanese.
His career both as a teacher and as an author reached its zenith when he joined Bromsgrove
School as Head of Department in 1991. He created a world there, decking every available
bit of wall space with historical artefacts: coins and banknotes, newspaper cuttings, portraits
of significant figures . . . Those who paid attention found great fun in his own resemblance
to Lenin (an accident of genetics, not a look he cultivated). The building which, at that
time, housed the History Department was originally a science lab, and he pinned up a notice
near the entrance, with the motto ‘We still experiment’. His lessons hummed with the same
intense concentration as his books. Discipline was not something he usually needed to
impose: it was the natural by-product of the interest and commitment which he expected
his pupils to return. This expectation was justified, because one of his gifts was finding the
right ‘ways in’ to a topic, presenting the material in a manner both rigorous and imaginative,
and enabling students to explore. He touched many individual lives with his teaching, just
as he helped to shape the field of secondary-level history through his writing.

So, reader, take this subject that he loved, and experiment.

Charlotte Lee, Cambridge and Worcestershire, August 2015

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Prologue
The seventeen dictatorships, 1918–45

Europe between the two world wars consisted of a total of twenty-nine states. In 1920 all
but three of these could be described as democracies in that they possessed a parliamentary
system with elected governments, a range of political parties and at least some guarantees
of individual rights. By the end of 1938, no fewer than sixteen of these had become
dictatorships. Their leaders now had absolute power which was beyond the constraints of
any constitution and which no longer depended upon elections. The dictators sought to
perpetuate their authority by removing effective opposition, by restricting personal liberties
and by applying heavy persuasion and force. Of the remaining twelve democracies, seven
were torn apart between 1939 and 1940. Thus, by late 1940, only five democracies remained
intact: the United Kingdom, Ireland, Sweden, Finland and Switzerland (see Map 1).
The first dictatorships were those of the far left, and involved the use of the term
‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ to indicate a phase in the development of the principles of
communism (see p. 28). Lenin established the Bolshevik regime in Russia in October 1917
after the overthrow by force of the semi-liberal Provisional Government which, in turn, had
disposed of the Tsarist Empire in March. Lenin’s dictatorship was subsequently enlarged
by Stalin, who came to power in 1924. Meanwhile, Hungary experienced a communist
revolution in 1919 as Béla Kun tried to repeat the Bolshevik achievement. His regime,
however, lasted only 133 days and eventually fell to counter-revolutionary forces. Although
there were to be further attempts at installing a dictatorship of the proletariat in several
other European countries during the 1920s and 1930s, none succeeded.
In fact, all but one of the other dictatorships came from the right of the political spectrum.
Two of these, the most powerful, have been described as revolutionary. In 1922 Mussolini
set the pattern for a number of other leaders by assuming control of Italy, and proceeded
to impose the basic principles of Fascism. Eleven years later, in 1933, Hitler was appointed
Chancellor in Germany and established a more ruthless regime – the Nazi Third Reich.
Italy and Germany, initially rivals for control over central Europe, developed from the mid-
1930s a working diplomatic partnership known as the Rome–Berlin Axis. With this they
spread their influence widely in an effort to undermine the remaining democracies on the
one hand and, on the other, to checkmate Soviet Russia.
The right also produced a series of more conservative dictatorships; these are often called
authoritarian, in contrast to the totalitarian regimes of Italy and Germany and, indeed, of
Stalin’s Russia (see Chapter 9). Central and eastern Europe, completely reorganized after
the First World War, succumbed to a series of strong men who promised an escape from
the chaos of party conflict or the threat of communism. Hence, Horthy established control
over Hungary in 1920 and Piłsudski over Poland in 1926. Austria moved to the right in
1932 under Dollfuss, whose regime was continued by Schuschnigg from 1934 until Austria’s
2 Prologue: the seventeen dictatorships

FINLAND
NORWAY

SWEDEN
UNITED ESTONIA
KINGDOM
LATVIA
DENMARK
LITHUANIA
IRELAND
GER
NETHER- USSR
LANDS GERMANY POLAND

BELGIUM
LUX CZECH
OSLOVA
KIA

FRANCE AUSTRIA HUNGARY

FRANCE SWITZ
ROMANIA

ITALY
YUGOSLAVIA
BULGARIA
AL
UG

SPAIN
RT

ALBANIA
PO

GREECE TURKEY

Dictatorships by 1938

Democracies dismantled by dictatorships 1938–40

Remaining democracies in 1940

Map 1 The European dictatorships 1918–38/40

eventual absorption into Germany (1938). Even the tiny Baltic states adopted an authoritarian
system: Lithuania fell to Smetona in 1926, Latvia to Ulmanis in 1934 and Estonia to Päts
in the same year.
Dictatorships also emerged in all the states of south-eastern Europe, or the Balkans. Four
of these were monarchies: Ahmet Zogu proclaimed himself King Zog of Albania in 1928;
King Alexander assumed personal control of Yugoslavia in 1929; King Boris followed suit
in Bulgaria in 1934; and, finally, King Carol dispensed with parliamentary government in
Romania in 1938. The fifth Balkan state, Greece, experienced under Metaxas (1936–40) a
more systematically organized form of authoritarianism which was influenced to some extent
by Nazi methods.
 Prologue: the seventeen dictatorships 3

The Iberian peninsula, meanwhile, had produced three strongmen. The first was General
Miguel Primo de Rivera, Spanish dictator between 1923 and 1930. His regime, it is true,
was succeeded by a democratic republic but this, in turn, was brought down by General
Franco who led the Nationalists to victory over the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War.
This conflict, which lasted from 1936 to 1939, also gave an opportunity to Hitler and
Mussolini to pour military support into Franco’s war effort and launch a combined offensive
against the leftist supporters of the Republic; it did much, therefore, to increase the confidence
and aggression of German and Italian diplomacy. Portugal’s experience was less turbulent.
From 1932 she was under the iron rule of Dr Antonio Salazar, who remained in power until
1968.
Between 1939 and 1941 no fewer than seven dictatorships (Poland, Lithuania, Albania,
Yugoslavia, Greece, Latvia and Estonia) came under the direct rule of Germany or Italy.
During the same period, seven democracies were dismantled – Czechoslovakia, Norway,
Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and France – while, from 1941, the Third Reich
made substantial inroads into Soviet Russia. Almost the entire continent, therefore, became
part of the Nazi order, ruled either by governors appointed by Hitler or by puppet dictators.
The latter were often leaders of fascist movements which had not succeeded in gaining
power before 1939 but which now benefited from the military support of Germany. Examples
included the Quisling regime in Norway, the Vichy administration in France, the Ustashi
movement in Croatia, and Szálasi’s Arrow Cross dictatorship in Hungary.
The fate of these regimes was tied to that of Nazi Germany; between 1944 and 1945
they all fell to the invading armies of the Soviet Union or Western Allies and to the internal
resistance movements. After 1945, parliamentary democracy made a major comeback in
western and central Europe, while Stalin’s version of communism prevailed in eastern
Europe. Right-wing dictatorship was therefore squeezed out of all but Spain and Portugal,
and even here residual authoritarianism ended in 1975.
This leaves one dictatorship not so far considered – Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s regime in
Turkey between 1923 and 1938. In many ways it stands out alone. His Turkey was the only
one of the seventeen with its capital city – and most of its territory – outside Europe. It
was unique in emerging from an absolutist regime without experiencing a transitional form
of democracy. It was neither of the communist left nor of the fascist or conservative right.
It did, however, have strong European influences, and its past and future show connections
with Europe.
All the developments outlined in this Prologue will be given more detailed treatment
throughout the rest of this book. Chapter 1 looks at the overall situation in Europe between
the wars and the general preconditions for dictatorship. Chapter 2 provides a focus on the
term ‘dictatorship’ itself and considers terms such as ‘totalitarian’ and ‘authoritarian’, ‘left’
and ‘right’, ‘radical’ and ‘conservative’, and pressures from ‘above’ and ‘below’. It also
deals with the ideological background and considers the meaning of Fascism, Nazism and
Communism. Chapters 3, 4 and 5 examine the main developments in Russia, Italy and
Germany – the ‘big three’ dictatorships. Chapter 6 provides, for the fourth edition, a
considerably expanded treatment of Spain, the Spanish Civil War and Franco’s regime, while
Chapter 7 covers the different manifestations of dictatorship elsewhere – in Portugal, Austria,
Hungary, Poland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Albania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Romania,
Greece and Turkey; it also provides a new introduction to dictatorships beyond Europe,
especially in Latin America, Asia and Africa. Chapter 8, also new to this edition, looks at
the fate of Europe’s remaining democracies – at the seven that were dismantled by Germany
or Russia, at the three remaining neutral and the two that stood defiant. Chapter 9 draws
4 Prologue: the seventeen dictatorships

together, in a comparative survey, some of the main themes considered elsewhere, while the
Epilogue concludes with a broad perspective of the period since 1945.
The overall aim is to examine ideas as well as details. Many of the issues dealt with are
highly controversial, and will therefore be looked at from a variety of angles. During the
past few decades there has been a vast outpouring of books on the inter-war period, initially
on Nazi Germany and more recently on Soviet Russia. It is intended that the following
chapters should reflect at least some of the more important theories: the second and third
editions have updated these in line with recent research and therefore contain a number of
arguments that differ substantially from those in the first edition. That is the way in which
the study of history progresses.
This approach is based on the conviction, or hope, that most readers will find explanations
as interesting and as important to them as factual detail. Where there are several explanations
in direct conflict with each other there is plenty of scope for the reader to reflect and come
to a personal decision.
Chapter 1

The setting for dictatorship

Europe experienced, between the wars, an unprecedented upheaval. Boundaries were altered
in the most drastic way and numerous new states came into existence. Old-fashioned empires
and the last remnants of autocracy had been swept away, to be replaced by constitutional
democracies and the principle that each major ethnic group should be given the right to
form its own nation. Naturally there was a heady optimism about the future and many shared
the belief of H.G. Wells that the struggle between 1914 and 1918 had been the war to end
wars. Yet the collapse of the old order was also a precondition for movements that were
anti-democratic, and there was no guarantee that the new constitutions or boundaries would
be indefinitely preserved.
The overall argument of this chapter is developed in six stages. First, Europe before the
First World War was in a state of uncertainty, in many places in crisis. Trends were already
in place that were released by the First World War and the peace settlement which followed
it. The events of 1914–20 acted as a powerful catalyst, second, for internal change and,
third, for the redrawing of boundaries. Fourth, these developments were in most cases
associated with constitutional democracy and national self-determination. Such ideals were,
however, soon threatened by serious underlying problems that, fifth, gave a boost to
alternative systems in the form of left- or right-wing dictatorship. Finally, this process was
accelerated by the worst economic crisis in recent history and by a complex international
situation that saw the eventual association of dictatorship with militarism and war.

THE PERIOD BEFORE 1914

There has always been a tendency to see the period to 1914 as the climax of an order that
was fundamentally stable when Europe had experienced the longest period of peace between
major powers in its history. This was destroyed by the upheaval of the First World War,
the radical effects of which created the environment for instability and dictatorship between
1918 and 1939. This picture is partly true, but it conceals major changes that were already
taking place beneath the surface in pre-1914 Europe, and that were to provide at least some
of the roots for inter-war developments. From this approach, the First World War cleared
the way for changes that were already in progress. These affected economies, societies and
political trends.
The pre-war period saw rapid technological development which amounted to a second
wave of industrialization, along with an acceleration of communications and transport and
an enhancement of scientific and medical knowledge. At the same time, there was also a
massive population growth within Europe which more than offset the emigration from it.
In most countries the most obvious social change was the growth of the working class, the
6 The setting for dictatorship

result of industrialization. This class was becoming increasingly politically aware, as was
the more traditional peasant class. Both exerted increasing influence, either through being
enfranchised and participating in the early stages of mass politics or by the way in which
the upper levels of society tried to shape policies to contain them. Either way, the
politicization of the masses was proceeding before 1914.
So far, there has been little to dispel the positive image of the pre-war era. A great deal
of attention, however, has been given by historians to a phenomenon associated with the
so-called ‘fin de siècle’. According to Sternhell and others, there was a far-reaching
‘intellectual crisis of the 1890s’.1 This was beginning to shake the established thought of
most of the nineteenth century which had been based on liberalism and materialism and
which had pointed towards rational and progressive change. Examples of the new wave of
anti-rationalism in philosophy and political thought are to be found in the works of Nietzsche
in Germany, Bergson in France, Croce in Italy – all showing a reaction against positivism.
The arts were also affected in a new wave of romanticism, epitomized by the operas of
Wagner in Germany and by the departure from the accepted harmonic system in concertos
and symphonies. There was a new interest in social psychology, especially in the emotional
behaviour of the masses: the leading influence here was Le Bon in France. Throughout
society, and especially in the universities, there was a growing emphasis placed on youth
and renewal: this had enormous potential for the mass involvement of youth movements.
Politically, there were powerful critics of liberal parliamentarism, especially among
Italian writers such as Mosca and Pareto. Even Marxism was affected by the transformation
of ideas. Before the 1890s most Marxist organizations had aimed at a progressive change
to a workers’ state through the medium of social democratic parties. By the turn of the
century, however, there was a growing force advocating violent revolution, which meant a
pre-war split within many social democratic movements. The most obvious case was the
crisis of the Russian Social Democrats in 1903 and the separation of the moderate Mensheviks
from the more radical Bolsheviks under Lenin. Another major influence emerging on the
far left was revolutionary syndicalism, developed by Sorel in France as an alternative to
Marxism and using trade unionism as a revolutionary device to achieve political objectives.
One of its early pre-war converts was Mussolini.
The far right also had its roots in this period. This adapted ideas relating to biology and
evolution to generalized conceptions of humanity. The resultant social Darwinism
transformed the more traditional patterns of racism and anti-Semitism. Especially influential
were writers like Haeckel in Germany, Soury in France, and H.S. Chamberlain in Britain.
Many far-right movements were already developing before the outbreak of the First World
War. Action Française, set up in 1899, appealed to the masses in the form of ‘integral
nationalism’. Social Darwinism was highly influential elsewhere: for instance, in the
Portuguese Integralismo Lusitano, and also in Spain and Greece. Germany experienced a
series of movements and leagues which grew up during the 1890s, especially the Pan-German
League and the Society for Germandom Abroad. There was also strong pressure for
expansionism into eastern Europe and for the achievement of a continental Lebensraum as
well as an overseas empire. Almost all of the far-right influences were völkisch and anti-
Semitic: pre-1914 examples included the Anti-Semitic People’s Party. Similar parties
developed in Austria-Hungary, a diverse empire which comprised a dozen different ethnic
groups. Particularly active were pan-German groups which favoured union between German-
speaking Austria and Germany itself; Hitler came under the influence of these when he
scratched out a living in pre-war Vienna.
 The setting for dictatorship 7

Another, and even more complex, pre-1914 development was the convergence of the far
left and the far right. This occurred especially in France, where the revolutionary syndicalism
of Sorel synthesized with the radical nationalism of Maurras. The result was a dynamic
conception of the state which would combine a corporatist society with expansionist
militarism. This synthesis was to prove important in the development of Fascism in Italy
as the syndicalism of Mussolini came eventually to fuse with the activism of D’Annunzio.
Traditional influences in Europe were also changing before the First World War. There
was far more general instability than is often thought, especially in those regimes which
were to become dictatorships during the 1920s and 1930s. As can be seen in Chapter 3,
Tsarist Russia was in crisis in the sense that it was threatened by social and political
upheaval. Austria-Hungary was also confronted by the possibility of internal collapse as
the German and Magyar ruling groups were coming increasingly under pressure from the
Slavs. Although more secure politically than Russia and more homogeneous than Austria-
Hungary, Germany too had problems in the form of an increasingly assertive and numerous
working class: this was considered intolerable by the ruling industrial and agricultural
aristocracy. Italy’s liberal regime had become increasingly unstable during the 1890s and
attempted an unsuccessful experiment with a more authoritarian political structure. Even
France and Britain were vulnerable – the former to pressures from the radical left and right,
the latter to an unprecedented combination of constitutional and social crises between 1910
and 1914.
Since 1870, new states had come into existence in south-eastern Europe, while others
struggled to be born. The whole process influenced the post-war settlement between 1919
and 1920. Already independent were Greece (1830) and, since 1878, Serbia, Romania and
Bulgaria. Each of these considered itself incomplete and aimed for territorial fulfilment.
There were also nationalist movements for independence among the Poles in Russia and
among the different Slav groups in Austria-Hungary. Whether or not these aspirations were
achieved depended on which side they found themselves on during the First World War.
The Balkan states had also alternated between constitutionalism and political upheaval which
produced periods of autocracy, a pattern which was similar to developments in Spain and
Portugal.
All of these changes placed a strain on the structure of Europe, creating fissures and
fault lines which would give way under the pressure of the First World War and its aftermath.
There were, however, much darker forces at work. Although the glamorization of violence,
the use of terror and the appeal of racial hatred are rightly associated with the later period,
they all had their origins in pre-war Europe. Already war was considered by some a natural
and desirable state. For example, Enrico Corradini and Giacomo Marinetti wrote in the
Italian Futurist Manifesto in 1909: ‘We want to glorify war – the only cure for the world’,
and they also extolled ‘the beautiful ideas which kill’.2 It is not difficult to see where Fascism
and Mussolini derived some of their martial vigour. The targeting of minority groups was
also in evidence. Anti-Semitism was rife in Tsarist Russia, with a series of violent pogroms
occurring during the reigns of Alexander III (1881–94) and Nicholas II (1894–1917). It
was also on the increase in Austria-Hungary, under the influence of prominent politicians
and leaders such as Karl Lueger, Georg von Schönerer and the Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
The young Hitler, then an Austrian subject, was certainly influenced by their ideas. There
had even been evidence of genocide, although this had not yet been associated with anti-
Semitism. The Ottoman Empire, the capital of which was in Europe, was the scene of the
massacre of 200,000 Armenians between 1894 and 1896 and of a further 20,000 in 1909.
Admittedly, the states of western and central Europe escaped the sort of scenes witnessed
8 The setting for dictatorship

in eastern Europe and Anatolia. But all was by no means well in their overseas colonies.
Overall, millions of indigenous peoples were killed through exploitation or massacres in
areas like the Congo Free State, South West Africa and Tripoli. Europe was already
becoming brutalized for the most brutal period in its history.
Far from experiencing underlying stability before 1914, Europe was therefore seething
with unresolved problems and tensions. These were subsumed in 1914 by the greater
emergency of war, only to re-emerge, considerably strengthened, in the peace which
followed.

THE IMPACT OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR

The First World War was fought between the Entente powers and the Central powers. The
former comprised Britain, France, Russia, Belgium, Serbia, Portugal and Montenegro, joined
by Italy (1915), Romania (1916) and Greece (1917). The Central powers were Germany,
Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria. Both sides expected at the outset a
swift victory after a limited, nineteenth-century-style war. What in fact occurred was a
massive onslaught, with a mobile front in eastern Europe and stalemate in the trenches of
the western front. The total losses amounted to 13 million dead, of whom 2 million were
Germans, 1.75 million Russians, 1.5 million Frenchmen, 1 million British and half a million
Italians. Economies were drained, resources depleted, armies exhausted. Europe proved
incapable of ending the conflict and it took the eventual involvement of the United States
to tip the balance in favour of the Entente powers.
The impact of the struggle was considerable. During the 1920s the First World War
epitomized all the evils to be avoided in the future. Twenty years later, however, it seemed
to be eclipsed by the Second World War, particularly since the latter involved considerably
greater loss of life and destruction. Then, as J.S. Hughes has argued, the further passage of
time restored the original perspective. The First World War now appears fully as important
as the Second – indeed, in certain respects, still more decisive in its effects.3 It was, for
example, a catalyst for revolution. It has long been accepted that military failure destabilizes
a political system, destroys economic viability, mobilizes the masses, and undermines the
normal capacity of the regime to deal with disturbances. The European state system was
profoundly altered by the collapse of three empires, induced by defeat and privation.
The first of these was Tsarist Russia. By 1916 the German armies had penetrated deep
into Russian territory on the Baltic, in Poland and the Ukraine. The Russian military response
proved inadequate, and the supply of foodstuffs and raw materials was severely disrupted
by communications difficulties. The government proved unable to cope, badly affected as
it was by the periodic absences of the Tsar at the front. In February 1917 food riots erupted
spontaneously in Petrograd, to which the official response was entirely inadequate; the
regime’s stability was destroyed by desertions from a destabilized army. The result was the
abdication of the Tsar and the emergence of a Provisional Government which aimed
eventually to operate a Western-style constitutional democracy. But this also made the
mistake of seeking to snatch victory from defeat; further military disasters severely reduced
its credibility and assisted the Bolsheviks in their revolution of October 1917. Within eight
months, Russia had moved from autocracy, via a limited constitutional democracy, to
communism: a remarkable transformation for a state which had historically been renowned
for its resistance to political changes. Lenin made peace with the victorious Germans at
Brest-Litovsk. The price he had to pay was to abandon Russian control over Finland,
Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland – a very considerable loss of territory.
 The setting for dictatorship 9

Of similar magnitude was the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This had been
Europe’s most heterogeneous state, comprising thirteen separate ethnic groups, all of whom
pulled in different directions. Two of these, the Germans of Austria and the Magyars of
Hungary, had benefited most from the Ausgleich of 1867 which had created a Dual
Monarchy, effectively under their control. The majority of the population, however, had
been excluded from this agreement; Austria-Hungary contained a large proportion of Slavs,
who could be subdivided into Czechs, Slovaks, Poles, Ukrainians, Serbs, Croats and
Slovenes. These were already pressing for full political recognition, even autonomy, by
1914. The First World War wrecked the Austro-Hungarian economy and tore apart the
political fabric of the empire as the various Slav leaders decided in 1918 to set up independent
states rather than persist with a multiracial federation. By the time that the emperor
surrendered to the Allies on 3 November 1918, his empire had dissolved into three smaller
states – Austria, Hungary and Czechoslovakia – while the remaining areas were given up
to Italy, Romania, Poland and the newly formed Southern Slav nation, eventually to be
known as Yugoslavia.
The third empire to be destroyed as a direct result of the First World War was the Kaiser’s
Germany, or the Second Reich. The German war offensive, so successful against Russia,
had been contained on the western front. The Western Allies, greatly assisted by American
intervention, came close to breaking through the German lines in September 1918.
Meanwhile, the German economy was being strangled by a British naval blockade. Under
the threat of military defeat, the Second Reich was transformed into a constitutional republic,
the Kaiser having no option but to abdicate on 9 November, two days before the German
surrender.
By the end of 1918, eleven states covered the area once occupied by the three great
empires (see Map 2). All but Russia were trying to adapt to Western-style parliamentary
systems and this seemed to justify the belief of many that the war had become a struggle
for democracy. Victory carried with it an element of idealism. The different peoples of
Europe would be guaranteed separate statehood and given democratic constitutions. These,
in turn, would ensure lasting peace by removing the irritants which had caused so many of
Europe’s most recent conflicts: harsh autocracy and unfulfilled nationalism. There is,
therefore, a strong case for arguing that the First World War had a liberating effect. Further
evidence for this can be seen in the profound social changes that occurred in all the states
which took part. Particularly important was the increased influence of the middle class at
the expense of the traditional aristocracy, the possibility of agrarian reforms and improved
conditions for the peasantry, allowance for a greater political role for the working class and
trade unionism and, finally, the emancipation and enfranchisement of women.
There is, however, another side to the picture. The First World War may well have created
the conditions for the establishment of democratic regimes. But, at the same time it produced
a series of obstacles which these new democracies proved unable to surmount. One of these
was an underlying resentment of the terms of the peace settlements, which particularly
affected Germany, Austria, Hungary and Russia; there was, from the outset, a powerful
drive to revise them. Another obstacle was the prolonged economic instability which was
aggravated by war debts and reparations payments. Even the destruction of the three empires
had unintended side-effects. Some of the new dictatorships which emerged between the
wars were built upon the mobilized masses and upon the ideologies which these autocracies
had helped restrain – especially communism and fascism. It is arguable, therefore, that the
war cleared the way for twentieth-century dictatorships by smashing nineteenth-century
autocracies without providing a viable alternative.
10 The setting for dictatorship

FINLAND

NORWAY

ESTONIA
SWEDEN

DENMARK LATVIA

North Sea LI TH
UANI
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IA
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FR

SWITZ.
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ea
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ti

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Y

a
Blac

BULGARIA

AL
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BA E
NIA E RK
GREEC TU

Former extent of Tsarist Russia

Former extent of Austria–Hungary

Former extent of the Second Reich

(Boundaries shown are those after the First World War)

Map 2 The collapse of three empires and the emergence of the successor states
 The setting for dictatorship 11

Was the First World War more important for inter-war changes than the developments
which were already under way before 1914? The consensus is very much that it was. Bracher,
for example, argues that ‘In spite of their ideological prehistory, there can be no doubt that
the new dictatorships of our century were principally a result of the 1914–18 war’.4 Payne
maintains that the war introduced ‘a new brutalization of public life, a routinization of
violence and authoritarianism, and a heightening of nationalist conflict and ambition, without
which fascism could not have triumphed in key countries during the generation that
followed’.5 Kershaw goes even further. ‘Without the First World War and its legacy’, he
argues, ‘a Hitler would have been unimaginable as a leader of Germany.’ He adds: ‘Before
1914, Germany was a relatively non-violent society. After 1918 violence was one of its
main features.’6 A similar argument could be made for Lenin. It took the First World War
to destroy both the Tsarist regime and the Provisional Government which followed it; it is
possible that, without it, Russian autocracy might have evolved into a constitutionalist system
instead.
But, in the cases of Germany and Russia, it is perhaps more appropriate to see the war
as an accelerator (or even distorter) of pre-1914 developments rather than as an initiator of
change in its own right. Recent research has shown Imperial Germany to have been a highly
volatile society which may have been orderly on the surface but, nevertheless, seethed with
conflicting pressures beneath. The traditional aristocracy, the landowning Junkers, along
with the new industrialist aristocracy and upper middle class, were being increasingly
threatened by the rapidly expanding urban working class (created by Germany’s rapid
industrialization after 1871). The outbreak of war was seen by the Imperial regime as a
rallying of patriotic forces against social divisiveness – and therefore as a means of preserving
the status quo. In actual fact, it released pre-1914 pressures: for example, the earlier division
of socialism into evolutionary and revolutionary tendencies was confirmed during the war
by the formation of the German Communist Party, a bitter enemy of the Social Democrats
and of the constitutionalist system set up in Germany in 1919. The forces of the right were
reshaped partly in response to this, the traditional conservatives eventually forming an
understanding with the emergent far right against the left. By 1930 the majority of Germans
did support anti-democratic parties but the underlying tensions were due to the period before
1914 as well as to the First World War.
Some historians have also pointed to the extreme vulnerability of Tsarist Russia even
by 1914, arguing for the inevitability of its collapse with or without the war. Military defeat
certainly accelerated the change of regime but the real crucible for the communist state
which was eventually to emerge was the Russian Civil War. For one thing, it brought up
to 5 million deaths, compared with the 2 million attributed to the First World War. For
another, it destroyed any possibility of continuing the moderate political development
initially made possible by the First World War; instead, the Civil War re-established a link
between the methods of the old autocracy and the new dictatorship. The First World War
may have cleared the way for Communism, but the Civil War gave it the authoritarian
structure which many considered to be a throwback to the pre-war years. The ultimate
embodiment of this was Stalin – the ‘Red Tsar’.

THE PEACE SETTLEMENT AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE

Ten months before the end of the First World War, President Wilson announced in his
Fourteen Points the expectations which he had for any future settlement:
12 The setting for dictatorship

What we demand in this war . . . is that the world be made fit and safe to live in; and
particularly that it be made safe for every peace-loving nation which, like our own,
wishes to live its own life, determine its own institutions, be assured of justice and fair
dealing by the other peoples of the world as against force and selfish aggression.7

What was needed, he continued, was a ban on secret diplomacy, guarantees of freedom
of navigation on the high seas, the removal of economic barriers, the lowering of armaments
levels, the evacuation of all occupied territory, the granting of self-determination to Europe’s
different peoples and the formation of a ‘general association of nations’. This programme
provided the set of ideals upon which the peace settlement was to be based.
Idealism, however, mingled with other motives. One was the satisfaction of wartime
expansionist ambitions; the Secret Treaty of London (1915) had, for example, promised
Italy extensive territorial gains at the expense of the Ottoman Empire and Austria-Hungary
– a reward for joining the Entente powers rather than fulfilling an earlier commitment to
Germany. Could such promises be squared with the principle of national self-determination?
Another factor was public opinion. All the representatives gathering in Paris were under
constant pressure from the media at home and from exhortations from politicians like
Geddes to ‘squeeze the German lemon until the pips squeak’. Finally, some delegates were
obsessed with the need for providing security in the future, and regarded their priority as
a settlement which would destroy Germany’s military strength.
The actual negotiations were carried out in Paris by the Council of Ten. This consisted
of two representatives from each of five powers: Britain and the dominions, France, the
United States, Italy and Japan. But most of the work was done by President Wilson of the
United States, British Prime Minister Lloyd George and French Premier Clemenceau. The
usual picture of this trio is that Wilson was the idealist, having the advantage of American
detachment from European problems. Clemenceau was concerned primarily with French
security and revenge against Germany, while Lloyd George adopted a pragmatic approach,
endeavouring to steer between Wilson and Clemenceau and to achieve by compromise a
moderate and lasting solution. The Paris Settlement, therefore, reflected these three broad
strategies, which can be seen at work in the individual treaties, named after the ring of
towns around the outskirts of Paris or parts of the complex of Versailles.
Germany was dealt with by the Treaty of Versailles, signed on 28 June 1919. It affirmed,
by Article 231, the prime responsibility of Germany and her allies for the outbreak of the
First World War and, accordingly, made provision for territorial adjustments, demilitarization
and economic compensation to the victorious Allies for the losses they had incurred.
Germany was deprived of Alsace-Lorraine, Eupen and Malamedy, Northern Schleswig,
Posen, West Prussia, parts of Southern Silesia, and all her overseas colonies. Limits were
placed on her naval capacity, her army was restricted to 100,000 volunteers, and the
Rhineland was demilitarized. A considerable quantity of rolling-stock and merchant shipping
was also removed, while France was given exclusive rights to the coal-mines of the Saar
region. Finally, provision was made for the payment of reparations by the German
government, the total amount eventually being fixed in 1921 at 136,000 million gold marks.
Altogether, Germany lost 13 per cent of her area, 12 per cent of her population, 16 per cent
of her coal, 48 per cent of her iron, 15 per cent of her agricultural land and 10 per cent of
her manufactures.
Opinion is divided as to whether this was a fair settlement. Historians of the 1920s, like
W.H. Dawson, emphasized the harshness of a treaty which cut into German territory in a
way which discriminated blatantly in favour of non-German populations. The result was
 The setting for dictatorship 13

that Germany’s frontiers ‘are literally bleeding. From them oozes out the life-blood, physical,
spiritual and material of large populations.’ More recent historiography has tended to redress
the balance. Writers like J. Néré, M. Trachtenberg and W.A. McDougall put the case that
France suffered far more heavily than Germany from the impact of war and that she therefore
had a powerful claim to compensation and security. Indeed, considering that a German
victory would have meant German control over much of Europe, the settlement drawn up
by the Allies was remarkably moderate.
Time has therefore enabled a perspective to emerge. But perhaps the most important
point is that contemporary statesmen strongly attacked the treaty, thereby giving ammunition
to the German case that the treaty should be revised, even evaded. J.M. Keynes, the
economist, was particularly critical; he argued that the settlement lacked wisdom, that the
coal and iron provisions were ‘inexpedient and disastrous’ and that the indemnity being
considered was far beyond Germany’s means to pay.
He considered, indeed, that the treaty, ‘by overstepping the limits of the possible, has
in practice settled nothing’. This accorded very much with the German view that the treaty
was a diktat, forced upon a defeated power, rather than a genuine negotiated settlement.
By 1930 it was evident that a wide cross-section of the German political spectrum was
extremely hostile to the Treaty of Versailles and that British politicians were increasingly
aware of its shortcomings. The ultimate beneficiaries of both these trends were the parties
of the right – the conservative National Party and the more radical Nazis. Hitler, especially,
was to exploit the underlying resentment in Germany, while British politicians, affected by
a belated attack of conscience, made excuses for his activities against the settlement.
As will be shown in Chapter 5, the failure to uphold the Treaty of Versailles in the 1930s
contributed greatly to the growing confidence and aggression of Nazi foreign policy.
Another part of the peace settlement concerned central and eastern Europe. Austria-
Hungary was dealt with by the Treaties of St Germain (10 July 1919) and Trianon (4 June
1920), which were largely a recognition of a fait accompli, the collapse of the Habsburg
monarchy. Czechoslovakia was formed out of the provinces of Bohemia, Moravia, Slovakia
and Ruthenia; Transylvania and Bukovina were given to an enlarged Romania; Serbia
received the Dalmatian coastline, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia and Slovenia; while Trentino
and South Tyrol were transferred to Italy. Bulgaria, meanwhile, was covered by the Treaty
of Neuilly (27 November 1919) by which she lost the Aegean coastline, or Western Thrace,
to Greece, parts of Macedonia to Yugoslavia, and Dobrudja to Romania. Elsewhere in eastern
Europe, 1918 saw the emergence of Poland, Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania as
independent states. Although the victorious Allies cancelled the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk
between Germany and Russia, no attempt was made to return to Russia the territory which
had been given up. Taken as a whole, all these settlements amounted to the greatest territorial
transformation in European history.
The accompanying problems were also considerable. The new nations (or successor states)
that replaced Austria-Hungary faced a series of crises, examined at length in Chapter 7.
They all contained large disaffected ethnic minorities and struggled to achieve economic
viability in cut-throat competition against each other. Austria and Hungary sought to revise
the whole settlement, Austria by seeking union with Germany (prohibited by the Treaty of
St Germain) and Hungary by trying to extend her frontiers at the expense of her neighbours.
The overall result was that eastern Europe was fundamentally unstable and therefore
vulnerable to political extremes. Italy, meanwhile, was thoroughly dissatisfied with her
meagre gains at St Germain – certainly far fewer than had been guaranteed by the Secret
Treaty of London (1915). Indeed, Mussolini found that resentment against the settlement
14 The setting for dictatorship

had, by 1922, become a significant factor in boosting support for Fascism. Another resentful,
and hence revisionist, power was Russia; Stalin had no intention of conceding permanently
the territory lost at Brest-Litovsk or that lost to Poland by the Treaty of Riga (1920). He,
too, had no underlying commitment to the post-war settlement and was not averse to helping
upset it.
The final part of the peace settlement concerned the Ottoman Empire. This differed from
the other changes drawn up by the victors in Paris in that it resulted in immediate chaos
but longer-term stability, rather than the other way round. By the Treaty of Sèvres (20
August 1920), the Allies ended Turkey’s rule over the Arab provinces in the Middle East.
Of these, five were mandated: Iraq, Transjordan and Palestine to Britain, Syria and Lebanon
to France; these were designated for self-rule in the longer term. The sixth area, the Hejaz,
was joined to the rest of Arabia as an independent kingdom. Arrangements elsewhere were
more controversial. Smyrna, an enclave in western Anatolia, was given to Greece for five
years, after which its future would be subject to a plebiscite. Greece also received Eastern
Thrace and the Aegean Islands, while Italy was allocated Rhodes and the Dodecanese. The
Straits, comprising the Dardanelles and the Bosporus, were internationalized and the adjacent
territory demilitarized. Although Sultan Mohammed VI was forced to sign the Treaty, there
was fierce resistance from Turkish Nationalists under Mustafa Kemal. The Greeks were
driven out, the Sultanate was overthrown and a new Turkish republic established. In
September 1923 the Allies agreed, by the Treaty of Lausanne, to modify the territorial
provisions of Sèvres. Eastern Thrace was restored to Turkey, providing a more substantial
presence in Europe, and the Greeks were deprived of their entitlement to Smyrna. Stipulations
in the Treaty of Sèvres for payment of an indemnity were also withdrawn. Alone among
the areas dealt with by the peace settlement, Turkey’s long-term future had been established
by 1923 and the Second World War made no further adjustments to the changes already
wrought by the First. Uniquely, also, an eastern European dictatorship was to avoid further
conflict and, in the longer term, to evolve into a democracy.

THE CRISIS OF DEMOCRACY

The nineteenth century had seen the growth of parliamentary institutions in almost every
European state. In many cases, however, there had been severe constraints on democracy,
such as a limited franchise, strong executives, weak legislatures and, in central and eastern
Europe, the persistence of royal autocracy. As we have seen, the First World War swept
away these constraints, while President Wilson based his views of future stability on
entrusting the different peoples of Europe not only with new states but with the power to
run them. Cobban argues that ‘The key to the understanding of Wilson’s conception of self-
determination is the fact that for him it was entirely a corollary of democratic theory.’8 The
basic assumption of many was that democracy could work and that it was the best guarantee
of lasting peace.
What was meant by the democratic state? H. Kohn has listed some of the main
characteristics of the democratic way of life. These include ‘open minded critical enquiry’
and ‘mutual regard and compromise’; an opposition which functions as ‘a legitimate partner
in the democratic process’; a ‘pluralistic view of values and associations’; a refusal to identify
totally with ‘one party or with one dogma’; recognition of the fundamental values of
‘individual liberty’; and ‘freedom of the enquiring mind’.9 These features are common to
all open democracies, whether republics or monarchies, and several devices were introduced
after the First World War to try to give them effect.
 The setting for dictatorship 15

These included the extension of the suffrage and the strengthening of the powers of
parliaments. In much of central and eastern Europe a deliberate decision was made to use
proportional representation, in the belief that this was the best means of conveying the popular
will. The most influential type was the Belgian system, as adapted in 1918 by the Dutch.
This related the number of votes cast to the size of party representation in parliament while,
at the same time, allowing a national pool in which smaller groups could be included
alongside the main parties. The general principle here was that the harmony and stability
of the new democracies would be best served by a complete range of parties and interests.
This device was therefore used in Germany, Poland, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Finland,
Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia. Italy, Spain, Portugal and the Balkan states tried other
variations on the democratic theme. The size of the electorate was also considerably enlarged
by the extension of the franchise to women. Before 1914 women had had the vote only in
Norway, Finland and Denmark. Britain followed in 1918 and 1928; Germany, Austria,
Netherlands, Belgium, Poland, Estonia, Latvia and Russia between 1918 and 1919; Sweden
in 1921; and Spain and Portugal after 1931.
Unfortunately, democracy everywhere soon came under serious strain. Economic crises
included inflation in the early 1920s in Germany and a universal depression from 1929
onwards, aggravated by the raising of tariff barriers and the disruption of trade. Some states
suffered racial instability as a result of conflicting ethnic groups. Others experienced social
disruption caused by the growing hostility towards the regime of the different social classes
– the business groups and capitalists, the professional middle class and small traders,
peasants, farmers and workers. Economic, racial and social crises had a serious effect on
political parties. Liberal parties were drained of supporters, especially in Germany; populist
and Catholic parties managed to keep theirs, but consciously moved their policies to the
right; conservatives became increasingly anti-democratic and authoritarian; and the parties
of the left were torn between socialism and communism. In this state of flux what was
needed everywhere was a secure political framework to restore stability and stiffen the resolve
to preserve democracy.
This is precisely what was missing. The creators of the constitutions had been unduly
optimistic in assuming that the expression of different viewpoints through party politics
would automatically guarantee harmony. The unhappy experience of proportional
representation demonstrated quite the reverse. K.J. Newman considers that proportional
representation led to the disintegration of Italian democracy and seriously destabilized
Germany. In multi-ethnic states like Poland and Yugoslavia it ensured that ‘national,
religious, ideological and regional groups’ were irreconcilable.10 It could certainly be argued
that the majority voting system (or winner takes all) was more likely than proportional
representation to maintain harmony. The reason was that it tended to produce a two-party
system, in which each party was an alliance of interest groups prepared to compromise in
order to present an acceptable image to the electorate; failure to do this would mean severe
defeat, as seats in parliament were not designated in proportion to votes received. Proportional
representation, by contrast, removed the necessity for groups to compromise within parties;
the emphasis, rather, was on parties presenting as specific an image as possible and making
a bid for a place in a subsequent coalition government. In other words, the majority voting
system forced co-operation within parties before elections, while proportional representation
relied on co-operation between parties after elections.
It is, of course, possible to criticize the majority voting system for being inadequately
representative and for distorting electorates’ decisions. It is also significant that most
European democracies have, since 1945, reintroduced proportional representation. The
16 The setting for dictatorship

important point, however, remains that the type of proportional representation adopted
between the wars had no means of preventing splinter parties (a shortcoming now largely
corrected) and coincided with an unusual number of crises. As a result, democracy became
less a matter of how to deal with problems than of how to put together a government. A
considerable amount of time and effort was spent trying to find a majority, necessitating
exhaustive negotiation and horse-trading. In the process, the role of the prime minister or
chancellor changed significantly; instead of acting as the head of a government putting
across a package of proposals, he became a mediator between conflicting groups, desperately
trying to retain power. This situation would be difficult enough in normal circumstances.
At a time of national crisis it proved intolerable. The result was that, in some cases, the
head of the government had many of his powers taken out of his hands by the head of state
– the king in a monarchy, the president in a republic. The problem was that democracy had
declining support during the 1920s and 1930s. Heinrich Müller, German Chancellor, said
in 1930 that ‘a democracy without democrats is an internal and external danger’. Here and
elsewhere political parties failed to respond to the challenge. Liberal parties were generally
weak and, in Germany, were divided into two. More secure were social democrats: where
they could provide an alliance with the rural population, as in the Scandinavian countries,
or with conservatives, as in Belgium, democracy survived. But in Austria and Germany
they were to be superseded by a combination of the conservative and radical right – both
profoundly anti-democratic. Spain and France tried a broad alliance of the left against the
right, but this collapsed in military turmoil or political chaos. Meanwhile, support for
European democracy from abroad gradually disintegrated. The United States, the original
sponsor for Wilsonian democracy, withdrew into isolationism, while Baldwin’s Britain
regarded making a choice between the European right and left as equivalent to deciding
between ‘mumps and measles’. It is not surprising that democracy experienced growing
disillusionment. Descriptions like ‘the crisis of European democracy’ were common currency
in the 1920s and even earlier optimists like H.G. Wells now anticipated what would happen
‘After Democracy’. There was widespread acceptance that the constitutions of 1919 and
1920 had been based too finely on juridical principles – at the expense of political realities.
Hence they were not suited to deal with the exceptionally difficult practical economic and
social problems which developed in the late 1920s and 1930s.
The trend away from democracy towards authoritarian rule was assisted by another defect
which existed in some of the new constitutions. The constitution of the Weimar Republic
in Germany was typical in that it provided a safeguard if things went wrong; Article 48
gave the president exceptional emergency powers when he needed them. Thus Germany
became authoritarian during the Great Depression from 1931, providing a more amenable
political atmosphere for the rise of Hitler. Over most of Europe it proved possible to graft
dictatorship on to earlier democratic foundations. Only one regime, Bolshevik Russia, made
a clean sweep of previous institutions. Others, including even Nazi Germany, retained much
of the original constitutional framework until the very end. They did, however, amend the
constitutions so as to make a mockery of the original principles and intentions. The main
amendments were a ban on party politics and the strengthening of the executive at the expense
of the legislature.
Finally, democracy was severely weakened by the absence of any really popular statesmen
during the interwar years. The talent of men like Briand and Stresemann was unostentatious
diplomacy which, although effective, rarely caught the public imagination. Churchill, who
eventually did fill this gap, did not come into his own until 1940; indeed, R. Rhodes James
has called his earlier career ‘The Years of Failure’. Almost all the great personalities of the
 The setting for dictatorship 17

period were critics of democracy – Mussolini, Hitler, Piłsudski, Dollfuss, Primo de Rivera
and many others. The masses were tempted by their charisma, sweeping promises and simple
solutions. The nations’ policies were increasingly taken out of the hands of larger political
groups and the key decisions were personalized. This was to be one of the main characteristics
of dictatorship and applies everywhere, including Stalin’s Russia.

THE ROLE OF MODERNITY?

The decline of democracy and the rise of dictatorship in two of the states we shall cover
has sometimes been associated with ‘modernity’ or ‘modernization’. This has involved two
major approaches, both of which have been applied to Italy and Germany. Some have
stretched the point – and included Russia.
One approach emphasizes that these states all became dictatorships because this was
their peculiar path to modernization. Germany, for example, missed out on the connection
between industrialization and a strong middle-class liberal system as occurred in Britain,
France or the United States. Instead, there was a tension between a growing capitalist economy
on the one hand and pre-modern social influences on the other. The long-term result was an
explosion producing the distortion known as Nazism. A similar case has been made for the
rise of fascism in Italy. In the case of Russia, the relatively slow modernization under the
Tsars resulted in a compensatory burst of social and economic change, especially under Stalin.
These arguments are, however, too deterministic and are examined in Chapter 2.
A second approach is worth greater consideration at this point. Specific states did
experience some disorientation as a result of modernization and were especially vulnerable
to new communications technologies. This cannot be seen as a primary reason for the rise
of dictatorship – but it does provide some explanation for the appeal which certain parties
and regimes exerted.
Modernization was a key theme of the interwar period, having already accelerated in the
decades before 1914 and through the First World War. Its impact was paradoxical. In some
ways it brought recovery and consolidation. New production and management techniques,
influenced respectively by Fordism and Taylorism in the United States, provided Weimar
Germany with the basis for economic growth between 1924 and 1928. The development
of new industries, especially motor cars, electricity and aircraft, helped compensate for the
decline of the more traditional staple industries. Areas which particularly benefited were
the Midlands and the South East in England, around the industrial areas of Paris, the north
of Italy, especially Milan, and the Rhineland and Bavaria in Germany. Europe also
experienced widespread cultural innovation in the work of Picasso, Schoenberg, Brecht and
Gropius. At the same time, modernity also entailed more government involvement which
in some areas sought greater uniformity; this aspect is described by Hoffmann as ‘social
interventionism and mass politics’.11 Where there was social hardship, the cinema provided
a means of relieving economic and social pressures, especially in Britain, where it became
the main form of popular recreation.
Yet, despite these advantages, modernization could also be destabilizing. There was, for
example, much resentment of Taylorism, as adapted to the European context by Bedaux in
a process designed simply to speed up work. Extensive trade union opposition developed,
resulting in an increase in strikes during the 1920s. In these circumstances many industrialists,
especially in Italy and Germany, looked to more authoritarian systems which would be able
to take action against unions – or perhaps abolish them altogether. Modernization could
18 The setting for dictatorship

also create new divisions within society: this applied especially to Italy and Germany. The
new sectors were not part of the traditional working class and were usually not unionized:
this, in turn, meant that they developed an antipathy to the traditional parties of the left. In
Germany and Italy they established close relations with new movements on the far right,
of which advantage was also taken by I.G. Farben and the managers of Magneti Marelli.12
One especially destabilizing facet of modernity was the impact of the First World War,
which many saw as a modern crisis of civilization. The trauma was particularly profound
in Italy and Germany, both of which experienced a yearning for something to compensate
for the failure of the recent past. In Russia the effect had been multiplied by the Civil War,
where parts of the country reverted to barbarism.
It is hardly surprising, therefore, that modernization should be seen as ‘Janus-faced’.
This description applies to three countries in particular, where modern technologies were
used to achieve and implement state control while, at the same time, the systems from which
modernization had arisen were roundly condemned. The ideologies of the far left and far
right both brought alternative perceptions. They attacked modernity in one sense – for the
dislocation and exploitation that it brought. They offered, as an antidote, alternative values,
which, however, were combined with another vision of modernity.
The Soviet system, already installed by 1918, was based on the premise that modernization
in a capitalist sense was destructive since it increased the exploitation of the masses by the
few. The solution was therefore to modernize through collective measures in the interests
of the proletariat. The Fascist parties and regimes had a more disingenuous view. Much of
Europe’s ‘modernity’, especially its cultural ‘modernism’, was despised as degenerate. The
people of Italy and Germany were, they maintained, trapped between conflicting interest
groups – capitalists and Communists, both of which were distorting modernization to their
own purpose. Fascism therefore resorted to ‘antimodern themes such as the folk and the
purity of rural life, but did so for modern mobilizational purposes’.13 Mussolini offered an
ideology which would, in the words of Ben Ghiat, allow ‘economic development without
harm to social boundaries and national traditions’.14 Fascists were, at the same time,
committed to technological and scientific advance, although this was to be combined with
the protection of traditional values.
In all cases the message was put across through one particular form of modernity – the
technology of communications. In this the parties and regimes of the far left and far right
excelled. They brought to bear all the persuasiveness of public speaking, magnified by
loudspeakers and enhanced by a knowledge of crowd psychology. Mussolini and Hitler
were particularly effective here, although Lenin and Trotsky had made an earlier breakthrough
in the two years immediately after the Russian Revolution. The fascists and Nazis made
full use of banners designed to modernize traditional images. This applied, for example, to
the swastika, which was redesigned as a black geometric block placed at an angle on a
white and red background; in it Hitler combined a revolutionary statement with what he
(wrongly) regarded as an ancient Aryan symbol and the colours of the Kaiserreich. Extensive
use was made of parades, uniforms and marching songs; in the latter phase of the Weimar
Republic the Nazi Storm Troopers and the Communist Red Front claimed the streets as
their own. Much has also been made of their modern approach to winning public support,
as Hitler and Goebbels planned election campaigns and targeted different sectors of the
electorate with specific promises. Once in power, they retained this support through mass
rallies, concentrated use of the radio and simplified messages conveyed through posters and
the cinema.
 The setting for dictatorship 19

Once in power, the far left and right claimed modernization as their own and presented
it in a form which, they claimed, harmonized with tradition (in Russia this tradition was
revolutionary, in Italy and Germany pre-industrial). In Russia modernization was to be
accomplished along Marxist lines. Although Lenin admired the efficiency of western
production techniques, he deplored the economic structure which produced them. Hence the
need for state controls, which were accelerated under Stalin. Modernity was also evident in
the concept of ‘gigantomania’, in the development of new cities like Magnitogorsk, in the
projection of the ‘New Soviet Person’, and in the Lamarckist ‘scientific’ stress on environment
rather than heredity. In Fascist Italy modernization was to be presented in the form of
advanced technology, produced by the New Fascist Man within the Fascist Century. At the
same time, Mussolini devised in the Corporate State a blend of medieval guilds and modern
controls, through which he claimed to remove the social tensions produced by capitalist
modernization. In Germany Hitler created an Aryan mythology which he transplanted on to
pre-industrial social values while creating a modern war machine and, in the ultimate twist,
applying new technological principles to the destruction of a traditional racial ‘enemy’.
Ultimately, the alternative approaches to modernization were to prove far more disruptive
than those which they had replaced, as can be seen in Chapters 3, 4 and 5. Stalin’s Five-
Year Plans produced a severely distorted economy, Mussolini presided over a slowing Italian
growth and Hitler created a system which eventually destroyed itself. Indeed, it could be
argued that when modernization continued after the Second World War, it largely bypassed
fascist and communist experiments with it.
But, of course, this was not apparent in the 1920s or the 1930s. The modern mobilizing
techniques of incipient dictatorships carefully concealed their defective ideas about
mobilizing modernity.

THE ECONOMIC CATALYST

J.M. Keynes observed in 1931: ‘We are today in the middle of the greatest economic
catastrophe – the greatest catastrophe due almost entirely to economic causes – of the modern
world.’15 He was referring to events generally known as the Great Depression. This was
the nadir of the inter-war economy but, at the same time was part of a broader economic
picture which needs to be examined. It is generally accepted that economic crises had
profound political effects; although they were rarely the sole or specific cause of dictatorship,
they certainly accelerated the process.
The first major crisis followed the First World War and the peace settlement. Before
1913, Europe had dominated world trade and industrial production. Concentration of four
years of Total War, however, meant the loss of ground to the United States. Some European
countries also experienced major upheavals as a result of revolution or the peace settlement.
Russia, for example, went through a period of War Communism, followed by the New
Economic Policy. The Bolsheviks also decided to repudiate all of Russia’s pre-war debts,
which particularly affected France. The emergence of eleven new states in eastern and central
Europe destroyed the previous customs union in the area, impeded industrial development
and promoted intense rivalry. In western Europe there was a considerable variation in post-
war economic conditions. Italy underwent economic collapse which contributed to the rapid
decline of effective parliamentary democracy and the rise of Mussolini. Britain and France
both experienced post-war booms, but these were followed, after 1922, by a temporary
general recession. Germany, meanwhile, was saddled by the Treaty of Versailles with
reparations payments. The German government resented these deeply, and defaulted in 1923,
20 The setting for dictatorship

at the same time printing paper money and effectively bringing about the collapse of the
mark. In fact, the situation in the Weimar Republic epitomized everything which seemed
most dangerous to Europe’s economies: hyperinflation with threats to jobs and savings and
a potential social upheaval.
In many cases, however, this first phase of economic malaise was dealt with effectively.
The slump and inflation were both reversed and western Europe experienced a rapid increase
in prosperity between 1924 and 1929. Several factors contributed to this. One was a more
stable international situation; another was the resolution of the German reparations crisis
by the Dawes Plan of 1924. But the most important reason was the beneficent influence of
the United States – which contributed between 1925 and 1929 approximately $2,900 million
in the form of investment in Europe. This helped settle the complex problem of post-war
debts. American loans enabled Germany to make reparations payments to her former
enemies in Europe, which, in turn, could make repayments on war loans to the United
States. The more stable and rational system meant that industrial and agricultural output
increased, while shipping and transport expanded rapidly. This was also a period of industrial
rationalization or scientific management, which included the use of assembly-line techniques
and the more economic employment of labour. In the international sphere, attempts were
made to restore a fully functioning and stable exchange. Britain returned to the gold standard
in 1925, followed by most other European countries by 1928. Meanwhile, in 1927, a
conference met at Geneva to try to remove any remaining impediments to international
trade. Overall, it seemed that Europe was experiencing unprecedented – and permanent –
prosperity.
Our retrospective knowledge shows just how misplaced this confidence was. The recovery
proved extremely fragile and a potential crisis lurked behind every apparent gain.
In the first place, much of eastern Europe was less affected by the upswing in prosperity.
The Soviet Union was almost completely isolated, while the less industrialized economies
of the successor states and the Balkans suffered severely from lower agricultural prices
which benefited the consumer at the expense of the producer. Indeed, Poland, Albania and
Lithuania were all lost to dictatorship during this period, the result of an interaction between
economic stagnation and political crisis.
Second, western European industrial growth was not accompanied by a proportionate
increase in the volume of trade. By 1925 Europe’s industrial production was the same as
that of 1913, but European share of world trade was down from 63 per cent to 52 per cent.
It was clear, therefore, that Europe had not succeeded in fully replacing the markets lost
during the First World War. The United States, in fact, hoped to prevent Europe from doing
so. Experiencing a massive increase in industrial production and fearing competition from
Europe, the United States imposed higher tariffs on imports. European countries, with the
exception of Britain, followed suit. The result was a series of major obstacles to international
trade which did much to reduce its overall volume.
A third problem was that the agricultural sector in western Europe and the United States
went through a period of overproduction, largely because of more efficient farming methods.
The result was a fall in agricultural prices of up to 30 per cent between the end of 1925
and autumn 1929. As in eastern Europe, the producer suffered and the erosion of his
spending power eventually reduced the market for industrial goods. There were also political
implications. In Germany, for example, small farmers had become destabilized and a prey
to Nazism long before the onset of the Great Depression.
Fourth, industrial growth – the great economic achievement of the 1920s – was itself
unsteady. It depended too heavily on American loans, mostly short term, and Germany
 The setting for dictatorship 21

borrowed at 2 per cent above normal interest rates. Any large-scale withdrawal of this
investment would have devastating results. Even industrial rationalization or scientific
management had its perils. By making it possible to reduce the size of the workforce, it
added, even in prosperous times, to the unemployment figures. Before the onset of the
Depression, Britain already had one million out of work and Germany had two million.
Finally, even the improvements made in international economic relations proved short-
lived. The gold standard, for example, did not provide the anticipated stability, as its
operation was distorted by the accumulation of most of the world’s gold reserves in the
United States. In general, Europe’s recovery was so closely linked to the prosperity of the
United States that the relationship could transmit disadvantages as well as benefits. To repeat
the old metaphor, ‘when America sneezes, the rest of the world catches cold’.
The more negative impact of the United States began to be felt from mid-1928. The
quantity of American loans to Europe began to decrease, largely because of a boom in the
domestic stock market. Investors were convinced that this would last indefinitely and that
the prospects for returns on investment were far better at home than they were abroad.
European economic growth was therefore already affected when, in October 1929, another
savage blow was dealt by the Wall Street Crash. The sudden collapse of the US stock market
was followed by further restrictions on American lending to Europe, thus depriving the
latter of what had been a vital factor in its economic recovery. The real impact, however,
was experienced in 1931 when the central European banking system was undermined. The
crisis began with the collapse of the Austrian bank, Kredit Anstalt, and spread to Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, Romania, Poland and Germany.
The economic impact was devastating. All the underlying deficiencies already referred
to now came to the surface. By the end of 1932, for example, total world industrial production
had declined by 30 per cent from 1929 levels and trade in manufactured goods by 42 per
cent. During the same period, world food output fell by 11 per cent and the extraction of
raw materials by 19 per cent. Of the individual countries, Germany was the most seriously
affected: her 39 per cent decline in industrial production forced unemployment levels up
to over 6 million. Other central European countries were also badly hit, including Austria
and Czechoslovakia; the crisis was especially serious in Czechoslovakia’s most highly
industrialized region, the Sudetenland. Eastern Europe had suffered before the onset of the
Depression from a drop in agricultural prices, but the Depression intensified the misery by
destroying the trade in agricultural goods. The Soviet Union was, supposedly, insulated
from the mainstream of the world economy because of her self-sufficiency and rigid
economic planning. But even here the Depression had an impact. The Soviet Union depended
for its own industrialization on imports of foreign machinery. These were paid for by exports
of Soviet grain, the value of which declined steadily as a result of the fall in agricultural
prices. Relatively, therefore, imports became more expensive.
The Great Depression presented a double aspect. In the words of Hughes, the crisis of
capitalism also appeared as a crisis of liberalism and democracy. All the remaining
parliamentary regimes came under severe strain. Some successfully preserved their political
systems. The Scandinavian countries, especially Sweden and Denmark, made effective use
of consensus politics to contain the emergency. Britain went through a political upheaval,
but confined this to the parliamentary context by substituting a National Government for
the usual bipartisan approach. France managed to hang on to democracy through the
expedient of broad-based coalitions or Léon Blum’s Popular Front of 1936. In most other
European countries, however, democracy fell apart. Germany was the classic case. The
broad-based coalition government of Müller collapsed in 1929, unable to agree a strategy
22 The setting for dictatorship

to deal with the economic crisis. The subsequent shift to the right benefited the Nazis, and
made possible the rise to power of Hitler by 1933. In eastern Europe, and in the Balkans
and Portugal, there was an almost universal resort to emergency powers to replace already
discredited parliamentary governments. The only real exception to this process was Spain,
which actually progressed during the Depression from dictatorship to the democracy of the
Second Republic. This could, however, be seen as a coincidence and, in any case, the
Depression helped destabilize the republic and laid it open to the eventual counter-attack
of the right in 1936.
How did the various governments come to terms with the problems caused by the
Depression? Several policies were attempted. France refused to devalue its currency and,
like Britain and Germany in 1931, relied on cutting government expenditure and carefully
balancing the budget. Italy, Portugal and Austria tried variants of corporativism, and Nazi
Germany introduced a drive for self-sufficiency, or autarky. The degree of success varied;
by 1932 some countries were beginning to pull out of the Depression, and most were
emerging by 1934. It seemed, therefore, that capitalism had survived the turmoil. The same,
however, could not be said of democracy. For the capitalism which existed in most of Europe
was no longer ‘liberal capitalism’ and no longer required the policies of ‘liberal democratic’
governments. Instead, a new type of ‘economic nationalism’ had emerged,16 based on state
control and the mobilization of labour and resources.
In one area economic recovery was delayed. The complex web of international trade
was irreparably torn. The main reason for this was the collapse of any real international co-
operation and the adoption of essentially national programmes of survival. There was only
one compromise: the 1932 Lausanne Conference agreed to cut reparations by 90 per cent.
However, the significance of this was overstated at the time, for Hitler proceeded after 1933
to ignore reparations totally. There were to be no other agreements. The World Economic
Conference, convened in London in 1933, achieved nothing. All states were imposing high
tariffs and drawing up bilateral or regional agreements which effectively destroyed free
trade. Examples included the Oslo Group, comprising the Scandinavian countries, and the
Ottawa Agreement of 1932 which covered the British Empire. France made similar
arrangements with its colonies, while Germany drew up a series of trade pacts with the
Balkan states which had profound political consequences (see Chapter 7).
The failure to provide a common approach to dealing with the world economic crisis
also contributed to the rapid deterioration of international relations. The three major powers
particularly responsible for this were Japan, Italy and Germany, all of which sought economic
solutions in rearmament and aggression. The Italian invasion of Abyssinia, for example,
was hastened by the withdrawal of American investments after 1929, which had the dual
effect of removing all restraints on Italian foreign policy and encouraging Mussolini to
reformulate his entire economic strategy. By far the greatest blow to the international
system, however, was dealt by Germany. Hitler’s Four-Year Plan was intended to prepare
Germany for war by 1940, and the increase in military expenditure contributed greatly to
the growing confidence and aggression of Hitler’s foreign policy during the late 1930s.
Dictatorship had finally forged its association with expansionism and militarism, whereas
democracy, enervated by the Depression, clung desperately to the hope for peace.
Chapter 2

Types of dictatorship

The purpose of this chapter is to analyse the terms which will be used for the rest of this
book. Some readers may, however, prefer to return to it after covering Chapters 3 to 7,
and before looking at Chapter 9.

DICTATORSHIP AS A CONCEPT
Dictatorship is not a modern concept. Two thousand years ago, during the period of the
Roman Republic, exceptional powers were sometimes given by the Senate to individual
dictators such as Sulla and Julius Caesar. The intention was that the dictatorship would be
temporary and that it would make it possible to take swift and effective action to deal with
an emergency. There is some disagreement as to how the term should be applied today.
Should it be used in its original form to describe the temporary exercise of emergency
powers? Or can it now be applied in a much broader sense – as common usage suggests?
Buchheim argues that dictatorship should be seen as a temporary device. It is ‘equally
present in contemporary democratic republics’ and involves the short-term suspension of
the democratic process when quick and vigorous action is necessary.1 Linz is more specific.
Where the temporary suspension of the democratic process is in accordance with ‘rules
foreseen in the constitution of a regime’, then the process should be called ‘crisis government’
or ‘constitutional dictatorship’. But the term ‘dictatorship’ should be ‘reserved’ for ‘interim
crisis government that has not institutionalized itself and represents a break with
institutionalized rules about accession to and exercise of power of the preceding regime,
be it democratic, traditional or authoritarian’.2
Others take a less restricted view. According to Curtis, ‘the meaning of the term has
changed since Roman times. The essential ingredient of modern dictatorship is power; an
emergency is not necessarily present.’3 Brooker refers to the emergence, after the First World
War, of ‘a modernized form of dictatorship’ which had ‘a longer-term perspective than the
previous forms’. But it had a characteristic feature – the possession of ‘an official ideology
and political party’; hence the ‘most accurate categorical or conceptual description of the
twentieth-century form of dictatorship’ would be the ‘ideological one-party state’. In this
form, dictatorship was actually ‘a more modern regime than democracy’.4
Even these four examples show an enormous range of possibilities. At one end of the
spectrum we see ‘dictatorship’ as a temporary device to save an existing system. A little
further along we encounter ‘dictatorship’ as a change not foreseen by that system. At the
other end we move, via the permanent monopoly of power, to the monolithic ideological
regime. One end of the spectrum might be seen as exclusive, in that it disallows anything
but the original usage of the term; the other as inclusive, acknowledging that there are modern
24 Types of dictatorship

variants as well as earlier forms. Hence some historians writing on the twentieth century
avoid referring to ‘dictatorship’ altogether; others, like Kershaw and Lewin, use it as an
integral part of the title of one of their works – Stalinism and Nazism: Dictatorships in
Comparison.5
This book has opted for the inclusive approach. Being tightly prescriptive about the use
of words can lead to their elimination. There are, after all, similar debates over ‘revolution’
– but it is a term we still need. If the original understanding were exclusively employed we
would be emphasizing revolution as a return to an earlier phase, as with the turn of a wheel.
But in an inclusive sense we can refer to ‘political, social, economic, scientific or cultural’
revolution, or to revolution ‘from above or below’, as a ‘sudden change of course’ or as
‘accelerated evolution’. The same should apply to ‘dictatorship’. The important thing is to
recognize that it can include alternative forms, which need to be defined by carefully chosen
adjectives. In a sense, Linz did this with his use of the term ‘constitutional dictatorship’
while using an exclusive argument. Why, therefore, should we not refer, more inclusively,
to ‘military’ or ‘one-party’ dictatorship, or to ‘authoritarian’ or ‘totalitarian’ dictatorship?
With this in mind, we might provide a provisional definition of ‘dictatorship’ based on
three main characteristics. First, it is a regime whose power base is monopolized by a single
group which cannot be removed. The type of group defines the type of dictatorship structure
– ‘personal’, ‘military’, ‘party’ or, in Marxist terms, even ‘class’ (‘dictatorship of the
bourgeoisie’ or ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’, for example). Second, ‘dictatorship’ involves
the unchallengeable monopoly of controls by the power base over the population. This may
range from ‘temporary’ or ‘emergency’ to ‘permanent’ or ‘institutionalized’. Third, this
may include the imposition of attitudes, ideas or an ideology. The type of attitudes or ideology
will then indicate whether the dictatorship is ‘authoritarian’ or ‘totalitarian’, ‘left’ or ‘right’,
‘Communist’ or ‘Fascist’.
The most significant feature about ‘dictatorship’ in an inclusive sense is, therefore, the
defining characteristics which go with it. To these we now turn.

TOTALITARIAN OR AUTHORITARIAN REGIMES?

The terms most widely used by historians to describe different types of regime in
the twentieth century are ‘democratic’ and ‘non-democratic’, ‘authoritarian’ and ‘totalitarian’,
‘left’ and ‘right’, ‘communist’ and ‘fascist’. All of these can be used in different ways –
or avoided altogether. This section will try to establish a framework which can apply a type
to dictatorship, after considering various alternative approaches. As we have seen, not all
historians like the word ‘dictatorship’ but our intention will be to qualify it by association
with some of these other terms, rather than discard in favour of these terms.
The first distinction sometimes drawn is between ‘democratic’ and ‘non-democratic’. Since
all the regimes covered in this book were essentially ‘non-democratic’, this would not be
particularly useful as a basic definition. It would contribute towards establishing which
‘democratic’ qualities each of them lacked but not towards defining the type of regime set
up as an alternative.
A second possibility would be to distinguish between ‘democratic’ and ‘authoritarian’
systems. Generically, the latter is a system of government which is based on heavily
centralized control and which dilutes or dispenses with a properly functioning parliamentary
democracy. Used in its widest sense, ‘authoritarian’ would cover all forms of ‘non-
democratic’ regime and hence all the examples dealt with in this book. Some historians
 Types of dictatorship 25

confine themselves to this broad approach, while others, like Perlmutter, consider that
‘authoritarianism’ has sub-categories: thus ‘When one speaks of “totalitarianism”, one
means an institutionalized authoritarian regime sustained by a combination of organization
and ideology’.6
A third approach is to separate ‘authoritarian’ and ‘totalitarian’ rather than to see the
latter as a branch of the former. Linz includes among ‘authoritarian’ regimes those which
might be under military leadership or a non-totalitarian one-party system. The purpose of
the authoritarian regime might be political demobilization and the pursuit of conservative
or social policies which do not involve radicalization or mass mobilization.
This contrasts directly with the ‘totalitarian’ system7. According to Laqueur, the term
was ‘coined to cover common features of communist and fascist states’, even though
Mussolini had used it during the 1930s to describe the type of regime he was hoping to
establish over the Italian people. Laqueur’s statement was more relevant to the period
immediately after the Second World War, when Western governments came to fear the
Soviet Union – their former ally against Hitler – and to see much in common between
communism and fascism. In the atmosphere of the Cold War, two systems were therefore
conjoined under one classification. In an attempt to move away from loose generalization
into more structured definition, historians since the 1950s have explained totalitarianism in
a variety of ways. According to Friedrich and Brzezinski,8 totalitarianism was a combination
of ‘an ideology, a single party typically led by one man, a terroristic police, a communications
monopoly, a weapons monopoly, and a centrally directed economy’.9 The ideology and the
whole aim of the regime is ‘total destruction and total reconstruction’.10 Hence, the true
totalitarian system moves step by step towards the achievement of its goals through the
effective manipulation of the population. This makes full use of modern techniques of
propaganda and indoctrination as well as of force. For Arendt the process is less orderly.11
Radical ideology, she agrees, forms the basis of the totalitarian regime. There is, however,
no coherent programme – only a restless movement ‘to organise as many people as possible
within its framework and to set and keep them in motion’.12 The result is chaos rather than
order, with new institutions overlapping traditional ones. The most important method used
to bring the population into line is terror, since it cannot be assumed that other forms of
socialization will be fully effective.
It should be pointed out that there are problems with the use of the term ‘totalitarian’.
The first concerns the regimes to which it should be applied. The original classification
covered the USSR, Germany and Italy. Then the term was partially discredited by its Cold
War extension to post-Stalinist Russia and its satellite states in eastern Europe. Gleeson,
for example, describes totalitarianism as ‘the great mobilizing and unifying concept of the
Cold War’.13 But should the term be applied to communist regimes per se? In the 1960s,
at the height of the Cold War, Curtis argued: ‘If communist countries are automatically
viewed as totalitarian, with all the concept’s pejorative connotations, they emerge not simply
as the inevitable enemy but also as the embodiment of evil and of a heresy to be isolated.’14
This brings us to a second difficulty. Some historians have applied the term ‘totalitarian’
to certain ‘democratic’ regimes. In the early 1950s, for example, Talmon used the variant
‘totalitarian democracy’,15 to describe the modern application of ideas and structures which
first became apparent during the eighteenth century, especially the Jacobin phase of the
French Revolution. This, however, has been applied only to the political left – and therefore
excludes the ideologies and systems of the right like Fascism and Nazism. In effect, therefore,
there have been two concurrent debates – one on whether the Soviet Union after Stalin was
26 Types of dictatorship

a totalitarian regime at all, the other on whether, if it was totalitarian, it was a democracy
or a dictatorship.
The third complication is the more recent identification of ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ variants
of totalitarianism. In the strong model, totalitarianism achieves total control over the
population through conversion by methods such as socialization, indoctrination and force.
The most important criterion for success is the degree to which the ideology and objectives
of the regime are accomplished; the word ‘strong’ therefore reflects the structured or
projective approach to change. By contrast, the weak model focuses on the way in which
the regime exercises its power. The emphasis is on ‘the practices of rule rather than its
effects’. It stresses ‘the actions of the regime, what the regime does as opposed to the degree
of control it is able to wield’.16 The word ‘weak’ is a reflection on the regime having to
react to changes rather than being in control of them. Of the two, the weak model seems
to offer more scope for effective analysis. For one thing, it is extremely difficult to define
objectively how far a population within a totalitarian regime has been imbued with its
ideology. It is far easier to assess the methods by which the regime has tried to achieve
conformity. The strong model also implies that the regime is always in control, that power
and decisions about the exercise of power are part of a ‘top-down’ process. The weak model,
by contrast, allows for the existence of administrative confusion and for the influence of
sectors of the population on the development of policy: this makes possible a ‘bottom-up’
analysis. In addition, the strong model would logically characterize an effective totalitarian
regime as one which made decreasing use of terror. In the most extreme cases of totalitarian
rule, the reverse happened, which also adheres more closely to the weak model.
With these difficulties, it is not surprising that the need for the term ‘totalitarian’ has
been questioned altogether. Some historians now consider that it has been tainted by the
ideological conflict of the Cold War; others have argued that recent research on Nazi
Germany and Stalinist Russia has revealed so many deficiencies in the structure of their
power that it can be doubted whether there ever has been a regime which can be properly
described as ‘totalitarian’. But the problem with this approach to terminology is that almost
every word could be thrown out by purists, thus severely depleting the historian’s vocabulary.
As Tormey believes, it therefore ‘seems as pointless to write off the concept of totalitarianism
as it is to write off the concept of democracy’. In any case, there is always scope for the
development of new definitions. One example of this is the recent focus on the ‘sacralization
of politics’, which is covered in the chapters on Mussolini and Hitler.17
For the sake of clarity, this book will make a broad distinction between totalitarian and
authoritarian. Both types of dictatorship dispensed with the normal processes of parliamentary
government and were critical of democracy. Beyond that, however, their basic intentions
differed.
Totalitarian regimes had a radical programme of change, and deliberately mobilized the
masses to serve a ‘revolutionary monopolist movement’. They were also permeated by an
ideology or ‘a quasi-religious philosophy with a claim to exclusivity’.18 More specifically,
totalitarian regimes possessed a distinctive ideology which formed a ‘body of doctrine
covering all vital parts of man’s existence’.19 Everything was in theory subordinated to it
and attempts were to be made to restructure society according to its goals. Second, the
political system was under the control of a single party, presided over by a leader who was
invested with the cult of personality. This party aimed at mobilized mass support, particularly
among the young, and generated paramilitary activity. Party politics were ended and the
legislature brought under the control of the executive. Third, the individual was completely
 Types of dictatorship 27

subordinated to the dictates of the state through a process of coercion and indoctrination.
The former could involve ‘a system of terror, whether physical or psychic, effected through
party and secret police control’.20 Indoctrination sought the destruction of cultural pluralism
and the shaping of education, literature, art and music to the objectives of political ideology.
Fourth, the totalitarian state sought to impose complete control over the economy by
establishing the basic objectives and providing ‘bureaucratic co-ordination of formerly
independent corporate entities’.21 In some respects the most ‘totalitarian’ of all the regimes
may appear to have been Stalin’s Russia, since it fulfilled all the categories mentioned.
Marxism-Leninism was an all-embracing ideology which was used extensively as a social-
engineering force. The Nazi regime, too, was totalitarian in that it was based on an ideology
which was more extreme than any yet devised and which was imposed upon the population
by extensive coercion and indoctrination. In Italy, however, radical theory was undermined
by a remarkably persistent status quo. This places Fascist Italy on the borderline between
totalitarianism and authoritarianism.
Authoritarian regimes, by contrast, used dictatorship in a conservative way, aiming to
preserve traditional values and often the traditional social structure. This was to be
accomplished neither by revolution nor by rousing the masses. Quite the contrary. As
Bracher argues, authoritarian regimes arrived at the neutralization or ‘immobilization of all
other forces in the state’.22 It is true that some had one or two common features with the
totalitarian states. Greece, for example, sometimes imitated the Nazi security system and
Metaxas was partly influenced by Hitler’s ideology. Hungary under Gömbös and Poland
after Piłsudski flirted with milder forms of fascism, while Austria under Dollfuss and
Salazar’s Portugal tried out local variants of corporativism. Several factors, however, prevent
these and the other regimes from being regarded with Italy as even partly totalitarian. With
the possible exception of Portugal, they lacked any consistent attempt to mobilize the
masses behind the regime. In fact, quite the reverse: they aimed to neutralize and depoliticize.
This was partly because their leaders relied upon traditional ideas, although in a regenerated
form, and distrusted anything which was remotely radical or revolutionary. Finally,
authoritarian leaders were content to let the individual remain within his traditional social
context and there was rarely any attempt at mass indoctrination.
There remains one major issue. The terms ‘authoritarian’ and ‘totalitarian’ are generally
used to classify a regime from a structural or static point of view. They do not, however,
take account of changes within a regime – where it originates, how it develops and why it
decays. There are two possible ways of dealing with this.
One is to allow an overlap between the terms at various points within a regime’s history.
An ‘authoritarian’ regime can, for example, tighten up into a ‘totalitarian’ one; indeed some,
like Arendt, have argued that the ‘authoritarian’ regime of Lenin was eventually transformed
into the ‘totalitarianism’ of Stalin. (Chapter 3, however, refutes this particular example.)
Conversely, ‘totalitarianism’ can loosen or decay into more typically ‘authoritarian’ regimes;
these have been called ‘post-totalitarian authoritarian’ and have been applied particularly
to the communist systems in Europe after the Stalin era. Like the right-wing ‘authoritarian’
systems in Spain and Portugal, these eventually loosened up still further to enable the
reintroduction of democratic influences. At this point it is no longer appropriate to call them
‘dictatorships’, although there is some controversy as to when, precisely, this occurred.
The other way of making terms such as ‘authoritarian’ and ‘totalitarian’ more dynamic
is to develop a further description based on its ideological origins and purpose. Two main
possibilities are fascist and communist. But others include looser terms such as nationalist
or conservative.
28 Types of dictatorship

THE IDEOLOGICAL BASIS OF DICTATORSHIP

Communism
The communist movements were based on a carefully formulated set of principles. The
original ideas derived from Marx and Engels, who argued that all societies comprised two
main parts – the base and the superstructure. The former was the prevailing economic
structure (for example capitalism), the latter the political and social institutions of the ruling
class. In order to change the institutions, or superstructure, it was essential to transform the
base. This, in turn, involved the notion of class conflict, as the exploited classes sought to
bring down their oppressors. Indeed, according to the Communist Manifesto (1848), ‘The
history of all human society, past and present, has been the history of class struggles.’ This
struggle operated by a dialectical process, by which the capitalist system inevitably developed
its own opposite which would eventually destroy it. Hence, ‘the bourgeoisie produces its
own gravediggers’. Revolution, Marx considered, was a necessary function of this change
for, in his words, ‘force is the midwife of every old society pregnant with a new one’. After
the revolution had been accomplished, a period known as the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’
would begin, during which the bourgeois superstructure would be dismantled, private
property would be abolished, production would be socialized and the proletariat would
proclaim its triumph by eliminating all other classes. Gradually the ‘dictatorship of the
proletariat’ would be transformed into the ‘classless society’ which would see an end to all
need for force and coercion. According to Engels, ‘The interference of the state power in
social relations becomes superfluous in one sphere after another, and then dies away of
itself.’ The result is that state powers would be confined to purely administrative functions.
In every other respect the state ‘withers away’.
These theories were adapted to Russian conditions by Lenin, whose works of over twenty
volumes covered all the different aspects of revolutionary activity, in the process bringing
some major shifts to Marxist interpretation. Whereas Marx and Engels had looked to
Germany as the most likely source of future change, Lenin added the significant twist that
capitalism was most immediately vulnerable at the weakest link in its chain, rather than
where it was most highly developed. In Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism, he
maintained that the war revealed capitalism in decline everywhere, but the process of
overthrowing old regimes would actually begin in Russia. Forcing the pace of the
historical dialectic necessitated a tightly organized Central Committee, which consisted of
dedicated professional revolutionaries. He regarded organization as essential, for ‘Just as a
blacksmith cannot seize the red hot iron, so the proletariat cannot directly seize power.’
Marxism-Leninism, as the new synthesis came to be called, succeeded in overthrowing the
western-style Provisional Government in Russia in October 1917. In the aftermath of the
Revolution, Lenin established his own version of the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’.
Considerable coercion was used to accomplish this, although he argued that the roles were
now reversed: the ‘majority’ now suppressed the ‘minority’.
Was this Leninist version a distortion of Marxism? The official Soviet view was that
Lenin was adapting Marxism to new conditions, creating ‘a mighty vehicle for the
revolutionary transformation of the world’.23 Against this, some western historians have put
the case for a major distortion. Keep maintains that Lenin’s regime pretended to be
democratic, but ‘Common to all Soviets was a form of organization that permitted them to
be influenced – indeed, manipulated – by the radical activists.’24 According to Pipes, ‘his
strategy owed precious little to Marxism and everything to an insatiable lust for power’.25
 Types of dictatorship 29

Rigby establishes a direct connection between the practice of Leninism and the power base
of traditional Tsarism: ‘the tendencies towards a mono-organisational order were indeed
apparent in the old Russia.’26
Between 1918 and 1919 it looked as though it might, in the wake of the First World
War, make spectacular gains elsewhere. The British Prime Minister, Lloyd George, said in
1919: ‘The whole of Europe is filled with the spirit of revolution.’ Yet, by 1929, the failure
of the non-Russian communist parties to seize control had become apparent. Revolutions
of the far left had collapsed in Bavaria, Hungary, Austria and the Po Valley in Italy. After
1920, communism, while remaining a spectre and constant threat, never succeeded in
gaining power. Among the reasons, examined in Chapter 3, were the inconsistencies and
defects of Stalin’s foreign policy, which eventually weakened communism everywhere.
Further features were added to the ideology and practice of Communism by Stalin. He
claimed that ‘Socialism in One Country’ was more in line with Marxism-Leninism as it
had been developing up to 1924 than was Trotsky’s variant – ‘Permanent Revolution’. He
used this to justify a strong domestic focus to socialist construction, as opposed to the
internationalist approach of many other ‘old Bolsheviks’. Second, in this construction, he
placed particular emphasis on the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’. This, he said in 1930,
‘represents the mightiest and most powerful authority of all forms of State that have ever
existed.’27 He thus abandoned the idea of the state ‘withering away’ and was able to intensify
measures against any form of political opposition and, more importantly, against whole
sectors of the population. Third, he explained the considerable increase in his own authority
by reference to the original Marxist relationship between ‘base’ and ‘superstructure’. He
claimed to be updating an ideological adaptation already started by Lenin. Marx and Engels
had argued that the economic ‘base’ gave rise to the political and social ‘superstructure’,
the assumption being that economic transformation would come first. Stalin used the same
metaphors but reversed their relationship. He argued that the superstructure needed to
become ‘the greatest active force’ to ‘assist its basis to take shape and acquire strength’
and ‘to help the new order to finish off and liquidate the old basis and the old classes’.28
This directly justified the introduction of a centralized bureaucracy, and the reshaping of
the economy through collectivization and industrial planning.
Was Stalinism the natural fulfilment of Marxism-Leninism – or a major distortion? The
official Soviet line at the time was that Stalin had made major theoretical contributions in
the process of ensuring that Moscow remained the centre of world communism. But after
his death in 1953, few continued to believe that Stalin had advanced Marxist theory or that
he was really the ‘great educator’ claimed as part of his personality cult. Instead, he was
seen increasingly as the ‘great opportunist’, merely using ideological arguments to support
policies he was making through other motives. Many saw Stalinism as a distortion of
Leninism: these included sources as diverse as Soviet premier Khrushchev, the historian
Tucker, and Lukács, the Hungarian revolutionary. Lukács said that ‘Stalinism is not only
an erroneous interpretation and a defective application of Marxism; it is, in fact, its negation.
There are no longer any theorists. There are only tacticians.’29 Another strand of interpretation
has developed more recently: Stalinism was an ideological successor to Leninism, since it
was Leninism which was responsible for the original distortion of Marxism. This has been
emphasized by non-Soviet communist parties in western Europe, as well as by post-Soviet
socialists. A possible viewpoint is that Lenin was a theorist of strategy, adapting Marxism
to a new situation. Stalin was not a theorist, except in the limited ways already examined.
But he used the Leninist approach to Marxism with his own special emphasis.
30 Types of dictatorship

Fascism
The most extreme movement of the right is generally called Fascism. This was more diffuse
than Marxism-Leninism and certainly much more difficult to explain. There are also
controversies as to what type of support it attracted; where it was in the political spectrum;
and where, when and why it appeared.
Two – complementary – definitions will do as a starting point. According to Blum, fascism
was an ‘ultranationalist, imperialist, and even racial ideology and political system’; it was
‘entirely a European phenomenon closely tied to the personalities of Hitler and Mussolini’.30
Paxton prefers to call it

a form of political behaviour marked by obsessive preoccupation with political decline,

humiliation, or victimhood and by compensatory cults of unity, energy and purity, in
which a mass-based party of committed nationalist militants, working in uneasy but
effective collaboration with traditional elite groups, abandons democratic liberties and
pursues with redemptive violence and without ethical or legal restraints goals of internal
cleansing and external expansion.31

Where did fascism originate? Here may be found widely divergent explanations. Marxist
theories naturally put as much distance between fascism and communism as possible. They
therefore reject the ‘totalitarian’ approach – either as a description of communism itself or
as a method of finding common characteristics between communism and fascism. Instead,
Marxists see fascism as a variant of capitalism. The earliest version of this was the
interpretation advanced by the Communist International (Comintern) in 1933. As predicted
by Lenin, capitalist societies were entering a period of crisis after the First World War. The
reactionary capitalist elements manipulated the population through a mass movement capable
of challenging the more genuinely revolutionary movement of the working class. In this
sense it was the final and dying stage of bourgeois-capitalist domination, the fascist leaders
being the ‘agents’ of capitalist controllers. A variant to this was the more nonconformist
Marxist analysis provided by the Italian Communist, Gramsci, who pointed to the political
crisis of capitalist states: fascism emerged as a radical populist alternative to the fading
appeal of the ruling class – in an attempt to revive the capitalist drive.
These theories suffer from an over-structured interpretation of past trends, related entirely
to the theory of class conflict and the ultimate struggle between the bourgeoisie and the
proletariat, between the capitalist system and its inevitable successor. They were an attempt
to read back into the works of Marx and Lenin the events of the twentieth century, without
allowing for other influences and interpretations, based on more subtle nuances than class
conflict and exploitation. A wide variety of these has been provided by non-Marxist
explanations.
Some emphasize the climate of change between the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. Early non-Marxist arguments, advanced by the likes of Meinecke and Ritter,
emphasized the moral crisis of European society, Fromm even referring to an ‘escape from
freedom and a refuge in submission’.32 These, however, were somewhat sweeping, a
reflection of disillusionment of the time but not convincing in the broader sweep of historical
analysis. A similar, but more balanced theme has been taken by Blum, who sees fascism
in the context of major changes in the climate of opinion of nineteenth- and early twentieth-
century Europe.33 He argues that ‘The ideals of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution
– rationalism, liberalism, democracy and egalitarianism – were increasingly challenged by
new philosophical, scientific, pseudoscientific, and political precepts.’34 Other interpretations
 Types of dictatorship 31

focus on fascism as a reaction to other influences. Nolte, for example, argues that ‘The
origin of the Right lies always in the challenge of the Left.’35 Elsewhere he defines fascism
as ‘an anti-revolutionary revolution of subversive conservatives’.36 Hildebrand sees it rather
as a reaction to development, the energy of fascism, coming from the resistance of residual
‘elites to the egalitarian tendencies’ of industrial society.37 Others have cited agrarian
societies in a crisis of modernization which threatened both landed elites and the peasantry.
There is also a considerable emphasis on fascism as ‘a reaction against the devastating
impact of World War I’ and the latter’s ‘unsettling aftermath on basically liberal nineteenth-
century nations that failed to achieve social harmony’.38 Among these, the recently united
Italy and Germany were especially vulnerable.
Where in the political spectrum should fascism be placed? The majority view is that it
belonged on the far right, in alliance with the conservative right which helped it into power.
From this position it proceeded to expunge the centre and the left.
An interesting alternative, advanced by Sternhell, is that fascism was the result of a
convergence between the far right and the far left, originating in turn-of-the-century France
and spreading to Italy.39 This does suggest the synthesis of nationalism and the syndicalist
variant of socialism, without suggesting an ideological overlap with communism, which
remained entirely distinct. It does not, however, apply to Nazi Germany. Another possibility
is the extremism of the centre. Lipset maintains fascism depended on defections from the
traditional liberal parties by middle classes feeling threatened by capitalism and
communism.40 This, however, provides a strong sociological explanation for the support of
a movement going through an opportunist phase rather than an accurate placing of its theories.
Any attempt at a synthesis of fascism’s characteristics is hazardous. Yet there were several
obvious characteristics. It carried a belief in a radical change or revolution to end an existing
condition of subjection or decadence and to achieve social transformation and rebirth. In
the process, it rejected the two main alternatives of the early twentieth century and had a
deep hatred of the British and French traditions of democracy (Hitler claimed, in Mein
Kampf, that ‘there is no principle which . . . is as false as that of parliamentarianism’,41 and
of the revolutionary left, with its notions of class conflict and dictatorship of the proletariat).
In terms of organization, fascist parties were presided over by an absolute leader who, in
turn, was surrounded by all the trappings of a personality cult. At the lower levels were
cadres and paramilitary outfits, intended to mobilize the masses and turn them against the
establishment. In the context of the state, it combined single-party rule with the leadership
principle (Führerprinzip or cult of the Duce) within the context of a totalitarian system
which exerted control over all forms of communication and the economy. It also developed
an alternative economic strategy to socialism and trade union power on the one hand and
capitalism and big business on the other. It therefore offered a ‘third way’ which would
seek to eliminate class conflict. Elsewhere it placed the emphasis firmly on conflict, applying
the theory of the survival of the fittest to the social and political spheres and justifying both
the crushing of the weak and ruthless military expansion. The result was a glorification of
war which led to ‘hypernationalist’ policies. In Germany, this social Darwinism also underlay
Hitler’s racism and anti-Semitism.
Fascist movements drew support from a wide cross-section of the population, although
with varying degrees of success from area to area. One receptive social group was the
lumpenproletariat, the unemployed and displaced, although it should be said that most
workers tended to support socialist or communist parties. Another was the rural population
– both the peasantry and the estate owners. A third was the large number of former army
officers and demobilized soldiers, veterans who were disillusioned by their treatment
32 Types of dictatorship

immediately after the First World War and, in some instances, shocked by the terms of the
peace settlement. In the more industrialized countries, fascism drew its main support from
the middle classes, who were profoundly affected and destabilized by the economic crises
of the early 1920s and 1930s. Finally, capital and big business joined the bandwagon to try
to find security against the threat of communism. Overall, fascism benefited greatly from
the instability of the inter-war period and made the most of the ‘flabbiness and the failures
of the existing regimes’.42
At this stage it is necessary to sort out the various regimes of the right and establish
which were fascist. The most obvious instance was Mussolini’s Italy, where the term fascism
originated, and which showed all the components already mentioned. Some authorities, like
Sternhell, prefer to exclude Nazi Germany, but the general consensus is that a generic
definition of fascism ought to include it. According to Kershaw, ‘It might well be claimed
that Nazism and Italian fascism were separate species within the same genus, without any
implicit assumption that the two species ought to be well-nigh identical.’43 Nolte refers to
Nazism as ‘radical fascism’44 and Linz calls it a ‘distinctive branch grafted on the fascist
tree’.45 Although Nazism did not consciously imitate Italian Fascism, there was considerable
common ground in both organization and ideas. The most important differences were
Hitler’s emphasis on the racial community and anti-Semitism – neither of which was an
integral part of Italian Fascism until 1938.
The other dictatorships of the right can be divided, before the Second World War, into
two types: those which absorbed fascism and those which resisted it. The first did have
significant fascist influences but these were mixed, in varying concentrations, with other
factors. An example is Spain, where Franco balanced the fascist Falange Española (formed
in 1933 by José Antonio Primo de Rivera) with the more traditional interests of the army,
Church and monarchists; certainly the Falange never dominated the regime in the way that
the Fascist Party prevailed in Italy. Another instance of a regime partially influenced by
fascism can be seen in Austria, where Dollfuss introduced a conservative and clerical-inspired
variant which has been dubbed both ‘clerico-fascist’ and ‘Austrofascist’. A case has also
been made for the existence of a quasi-fascist regime under Metaxas in Greece. Elsewhere,
fascist movements were often regarded as disruptive and dangerous. In Hungary, Horthy
had little sympathy with the Arrow Cross (formed by uniting several fascist groups in 1937),
while King Carol of Romania tried to suppress the Iron Guard. The Polish leaders had no
time for the Polish Falanga; there were also struggles between Päts and the Estonian
Freedom Fighters, between Smetona and the Iron Wolf of Lithuania and between Latvia’s
Ulmanis and the Thunder Cross. Minority fascist movements also tried to cause upheaval
in the democracies: for example, Action Française, the Dutch National Socialist Movement,
the British Fascist Movement, Rex in Belgium and Lapua in Finland. There were also, in
some countries, subnational or regionally based fascist parties; these included the Slovak
People’s Party and Ustashi in Croatia. Every one of these movements failed to gain power.
It appears, therefore, that fascism needed conditions of relative freedom in which to take
over by itself. The ideal breeding grounds were the vulnerable democracies of Weimar
Germany and liberal Italy. Elsewhere it failed to remove the inter-war authoritarian regimes
which absorbed, diluted or rejected the totalitarian characteristics of fascism. Until, that is,
an opportunity was provided during the upheaval of the Second World War. From 1941
onwards a series of fascist regimes came into existence as Nazi puppets – the Iron Guard
in Romania, Arrow Cross in Hungary, the Slovak People’s Party and the Ustashi in the
Croatian part of dismembered Yugoslavia. All proved far more oppressive and vicious than
the more traditional dictatorships which they replaced, but none survived the impending
 Types of dictatorship 33

defeat of Nazi Germany. Although they all aspired to be totalitarian, they lacked the power
base for independent existence. They represented little more than parasitic fascism.
Finally, on what timescale did fascism exist? Most authorities, including Griffin, focus
on the inter-war period, with the main examples to be seen in Italy and Germany and smaller
movements elsewhere. More controversially, Sternhell places the origins of fascism in pre-
1914 France, from which it spread to Italy – but not to Germany; this, however, is essentially
a minority view. Elements of fascism have also reappeared in Europe since the Second
World War; these have been associated with the Movimento Sociale Italiano; the National
Democratic Party (NPD), German Reich party (DRP) and Republican Party; Le Pen’s
National Front in France; and Zhirinovsky’s Liberal Democratic party in Russia.

Other influences
In addition to fascism, Nazism and communism, there were other influences at play in inter-
war Europe. These were not ideologies as such, but sometimes they assumed the force
normally attributed to an ideology.
The closest to an ideology was nationalism. Indeed, it might be argued that nationalism
is the only ‘ism’ which means exactly what it says: Sugar calls it one of the ‘three dominant
ideologies of the twentieth century’, along with communism and fascism/Nazism.46 On the
other hand, it was too diffuse and widely variable to warrant such a connection. According
to Minogue: although nationalism ‘is a set of ideas’, these ‘add up less to a theory than to
a rhetoric, a form of self-expression by which a certain kind of political excitement can be
communicated from an elite to the masses’.47 In any case, nationalism took a wide variety
of forms, frequently with two or more reacting against each other within the same state. It
was certainly present as a component in all systems of thought, whether in radical form in
Italian fascism and German Nazism or in Stalin’s Russification of communism. It was also
integral, at the other end of the scale, to national self-determination, recognized by President
Wilson and others as a legitimate liberal aspiration which was embodied in the formation
of Czechoslovakia, Poland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Yugoslavia.
Between the two existed other forms of nationalism which shaped or influenced the
authoritarian regimes of Europe during the 1920s and 1930s. One was integrationist
nationalism, a powerful centrifugal force applied against internal ethnic minorities by
authoritarian regimes: the main examples were measures against the Lithuanians,
Belorussians and Ukrainians in Poland, and against the ethnic Hungarians in Romania. In
addition, most authoritarian regimes discriminated in some form or other against Jews.
Another variant was irredentist nationalism, or the pursuit of territorial claims. This was
successfully applied by Piłsudski against Russia, but his authoritarian regime remained in
Poland to protect the gains made in 1921. Hungary was less fortunate. A major influence
on its foreign policy between the wars was resentment at the massive loss of territory imposed
upon it by the Treaty of Trianon in 1919. Different again was the historic nationalism apparent
in the longer-established nations of Portugal and Spain. Salazar’s regime in Portugal fostered
pride in imperial achievement – a form of sated nationalism – while Franco sought national
regeneration inspired by Spain’s more glorious past. There might also be combinations of
these types of nationalism. One example was Hungary which experienced, under Szálasi,
irredentism combined with a strong sense of the past in what he called Hungarism. Some
nationalisms were also influenced by fascism, either by specific fascist movements operating
within authoritarian regimes (like the Falange in Francoist Spain) or by authoritarian
dictatorships in their later phase (Antonescu’s Romania or Szálasi’s Hungary).
34 Types of dictatorship

Three other influences can be detected in Europe’s authoritarian regimes, again in

differing proportions. One was clericalism and the expression of a religion, normally
Catholicism. This made its presence felt as a conservative force, mainly against communism,
which the Church regarded as its greatest enemy. This was particularly prevalent in Spain
during the Civil War, and in Austria under Dollfuss; it was also apparent in Poland and
later in the disembodied states of Slovakia and Croatia. Regimes less affected by religious
influences were Greece, Bulgaria, Romania and the Baltic states. Under Atatürk, Turkey’s
regime actively pursued the opposite – secularization and the removal of all political
influence from Islamic bodies.
Another influence was conservatism. This acted either to maintain the status quo or to
remove recent influences considered to have had a damaging impact. These ‘influences’
could include anything but were usually communism, socialism and movements on the far
right. Hungary and Poland, for example, had a consistent record – until the late 1930s – of
this type of reductionist conservatism. Alternatively, conservatism might be the bond which
kept together an alliance of the centre to right against the countervailing forces of the
moderate and far left. This was particularly the case in Spain, with Franco’s National Front
lined up against the Popular Front of the Republic.
The final factor, militarism, is more debatable. Although normally associated with the
authoritarian right, military action has also been used against authoritarian systems as a
force for change and reform, especially in pre-First World War Spain, Portugal and Turkey.
But during the interwar period, military influences were normally adapted to conservative
authoritarianism – most obviously in Piłsudski’s Poland, Franco’s Spain and Horthy’s
Hungary.
By and large, it is easier to define what ideologies the authoritarian regimes stood against
than what they supported. This was because their fundamental purpose was not to mobilize
or energize – but rather to prevent others from doing so. The one possible exception to this
was Turkey, which used an authoritarian framework to achieve a radicalizing policy under
western influences. This gave it the characteristics of a developmental dictatorship with a
set of aims which was rather clearer than the others. But even Atatürk, who adopted certain
principles, did not develop an ideology as such. Elsewhere the focus of authoritarian regimes
was to impose severe restrictions on western democratic influences. In doing this they also
prevented a fascist takeover. As we have already seen, the authoritarian establishment was
usually strong enough to prevent the ascendancy of incipient totalitarian ideologies – at
least until the latter began to expand from the base of their own regimes.

SUMMARY
The main argument of this chapter has been as follows. Although the term ‘dictatorship’
has attracted some controversy, it is more useful to see it in the more modern sense as a
description of closed political systems which cannot be changed by the open democratic
process. All regimes covered in this book were dictatorships at some point between 1918
and 1945.
‘Dictatorship’ should, however, be amplified by more specific reference to its type.
The two most commonly used terms are ‘authoritarian’ and ‘totalitarian’. ‘Authoritarian’
can be used as an overarching description of all closed systems. Or – as it is in this book
– it can be distinguished from ‘totalitarian’; as well as having a monolithic political base,
the latter also involves a more explicit set of ideas and aims more directly to mobilize the
mass of the people. Totalitarian systems include Stalinist Russia (Chapter 3), Fascist Italy
 Types of dictatorship 35

(Chapter 4) and Nazi Germany (Chapter 5). In the debate over Leninist Russia the preference
here is for totalitarian rather than authoritarian, while the Soviet Union after Stalin could
be described as evolving out of totalitarianism into a post-totalitarian authoritarian system.
All the other regimes of the period (Chapter 7) were primarily authoritarian. This applies
to Portugal, Spain under Primo de Rivera and Franco, Austria, Hungary, Poland, Estonia,
Latvia, Lithuania, Albania, Yugoslavia, Greece, Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey (Chapter
7). For part of the wartime period some of these regimes came under the totalitarian control
of Germany, Italy or the Soviet Union, or tried unsuccessfully to develop their own version
of totalitarianism.
Related ideologies define the scope of totalitarian or authoritarian dictatorship. The two
main ideologies of the inter-war period were communism and fascism. Both have been
identified with totalitarianism within the state context (communism in the Soviet Union,
fascism in Italy and Germany), although there has been some disagreement about the extent
of their efficiency and about whether they overlap with authoritarian systems (the pre- and
post-Stalinist regimes in Russia, for example). There has also been controversy as to whether
fascism includes Nazism; the broad consensus is that it does, although as a different strand.
In other cases fascism influenced regimes either briefly (Hungary under Szálasi) or as part
of a broader coalition of the right (Spain under Franco or Austria under Dollfuss) which
combined other influences not generally seen as ideological – clericalism, nationalism and
militarism (Chapter 7). One non-Soviet regime was briefly communist after the First World
War – Hungary under Béla Kun (Chapter 7). Other former dictatorships (Poland, Romania,
Bulgaria, Hungary, Albania and Yugoslavia) became communist in the wake of the Second
World War, while Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were absorbed directly into the Soviet
Union. For the moment, at least, fascism and the right gave way widely to communism and
the left.
Chapter 3

Dictatorship in Russia

LENIN’S REGIME, 1917–24

Russia between 1917 and 1953 experienced two periods of dictatorship. The first was
intended by Lenin to be a temporary dictatorship of the proletariat, a phase in the movement
towards a communist system. The second was the more permanent and personalized
dictatorship imposed by Stalin.

The revolution of October/November 1917

Soviet Russia was born in October/November 1917, when the Bolshevik Party, under Lenin,
seized power in Petrograd and Moscow. In doing so it toppled the Provisional Government,
mainly identified with the leadership of Alexander Kerensky. This, in turn, had replaced
the regime of Tsar Nicholas II in March 1917.
Nicholas II’s government had been severely weakened by a combination of military defeat
at the hands of the Germans in the First World War, economic collapse and serious
misgovernment. In March 1917 it was confronted by a largely spontaneous movement which
began as a series of food riots and ended with the desertion of troops and security forces.
When Nicholas II eventually abdicated on 15 March, two institutions claimed political
authority. One was the Petrograd Soviet, a workers’ council which was elected by soldiers
and labourers. The other was the Provisional Government which had been set up by a
committee of the Duma, a parliament which had been conceded reluctantly by the Tsar in
1905. The question now arising was: which of the two institutions – Soviet or Provisional
Government – would provide the future power base?
There was nothing to indicate at this stage that the Bolsheviks would shortly be bidding
for the control of Russia. They had played little part in the events of March and had no
influence either in the Soviet or in the Provisional Government. The Soviet consisted mainly
of Menshevik and Socialist Revolutionary deputies, while the Provisional Government, under
Prince Lvov, was dominated by liberals and moderate conservatives – or Constitutional
Democrats and Octobrists. Gradually, however, the Bolsheviks made their presence felt.
Lenin returned from exile in Switzerland in April 1917 and set about making the Bolshevik
Party the major organization of the working class. His intention was to take over the Soviet
and use it to destroy the Provisional Government. For a while this seemed an impossible
task. The Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks within the Soviet were prepared to form
a political partnership with the Provisional Government; this was cemented in the person
of the Socialist Revolutionary Kerensky, who succeeded Lvov as head of the Provisional
 Dictatorship in Russia 37

Government on 20 July. Earlier in the same month Lenin had been seriously embarrassed
by an abortive Bolshevik uprising; he had tried to prevent it on the grounds that it was
premature. The Provisional Government ordered the raiding of the Bolshevik headquarters
and issued warrants for the arrest of the Bolshevik leaders. Lenin escaped this only by going
into hiding in Finland. It seemed, therefore, that the Provisional Government had triumphed
and that the Bolsheviks had shot their bolt.
Through much of 1917, however, the Provisional Government faced serious difficulties
which eventually worked in favour of the Bolsheviks. It maintained Russia’s support for
the Allies but, in the process, suffered further losses of territory to the Germans from July
onwards. The economy, too, was in desperate trouble and the peasantry were openly seizing
their landlords’ estates in many of the rural areas. Kerensky, hoping to preside over an
orderly land transfer, sent troops to deal with peasant violence, thus antagonizing a large
part of the population. The Bolsheviks were able to take advantage of this policy and came
out openly in support of the peasants. But the real crisis confronting the Provisional
Government was the Kornilov Revolt. General Kornilov, Commander-in-Chief of the
Russian army, tried in August/September to overthrow the Provisional Government and to
substitute for it a military dictatorship that would, he hoped, drive back the German invader
and deal with the internal threat of revolution. Kerensky could rely upon the Petrograd
Soviet to mobilize support against Kornilov’s troops, but he needed additional help if he
were to save the Provisional Government. In desperation he turned to Bolshevik units known
as Red Guards and agreed to arm them if they joined the defence of Petrograd. This decision
saved the capital but placed the Provisional Government in grave peril. The liberals pulled
out of the coalition with Kerensky, who was now left with a small fraction of his original
support at a time when the Bolsheviks were growing in confidence.
By September the Bolsheviks had also become the most popular alternative to the
Provisional Government. They had won majorities in the Petrograd and Moscow Soviets,
and soon came to dominate most of the provincial soviets as well. From this, Lenin deduced
that the time had come to seize the initiative and sweep Kerensky from power. The Petrograd
Soviet was used as a front for Bolshevik revolutionary activity. Trotsky, its president, was
also the overall co-ordinator of the impending coup, directing the activities of the newly
formed Revolutionary Military Committee from his headquarters in the Smolny Institute.
On the night of 6 November 1917, the Bolshevik Red Guards seized, with surprising ease
and minimal bloodshed, the key installations of Petrograd. These included banks, telephone
exchanges, railway stations and bridges. By 8 November the Winter Palace and the Admiralty
Buildings, the administrative headquarters of the Provisional Government, had also been
stormed. Kerensky had left the city to spend the rest of his life in exile.

Why were the Bolsheviks successful?

Lenin was assisted by three main factors. The first was the social and political situation
between March and November, which gradually undermined the Provisional Government.
The second was the growing popularity of the Bolsheviks during the course of 1917, which
meant that they were able to harness a powerful undercurrent of revolutionary activism.
And the third was the Bolsheviks’ organization and strategy, which enabled them to take
maximum advantage of the vulnerability of their opponents and the resentment of the urban
and rural masses. Each of these has been the subject of controversy among historians,
especially since 1991.
38 Dictatorship in Russia

The weaknesses of the Provisional Government?

The Provisional Government has traditionally had a reputation for inefficiency and
underachievement. This is not entirely just and attempts have been made to rehabilitate it.
There was, nevertheless, an underlying problem which undermined its best efforts in the
period between March and October 1917. This was the existence of a dual power base,
referred to in the previous section. The Provisional Government consisted, at first, of
Constitutional Democrats and Octobrists, and stood for the development of a Western type
of parliamentary system. Established at the same time, the Petrograd Soviet comprised parties
of the left, like the Mensheviks, Socialist Revolutionaries and ultimately the Bolsheviks.
There were attempts to achieve collaboration between the two institutions. The Soviet, for
example, passed an early resolution to co-operate with the Provisional Government laws in
so far as they corresponded to the interests of the proletariat and the broad democratic masses
of the people. Members of the Soviet were also drawn into the Provisional Government;
Kerensky, a Socialist Revolutionary, was there from the start and several others joined the
coalition governments of May and July.
These developments did not, however, guarantee political harmony. On the contrary, the
Provisional Government and the Soviet pulled apart on conflicting policies over the
continuation of the war and the distribution of land; to make matters worse, there was also
dissension within the Provisional Government itself. The liberals pulled out of the government
in August over the Kornilov Revolt so that Kerensky was left virtually isolated, presiding
over a mere rump separated by an ever widening gulf from the Soviet. The latter was
becoming increasingly radical and assertive, under the growing influence of the Bolsheviks,
while Kerensky was becoming vulnerable to the accusation that his own claim to power
was still untested by parliamentary election. In the words of one historian, it was a ‘pre-
legitimate regime’.
The Provisional Government was there-
fore inherently unstable and would have
found survival difficult even in favourable
circumstances. Its task, however, was ren-
dered impossible by its military commit-
ments. In the summer of 1917 it launched
a great offensive against the Germans and
Austrians in Galicia. This proved a disas-
trous failure, and from July onwards the
Provisional Government faced the constant
spectre of German advance. The Russian
army was in imminent danger of collapse
which, in itself, caused problems; mass
desertions increased the level of instability,
while, at the top, officers like Kornilov felt
that they had little to lose by taking matters
into their own hands. The Provisional Gov-
ernment’s commitment to continuing the

1 Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, 1870–1924 (David

King Collection)
 Dictatorship in Russia 39

war was one of the main reasons for its growing rift with the soviets and for the movement
of the latter towards the Bolsheviks.
One further issue is worth brief examination. Why did the Socialist Revolutionaries and
the Mensheviks in the Petrograd Soviet not take the initiative and set up an alternative to
the Provisional Government? The answer is that they were considering this seriously and,
but for the Bolshevik initiative in October, might well have done so. They were, however,
hampered in taking decisive action by the different types of socialism which they represented;
these could not easily have been reconciled. The Menshevik commitment was particularly
strange. They were tied to a rigid version of Marxism which believed that the proletariat
needed to help bring the bourgeoisie to power and then to wait, possibly for a long period,
until capitalism had run its course before expecting the arrival of a socialist system. This
justified co-operation with the liberals but hardly found favour with the Petrograd Soviet
or with the first and second Congresses of Soviets which convened in June and October.
(In his study of Menshevik strategy, Ascher asks the pertinent question: ‘Had any class
ever helped to make a revolution and then voluntarily stepped back to allow another to reap
most of the benefits?’1) The Bolsheviks were therefore presented with a perfect opportunity
to appeal to the radicals in the soviets through a series of promises in Lenin’s April Theses.
The result was a steady increase in Bolshevik influence which coincided with the deterioration
of the Provisional Government. In the first Congress of Soviets (June 1917) the Bolsheviks
had only 150 representatives to the Mensheviks’ 248. By October the situation had been
reversed; the Bolsheviks now had 300, the Mensheviks had 80 at the most.
An incident at the June meeting of the Congress of Soviets shows the contrasting attitudes
to power of the Bolsheviks and other parties of the left. Tsereteli, one of the Menshevik
leaders, argued that there was as yet no real alternative to the Provisional Government. He
concluded: ‘At the present moment there is no political party which would say, “Give the
power into our hands, go away, we will take your place.” There is no such party in Russia.’
Lenin was heard to say from his seat, ‘There is.’2

The influence of the masses?

It was once thought that the October Revolution was really a coup by a minority group
against the real wishes of the population. In this respect, the key influence was the leadership
and co-ordination of the Bolshevik Party, which planned and executed the transfer of power
from the Provisional Government with military precision. In a sense, the acceptability of
the new regime did not matter at first, since between 1918 and 1921 Lenin and Trotsky
were able to transform the coup into a revolution.
This view has now been strongly challenged by a new wave of revisionist historians.
This is largely because recent historical studies, of other European countries as well as
Russia, have fundamentally reconsidered the way in which political power operates. It is
now argued that there has been too much emphasis on the idea of power being a process
which is exercised downwards, by leaders and organizations over peoples. Instead, there
needs to be more recognition that leaders and organizations can be heavily influenced by
pressures from below. The practical effect of the new perspective is that the Bolsheviks are
now seen as being much more in line with the most immediate wishes of large parts of the
population. Instead of forcing the pace of revolution by exploiting popular grievances, they
were adapting their policies to enable them to move with a revolutionary current which
already existed. The common people therefore had a vital influence on events. Acton’s
summary of this view is that, ‘The driving force behind their intervention, their organizational
40 Dictatorship in Russia

activity and the shifts in their political allegiance was an essentially autonomous and rational
pursuit of their own goals.’3
Which groups exerted the most influence on the Bolsheviks? One, which has in the past
been greatly underestimated, was the peasantry. They provided a radical impetus, insisting
on the return of the land to those who worked it and taking action to ensure that this happened.
Peasant petitions also demanded justice through peasant courts, elected local authorities and
more extensive education. Although there were frequent revolts, violence was not mindless
but aimed at eliminating opposition to such designs. The Bolsheviks would have been unwise
not to take note of such pressure. This explains the tactical adjustments to their policy made
in the April Theses and subsequent pronouncements on land ownership, which were not
exactly in line with Marxist collectivism. The urban workers also exerted pressure. The
most active were the skilled workers, who tended to dominate the local soviets and factory
committees. Like the peasants, they were radicalized by their own aspirations rather than
by stimulus from the Bolsheviks. Elements within the army reacted in very much the same
way. Their two main demands were for the democratization of the command and an early
end to the war. This war weariness was less the result of external agitation, especially from
the Bolsheviks, than from a deep welling up of discontent as a result of years of defeat and
suffering. The resultant instability within the army was, of course, very widespread and
would have led to further upheaval even if the Bolsheviks had not seized control in November
1917.
Rather than being manipulated themselves, therefore, these groups pressurized the
Bolsheviks into taking action on their behalf. The Bolsheviks succeeded because they
followed the trend rather than established it.

The organizational strengths of the Bolsheviks?

This more recent approach has implications for the whole question of the effectiveness of
Bolshevik organization and leadership.
The argument which is now commonly used is that the Bolsheviks did not need to be
effectively organized, since they rode to power on a wave of popular resentment. They were
in a stronger position than their rivals, the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks,
who had sacrificed much of their credibility in 1917 by urging support for the policies of
the Provisional Government. The Bolshevik Party was more democratic and decentralized
than is often realized – precisely because this was the best way of adapting to the goals of
the different sectors of society; centralized structures would have been a liability. The coup
was carried out by Trotsky and the Military Revolutionary Committee in the name of the
Soviet, which had a real influence over the decisions taken by the Bolsheviks against the
Provisional Government. Whether or not the Soviet and the workers’ committees approved
of the seizure of power on 6–7 November, they were certainly not likely to try to prevent
it, which meant that the Bolsheviks were given a clear path. It has therefore been argued
that the Bolsheviks represented the general revolutionary trend in 1917 more effectively
than any of the other parties precisely because they were not, at this stage, a centralized
and conspiratorial organization.
Revisionist interpretations are based partly on new research and partly on a new emphasis.
They should be considered but do not have to be accepted in full. There is one obstacle to
the view that the popularity of the Bolsheviks made effective organization unnecessary. As
soon as they had come to power the Bolsheviks arranged for an election of a new Constituent
Assembly. Polling took place literally within weeks and the surprising result was that the
 Dictatorship in Russia 41

Bolsheviks lost heavily to the Socialist Revolutionaries. If the Bolsheviks were so successful
in 1917 in reflecting public opinion, why did they not achieve a majority so soon after their
successful seizure of power? Why, in particular, did they not experience a ‘honeymoon
period’ with the electorate?
This may suggest a partial move back towards the more traditional view that the
Bolsheviks were centrally focused. Certainly this was the attitude of Lenin himself, who
had for many years emphasized the need for a tight party structure with a core of persons
engaged in revolution as a profession. He gave the party a double objective in 1917. The
first was to use organization on behalf of the masses to accomplish what the masses by
themselves could not. The second was to take over the soviets, using them to legitimize
the party’s revolutionary activities. Lenin observed on 22 October: ‘If we seize power today,
we seize it not against the soviets but for them.’4
Effective organization would have been to no avail without a clear overall strategy. The
basic principle of the Bolsheviks was to have a fixed long-term objective but a flexible
short-term approach to it. The long-term aim was described in Lenin’s April Theses as the
‘transition from the first stage of the revolution, which gave power to the bourgeoisie . . .
to the second stage, which should give the power into the hands of the proletariat and poorest
strata of the peasantry’.5 The short-term approach, however, would avoid any rigid or
doctrinaire commitments. Above all, the right degree of force was essential at the right
time; Lenin spoke of a judicious alternation between withdrawal and attack, depending on
the strengths and weaknesses of the opponent. The Bolsheviks were, of course, fortunate
in their leadership. Lenin, from the time of his return to Russia in April 1917, was the
overall strategist of the revolution; he also dealt with internal divisions within the party and
provided an authoritarian base which promoted a degree of discipline and unity which the
other parties lacked. Above all, he was entirely responsible for the timing of the October
Revolution. He had realized that the rising of July 1917 was premature and therefore urged
restraint on that occasion. But by October he calculated that circumstances had changed
sufficiently to warrant immediate action, and he urged: ‘We must not wait! We may lose
everything!’6 From this point the initiative passed to Trotsky who used the Revolutionary
Military Committee to take over the key installations in the capital.
However, while acknowledging that organization, conspiracy and timing were essential
features of the Bolshevik Party, we should not lose sight of the balancing effect of revisionist
ideas. A reasonable synthesis might go as follows. The Bolsheviks were not at this stage
imposing their will on the people, nor were they shaping the revolution to their own design.
Organization was therefore not essential for mobilizing support for revolution. Nevertheless,
the situation in 1917 was highly volatile. Although the Bolsheviks had increased their
popularity between March and October, it is possible to exaggerate the extent to which the
peasantry had been won over. Quite possibly any transfer of allegiance was temporary,
motivated by disillusionment with the indecisive policies of the Socialist Revolutionaries.
The Bolsheviks would have been well aware of this and would have wanted to take maximum
advantage of a situation which was only temporarily in their favour. This meant that they
needed organization to take over the reins of power.

The survival of Bolshevik Russia: the Civil War, 1918–22

Seizing power was accomplished with surprising ease, but retaining it was to prove more
difficult, as Lenin himself was all too aware. The most immediate threat was war – in two
forms. The first was that the Great War, which had already been the catalyst in destroying
42 Dictatorship in Russia

Tsarism and the Provisional Government, would bring down the Bolsheviks as well. The
second was that the regime would be destroyed in a bloody civil war. Lenin might survive
one form of conflict, but he could hardly survive both. He resolved, therefore, to end the
struggle with which he had never agreed and in 1918 accepted the terms of the Treaty of
Brest-Litovsk dictated by the Germans. He justified the enormous loss of territory by
pointing to the greater good of saving the regime; hence ‘a disgraceful peace is proper,
because it is in the interest of the proletarian revolution and the regeneration of Russia’.7
As a result, he was able to concentrate on dealing with the threats against the Bolsheviks.
Views have changed recently as to just what these were.8 Traditionally, the Russian Civil
War has been seen as a struggle between the Reds and the Whites. The Reds were aiming
to save the Bolshevik Revolution and to extend it to all parts of the country, while the
Whites sought to bring down the Bolshevik regime and to restore the previous system. The
conflict was therefore about saving the October Revolution against attempts at counter-
revolution. Revisionist historians now argue that there were actually two civil wars. One
was the struggle between different strands of revolutionaries to control the revolution: this
has been called the Red–Green civil war. The other – the Red–White civil war – was between
one strand of revolution and attempts made to overthrow it.
Using the second approach, we can trace the conflict through three main stages. The
first was the Red–Green war between the Bolsheviks and the Socialist Revolutionaries. The
latter had set up rival governments to the east of the rather limited confines of Bolshevik
rule. These were a real threat to Red control since they had a broad base of popular support.
Several, however, were overthrown by military coups in the middle of 1918; the main
instigators were such ex-Tsarist officers as Kolchak.
These became part of a broader White offensive against the Reds on all fronts between
1918 and 1920 – the second stage of the Civil War. The earliest attacks, which came from
the south, were led by Kornilov, Deniken and Alexeyev. When these were contained in
1918, the southern initiative passed to Deniken alone and then, in 1920, to Wrangel. The
eastern front saw extensive engagements with Kolchak’s troops, culminating in the capture
of Omsk by the Bolsheviks (1919). In the Baltic sector Yudenitch made a lunge for Petrograd
but was driven back from the outer suburbs. Meanwhile, foreign expeditionary forces had
landed, in support of the Whites, at Archangel and Murmansk in the north, as well as in
the Crimea and the Caucasus. The Japanese penetrated far into eastern Siberia, via the port
of Vladivostok. By 1920, however, the White armies had been repulsed by Trotsky’s newly
formed Red Army and the powers had all withdrawn their supporting troops.
This enabled the Bolsheviks to focus on the third and final stage: the revival of the
Red–Green conflict between 1920 and 1922, as peasant armies, supported by the Socialist
Revolutionaries, sought even at this late stage to remove Lenin’s regime.

The Reasons for the Civil War?

The three phases of the Civil War had causes which were distinct and yet merged into each
other.9
The first Red–Green phase (1917–18) was the direct result of rivalry between the
Bolsheviks and the other revolutionary groups seeking to control the revolution. The
Bolsheviks provoked the other parties by refusing to share power with them. Indeed, Lenin
had seized power in October to prevent the formation of a broad-based government. He
then rejected conciliatory proposals by the Socialist Revolutionaries, victors in the Constituent
Assembly elections, to set up a coalition and instead dissolved the Assembly. The Socialist
 Dictatorship in Russia 43

Revolutionaries and other moderate socialists, such as the Mensheviks, resisted what they
regarded as a drift to dictatorship; they tried to convince the workforce that it was now vital
to overthrow Bolshevik rule and reconvene the Constituent Assembly. Nor was dissatisfaction
with Bolshevism confined to Petrograd and Moscow. Early in 1918 the Yaroslavl soviets
elected Menshevik majorities, while the Right SRs and Mensheviks scored similar successes
in Riazan and Kursk. Within weeks there was widespread resistance to the Bolsheviks in
the whole Volga region, including Samara and Yaroslavl, and the SRs established a directory
at Ufa, which extended as far as the northern region around Archangel. Such widespread
opposition was a real danger to the new Bolshevik regime which was, at this stage, by no
means certain of survival.
Yet these same regions saw a swift transition from the Red–Green to the Red–White
civil war. The links in the chain were a series of military coups conducted by ex-Tsarist
officers. An attempt was made in September 1918 in Archangel, which failed; this was
followed in November by another, in Omsk, which brought down the Socialist Revolutionary
administration there. The new regime, under Admiral Kolchak, became the main focus of
the westward offensive against the Bolsheviks. Other White thrusts from the Baltic and
from the south emerged from the wreckage of moderate socialist governments. The overall
effect was to transform the conflict from competing strands of revolution to a direct
confrontation between revolution and counter-revolution. This was given an additional
dimension by the intervention of the foreign powers on behalf of the Whites. Why did they
do this? Britain, the United States, France, Italy and Japan aimed to return Russia to the
war against Germany, an undertaking made by the Whites. In the process they hoped to
restore a regime which would acknowledge the debts which Tsarist Russia had incurred
from them during the process of industrialization and which would remove the threat of
communism from the rest of Europe.
The Red–White civil war was largely over by late 1920. But the Bolsheviks were now
confronted with a second Red–Green war. There was extensive upheaval in thirty-six
provinces. By April 1921 there were 165 peasant armies in Russia, about 140 of which
were connected with the SRs. The Bolsheviks simply referred to outbreaks of hooliganism
and banditry, but clearly this was too dismissive. Other reasons are much more likely. For
example, tension had now re-emerged between different revolutionary strands, which had
been temporarily subsumed into the Red–White conflict. Many of the rebels again demanded
an end to one-party dictatorship and a renewal of democratic elections. The slogans of the
peasant armies were ‘Soviets without Communists’. Unrest was also the result of peasant
fears of the food levy, grain requisitioning and early attempts at collective farming; another
peasant slogan was ‘Down with State Monopoly on Grain Trade’. The Socialist
Revolutionaries now tried to co-ordinate initially spontaneous uprisings into a second great
effort to wrest control of the revolution from the Bolsheviks.
Despite these threats, the Bolsheviks had established control over the whole of Russia
by 1922. The White armies had been forced to withdraw and many of the leaders of the
Green enterprises were dead – either summarily shot by Red Army detachments or purged
in a series of show trials. Bolshevik survival had therefore been transformed into victory.

Why did the Bolsheviks win the Civil War?

Again, the phases of the Civil War interacted with each other, to the advantage of the
Bolshevik regime which, it should be remembered, was very much on the defensive. There
is plenty of evidence that the Bolsheviks benefited from external or objective circumstances.
44 Dictatorship in Russia

At the same time, they also made their own luck at crucial moments. It is rare for success
to result without a combination of the two.
Lenin’s initial policy to deal with the Green threat was crucial. He acted quickly to remove
the German threat in March 1918 by signing the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk with Germany.
This withdrew Russia from the First World War and enabled the Bolsheviks to focus on
the internal situation. In August 1918 he also concluded a trade agreement, by which the
Bolshevik government was to pay 6 billion marks and provide the Germans with one-quarter
of the oil production of Baku on the Caspian Sea. In return the Red Army were able to take
their focus off the west, especially the Ukraine, and switch their forces eastwards to deal
with the rival revolutionary movements in the Volga area. This enabled them to recapture
Kazan and Samara. Swain goes so far as to say that, by agreeing to the treaty, ‘the Kaiser
saved Lenin’.10 Whether this guaranteed a permanent victory, however, is uncertain. The
Socialist Revolutionaries were still securely ensconced in Ufa and the rival revolutionaries
appeared evenly matched. Survival did not, at this stage, mean victory.
What made the crucial difference was the series of coups, conducted against the Greens
by Kolchak and others in 1918. Again, Swain attributes enormous importance to this: the
first phase of the conflict was ended ‘not by Bolshevik victory in that war but by the armed
action of White generals’.11 Through their coups against the Socialist Revolutionaries, they
‘changed the whole nature of the civil war’. They severely weakened the Green governments,
which had been the greatest threat to the Bolsheviks. The Bolsheviks were actually better
equipped to fight counter-revolutionaries than they were fellow revolutionaries. The new
war forced many Greens to join with the Reds to deal with the common enemy. The catalyst
for this was the Allied intervention on behalf of the Whites, which most Socialist
Revolutionaries and Mensheviks found offensive. By December 1918 most areas saw
negotiations between the Bolsheviks and other socialist parties; even the Socialist
Revolutionaries sank their political differences with the Bolsheviks until victory could be
accomplished against the Whites. This, of course, undermined their own chance of resisting
the Bolsheviks in the longer term.
During the Red–White phase which followed, the Whites did a great deal to destroy their
own bid for power. Their deficiencies were considerable. They were, according to Heretz,
‘a large and disjointed agglomeration of forces operating on several fronts in diverse local
circumstances’.12 They had no real political base and even the areas through which they
campaigned were not usually controlled by White governments: often they were under
conflicting warlords or in the chaotic aftermath of disintegrating socialist governments. They
also lacked a common strategy and failed to co-ordinate the separate campaigns of Yudenitch,
Kolchak, Deniken and Wrangel; nor did the Whites and the supporting powers ever set up
an overall war council. They entirely failed to appeal to the masses, particularly the peasantry.
According to Kenez, the White generals ‘did not systematically summarize their goals and
beliefs. They never understood the importance of ideology and did not take ideas seriously.
They had no body of doctrine and no overall leader.’13 The rural populations tended to
support the Bolsheviks as the lesser of two evils: they feared that the Whites would restore
the powerful landlords and reimpose the former dues and obligations. In any case, the White
armies lived off the land during their campaigns and therefore caused immense destruction
through their foraging and looting.
Nor were the Whites greatly assisted by foreign intervention. According to Mawdsley,
‘Contrary to what is often thought . . . the “fourteen power” anti-Bolshevik alliance that was
featured in Soviet propaganda was a myth.’14 Comparatively few Allied troops were sent to
Russia and of these none participated in the battles. Keep lays particular stress on this point,
 Dictatorship in Russia 45

attributing Bolshevik survival ‘in part to sheer good luck’. Neither the Allies nor the Central
powers were willing or able to take decisive action against them. The Bolsheviks ‘were saved
by the continuation of the war in the West, which held first priority in the thinking of all the
protagonists’.15 The Western powers were always lukewarm about supporting groups of
nationalist conservatives who lacked even the pretence of a programme of reform. In
addition, each Western government was internally divided as to whether to maintain the
intervention after the end of 1918. Some ministers, especially in Britain, were receptive to
anti-White public opinion which was being mobilized by trade union movements. Politicians
such as Winston Churchill who wanted to continue an anti-Bolshevik crusade were very much
in a minority. By 1920 Lloyd George’s coalition government had decided to withdraw any
remaining British forces – despite Churchill’s pleas – while the French government had
decided to switch to a more defensive anti-Bolshevik strategy by bolstering up Poland.
Meanwhile, the position of the Bolsheviks was greatly strengthened by several advantages
which they possessed and the Whites did not. The Reds controlled all the internal lines of
communication: they were therefore able to deal with emergencies as they occurred,
switching their troops from one front to another. By contrast, the Whites had severe transport
difficulties and found that the Trans-Siberian Railway was clogged through political and
military disputes. The Bolsheviks were defending the industrial heartland which contained
Russia’s major cities, industrial centres and a rail network, which radiated outwards from
Moscow. They also had the advantage of Trotsky’s reorganization of the Red Army. He
was able to increase the number of regular troops available to the Bolsheviks from 550,000
in September 1918 to 5.5 million by 1920; during the equivalent period, support for the
Whites drained away so that the White troops were outnumbered by ten to one. Finally,
the Bolsheviks had a clear and systematic ideology and used their control over all forms
of communication to put across their propaganda. This undoubtedly had some effect on the
civilian population.
Once they had dealt with the Whites the Bolsheviks were able to switch their attention
back to the Greens. Although the military threat was more widespread than in 1918, the Green
political and ideological infrastructure had in the meantime broken down. This meant that
there could be no concerted anti-Bolshevik effort based on an alternative revolutionary
strategy, as had existed in 1918. The peasant armies may have been temporarily stiffened
by the guerrilla warfare of peasant leaders such as Antonov, but they were not up to resisting
permanently the Bolshevik forces which had just gained experience from putting down the
White armies. In any case, Lenin took political action to supplement the military campaigns
of the Red Army. A crucial factor in bringing to an end the wave of peasant rebellions was
the decision to end food requisitioning and to introduce the New Economic Policy in 1921.
This meant that there was no longer a cause for which the peasantry needed to prolong its
resistance.
Bolshevik victory was achieved at enormous cost. The Russian Civil War was, after the
Taiping Rebellion in mid-nineteenth-century China, the most destructive in human history.
The loss of life was far greater than that in the First World War. At least 900,000 were
killed in the Red Army; the various peasant armies lost some 1 million; and no-one has
ever managed to come up with a satisfactory estimate of White casualties. Civilian deaths
were about 8.2 million, whether from disease, military atrocities or terror, the last of these
accounting for anything up to 5 million. Destruction was massive and widespread, caused
by deliberate sabotage or wanton looting. In some areas starvation was so prevalent that
normal social structures completely broke down and cannibalism occurred. The economic
impact was catastrophic, as agriculture was set back by several decades and the industrial
46 Dictatorship in Russia

developments which had occurred under Tsarism were extensively dislocated. The ways in
which the Bolsheviks mobilized for victory also cast a shadow on the regime which they
created.

The nationalities and the Civil War

So far we have dealt with the political, ideological and social elements of the Civil War.
But there was a further dimension – the involvement of numerous different nationalities
and ethnic groups within the former empire. Each of the three phases of the Civil War –
Green, White and Green – was influenced, either directly or indirectly, by issues concerning
these nationalities.
Who were they? The Russian Empire had consisted of well over sixty ethnic groups,
ranging from the Slavs (Russians, Belorussians, Ukrainians, and Poles); Balts (Estonians,
Latvians and Lithuanians); inhabitants of the Caucasus (including Georgians, Armenians
and Azerbaijanis); and the peoples of Asiatic Russia, including those of Turkic origins
(Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, Tajiks and Turkmen) and those in Siberia (among whom were
Komi, Udmurt, Mari, Mordva, Tartars, Chinese and Koreans). The Tsarist Empire had been
build up by centuries of conquest and annexation, and consolidated by political centralization
by the Russians, strongest of all the ethnic groups. Some, like the Finns, Poles and Ukrainians,
had aimed over a century or more for independence or autonomy and their expectations
had been strengthened by the collapse of the Tsarist government in February/March 1917.
They and other nationalities therefore put pressure on the Provisional Government to
guarantee self-determination. Such demands were less sympathetically received by parties
of the centre and the right (such as the Constitutional Democrats and Octobrists) than by
those of the left (the Bolsheviks, Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries). The October
Revolution, however, placed the Bolsheviks in a difficult position: they had become the
new authoritarian status quo, which meant that many of the national minorities tended to
align themselves with the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries. The process was
accentuated by the threat of Russia’s military defeat by the Germans. In March 1918 the
Bolsheviks had to acknowledge, by the Peace of Brest-Litovsk, the cession of Finland,
Poland, Ukraine and the Baltic States. They saw this as a pragmatic necessity to save the
rest of Russia from counter-revolution and collapse. Other minority nationalities considered
it an opportunity to secede from Bolshevik Russia with the support of parties like the Socialist
Revolutionaries. Nationalist expectations therefore became caught up in the ideological and
political rivalries between the Reds and Greens.
This overlay made the conflict more extensive and complex. As Jeremy Smith points
out, ‘the main engagements in the Russian Civil War of 1918–1920 were fought on the
peripheries of the former Russian Empire, more often than not in the non-Russian lands’.16
In the process, the Whites either promoted anti-Red feeling among the nationalities or,
alternatively, had to deal with coalitions between the nationalities and the Greens before
they could hope to come to grips with the Reds. This applied especially to the Deniken and
Wrangel offensives in the Ukraine. For their part, the Bolsheviks saw national issues as a
reservoir of ideological support for the Greens or of opportunist backing for the Whites.
Since the greater overall popular support was for the Greens and since the initial White
advances were through the peripheral regions of the former Empire, there was widespread
chaos and even the prospect of the collapse of Bolshevik power.
In the longer term, however, this confusion actually worked in favour of the Reds and
against the Whites, Greens and usually the nationalities themselves. The Whites, for example,
 Dictatorship in Russia 47

were slowed down by ethnic issues, which offset any initial victories against the Greens.
This gave the Reds a chance to organize against both. It also gave time for any anti-Red
coalitions of nationalists with either Whites or Greens to fall apart, enabling the Reds to
recover from any early reverses. Because of the peripheral nature of the Civil War the Reds
had major strategic advantages as well. As we have already seen, they largely controlled
the Russian hinterland, which greatly facilitated communications and troop movements. But
there were also strong pockets of Red support among the Russian inhabitants of some of
the urban centres in the regions dominated by the nationalities: an example of this was
Kharkov, the Ukraine’s second city. These provided the Reds with a series of stepping
stones from the hinterland into the periphery, enabling them to drive back the White
offensives and to mop up remaining resistance from the nationalities or the Green peasant
armies.
But, although the complexity concerning the nationalities undoubtedly gave the Bolsheviks
opportunities in wartime, the question was soon to arise as to how effectively they could
be resolved with the return of peace. The nationalities issue therefore became part of the
overall settlement of political, social and economic reforms made so urgent by the Civil
War.

Creating the Bolshevik state, 1918–24

The creation of the Bolshevik state was the result both of the October Revolution and of
the Civil War. How did the two relate to each other in the development of a new communist
regime?
It has generally been argued that the Bolsheviks had come to power as the result of a
limited coup in October 1917 and then proceeded to introduce the real revolution between
1918 and 1921 – as they had always intended. This revolution consisted of four key
components. The first was the organization of Russia’s people and resources to win the
Civil War; this was the revolution mobilized. Second, the Bolsheviks took the decision to
move away from a Western democratic system to a communist one based on the soviets;
this was the essence of the political revolution. In the process they used coercion on a
massive scale; the third constituent was therefore revolutionary terror. Fourth, the Bolsheviks
aimed to introduce a revolutionary economy in the form of War Communism and to
transform society through revolutionary egalitarianism. In all of these, the Bolsheviks had
underlying ideological objectives and were therefore normally proactive. Not all of their
changes succeeded. They were forced to backtrack on economic and social changes from
1921 and to concede that immediate changes were not going to be possible. However, any
economic or social concessions were made possible only because the Bolsheviks retained
a monopoly of political control throughout the whole period.
An altogether different view is possible – which is the one adopted in the next three
sections. This moves away from the assumption that the Bolsheviks were solely designing
a new system from above. Rather, they were also responding to pressures from below. This
produces a perspective which is almost the mirror image of the first. The real revolution
occurred not between 1918 and 1921, but in 1917: as we have already seen, the Bolsheviks
had come to power in October by harnessing the full force of popular revolutionary feeling.
Between 1918 and 1921, by contrast, they set about closing that revolution down, fearing
the reviving popularity of the Socialist Revolutionaries and other moderate socialists. The
Bolsheviks therefore resorted to changes which amounted in many respects to a counter-
revolution. The mobilization of resources was initially intended to defeat the Green strand
48 Dictatorship in Russia

of popular revolution and to ensure that only the Red regime survived. The abandonment
of Western parliamentary institutions, a direct response to the election victory of the Socialist
Revolutionaries, was a means of permanently removing all other revolutionary parties. This
was reinforced by the use of terror, which became the main device of counter-revolution.
Economic policy was geared mainly to undermining other revolutionary influences. In the
first Green and White phases this meant War Communism; in the second Green phase it
meant the New Economic Policy. Social policies were more genuinely radical, but were
partly a response to popular expectations for change and, in any case, were modified after
1921 in line with economic retreat.
The Bolsheviks justified many of their changes after 1918 by referring to ideological
principles. Again, the two views differ in their approach to this. The traditional approach
takes much of the ideological theory at face value. This assumes that Lenin and Trotsky
were implementing from above policies and schemes which had already been planned. It
is, however, more likely that they were constantly improvising in response to pressures
beyond their immediate control and that ideology was usually a justification of policy
introduced for essentially pragmatic reasons.

Political changes and terror

Shortly after the October Revolution one of the Menshevik leaders, Axelrod, said that ‘the
Bolshevik regime’s days and weeks are numbered’.17 He may have had good grounds for
this, but events were to prove that the Bolsheviks were able to follow up their military
survival in the Civil War with the consolidation of their internal political power.
The main development was the move away from a mixed democracy, with different
types of representative institutions, towards a monolithic base. At first the Bolsheviks had
been prepared to set up a new Western-style Constituent Assembly, which would coexist
with the soviets, or workers’ and soldiers’ councils. But the elections held throughout Russia
produced unexpected and inconvenient results. Out of a total of 41.81 million votes cast,
the Bolsheviks won 9.84 million – more than the Mensheviks (1.37 million) or Constitutional
Democrats (1.99 million), but considerably fewer than the Socialist Revolutionaries (17.05
million). The remaining votes were cast for other socialist or non-socialist parties or for
ethnic or regional parties.18 Despite performing strongly in Petrograd and Moscow, the
Bolsheviks won only 23.54 per cent of the popular vote, compared with the SR share of
40.77 per cent and a combined 45.25 per cent for all non-Bolshevik socialist parties. Lenin
decided on immediate pre-emptive action, closing the Assembly on 6 January 1918 after
only one meeting. This was confirmed on 19 January by a resolution of the Central Executive
Committee, which justified the decision on the grounds that the Constituent Assembly was
‘expressive of the old correlation of political forces, when the conciliators and the
Constitutional-Democrats were in power’. The Constituent Assembly was therefore ‘bound
to stand in the way of the October Revolution and Soviet power’.19 This made it clear that
the Bolsheviks considered the various soviets as a higher form of representation and that
these should not now be challenged by a semi-western institution that contained a majority
of politically-suspect deputies. In complete contrast, the Mensheviks and Socialist
Revolutionaries saw the Constituent Assembly as the highest representative of popular
opinion. The soviets had been pre-eminent only in times of emergency. Now that full elections
had taken place, they should assume a subordinate role to the Assembly.
The dissolution of the Constituent Assembly has been seen as one of the key turning
points in twentieth-century Russian history: it was, quite simply, the rejection of one
 Dictatorship in Russia 49

constitutional system in favour of another. This has been widely acknowledged – but in
two very different ways. One approach sees it as a means of keeping the Russian Revolution
on track through the triumph of the democratic institutions that had emerged in October
1917. During most of the twentieth century the official Communist Party line was that ‘the
counter-revolutionary Constitutional-Democratic, Right Socialist-Revolutionary and
Menshevik parties’ had ‘planned to overthrow Soviet rule through the Constituent Assembly’;
hence soviet-based power ‘was compelled to disband the Assembly’.20 Some western
observers have agreed with this. Rees, for example, argues that: ‘Even before the October
revolution the mass of workers understood clearly that the soviets were their organisations,
responsive to their needs, and that the Assembly was a chimera of which they knew very
little and from which they expected less.’21 By and large, however, western historians see
the end of the Constituent Assembly as a distortion of the whole process of democracy
through the imposition of centralized Bolshevik power. According to Wade, the dissolution
was in effect ‘an announcement by the Bolsheviks that they would not give up governmental
authority peacefully, by elections, but could be removed only by force’.22 It also made civil
war inevitable and ‘laid the foundations of the political culture of the Soviet Union’.23 This
line is more convincing. The soviets did not provide for a fully democratic legislature; as
Keep argues, Lenin ‘conceived of the soviets as instruments of rule rather than sovereign
bodies’.24 Lenin’s priority was to prevent any access to power other than by the Bolshevik
Party. This meant that the soviets had to be part of a clearly defined political and constitutional
structure that would maintain the status quo established in October 1917 – and prevent the
emergence of any alternative.
Thus the key priority of all major political developments was that any innovation or
modification should always be consistent with Bolshevik ideology. This applied, for example,
to the 1918 Constitution, the first to be applied to the new state. Russia became a federation,
the Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic (RSFSR), for which the All-Russian Congress
of Soviets was the supreme legislature. Other powers were accorded to the Central Executive
Committee (TsIK), which elected the government (Sovnarkom). A further step was taken with
the formation of the USSR (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) in 1922, a new constitution
for which was officially introduced in January 1924. Both Constitutions were heavily
influenced by the party. In 1902 Lenin had seen the Bolshevik Party as the vanguard of the
proletariat and strictly limited its membership. In 1917 he followed a more pragmatic course
to adapt the party to the wishes of the peasantry and soldiers as well as the industrial workers.
But the pressures from below were perceived in 1918 as more negative and destructive, with
the result that centralization was reinstituted, with the party Central Committee at the core.
Within this were the broader Secretariat and the smaller organs of the Politburo and the
Orgburo. Regional and local soviets or executives were dominated by parallel party
committees, just as at the centre the Politburo controlled the Supreme Soviet, the Central
Executive Committee and Sovnarkom. A Party resolution taken in March 1919 affirmed that
‘the strictest the centralism and the most severe discipline are an absolute necessity’.25 This
effectively prevented other parties, especially the main rivals – Socialist Revolutionaries and
Mensheviks – from gaining access. The Bolsheviks therefore departed from the western style
of representative democracy whereby the party in power operated within the parameters of
the constitution. Instead, Lenin ensured that the constitution was defined by the party; he
therefore adhered to the statement he had made in 1906 on ‘the intolerability of any criticism
disrupting or impeding the unity of action decided on by the party’.26
The new system was enforced by rigorous action against all perceived opponents, of
which there were many. These included Constitutional Democrats and other members
50 Dictatorship in Russia

of ‘bourgeois’ factions who became the enemy within an extended ‘class war’; dissident
nationalities who were subjected to mopping-up operations by the Red Army in the later
stages of the Civil War; and anarchists, whose belief in unfettered liberty was considered
a fundamental threat to the theory of the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’. Probably the greatest
threat came from the non-Bolshevik revolutionaries, especially the Socialist Revolutionaries
and Mensheviks. These were expelled from the soviets at all levels and public trials were
held for twenty-two SR leaders in 1922. Meanwhile, a deliberate campaign of terror was
conducted ‘in the name and interest of the workers’27 by the All-Russian Extraordinary
Commission for the Suppression of Counter-Revolution, Speculation and Sabotage. Usually
known as the Cheka, this was intended to ‘prosecute and break up all acts of counter-
revolution and sabotage all over Russia, no matter what their origin’ and to ‘bring before
the Revolutionary Tribunal all counter-revolutionists and saboteurs’.28 Under the leadership
of Dzerzhinsky, it had powers of arrest and summary execution, killing over 140,000 people
between December 1917 and February 1922, compared with 14,000 by the Okhrana during
the reign of Nicholas II. Trotsky justified the bloodshed on the grounds that ‘we shall not
enter into the kingdom of socialism in white gloves on a polished floor’.29 After the end of
the emergency of the Civil War and War Communism, Lenin saw fit to end the more extreme
activities of the Cheka, which was replaced in 1922 by the State Political Administration
(GPU). This focused on strengthening ‘revolutionary legality’ but reducing the emphasis
on ‘revolutionary terror’. But the GPU and its successor in 1924, the Unified State Political
Administration (OGPU), retained permanent coercive controls, whether these included
systematic terror or not. The foundations and precedents were already in place for the later
and more extensive Stalinist purges.
In spite of all these measures, the Bolshevik state was confronted by a surprisingly
widespread internal opposition. This was to be expected between 1918 and 1920, the peak
years of the Civil War, when the political future of the country was at stake; the Reds, after
all, were confronted by the Greens, who had more widespread support. But the opposition
actually reached its highest level in 1921, with 118 uprisings. The most significant was the
Kronstadt Revolt, which followed open demands for ‘soviets without Communists’, elections
by secret ballot and an end to the dictatorship of the Communist Party. Lenin referred to
this as the ‘the biggest . . . internal crisis’ of the period.30 The Bolsheviks took rigorous
measures through the military conquests carried out against dissident peasants and
nationalities by the Red Army in 1921 and 1922, while the Kronstadt Revolt was put down,
with great bloodshed, by Trotsky and Tukhachevskii. But accompanying these measures
were two compromises; these were certain concessions without, however, allowing any
element of political opposition to re-emerge.
One concession was to the nationalities. Lenin’s attitude to the nationalities issue had
always been ambivalent and he was forced to try to resolve the fundamental contradiction
that confronted him. On the one hand, Marxism as an ideology sought to transcend
nationalism, on Marx’s premise that ‘the working man has no nation’. On the other hand,
Lenin was forced to recognize the strength of nationalist feeling that had driven many in
the peripheral areas to oppose the Reds in the Civil War. After their eventual defeat by the
Red Army, they were included in a federal arrangement that was really an extended version
of the RSFSR. The USSR was set up in 1922 to include not only Russia but also the Ukraine,
Belorussia and Transcaucasia. The 1924 Constitution had a bicameral legislature, with a
Soviet of the Nationalities as well as the Soviet of the Union, while the Republics also had
their own institutions. In theory, each of the four Republics had the right to secede from
the USSR, but this was rendered impossible in practice by the tight control of the Party
 Dictatorship in Russia 51

within and over each of them. The principle of federalism was therefore another casualty
to the practice of democratic centralism.
The other compromise was the New Economic Policy, an attempt to resolve Russia’s
turbulent economic developments between 1921 and 1924. To these we now turn.

Economic changes
Bolshevik ideology was based at least in part on the economic principles of Marxism.
One of these was that any society consisted of a ‘base’ and a ‘superstructure’. The base
was the economic foundation upon which the society was built, while the superstructure
comprised the political and social institutions that emerged from the base. Any change on
the institutions therefore had to be accompanied by a transformation of the economy.
Lenin’s intention was to eliminate the division of society into classes and to increase the
level of state control over all sectors. But the task was harder than he had envisaged, partly
because of the extent of popular influence and opposition, and partly because of the rapidly
changing circumstances between 1917 and 1924.
The result between these years was a wild oscillation of policies, leading to anything
but a consistent application of a Marxist programme. Between November 1917 and mid-
1918 economic changes were cautious. The Decree on Workers’ Control, for example,
provided for workers’ management of the production, purchase and sale of products through
‘elected organs’ and local soviets of workers’ control in the large cities.31 At this stage,
however, no attempts were made to nationalize any enterprises – other than banks, foreign
trade and armaments works. Meanwhile, the Decree on Land confirmed the takeover by
the peasantry of the nobles’ estates; again, however, there was no provision for state control
or large-scale collectivization of agriculture. Then, in June 1918, Lenin introduced the
altogether more radical policy of War Communism. The Decree of Nationalization covered
all large-scale enterprises, while the requisitioning of all grain surpluses greatly reduced
the food stocks of the peasantry in order to supply the workers in the cities and the troops
fighting the Whites. The results were chaos and extreme hardship. The monetary economy
disintegrated, to be replaced by barter and black marketeering. Grain requisitioning led to
a drastic decline in production as the peasantry lost incentives to produce more than for
very basic needs. The inevitable shortage of food in the cities provoked strikes and riots –
including the 1921 Kronstadt Revolt – which shook the very foundations of the Bolshevik
regime. Faced with the worst crisis of his political life, Lenin now made a second major
change. In 1921 he reversed War Communism by restoring a degree of capitalism and private
enterprise through his more moderate New Economic Policy (NEP). The peasantry were
now permitted to sell their surplus produce on payment of a tax, while 91 per cent of industrial
enterprises were returned to private ownership or trusts. Results were not immediate since
they were impeded by widespread famine between 1921 and 1922 and by a financial crisis
in 1923. But, by the time of Lenin’s death in 1924, recovery was well under way and, by
1926, the Russian economy had regained its 1913 production levels.
How have these changes been interpreted? As with other areas of the Bolshevik Revolution
and Leninist state there has been a wide range of explanations, some Russian, others western.
One view is that the first stage reflected a policy that was moderate and fair but that it
had to be interrupted to deal with the terrible situation caused by the Civil War. Lenin said
later that ‘War Communism was thrust upon us by war and ruin. It was not, nor could it
be, a policy that corresponded to the economic tasks of the proletariat. It was a temporary
measure’.32 The NEP was introduced as quickly as possible as a measure of recovery, even
52 Dictatorship in Russia

though it involved the abandonment of some of the basic principles of War Communism.
Official Soviet historiography later put a positive construction on this change: according to
the History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, the shift of policy in 1921
demonstrated the Party’s ‘knowledge of the laws of social development’, while ‘the great
Lenin showed his genius and scientific foresight’.33 The disadvantage of this approach,
however, is that it attributes the chaos and hardship of the period of War Communism to
external factors, whereas they were just as likely to have been inflicted by the policy itself.
Increased starvation, in turn, alienated the peasantry and provoked the second Green phase
of the Civil War (see p. 42). These reservations have been strongly expressed by post-Soviet
and anti-communist Russian historians. Volkogonov, for example, argued in 1994 that, far
from reversing earlier moderate measures to deal with a crisis inflicted by civil war, Lenin
actually used the war as justification for a radical approach that he had always preferred.
In fact, War Communism was ‘the basis and essence of Lenin’s policy, and only its total
collapse forced him to grab the lifebelt of the NEP’.34 It has also been pointed out that the
future regime of Stalin was to reverse the NEP in a return to coercive policies strongly
reminiscent of War Communism.
Some Western historians had already followed a similar line to Volkogonov. In 1972,
for example, Conquest maintained that Lenin imposed War Communism as a minority diktat
from above. ‘Bolshevik policies had proved economically disastrous’ and their political
implementation was ‘detested by all classes’.35 Thus the NEP was introduced only because
the Bolsheviks were ‘at the end of their tether’. Again, the implication is that War
Communism, or something like it, had always been the preferred choice of the Bolsheviks.
More recently, western revisionist historians have altered this approach by suggesting a
different type of change. During the period of the October Revolution the Bolsheviks had
been more receptive to influences from below and had tried to win over the peasantry. But,
with the subsequent defection of much of the peasantry to the Socialist Revolutionaries and
other Green factions, the Bolsheviks responded with tighter controls from above, of which
War Communism was one of the key elements. For most Bolsheviks, including Lenin and
Trotsky, the NEP was not a return to earlier moderation and ‘bottom-up’ influences; rather
it was a tactical adjustment that was, in any case, strictly controlled by the Bolshevik
monopoly of political power.
The position reached by 1924 was the apparent resolution of the previous inconsistencies
in economic policies. This, however, raised the fundamental question as to how long the
solution should last. Was the NEP merely an intermediate strategy which contained other
long-term problems? Should the mixed economy be retained indefinitely, as Bukharin
argued, or should socialism be accelerated – a course urged by Trotsky? As will be seen,
this was to turn into a major dispute that overlapped the manoeuvring in the struggle for
the political succession to Lenin.

Lenin: an assessment
Lenin was plagued by ill health during the last two years of his life. He suffered a stroke
in May 1922 and, although he made a partial recovery, he never again played a full part in
political life. His health deteriorated rapidly from March 1923 with the loss of speech and
the onset of paralysis. On his death in January 1924 a post-mortem revealed that one of the
two hemispheres of his brain had shrunk to the size of a walnut. The new leadership ignored
one of his last wishes by having his body embalmed and placed on open display.
 Dictatorship in Russia 53

What are we to make of the period 1917–24? How should we interpret the dual process
of revolution and consolidation? On the one hand, certain positive features are evident.
Lenin led a party to electoral victory in the major soviets in Russia by October 1917, replacing
the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries as the real spokesman of the urban workers.
He used this new-found popularity to seize power and overturn a temporary regime which
had clearly lost its way. He subsequently held the new state together against a series of
counter-revolutionary attacks which were extensively backed by the major powers; eventually
he expanded the frontiers almost to the previous limits of Tsarist Russia, thereby preventing
the sort of disintegration which had already overtaken the Ottoman Empire and Austria-
Hungary. Finally, he brought a dramatic change to the lives of the ordinary Russian people.
The last social remnants of the Tsarist regime were swept away as the Bolsheviks confirmed
the peasantry in possession of the nobles’ estates; while measures were taken to end the
exploitation of labour in industry by capitalists careless of such essentials as working
conditions and health schemes.
There is, however, another picture. The cost of Russia’s transformation was greater than
she had ever experienced. Over 20 million lives were lost during a period of unprecedented
conflict and destruction which affected the country – from the Polish frontier in the west
to eastern Siberia, from Archangel in the north to the Caspian Sea in the south. It is possible
to absolve Lenin from total responsibility for the ruin caused by the numerous military
campaigns, but not from the unnecessary suffering and wastage caused by War Communism.
And during the conflict with external enemies Lenin was strengthening the internal apparatus
of coercion, establishing a one-party state and dispensing with more moderate forms of
socialist democracy. In the process, he demolished one of history’s promising what-might-
have-beens.
This double-sided view is reflected in the controversies which have arisen over the two
components of the period 1917–24: the Leninist revolution and the Leninist state.
At its most fundamental, the conflict of opinion concerns the very nature of the events
which occurred in October 1917. The Bolshevik view was that the revolution was inevitable,
part of a historical and dialectical process and representing, in Trotsky’s words, the ‘transfer
of power from one class to another’.36 A superior form of state was emerging; in this sense
the revolution was, according to Lenin, a turning point in history, with the Bolsheviks
directing and channelling the ‘upsurge of the people’. The other contemporary explanation
was advanced by Kerensky, a principal victim of Lenin’s success. He saw the October coup
as a freak occurrence and a ‘perversion’ of Russia’s historical trends. He argued that a series
of unfortunate events provided the opportunity for the Bolsheviks to ‘break up the Provisional
Government and stop the establishment of a democratic system in Russia’. Kornilov’s attempt
at dictatorship ‘opened the door to the dictatorship of Lenin’; in fact, far from responding
to any popular surge, Lenin succeeded ‘only by way of conspiracy, only by way of
treacherous armed struggle’.37
Lenin’s interpretation was endorsed by official Soviet historiography. All other parties
and types of democracy were mere throwbacks to a lower stage of historical development;
hence, they could be thrown on the rubbish heap of history. Western historians, not confined
to monolithic interpretation, vary in their approach. Some incline towards the conspiracy
view of Kerensky. They see the Bolshevik Revolution as a distortion of socialism and
Marxism used to construct a dictatorship which was by no means the logical outcome of
previous trends. According to Gregor, the conspiracy was self-perpetuating, for ‘the
conspiratorial party of the revolution became a conspiratorial party of legitimacy’.38 Others,
such as Acton, see the Bolsheviks under Lenin as the only group successfully to tap into
54 Dictatorship in Russia

the real aspirations of the people. Christopher Hill adopts a Western Marxist position; to
him, ‘Lenin symbolizes the Russian Revolution as a movement of the poor and oppressed
of the earth who have successfully risen against the great and powerful.’39 This does not,
however, harmonize with the revisionist view that Lenin may have been in tune with
revolutionary fervour in 1917 but that he proceeded to close the revolution down after coming
to power.
Another major controversy concerns the nature of Lenin’s regime. One extreme has been
put forcefully in Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago, published in 1974. One of the central
themes of this book is that the October Revolution and the Bolshevik regime led inexorably
to Stalinism, that they were one and the same process. In a review of the Gulag Archipelago,
however, Mandel puts the reverse case, emphasizing the fundamental difference between
the two regimes: the Bolshevik Revolution and the Stalinist counter-revolution.40
Some historians incline towards the case for continuity between Lenin and Stalin, although
this is a criticism of Lenin rather than a rehabilitation of Stalin. A strong case is established
by Leggett, who is convinced that terror was implicit in Leninism. Lenin’s Cheka led
ultimately to Stalin’s NKVD (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs – the forerunner
of the KGB); consequently, ‘it was Lenin who laid the police state foundations which made
Stalin’s monstrous feats technically possible’.41 In the first volume of the latest biography
of Stalin, Kotkin puts an even more forceful case. Although, he argues, Stalin was not
affirmed as Lenin’s legitimate successor, ‘it bears reminding that the assertion that Stalin
“usurped” power has an absurdist quality’. After all, Stalin’s ascendancy owed much to
‘Lenin’s actions’ and the ‘Communist regime’ had already come to power by a coup and
‘questioned proletarians who dared to question the party’s self-assigned monopoly.’ Hence
it is disingenuous to accuse Stalin ‘of stealing what had already been stolen’.42
By contrast, E.H. Carr has argued that Lenin was sufficiently different to Stalin to have
been likely ‘to minimize and mitigate the element of coercion’ had he lived to face Stalin’s
difficulties. Lenin was ‘reared in a humane tradition, he enjoyed enormous prestige, great
moral authority and powers of persuasion’. By contrast, ‘Stalin had no moral authority
whatever . . . He understood nothing but coercion, and from the first employed this openly
and brutally.’43 Mandel points out that whatever terror did exist under Lenin was a direct
response to attempts at counter-revolution, to ‘the White terror that came first’ and the
‘invasion of Soviet territory on seven different fronts’. Unlike Stalin, Lenin and Trotsky
did not destroy the basis of justice. They did make mistakes in suppressing other parties
and banning factions within the Communist Party itself, but these were direct responses to
a desperate emergency and were conceived only as temporary measures.44 Finally, Schapiro
maintains that, despite being authoritarian in his methods, Lenin never destroyed the basic
machinery of the various party organs. Stalin, on the other hand, ceased to use the party as
a base of power, depending instead on a personal secretariat. He therefore exploited and
abused Lenin’s system – but, of course, the system had no inbuilt safeguards to prevent
this from happening. Thus ‘Stalinism was not a necessary consequence of Leninism, but it
was nevertheless a possible result.’45

THE SUCCESSION, 1924–9

The struggle for power

During the last months of his effective rule, Lenin seemed increasingly concerned about
the problem of his successor. In his Testament of December 1922 Lenin provided comments
 Dictatorship in Russia 55

on the leading contenders. He mentioned, but passed over briefly, Kamenev, Zinoviev,
Bukharin and Piatakov. He gave more attention to Trotsky, although he considered that he
had become too heavily involved in administrative detail. When he came to consider Stalin
he expressed real doubts: ‘Comrade Stalin, having become General Secretary, has
concentrated limitless power in his hands, and I am not certain that he will always be careful
enough in his use of this power.’ Shortly afterwards, in January 1923, Lenin added a codicil
to the Testament urging the party to take action to remove Stalin from his post as General
Secretary. He should, Lenin concluded, be replaced by ‘some other person who is superior
to Stalin only in one respect, namely, in being more tolerant, more loyal, more polite and
more attentive to comrades’.46 Before Lenin could do anything to prod the party into action,
he was incapacitated by his second and third strokes.
When Lenin died in January 1924 the succession was still uncertain. At first Stalin’s
chances seemed remote, particularly in view of Lenin’s Testament and its codicil, which
were read out at a meeting of the party’s Central Committee. But the other party members
agreed that Stalin had improved his reputation during the course of 1923 and therefore
voted to put aside the recommendations of the codicil. Meanwhile, Kamenev and Zinoviev
had come to the conclusion that Trotsky was the main threat to the party’s stability, partly
because of his forceful personality and partly because of his close association with the army.
Hence, they collaborated with Stalin and a power-sharing triumvirate emerged, with Stalin
remaining in his post of General Secretary. But the triumvirate was to be only a temporary
phase in the succession to Lenin. By 1929 Stalin was in total control, having overcome the
challenges of all his possible rivals: Trotsky, Kamenev, Zinoviev and Bukharin. There appear
to have been three main phases in this development.
The first was the emergence, between 1923 and 1925, of a major split between the
triumvirate (Stalin, Kamenev and Zinoviev) and the isolated figure of Trotsky. This division
was expressed in an ideological debate between ‘Permanent Revolution’ and ‘Socialism in
One Country’. Trotsky’s strategy of Permanent Revolution emphasized rapid industrialization
and the abolition of private farming at home. Abroad, Russia would promote the spread of
revolution to the rest of Europe which would ensure the survival of Bolshevism. Socialism
in One Country, advocated by Stalin, stressed the need to maintain the more moderate
economic course of the NEP within Russia and to promote more positive relations with
other countries to increase trade and attract foreign investment. Stalin was far less deeply
committed to the economic principles of this right-wing strategy than Trotsky was to the
left, his motive being the political one of isolating Trotsky. In this he succeeded. At the
XIVth Party Congress in 1925 he received overwhelming support (although not from
Kamenev and Zinoviev, both of whom opposed further concessions to the peasantry).
Trotsky’s political days were clearly numbered.
The second stage was the disposal of Kamenev and Zinoviev, which occurred between
1925 and 1927. Never one to share power for long, Stalin aligned himself with the most
obvious rightist elements within the party, including Bukharin, Rykov and Tomsky. Between
1926 and 1927 Kamenev and Zinoviev made common cause with Trotsky, but it was too
late. The Party Conference of 1927 gave its approval to Socialism in One Country and
denounced Permanent Revolution. Trotsky was expelled from the Politburo, along with
Kamenev and Zinoviev, and was exiled from Russia in 1929, while both Kamenev and
Zinoviev were to perish in the purges of the 1930s.
The third stage was predictable: the elimination of Bukharin and the rest of the right,
which was accomplished by 1929. The end of the 1920s also saw a hardening of Stalin’s
own economic ideas as he began to associate Socialism in One Country with the total
56 Dictatorship in Russia

transformation of industry at the expense of the peasantry – the programme of Trotsky, in

effect, without the insistence on spreading revolution to the rest of Europe. This was strongly
opposed by Bukharin, Rykov and Tomsky, who had always supported a moderate policy
towards the peasantry. As Stalin gradually introduced measures against the wealthy peasantry,
or kulaks, Bukharin, Rykov and Tomsky became more outspoken. Stalin accused them of
plotting against the party’s agreed strategy and forced them to resign from the Politburo
and from their state offices.
By 1929 Stalin dominated the party and, through the party, the state more completely
than Lenin had ever done. Ahead lay the sweeping economic changes and the purges.
Bukharin compared him to Genghis Khan, adding ‘Stalin will strangle us. He is an
unprincipled intriguer who subordinates everything to his lust for power.’

Why Stalin?
Stalin was probably the least impressive of all the candidates for the succession. He was
totally eclipsed by Trotsky in the October Revolution and never succeeded in winning the
friendship and confidence of Lenin. He was even regarded as a plodder: Trotsky referred
to him as ‘the party’s most eminent mediocrity’. This was to prove a serious underestimate.
Stalin had skills that were less obvious – but more deadly. He was also able to benefit from
a set of objective conditions that favoured mediocrity rather than brilliance. Beneath a bland
exterior was a ruthless character. Sometimes posing as a moderate, he awaited the chance
to eliminate other candidates for the leadership – Trotsky, then Zinoviev and Kamenev, and
finally Bukharin. According to McCauley, Stalin was ‘a very skilful politician who had a
superb grasp of tactics, could predict behaviour extremely well and had an unerring eye for
personal weaknesses’.47 More recently, Kenez has described Stalin as a ‘master of infighting’
who would ‘bide his time and come forward only when he possessed the political strength
to defeat his opponents’.48 This meant that he could take advantage of Bukharin’s inability
to convert a plausible interpretation of the NEP into a structured policy, of Kamenev’s lack
of a long-term vision, or of Zinoviev’s weaknesses on organization. Indeed, Stalin was able
eventually to dispense with all need for their support, since he had built up his own set of
allies, especially Kalinin, Kuibyshev, Molotov and Voroshilov.
This was made possible by Stalin’s organizational supremacy within the party. His vital
appointment was to the post of General Secretary in 1922. Lenin had good reason to be
concerned about Stalin’s accumulation of power and influence. In controlling the party
administration Stalin was responsible for appointments to various offices; hence he had the
main voice in membership and promotion. Gradually he built up a steady base of support
which made it possible for him to manoeuvre so effectively among his political rivals. The
process operated as follows. The Communist Party was officially a democratic institution,
in which the lowest level – the local parties – elected the Party Congress which, in turn,
produced the membership of the Central Committee. The latter then elected the Politburo.
But the composition of the local parties was determined by the Secretariat, which was under
Stalin’s control. It did not take long for Stalin’s supporters to move into the upper levels
of the party. There was an added incentive for these men: if Stalin’s opponents could be
removed from the highest offices then there would be a series of vacancies. It is hardly
surprising, therefore, that Stalin’s appointees should have been so willing to support him
and that other prominent Bolsheviks were not accorded the respect which their experience
perhaps deserved. Hence, as Kenez argues, Stalin ‘skilfully removed from key positions
the supporters of his opponents, replacing them with his own people’.49
 Dictatorship in Russia 57

Stalin’s personal strengths were greatly assisted by the threat that Bolshevism was about
to collapse into chaos. A crucial factor contributing to this was the failure of Trotsky’s
policy of spreading communism throughout Europe by revolution. His reputation was
steadily undermined by the failure of the Spartacists to seize power in Germany in 1919
(see p. 172), and the overthrow of the Béla Kun regime in Hungary after only a few months
(pp. 323–4). The benefit to Stalin was considerable. According to Colletti, ‘The first rung
of the ladder which was to carry Stalin to power was supplied by the Social-Democratic
leaders who in January 1919 murdered Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht . . . The
remaining rungs were supplied by the reactionary wave which subsequently swept Europe’.50
Stalin avoided being associated with international revolution, projecting instead a solid,
traditionally Slavic appeal more in keeping with his own emphasis on Socialism in One
Country – which was not dependent on the success of events outside Russia.
Stalin was able to take advantage of the internal wrangling over Bolshevik economic
policy. The two strategies put forward during the 1920s were based on very different
interpretations of the NEP. One was a planned retreat from the more radical policies of War
Communism. This Bukharin and the rightists interpreted as meaning that the economy should
now progress at the pace of ‘the peasant’s slowest nag’. The other, pressed by Trotsky and
the leftists an increase in the pace of industrialization as the most effective means of
implementing socialism. Russia was therefore caught up in a conflict which involved a new
peasantry, the beneficiaries of the new capitalism allowed by the NEP, and the urban
workers, who stood to gain more from accelerated socialism. Stalin was one of the few
leading Bolsheviks able to manoeuvre between these extremes. In the early 1920s he tended
towards the rightist conception of the NEP – until the procurement crisis of 1927 showed
that the NEP was no longer working and therefore needed a rethink. Stalin’s political struggle
against Bukharin, Rykov was widely seen within the party as a balanced and considered
reaction to an economic policy that had failed. Those who owed their positions to Stalin
therefore seemed to have sound reasons for supporting him: he was credited with being
able to read correctly the signs of the economic times. According to Silverman, ‘Machine
politics alone did not account for Stalin’s “triumph”’; rather, ‘the salient political fact’ of
1928–9 was ‘a growing climate of high party opinion’.51 In all probability, it was a
combination of the two.
Was Stalin’s rise, therefore, the result of the calculation of a supremely rational, efficient
and determined party leader able to use the efficient dictatorship already established by
Lenin? Or was he the mediocrity that Trotsky described, with rather basic skills enhanced
by circumstances? The verdict on this remains open. So, too, does the parallel dichotomy
about what Stalin achieved once installed in power. E.H. Carr argued in the 1950s: ‘More
than almost any other great man in history, Stalin illustrates the thesis that circumstances
make the man, not the man the circumstances.’ This was quoted in 2014 by Kotkin, who
added that Carr was ‘utterly, eternally wrong’. Instead, Kotkin reaffirmed that ‘Stalin made
history, rearranging the entire socioeconomic landscape of one sixth of the earth’. The process
required ‘extraordinary maneuvering, browbeating, violence on his part’. He concluded that
‘History, for better and for worse, is made by those who never give up’.52 The following
sections will take account of these views.

Why not Trotsky?

At first sight Trotsky might seem ideally placed to assume the mantle of Lenin. He had
been the tactician of Lenin’s strategy in October 1917; as President of the Petrograd Soviet
58 Dictatorship in Russia

2 Joseph Stalin, 1879–1953, photo taken in

1927 (David King Collection)

he had organized the Revolutionary Military

Committee which had seized power. Dur-
ing the chaotic months which followed he
created the Red Army and, as Commissar
for War, was instrumental in overcoming
the threats from the Whites and foreign
inverventionists. He has, indeed, been
described as the ‘dynamo of the militarised
Bolshevik state’.53 At the same time he
made fundamental additions to Bolshevik
doctrine, the most important of which was
his emphasis on Permanent Revolution. He
had considerable personal talents. He was
unquestionably the greatest orator of the
October Revolution, and was renowned for
his intellect, statesmanship and administra-
tive ability. Yet, for all these attributes, he
found himself out of effective power by
1925, out of the party by 1927 and out of
the country by 1929.
Part of the reason has already been provided – Stalin’s rapid accumulation of power
within the Bolshevik Party which enabled him to outmanoeuvre Trotsky. The rest of the
explanation can be found in a number of serious disadvantages which helped turn some of
Trotsky’s apparent strengths into liabilities. The first was his incompatibility with other
leading members of the party. He towered above them intellectually but in a way which
brought him suspicion rather than respect. His whole attitude was profoundly influenced
by contacts with western Europe. He therefore tended to play down Russian or Slavic
achievements in culture and, in particular, in philosophy. After Lenin’s death, however, the
most influential of the Bolshevik leaders had little experience of the West and were therefore
much more sympathetic to Stalin’s pro-Slavic line. Hence, in January 1925 a resolution of
the party’s Central Committee condemned Trotskyism as ‘a falsification of communism in
the spirit of approximation to “European” patterns of pseudo-Marxism’.54 As a ‘westerner’,
Trotsky was also regarded as an intruder. He had avoided joining the Bolshevik Party until
1917 and had previously shown more sympathy for the Marxist principles of the Mensheviks.
Lenin had found his assistance indispensable and had therefore given him rapid promotion,
which was resented by others in the party.
It was therefore crucial for Trotsky to consolidate his own position within the party.
This, however, is precisely what he neglected to do. The revolutionary leader and military
organizer was unable to adapt to party politics; in Mikoyan’s words, Trotsky ‘is a man of
State, not of the Party’.55 This made him particularly unpopular with men who had tended
to sink their own identities into the party organization. Kamenev, for example, complained
that Trotsky entered the party as an individualist, ‘who thought, and still thinks, that in the
fundamental question of the revolution it is not the party, but he, comrade Trotsky, who is
right’.56 Throughout the period 1917–29 Trotsky persistently underestimated the suspicion
in which he was held and took no effective measures to try to dispel it. His capacity for
 Dictatorship in Russia 59

leadership and his ability to persuade were employed outside the party; as Carr observed,
‘he had no talent for leadership among equals’.57
Soviet historians saw Trotsky as an incorrigible opportunist. This, however, is an
exaggeration as, in many respects, he was just the opposite. He lacked all the essential
components of patience, tact and timing and missed a unique opportunity to make a move
against Stalin. He failed, in May 1924, to turn the knife in Stalin and even voted for the
suspension of Lenin’s codicil which would have removed Stalin from high office. The picture
which emerges is of a politician completely out of his element, with no natural political
instinct and no real understanding of how to exploit a particular situation.
After being expelled from Russia in 1929 Trotsky launched a series of verbal attacks on
Stalin’s regime. He criticized the growth of Stalin’s personality cult; he was outspoken
about Stalin’s total failure to comprehend the threat of the Nazis in Germany in the early
1930s; and he wrote extensively on what he saw as Stalin’s distortions of Marxism–Leninism.
But, lacking a power base, he could be no more than a ‘prophet in exile’, to use the description
of Deutscher.

STALIN’S RULE TO 1941

What kind of dictator was Stalin?

After establishing himself, Stalin ruthlessly extended his power and pushed ahead with his
policies. The result was an extreme totalitarian dictatorship. Stalin went further than Lenin
in imposing his own stamp on Russia. He exerted greater personal control over the Communist
Party and, to ensure its permanence, he unleashed a flood of coercion and terror which was
unprecedented and unparalleled. His use of the NKVD and the purges caused the deaths of
many millions of Soviet people. This eliminated any serious threat to his position and enabled
him to proceed to major economic changes in the form of forced collectivization and
industrialization through three Five-Year Plans. He was also responsible for some major social
and cultural changes under the collective description of Socialist Realism which, in turn,
played a vital role in augmenting Stalin’s own personality cult. Foreign policy, too, came
under Stalin’s direct control; he determined its overall rationale and dictated what course it
should take. He was unquestionably one of the most ruthless and most pragmatic of all the
statesmen contributing to the international scene between the wars.
This picture of Stalin is easily recognizable and is not really open to dispute. But huge
changes have recently occurred in its corollary. It was once thought that Stalin’s very
ruthlessness ensured the efficiency of his system, and that the Soviet Union was a far better
totalitarian model than, for example, Nazi Germany. Increasingly, however, the Stalinist
regime is being seen as inefficient and even ramshackle. Far from managing to control the
Soviet Union, he was often pushed by circumstances or by pressures from below. The overall
argument for this can be summarized as follows. Although Stalin came to power partly
through his own abilities, he was also greatly assisted by circumstance. Lenin’s Bolshevik
regime had run into the ground by 1921 and had had to resort to the New Economic Policy
(NEP) and a general relaxation of the earlier radical socialism. By 1927, however, moderation
was failing to deliver results, so that radicalism was revived with renewed energy. This
coincided with Stalin’s consolidation of power, so that he was able to take the initiative in
launching a series of new programmes such as collectivization, the Five-Year Plans and
political centralization. In this respect, Stalin was reactivating the earlier dynamism of the
Bolsheviks and was stealing some of the policies for which he had condemned Trotsky to
60 Dictatorship in Russia

exile. He was determined to push ahead with this radicalism through economic and social
change.
Far from being a model totalitarian dictatorship, however, the Stalinist political system
was remarkably defective. The main problem was that there was less power at the centre
than is commonly supposed. The core of both the administration and the party had enormous
difficulty in exerting controls over local officials and institutions. Although Stalin took the
initiative for most of the policies of the period 1929–41, he frequently lost control over
their implementation as here the initiative passed to the localities. Usually what happened
was that local officials and groups pressed on too enthusiastically in carrying out their orders,
creating widespread chaos which then had to be dealt with by the centre applying the brakes.
This, in turn, would result in local inertia so that again the centre had to recreate momentum.
There were therefore violent swings of the pendulum: local interests sought to interpret
central policies in the most favourable way, in response to which the centre had to take
corrective action. As a general principle, therefore, Stalin’s political power was used initially
in a proactive way, but then became increasingly reactive. At times he came dangerously
close to losing control altogether.
There were three examples of this. The first is the wave of purges that swept through
the country during the 1930s and again after 1945. Stalin was certainly responsible for
initiating these. But he found them hard to control and they assumed a momentum beyond
what he had intended as local forces interpreted Stalin’s orders in their own way, whether
on collective farms or in factories. The incidence of terror therefore ebbed and flowed as
Stalin sought to regain control. The second example is the economy. Stalin launched
collectivization in 1928, only to find that it was implemented too rapidly as local party
officials and detachments of the NKVD exceeded their quotas. When Stalin applied the
brakes, the local interests became more defensive; this resulted in a second offensive, in
which agricultural initiatives caught up with the purges. Third, Stalin’s social changes were
also subject to fluctuation. He did not simply reverse a more radical Bolshevik trend: this
was already beginning to slow down under the influence of the NEP after 1921. Instead,
Stalin actually attempted to revive the radical policies, especially in relation to the family
and education, only to find that these added to the chaos of the early 1930s. He therefore
swung back to supporting traditional social institutions and reviving conservative educational
policies. This has been seen as a deliberate effort to underpin his personal authoritarian
status. It could, however, be interpreted as a more instinctive reaction to escape the
consequences of a programme that was not working.
None of this reduces the repressiveness of the Stalinist system. Stalin is still seen by
most historians as perhaps the most ruthless dictator of the twentieth century, responsible
for the deaths of many millions and prepared to make cynical use of terror on a massive
scale. It remains extremely difficult to attempt to justify Stalin’s actions or to rehabilitate
Stalin as a character. But, as the following sections show, the extent of his control was
often not in accordance with that of his brutality.

The political system: party, constitution and administration

The period 1929 to 1941 saw an apparently contradictory political development. On the
one hand, Stalin gradually squeezed all signs of democracy out of the party, confirming his
personal power and eliminating any possible rivals. On the other hand, changes in the Soviet
constitution appeared to extend the range of democracy in the electoral system and some
of the state institutions.
 Dictatorship in Russia 61

During the early 1930s the top levels of the party, especially the Central Committee, had
taken vital decisions concerning economic planning and had greatly accelerated the
collectivization of agriculture. At the same time, the party swelled its numbers and modified
its organization to include more members from trade unions and factories. But the high
point of the party was reached in 1934. The XVIIth Party Congress was full of euphoria
and self-satisfaction at the scope of the party’s achievements in industry. The next five
years, however, saw drastic changes as Stalin reduced the top membership in systematic
purges, as described in the next section; by 1939 none of the original Bolsheviks who had
participated in the October Revolution was left. Stalin also restructured the party as a pyramid,
with high grades being conferred as a reward for unquestioning loyalty.
Constitutional developments presented a strange contrast. The adoption in 1936 of a
more progressive constitution coincided with Stalin’s onslaught on the party. As part of the
build-up, there was unprecedented preliminary discussion, with millions of people being
consulted. A considerable change was introduced into the electoral system. Universal
suffrage now applied to all over the age of eighteen, while voting was to be secret, direct
and no longer weighted (as it had been in the 1918 and 1924 constitutions) in favour of the
urban workers. The soviets, or legislative bodies, were also reformed. The new Supreme
Soviet comprised two chambers, the Soviet of the Union, based on electoral districts, and
the Soviet of the Nationalities, reflecting the regional and ethnic composition of the country
as a whole. Article 30 of the constitution affirmed that collectively these were the supreme
organ of state power. The Supreme Soviet elected a series of specialist committees and a
thirty-three-man presidium for executive functions. The whole structure was undoubtedly
an improvement and remained in existence until the largely insubstantial amendments made
in Brezhnev’s 1977 constitution.
How can one explain the disparity between developments in the party and the constitution?
First, the 1936 constitution was made as progressive as possible in appearance in order to
attract a favourable response from the West. The mid-1930s, after all, saw a growing
concern within the Soviet Union about the spread of fascism and serious attempts by Stalin
to foster popular fronts against it. Second, Stalin used the constitution as a means of diverting
attention, internal and external, away from his purges. Hence, at a time when the party was
being systematically drained of its top leadership, publicity was given to the constitution.
This could well explain the remarkably restrained reaction of the West to events in the
Soviet Union in the late 1930s. Third, the 1936 constitution was democratic in theory only.
Many of the high-sounding principles were not implemented in practice and the supposed
power of the Supreme Soviet remained under the direct supervision of Stalin himself. He
therefore aimed to dominate the proceedings of the Soviet as directly as he controlled the
party. In theory, there was nothing to stop him, at the centre, from pursuing any administrative
policy he wanted.
But did this actually work? Revisionist historians have shown that we cannot take for
granted a direct connection between totalitarianism and efficiency – whether in Fascist Italy,
Nazi Germany or Stalinist Russia. The key point is that although dictatorship may well
have been strengthened at the centre, this could not be fully effective unless it was properly
implemented at local level, within both the state and the party. Centralized dictatorship had
to operate outwards through effective channels or, to use a different metaphor, the influence
of the apex had to seep down through all levels of the hierarchy.
There were widespread problems in the link between the central decision-making process
and the localities: in the party, the administration, the factories, the collective farms and
the army. Policies were issued by the leadership at the centre, but were not sufficiently
62 Dictatorship in Russia

specific. These were then variously interpreted by officials at different levels within the
state and party, all of whom had their own aims and agendas. Local party secretaries
defended the interests of their particular sector and interpreted orders from the centre as
they saw fit. This, in turn, came in for criticism from the centre, which soon realized that
policies were not being strictly adhered to. Stalin made frequent accusations that bureaucrats
were impeding policy; in 1930, for example, he complained that local officials had become
‘dizzy with success’ in exceeding central quotas for collectivization. The centre therefore
tried to restore discipline over the lower levels of management. Further waves of chaos
followed in the localities as rank and file members now attacked their branch leaders or
factory managers or collective farm chairmen. The latter retaliated by identifying trouble-
makers and dealing with them summarily. The whole decision-making structure was therefore
riddled with conflict and dissent. In the ensuing chaos the centre sought to restore a
semblance of order, by adjusting, intensifying or ending particular campaigns.
Hence, the centre would eventually react to local influences. According to Arch Getty,
‘Campaigns – including purges – could be stalled, sped up, aborted, or implemented in
ways which suited local conditions and interests.’58 Real power lay in local hands and with
local party and government machinery. ‘Even if one assumes Stalin’s personality was the
only or main factor in the initiation of policies, one must still explain the obvious disparities
between central orders and local outcomes.’59 The situation was further destabilized by the
constant expansion of local officialdom. This made it increasingly difficult for the centre
to control local officials without creating more officials, and thereby compounding the
problem. Ironically, Stalinism, supposedly confined to the centre, in practice created the
ideal conditions for ‘little Stalins’ in the localities. These were not a threat to the basis of
Stalin’s power, but they did threaten the effective enforcement of his policies.
Some historians consider that the ‘revisionist’ approach to Stalin’s power has gone too
far; the pendulum has therefore swung partially back towards the ‘top-down’ model.
Rosenfeldt, for example, argues that Stalin managed to keep a high degree of control over
the system via a Secret Department or Special Sector, which became, in effect, ‘Stalin’s
personal secretariat’.60 New investigations show that Stalin ‘did in fact play an extremely
important role in Soviet political life, that he constantly drove for an unprecedented degree
of centralization, that all key initiatives or major decisions gradually came to lie with him.’61
Pavlova argues that ‘the strength of Stalin’s power lay not in the organizational efficiency
and discipline of the political machine, but in its potential to act and in particular in the
far-reaching consequences of these actions’.62 Quite so. It would be as pointless to remove
Stalin from the equation as it would to remove Hitler. But the revisionist perspective has
certain advantages which the traditional view by itself lacked. While not denying that Stalin
was the overall initiator of policy, it removes the automatic connection between power and
its successful implementation. Ruthlessness could well mean efficiency, but it could on
occasions result also in chaos as local influences and cross-currents came to bear. This
would explain the sudden changes, oscillations and swings as the top tried to correct the
bottom’s attempts to adapt to the direction imposed by the top. Seen in this light, Stalin
had to give as much of his time to adjusting as to initiating, and to reacting as to planning.

The Terror
The most spectacular and notorious of all Stalin’s policies was his deliberate creation of a
state of total terror through a series of purges. The earliest of these affected the captains of
industry and plant managers, of whom about 75 per cent were eliminated in the early 1930s.
 Dictatorship in Russia 63

From 1934 onwards the purges became more openly political, with the assassination of
Kirov, Stalin’s main potential rival. There then followed a series of spectacular show trials
to deal with the party’s most prominent figures, while below the surface Stalin’s NKVD
under Yagoda, Ezhov and Beria hunted down numberless unknowns. The first show trial
(1936) disposed of Kamenev and Zinoviev; in the second, in 1937, Piatakov and Sokolnikov
were accused of being the Anti-Soviet Trotskyist Centre. The third, in 1938, accounted for
Bukharin, Rykov and even Yagoda – all on the charge of belonging to a bloc of right-
wingers and Trotskyites. The army was also affected. In 1937 Marshal Tukhachevskii, hero
of the Civil War years and now Commissar for Defence, was shot. All eleven deputy
Commissars for Defence were executed, together with seventy-five out of the eighty members
of the Supreme Military Council. The navy lost all eight of its admirals. Meanwhile,
throughout the Soviet Union, something like 300,000 people were executed and 7 million
put through the labour camps. By 1939 Stalin considered that the Terror had run its necessary
course and decided to call a halt.

Causes
Although the enormity of Stalin’s purges defies a completely logical explanation, a variety
of motives has been suggested.
One is that Stalin had a disastrously flawed personality. Khrushchev, for example, later
emphasized Stalin’s brutality, vindictiveness, pathological distrust and sickly suspicion. More
recently Tucker has maintained that, in addition to serving a political function, the show
trials also rationalized Stalin’s own paranoid tendency.63 Grey, however, adopted a different
approach, stressing that in launching the Terror, ‘Stalin was acting not from cruelty or lust
for power, but from the conviction that all real or potential opposition . . . must be uprooted
or destroyed’. Although his methods were extreme and the results devastating, Stalin was
part of a broader Russian autocratic tradition: ‘Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great, were
the forerunners on whom Stalin directly patterned himself.’64 Overy provided another
explanation of Stalin’s methods. ‘Power with Stalin seems to have been power to preserve
and enlarge the revolution and the state that represented it, not power simply for its own
sake.’65 In his recent biography Kotkin restores at least part of the importance of personal
factors, while combining these with political objectives. ‘The problems of revolution brought
out the paranoia in Stalin, and Stalin brought out the paranoia inherent in the revolution.’66
A second reason for the purges is that Stalin was never one to resort to half measures.
He aimed to wipe out the entire generation of Bolsheviks who had assisted Lenin between
1917 and 1924. This alone would guarantee Stalin as the sole heir to Lenin and would
secure his position for a lifetime. Most of the threats to his power were latent and would
possibly not reveal themselves for several years. They should, nevertheless, be dealt with
as soon as possible. Since these latent threats were impossible to identify, a large number
of people who would ultimately prove innocent of any form of opposition to Stalin would
also have to go. It was only by having such a clean sweep that Stalin could make sure of
eradicating those who would be a threat. In contrasting the liquidation programmes of Stalin
and Hitler, Ulam points out that, by and large, the latter dealt with individuals and groups
clearly identified as enemies of the Nazi regime.67 However, 99 per cent of Stalin’s victims
were innocent of any opposition to the Soviet system and were loyal Soviet citizens.
A third explanation was economic: the rapidity of Stalin’s proposed industrialization and
the implementation of collective farming required a disciplined workforce and a compliant
peasantry. In Stalin’s eyes, this could only be achieved by coercion. In industry, measures
64 Dictatorship in Russia

had to be taken to force reluctant factory managers to implement the new policies, while
peasant resistance to collectivization required ruthless measures from the dekulakization
squads of the NKVD. As the pace of industrialization accelerated during the Second and
Third Five-Year Plans the rapidly growing Gulag system of labour camps added further
numbers to the workforce. Convict labour built the Belomor Canal, opened in 1933, and
provided the mainstay of mining in Siberia, especially in the inhospitable Kolyma region.
Terror was therefore inseparable from Stalin’s vision of modernization: it removed obstacles
from its introduction and it provided the impetus for its fulfilment.
Some historians have pointed to the importance of Stalin’s reaction to external factors.
There are two very different variants of this. On the one hand, Stalin was obsessed with
the fear that the West would smash the Soviet regime before his industrialization programme
was complete. It therefore made sense to adopt a pragmatic approach to foreign policy;
Germany, the main threat, could be won over by a temporary policy of co-operation. Stalin
found it no more difficult to collaborate with fascism than with any other European system,
for he regarded it merely as a variant of Western capitalism. The old-style Bolsheviks, by
contrast, were profoundly anti-fascist and saw Hitler as a far more deadly enemy than either
France or Britain. According to Tucker and Conquest, Stalin therefore considered it essential
to remove the anti-Hitler element to make possible the accommodation with Germany which
eventually materialized in August 1939 in the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact. Deutscher
puts a different case. Stalin’s main worry was that his regime would be destroyed from
within – by internal revolt. There seemed little chance of this happening in 1936, unless,
of course, some major external catastrophe occurred, which could lead to a revival of the
scenario of the First World War; military crisis could well bring about a revolution. Stalin’s
solution was therefore to destroy any elements within Russia which could possibly take
advantage of such a situation. The show trials dealt with these potential threats by magnifying
the charge against them. They had to die as traitors, as perpetrators of crimes beyond the
reach of reason. Only then could Stalin be sure that their execution would provoke no
dangerous revulsion.68
All these explanations of the Terror have one thing in common. The decisions were taken
by Stalin himself and were part of his determination to develop a new totalitarian system
that covered all areas of Soviet life – the economy, society, politics and the military. He
therefore carries the main responsibility for the vast loss of life and the extreme persecutions
that these policies entailed. This much is still largely accepted. The assumption though was
that Stalin was always fully in control and that he dictated the momentum and scope of the
Terror. But it has now been questioned as to whether the Soviet administrative system was
really that efficient – or able to impose its will so completely on the localities. Instead, some
historians emphasize that there were ‘bottom-up’ reactions to ‘top-down’ orders, involving
vast numbers of ordinary people and providing an additional momentum that went beyond
Stalin’s intentions.
The main example of this was to be found in the countryside. Decrees for collectivization
were issued in a ‘top-down’ manner in 1929 by the All-Russian Central Executive Committee
(or Council of People’s Commissars), in line with Stalin’s policy. These defined precisely
who was to be classified as a wealthy peasant, or kulak, at the same time warning that
dekulakization should not become an end in itself. But these instructions did not prevent a
wave of terror developing as the dekulakization squads exceeded their instructions in a more
chaotic ‘bottom-up’ response. This became so serious that Stalin had to stem the flow in
1930, accusing the squads of exceeding their instructions. When the campaign was resumed
later that year, and extended between 1932 and 1934, the leadership attempted to exert more
 Dictatorship in Russia 65

direct control over the local officials, again with limited success. This interaction between
‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-up’ forces has been strongly stressed by recent authorities. Viola
distinguishes between the repressive policies which the state undoubtedly pursued and the
methods used by cadres in the field to implement these. The latter were affected by a ‘general
political culture of the early 1930s’, based on ‘a mixture of traditional Russian fanaticism’,
and ‘the unleashing of years of pent-up class rage and retribution’.69 Some historians have
gone even further. The repression and persecutions at local levels were manifestations of
the breakdown of central control. Arch Getty, for example, argues: ‘Stalin had initiated a
movement with vague instructions and ambitious targets. As the process unfolded on the
ground . . . it degenerated rapidly into chaotic and violent struggles based on local
conditions.’70
Other sectors experienced similar dynamics. In industry there was widespread chaos as
managers conflicted with the party and the workforce, all of which were pursing different
interests. An additional complication was the Stakhanovite movement. Thurston argues that
this created tension in factories as young Stakhanovites with personal and political ambitions
upset the productivity balance which managers tried desperately to maintain. In turn, the
latter became subject to accusations of wrecking and sabotage. ‘Whatever its scope, as the
terror unfolded the resentments and demands fostered by early Stakhanovism heightened
tensions in industry.’71 Much the same applies to the army. Reese claims that the party
organizations within the armed forces experienced upheaval which was well beyond the
control of the central administration.72 Overall, Reese adds, the Terror may have ‘begun at
the center’ but ‘at the local level some people took advantage of it to settle personal
scores.’73
Everywhere, therefore, local people had a real involvement in the Terror. Many were
genuinely convinced that the economy was riddled with ‘wreckers’ and saboteurs who had
to be brought to book. Here an important part was played by the show trials which helped
whip up suspicion of and resentment against managers.74 Peasants provided information
and they testified at local raion trials (the local counterparts to the show trials). Paranoia
spread through all levels of society, helping to maintain the momentum of terror at the
lowest levels. Rittersporn maintains that the regime’s emphasis on the ‘subversive’ activities
of ‘conspirators’ interacted with traditional prejudices to produce an ‘imagery of omnipresent
subversion and conspiracy’.75 According to Suny, ‘The requirement to find enemies, to blame
and punish, worked together with self-protection and self-promotion . . . to expand the Purges
into a political holocaust’.76
To be fair, these arguments from the early 1990s – about the importance of popular
influences – were provisional, pending further research in the light of access to the archives
after the collapse of the Soviet Union. More recently, historians have tended to return – at
least partially – to a more traditional approach, possibly because the archives themselves
had been pruned of detailed evidence covering the Terror. Litvin and Keep neither confirm
nor deny the strength of the revisionist case; instead, they see the ‘popular input’ as ‘an
auxiliary reason for the Terror’s vast scope.77 They argue that both approaches ‘elucidate
fundamental truths about Stalinism’. The traditional approach identified ‘the monist urge
of the Bolsheviks to gain mastery over social processes and human destinies’, while the
revisionists showed that ‘intention “from above” was often foiled by unforeseen reaction
“from below”, which in turn demanded ever more draconian “solutions” from the
leadership’.78 This seems eminently reasonable. Very few historians, other than apologists
for Stalin, would argue that he did not intend to inflict terror on an unprecedented scale or
that he was not personally involved in countless decisions sending countless unfortunates
66 Dictatorship in Russia

to their deaths. But if we are to escape the simplistic conclusions of Khrushchev (see
p. 63), we have to acknowledge that Stalin intended major changes in the economy, society
and foreign policy, as well as the removal of all opposition and democracy within the party.
These certainly involved unprecedented coercion at all levels. But coercion from the centre
did not necessarily result in control over local areas, which meant that chaos often forced
the adjustment of the degree of terror – sometimes to dilute it, but more often to exacerbate
it in the name of discipline. The argument about chaos does not, therefore, reduce Stalin’s
responsibility.

Effects
The last section concluded that Stalin’s terror was less carefully controlled and centralized
than has often been thought. The corollary to this is that the effects are also less clear-cut
and need partial reinterpretation.
It has been argued that the Terror was the chief method by which the party machinery
of the Bolshevik state was transformed into the personalized totalitarian dictatorship of Stalin.
As a result, Stalinism created a regime which was more consistently ruthless and pervasive
even than that of Nazi Germany. There is some truth in this. Any capacity for debate about
different strategies was certainly squeezed out of the centre of the party with the elimination
of Kamenev, Zinoviev, Bukharin, Rykov and others. The chances of persuading Stalin to
adopt a course different to what he had in mind, whether in economic or foreign policy,
could never seriously arise after 1934. It could also be argued that the Terror was a necessary
complement to the development of the Stalinist personality cult – the obverse side of the
same coin. Paradoxically, the Terror also made it easier to introduce the 1936 Constitution,
with more advanced democratic features than its predecessors; since these could easily be
neutralized in practice they were never likely to provide any check to Stalin’s overall power.
But terror has traditionally been seen as working in one way only – as tightening the
political system and therefore enhancing the powers of dictatorship. Some historians have,
however, suggested an alternative approach – that terror unintentionally unleashed confusion
into the political system, thereby limiting the extent to which dictatorship could operate
effectively. We have already seen how local groups in industry and the countryside interpreted
central decisions. Normally such groups would have been cautious, but the Terror acted as
a stimulus for greatly intensified activity. Hence, the result was more often the descent into
chaos, with wild oscillations developing as first the local groups implemented the instructions
of the centre in their own way before the centre attempted to restore an approved line.
Paradoxically, terror was a democratizing force, although in a negative sense: it created a
tyranny of the people quite as much as the traditional image of a tyranny over the people.
A similar controversy exists over the impact of terror on the economy. The top-down view
is that, in giving an enormous boost to Stalin’s authority, the Terror also provided a vital impetus
for the development of a command economy based on centralized planning and imposed targets.
Comparisons have been made between the rigidity of Stalin’s methods on the one hand and,
on the other, the greater flexibility of a mixed economic system that would have allowed for
higher standards of living and far less suffering. Some have argued that only centralized
planning, could have led to the rapid increases in heavy industry and armaments which
eventually saved the Soviet Union from Germany. Others now maintain that the application
of terror to the economy confused the lines of command, thereby undermining the whole Stalinist
system. Two examples can be given of this. One was the approach to collectivization and
dekulakization which, as we have seen, was conducted with excessive zeal by local party
 Dictatorship in Russia 67

officials and the NKVD. The result was one of the greatest mass disobedience campaigns in
the history of the twentieth century, aimed not at Stalin but at those who were interpreting his
orders more freely than even he wanted. The second example is the impact of the Stakhanovites
in industry. Their initiative, which was intended to promote an increase in productivity, helped
slow it down. In the climate of terror, managers were understandably hostile to anyone who
distorted their own implementation of industrial plans. This, in turn, made them targets for
denunciation, with the result that the very people most likely to achieve local stability were
removed. According to Acton, ‘far from improving efficiency, the terror was manifestly
damaging the economy’.79
This brings us to the impact of the Terror on the security of the Soviet Union. The purging
of the armed forces cannot but have had a negative effect on Soviet defences. Experience
was undoubtedly affected by the wholesale expulsion of officers. The real loss was of
experience at the highest level, surely a crippling blow to any impending war effort. The
result, it is generally argued, was a humiliating performance against Finland in the Northern
War of 1939–40 and a disastrous collapse when the Germans invaded the Soviet Union in
1941. Yet, again, the impact of the Terror may have been exaggerated. Most of those purged
in 1938 were not arrested but merely expelled from the party. Hence, the impact was more
limited than once thought. It was originally estimated that the purges had accounted for
between 25 per cent and 50 per cent of army officers. Estimates have put the figures at
somewhere between 3.7 per cent and 7.7 per cent.80 There are two main reasons for this
disparity. One is a previous underestimate of the size of the officer class in the Red Army,
the other the rapidity with which many were rehabilitated. Both of these points have the
effect of diluting the impact of the Terror on the efficiency of the armed forces. In any
case, many military expulsions from the army were not accompanied by loss of military
rank. It has now been estimated that 30 per cent of army officers discharged between 1937
and 1939 were reinstated.81 This was part of the policy of the central authorities to reduce
the scale of denunciations. At the XVIIIth Party Congress in March 1939, for example, it
was said:

Political organs and party organizations often expel party members far too light-
heartedly. The party commissions of the Political Administration of the Red Army find
it necessary to reinstate about 50 per cent of the expelled men because the expulsions
were unjustified.82

It seems, therefore, that measures were being taken to correct the severity of the purges
well before the German invasion.
Finally – and most important of all – how can we measure the impact of the Terror in
terms of the suffering it caused to the people? The number of victims is colossal – but
controversial. Accurate estimates have always been open to dispute and the release of official
material from the Soviet archives after the onset of glasnost only served to accentuate this.
The total number of deaths according to Nove and Wheatcroft was between 4 million and
11 million – significantly lower than Conquest’s estimate of 20 million. Soviet figures,
released in 1989 point to the execution of 681,692 people between 1937 and 1938 and a
total of 786,098 between 1930 and 1953.83 Estimates of prison populations also vary.
Rosefielde puts them at 10 million and Conquest at 8 million in 1938 (increasing to 12
million by 1952); Nove and Wheatcroft put the peak figure at 5.5 million in 1953, closer
to Soviet estimates of up to 4 million in labour camps. There is also a major difficulty in
distinguishing between those who died as a direct result of a purge and those whose deaths
68 Dictatorship in Russia

were caused by famine or diseases associated with Stalin’s agricultural policies. Inevitably,
comparisons have been made between the Terror inflicted in the Soviet Union and that
carried out by the Nazis. The Soviet purges had no equivalent to the directly targeted racial
extermination implemented with technological efficiency by the Nazi regime. Yet the
majority of Soviet citizens were dragged into the direct path of the Terror, whereas most
Germans (or at least those who were not racially excluded from the Volksgemeinschaft)
were not. Strangely, the main instigator of the Soviet terror was not as widely hated and
feared as was once thought. This was because the population was largely affected at the
local level by officials acting partly on their own initiative to interpret Stalin’s orders. The
man who was most directly responsible for the death of millions of innocent victims was
widely seen as the main hope for bringing the Terror to an end.

The economy under Stalin

Economic change was Stalin’s immediate priority once his authority had been confirmed.
He intended to transform the Soviet Union into a superpower by equipping it with a huge
industrial base. The process began in 1929 and continued, with the interruption of war, until
his death in 1953. Lenin’s New Economic Policy had allowed limited private enterprise in
the agricultural and industrial sectors. The peasantry were permitted to grow grain for the
market, under licence, while most of the smaller industrial enterprises were denationalized.
By the time of Lenin’s death, the NEP had attracted widespread support and its continuation
was urged by the ‘rightists’ within the party, including Bukharin, Rykov and Tomsky. Some,
however, considered that a more appropriate strategy would be rapid industrialization and
the introduction of collective farming. Trotsky, in particular, favoured this approach as part
of his strategy of Permanent Revolution.
At first, Stalin favoured the continuation of the NEP, which he associated with Socialism
in One Country. By 1928, however, he had reversed the NEP and associated Socialism in
One Country with collectivized agriculture and rapid industrialization. How can we explain
this apparent turnabout in economic policy? The following analysis shows that, in both
cases, Stalin was at the same time reacting to events beyond his immediate control while
trying to push the economy in a new direction. The result was bound to be a large measure
of confusion.

Collectivization
Between 1926 and 1927 Russia experienced a major crisis in food procurement, as only 17
per cent of all grain harvested by the peasantry reached the urban workers. Stalin’s response
to this was to bring back requisitioning – previously used between 1918 and 1921. This
proved too be the first step in a longer-term policy that ended the NEP and the introduction
of collectivization. How, precisely, the procurement crisis led to this is now open to debate.
One view is that Stalin used the crisis as an excuse to impose, from above, his own
preconceptions on the economy. The other is that he was pushed by circumstances, and
pressures from below, into emergency and makeshift measures.
By the first argument, Stalin was the prime mover of economic change. He saw two
possibilities for the future of the Soviet economy, ‘There is the capitalist way, which is to
enlarge the agricultural units by introducing capitalism in agriculture’; the alternative was
‘the socialist way, which is to set up collective and state farms’. The latter was preferable,
since it would provide the means for using agriculture as a way of subsidizing industry and
 Dictatorship in Russia 69

developing socialism. The problem was how to persuade an innately conservative part of
society to accept the role of being in the forefront of this socialist advancement. It was
becoming increasingly unlikely that they could be won over voluntarily since the NEP seemed
to be evolving away from communist principles: the movement was very much towards the
search for fair prices by the peasant producer. Stalin was convinced that all this needed to
change – quickly. He therefore launched a revolution from above to break with the economic
trend of the NEP and to herd the peasantry into collectives. He was also determined to
tighten his political control over the party: according to Brovkin, his move was therefore
‘a pre-emptive strike on the central party–state apparatus’.84 In essence, Stalin used the
procurement crisis as an excuse to destroy an economic system which was working
economically in order to gain full political control. It was a deliberate and calculated policy
which went against the natural course that Russia was taking. It marked the beginning of
the Stalinist revolution.
There is, however, a very different perspective. Stalin was not in control of the changes
in agriculture from 1927. He did not impose collectivization as a policy decision: instead,
he stumbled into it with neither planning nor forethought. The reason was that the NEP
was not working and the attitudes of both peasants and workers forced him into a fundamental
change of policy. The procurement crisis occurred because industry was failing to provide
the goods for the peasants to buy: hence they held on to their grain. Since it could not
satisfy basic consumer needs, the NEP had failed. Stalin therefore had no choice. According
to Lewin, ‘The market mechanism of NEP, which had worked wonders at the start simply
by following its natural course, had in the end led the regime into an impasse.’ Hence, when
faced with the procurement crisis, Stalin reacted instinctively by operating ‘the lever whose
use he best understood; he resorted to force’. Nevertheless, ‘When he manipulated this
particular lever in January 1928, Stalin did not know where the process set in motion by
his “emergency measures” would ultimately lead him.’85 It may even be that Russia was
moving away from the NEP anyway – and that Stalin simply went with the momentum.
Arch Getty maintains that, although Stalin was officially responsible for collectivization,
he was strongly influenced by ‘the social, economic and political environment that he did
not create’.86
These explanations seem to be mutually exclusive. But are they? Both emphasize Stalin’s
willingness to use force: this could be seen as the common and most important factor in
the change of economic direction. The consolidation of personal power was his most
important consideration, which meant that political criteria dominated the economic. It is
unlikely that he would have had a long-term economic blueprint for implementing socialism.
At the same time, he could certainly have developed a socialist strategy as a solution to his
immediate political difficulties. In 1927 he faced the prospect of political humiliation caused
by the procurement crisis. The alternatives were to make further concessions by continuing
the NEP or to take a tougher line by ending it. The latter was more attractive since it would
also enable him to cut down his remaining opponents, like Bukharin, who favoured the
continuation of the NEP. He therefore took an economic decision for political reasons. It
was not systematically planned – but, at the same time, he did not simply drift into it. He
reacted to circumstances to enhance his power. Once the power was secure he could convert
reactive measures into something resembling projective plans.
These were based on the principle of collectivization. The rationale which Stalin now
produced was that the existing organization of agriculture was a major obstacle to the
country’s overall economic development. Existing grain supplies were inadequate to feed
the industrial workers in the cities. The basic reason for this was the pattern of land
70 Dictatorship in Russia

ownership, which was based on fragmentation into small individual holdings. This led to
a capitalist mentality which promoted individual rather than collective values; the
procurement crisis could therefore be explained as the result of selfish hoarding. As the
reasons were simplified, the solutions could be made clearer. Temporary requisitioning in
1928 led inexorably towards collectivization, officially announced in 1929. Private land
was now to be brought within collective farms (kolkhozy) or state farms (sovkhozy). The
end of private property would, in turn, remove the remaining cause of class divisions: this
meant that the main target were the kulaks, the landowning peasants who had prospered
under the NEP. Finally, and above all, agricultural changes could be used to assist the
country’s industrial transformation.

Industrialization
As in agriculture, the reasons for Stalin’s industrial policies are now open to debate. Did
he dictate the process from above or was he pushed by pressures from below? The former
model may attribute too much to the decision of one man. As important as the initiatives
from above, it is now argued, were pressures from below. Stalin was under considerable
social pressure exerted by the industrial working class whose interests were out of line with
the more conservative peasantry. The working class wanted readily available food and job
security, both of which depended on a compliant peasantry. The latter, however, needed
higher commodity prices to enable them to buy more consumer goods. The problem was
that consumer goods would not guarantee job security for the workers or state investment
in industry. Hence, there was a tension between agriculture and industry, which was bound
to affect the decisions taken from above in the name of the various groups. By this analysis,
Stalin reacted to the needs of the working class in the cities, just as he had to the dangers
posed by the peasantry over the procurement crisis.
This, however, should not obscure the importance of Stalin’s own influence on
industrialization. By 1927 he had moved towards taking command of an economy which,
through the NEP, had been left for a while to take its own course. As we have already seen,
this was due partly to Stalin’s own accumulation of power, and partly to problems within
the economy which required his attention. Stalin therefore developed a series of priorities
related to the future security of his own regime. This meant an emphasis on heavy industry
and, in particular, on armaments. These decisions were taken by Stalin himself for reasons
which were partly political and partly a reaction to the conflicting pressures of sub-groups.
Once his position was secure, however, he was able to present a more coherent overall
strategy with a clearer underlying logic. Two of his priorities stand out.
The first was Soviet Russia’s very survival. Stalin took over Trotsky’s emphasis on the
threats of capitalist encirclement by the West. He then welded this anti-capitalism to a basic
commitment to Russia’s self-sufficiency, or Socialism in One Country. In February 1931
he summarized his position as follows:

We are fifty to a hundred years behind the advanced countries. We must make good
this distance in ten years. Either we do it or we shall be crushed. That is what our
obligations to the workers and peasants of the USSR dictate to us.87

From the start, therefore, Stalin was moving the Soviet economy on to a war footing.
This placed the emphasis on heavy industry at the expense of light or consumer industry,
since iron, steel and heavy machinery could more easily be converted to armaments
 Dictatorship in Russia 71

production. It could also be adapted to a change in Soviet military strategy which occurred
during the 1930s: Stalin came under the influence of military theorists who believed that
the Soviet Union should move on the offensive and prepare for a pre-emptive strike at a
time of its own choosing. This meant the building and stockpiling of massive amounts of
armaments. Through the industrial Five-Year Plans Stalin therefore gradually moved the
motive from defence against the West to the preparation of an offensive against it.
The other motive was ideological: industrialization was the only fully reliable means of
developing a socialist economy. Any genuine intention to ditch the NEP was bound to mean
a reorientation from agriculture to industry, since the NEP had been geared to the former.
Stalin had come to accept that Socialism in One Country had to enlarge the urban proletariat
and that the socialist way of doing this was through state control of industry. Any such
development would involve curbing the consumer sector, which tended to strengthen
capitalism. If capitalism was to be eradicated from the Soviet Union, action had to be taken
against the class most likely to try to preserve it. Hence, Stalin was able to justify using
the peasantry to subsidize industrial development and to reduce the emphasis on
consumerism. The reorganization of agriculture would therefore make possible accelerated
industrialization, thereby bringing the Soviet Union’s social structure more into line with
the classless society. Stalin was enough of a Marxist to be able to justify pragmatic decisions
with retrospective ideology.

The impact of Stalin’s agricultural policies

If one of the purposes of collectivization was to end private property, a key criterion for
success was surely the number of units collectivized. The process was implemented with
remarkable speed. The proportion of collective holdings increased from 23.6 per cent in
1930 to 52.7 per cent in 1931, 61.5 per cent in 1932, 66.4 per cent in 1933, 71.4 per cent
in 1934, 83.2 per cent in 1935, 89.6 per cent in 1936 and, finally, 98 per cent by 1941.
Unfortunately, all this occurred too quickly. The process spiralled out of Stalin’s control
as the centre of administration lost the initiative to the local party officials, local industrial
managers and local officials of the secret police, the NKVD. Stalin became so concerned
about their frantic activities that he accused them of being ‘dizzy with success’ and called
a halt in 1931. As the local officials fell into line with the new instructions, inertia set in
and Stalin had to start the whole process up again. Throughout the period the pendulum
swung violently backwards and forwards as the centre launched policies which became
distorted in their operation locally. The results were administrative chaos and a decline in
productivity. The figures for grain harvests declined between 1928 and 1929 from 73.3
million tons to 71.7 million. After a temporary recovery to 83.5 million tons in 1930, the
decline continued to 69.5 million in 1931 and 69.6 million in 1932. There were even more
dramatic losses in livestock over the same period: the number of pigs declined from 70
million to 34 million, sheep and goats from 146 to 42 million and pigs from 26 million to
9 million.
The impact on the peasantry was disastrous. It has been argued that this was partly self-
induced: the result of deliberate defiance sparked by fear and the threat of massive collective
resistance. Alternatively, agricultural production was sacrificed to hunt for kulaks as class
enemies. As a result, local conditions became so volatile that it became physically impossible
in some areas to fulfil even the normal agricultural processes of sowing, harvesting and
breeding. Either way, the result was misery – although the extent of this did vary. Nationally,
food consumption dropped between 1928 and 1932: bread from 250 kilos per head to 215
72 Dictatorship in Russia

and potatoes from 141 to 125. But these figures do not show that the countryside was far
worse off than the cities. Between 1932 and 1933 areas like the Ukraine experienced a
major famine. Some authorities have calculated that between 5 and 7 million people in the
Soviet Union – mostly in the Ukraine – died from starvation as a direct result of the policies
of collectivization. There was also an unprecedented upheaval in Russian society. Peasants
were turned against each other, as the kulak minority fell victim to the less affluent, who,
in turn, were affected by mass hysteria and panic. This had a knock-on effect on the urban
areas as factories, workshops and munitions were overwhelmed by the influx of millions
of desperate peasants seeking employment and survival.
Are there any arguments at all in defence of Stalin’s agricultural policies? It was once
held that collectivization did, at least, help to subsidize Soviet industrial growth, thereby
avoiding any dependence on western loans. But even this has now been challenged on the
grounds that it would have been administratively impossible to transfer resources effectively
from one sector to the other. Instead, agricultural changes impeded industrial growth: the
transfer of population was too rapid for industry to absorb, which meant huge administrative
problems and worsening social conditions. Recent arguments have stressed that there was
no net flow of resources from agriculture to industry; if anything, agriculture benefited from
industrial input, especially in the form of machine tractor stations. Unusually for any
historical assessment, conclusions now seem uniformly negative. It could certainly be argued
that the most vulnerable area of the Soviet economy between the Stalin and Gorbachev eras
was agriculture.

The impact of Stalin’s industrial policies

In 1928 Stalin introduced the First Five-Year Plan which was intended to transform the
industrial base of the Soviet Union. The organization of this was the responsibility of the
State Planning Bureau, or Gosplan. The emphasis was placed on heavy industry rather than
on consumer goods, and especially on coal, steel, oil, electricity and armaments. The Second
and Third Five-Year Plans followed in 1933 and 1937, the last of these being interrupted
by the German invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941.
But did they work? Stalin has certainly been credited with the development of heavy
industry. He did not, as is sometimes suggested, lay the actual foundations for this. The
Tsars had developed a considerable industrial capacity, based on five main centres: Moscow
(textiles), Petrograd (heavy industry), the Donetz region (coalfields), Baku (oil) and the
Ukraine (iron and steel). Lenin added plans for widespread electrification and for the
development of the Urals. Stalin did, however, enhance the scale of heavy industry: he was
responsible for the emphasis on ‘gigantomania’ – the construction of new industrial cities
such as Magnitogorsk and the expansion of heavy plant and steel production. The increase
was considerable: the First Five-Year Plan (1928–32) raised steel production from 3 to 6
million tons, coal from 35 to 64 million and oil from 12 to 21 million; the Second Five-
Year Plan (1933–7) increased the figures to 18 million tons for steel, 128 million for coal
and 26 million for oil. The last complete figures for the Third Five-Year Plan before it was
interrupted by the 1941 German invasion were 18 million, 150 million and 26 million,
respectively.
There was also a positive impact on employment: far higher levels were achieved than
had been anticipated at the outset of the First Five-Year Plan. Instead of the 3.9 million
expected in state industry by 1922–3, the number reached 6.4 million. The pace then slowed
to 7.9 million by 1937 and 8.3 million by 1940. The bulk of these were peasants leaving
 Dictatorship in Russia 73

the countryside. Urban populations also increased dramatically by something like 200,000
per month, or by a total of 30 million between 1926 and 1930. Unemployment ceased to
be a serious factor since the magnet of industrialization brought in ever increasing numbers
from the countryside and enabled more ambitious targets to be established for projects in
heavy industry. In the process, Stalin generated the capital and labour necessary for such
developments from within the Soviet Union itself. This was the purpose of subordinating
agriculture to industrialization. Stalin therefore effectively sealed Russia off from the West
and enabled the country to progress amid its hostility. Ultimately, Stalin’s industrialization
assisted the Soviet Union’s survival in the Second World War. According to Hutchings,
‘One can hardly doubt that if there had been a slower build-up of industry, the attack would
have been successful and world history would have evolved quite differently.’88 In a more
direct sense, heavy industrialization had made it possible for the Soviet Union to rearm. In
1933 defence comprised 4 per cent of the industrial budget; by 1937 it had risen to 17 per
cent and by 1940 to 33 per cent. Heavy industrialization therefore translated into ultimate
survival.
All these points are part of the traditional argument which credits Stalin with the
development of Soviet industrial infrastructure through ruthlessly centralized control.
Although this is still widely supported, a number of reservations have now been added.
Although Stalin did try to set an overall agenda, based on accelerating heavy industry,
the effectiveness of the planning mechanism has been called into question. Recent research
has shown that setting targets did not in itself constitute planning. It was one thing for the
central administration, including Gosplan, to draw up target figures for the different
components of industry, but quite another to develop the mechanism whereby these might
be achieved systematically. Hence, the ruthlessness of the Stalinist dictatorship did not
necessarily produce efficiency in the promotion of heavy industry. There was, for example,
little overall consistency in the pace of the Five-Year Plans. This was due largely to the
disruption caused by local influences. Local managers had to protect themselves by
exaggerating their needs for investment and by hoarding materials to ensure that they had
sufficient supplies. This meant shortages elsewhere and a consequent lack of overall balance.
There was a lack of harmony between the different sectors of the economy. Soviet industrial
development was, in fact, well behind that of the United States. The latter benefited from
auxiliary developments which enhanced industrialization, including transport, services and
managerial and accounting expertise.89 Many of these were provided by private enterprise.
This was missing in the Soviet Union, which meant that the initiative had to be taken by
the state.
The effects of this were generally negative. According to Shearer, having a ‘command-
administrative economy’ was not the same as having ‘a planned one’.90 Instead, there was
administrative chaos, which had serious consequences when the Hitler invaded the Soviet
Union in June 1941. This was because all the mechanisms of the Five-Year Plans had been
geared towards the country fighting an offensive war, whereas what the situation in 1941
needed was a defensive response. Centralized administrative control actually had to be
loosened to achieve the levels and types of mobilization for an effective fight-back. This
theory is in direct contrast to the argument that Russia defeated Germany because of
planning. On the contrary, Russia achieved this despite planning.
There is much less disagreement about the serious side-effects of industrialization. Russia
was unique in European history in experiencing an industrial revolution that produced no
corresponding improvements in the quality of life of her inhabitants. As will be seen in the
74 Dictatorship in Russia

next section there was, instead, massive social upheaval. There was serious overcrowding
in the cities and the huge dormitories and other shared accommodation resulted in squalor
and social disruption. There was an inherent contradiction in the whole process. The
agricultural and industrial transformation, that was intended to modernize Russia, actually
tore apart its social fabric. This made it more difficult to stabilize working patterns but
easier to exploit the population and the fear to which it was constantly exposed.
The final evaluation of the effect of Stalin’s industrialization returns to the cause. Starving
the consumer sector to develop heavy industry can be seen in two ways: either it was a
deliberate strategy to create an industrial superpower with a compliant population or it was
the result of inefficient planning worsened by local chaos. If it was the first, then any
imbalance was part of a design and the overall result was efficient industrialization bought
at a high price. If, however, it was the second, then the process of industrialization was
almost as badly flawed as that of agricultural change. This, in turn, raises the possibility
that the price was not only too high, but unnecessary.

Society under Stalin

Overall patterns of change

There were major changes in all areas of Soviet society during the 1920s and 1930s. But
the way in which they occurred provides a perspective on Stalin’s overall rule. The earlier
historical view focused on a shift from the experimentation carried out by the Bolsheviks
under Lenin to a more disciplined approach under Stalin, who revived traditional authority
but with a totalitarian emphasis. This undoubtedly occurred – but in a more disorganized
and haphazard way than was originally suggested.
Earlier arguments stressed the fundamental differences between Lenin and Stalin,
accounting for changes in social policy in two ways. First, the Bolshevik period of
experimentation brought with it the threat of social breakdown, with the extreme side-effects
threatening the pace of economic change. And second, Stalin had instinctive preferences
for more traditional forms of authority to deal with the backlash, since these enabled him
to adopt a ‘top-down’ approach in the ruthless imposition of his power. This transition has,
however, been oversimplified, suggesting a bloc change between two different systems.
More recent interpretations have suggested a more complex – but convincing – explanation
of the process, emphasizing its untidy variations between experimentation, reaction and
adjustment. The Bolsheviks had already begun to relax their own radical measures from
1921 onwards – the time of the NEP. Stalin, by contrast, attempted at first to revive the
flagging radical policies in the late 1920s and early 1930s to add momentum to his main
priorities – economic transformation and rearmament. The problem was that he lost some
of the initiative to local forces, whether in the form of over-enthusiastic officials or a resistant
workforce. As we have already seen, both exerted pressures ‘from below’ which distorted
the intentions from above. It was therefore necessary to impose more discipline which, in
turn, brought about the need for further adjustments.
This overall pattern was further complicated by the varying paces of change for the
different areas of society considered in this section. It was more straightforward in the cases
of social equality, women and the family, but more variable for religion, education and
culture.
The basic Marxist tenets of equality were not directly challenged by either the Bolsheviks
or their successors. These included classlessness and equality between individuals, gender
 Dictatorship in Russia 75

and nationalities. Changes, however, took place in how these were applied. The Bolsheviks
preferred a more literal and absolute interpretation of equality: in their attempt to eliminate
all social distinctions, they removed the insignia of rank within the Red Army, narrowed
differentials in wages, and took a strict line on gender equality, promoting women within
the central political system in a way that was unheard of in the dictatorships of the far right.
They also intended to weaken the family in order to liberate women and ensure the greater
influence of the state over the individual. In promoting cultural equality they even dispensed
with authoritarian figures like conductors in orchestras.
At first Stalin went along with these changes and even tried to accelerate them during the
1920s. But when his economic policies encountered the impediments of strict egalitarianism,
he rapidly came to the conclusion that the more traditional forms of hierarchy had to be
restored. He therefore reintroduced all traditional distinctions of army rank, along with
insignia and epaulettes (which were now given an exaggerated size, as were the army and
navy caps). He also developed a new hierarchy within the party and industry to ensure that
his instructions were fully implemented. In economic policy he realized that the earlier
methods of enforcing equality had interfered with economic growth. In order to create a
disciplined workforce, he ended the practice of ‘wage equalization’, arguing that it had nothing
to do with socialism. He considered it essential to draw up new scales ‘which would take
into account the difference between skilled and unskilled labour’.91 Hence, the old Marxist
principle of ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs’ was modified
under Stalin to ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his work’.
But this policy had mixed results. On the one hand, by increasing incentives it did
accelerate the momentum of industrial change. On the other, such incentives were, in
practice, highly selective. The only real beneficiaries were the Stakhanovites, or shock
workers who acted as an example to the rest of the workforce by exceeding their quotas.
As we have already seen, these were a mixed blessing anyway, since they frequently threw
into chaos any attempts by local factory managers to work out how to implement their
targets. Managers and local officials were, in turn under suspicion for either exceeding their
instructions, or dragging their heels. This meant that, although the egalitarian principle was
eventually redefined by Stalin, adjustments had to be made throughout the 1930s which
could not help but affect the different sectors of society.

Women and the family

In contrast to fascist Italy, authoritarian Spain and Nazi Germany, women and the family
were not automatically connected during the early Bolshevik regime. Official policy between
1917 and 1926 had been to destroy institutions that represented the traditional order,
especially the family. In her treatise The New Morality and the Working Class (1918)
Alexandra Kollontai had stated that ‘the old type of family has seen its day’.92 Emphasis
was placed instead on gender equality. Divorce was made extremely easy by the Decrees
of December 1917, while bigamy and abortion were no longer criminalized; indeed, the
latter was allowed by the Decree of November 1920.93 Stalin’s view swung from one extreme
to the other. At first, during the 1920s and early 1930s, he continued social radicalism as
the best means of promoting his target of rapid economic change. He was also of the view
that genuine equality had to operate between individuals within an all-embracing state rather
than through an officially sanctioned hierarchy. Later, however, he moved away from the
early radicalism of the Bolsheviks, reinstating the close connection between women and
the family within a more traditional social structure.
76 Dictatorship in Russia

Like most Bolsheviks, Stalin had initially followed the Marxist attitude that the family
was a means of bourgeois control and capitalist exploitation and that the measures against
it were the only means of building socialism. This was in contrast to Nazi, fascist and
conservative conceptions, all of which saw the family as an essential means of transmitting
values and allegiances, whether political, economic or ideological. Most of Stalin’s early
measures were therefore against the family and marriage. In the interests of industrial
advancement, labour laws frequently separated husbands and wives for work in different
areas, ignoring any individual appeals made against this. Abortions were justified on the
grounds that they enhanced the freedom of women and, at the same time, prolonged their
active service to the state.
Stalin’s conversion to a different course was the consequence of the devastating social
backlash of these policies. Women experienced a host of problems. They had less legal
protection against unwelcome sexual pressures, fewer guarantees of support from husbands
or partners, while inadequate care facilities for their children meant that they faced the
‘double burden’ of domestic roles and the expectation of increased contributions to the
workforce. More important for Stalin was the impact of earlier policies on population
growth, with all the implications for labour shortages. In many of the urban areas, there
were more abortions than live births: Leningrad in 1934 had 42 abortions per 1,000 population
compared with 15.9 births,94 while the figures for Moscow in the same year were 154,000
abortions to 57,000 births. The main reason for this was that the migrant labour to the cities
made a desperate attempt to limit the size of their families because of cramped and squalid
living conditions. The weakening of the family released widespread social problems. Loss
of control and discipline among children meant an increase in juvenile delinquency,
hooliganism, gang warfare and riotous behaviour, all of which placed pressure on the state
and on judicial processes. Overall, as Timasheff argues: ‘The disintegration of the family
did not disturb the Communists, since this is precisely what they wanted to achieve, but
they were disturbed by quite a few collateral effects of the disorganization.’95
This certainly applied to Stalin. He probably spared little thought for the anguish caused
by the sexual exploitation of women, the trauma of broken families, or the break-up of
personal relationships. But there is no question that he was so concerned about the impact
on economic growth and social stability that he felt impelled to introduce major changes
from 1936 onwards. His priorities were to enlarge and stabilize the workforce and restore
a form of social control through which state discipline would operate. He therefore reversed
his policy on the family and reverted to a more traditional emphasis on its importance. His
views were reflected in a Pravda editorial (28 May 1936) on official discussion about the
abolition of legal abortion. This indicates how far attitudes had been reversed since the
Bolshevik era. ‘When we speak of strengthening the Soviet family, we are speaking precisely
of the struggle against the survivals of a bourgeois attitude toward marriage, women and
children. So-called “free love” and all disorderly sex life are bourgeois through and
through.’96 The regime now attached more importance to the marriage process in registry
offices and to the issue of official marriage certificates; wedding rings were actually
introduced in state shops from 1936. Divorce was made more difficult from 1936 through
greater restrictions, tighter conditions and higher fees. In the same year abortion was
abolished in all cases except where there was a risk of the transmission of hereditary
diseases or a threat to the health of the mother. Within the revived family there was now
a greater emphasis on the relationship between mother and child, which earlier policies had
both questioned and weakened. Stalin even introduced a new cult of motherhood, with posters
depicting mothers with babies in their arms, and new state honours were accorded to women
 Dictatorship in Russia 77

with a large number of births. Nowhere is the contradiction of Stalinism greater than in its
reluctant but determined acceptance of family.
How beneficial to women were Stalin’s changes? In theory women experienced many
new advantages. By Article 122 of the 1936 Constitution, they were ‘accorded equal rights
with men in all spheres of economic, state, social and political life’. These gave women
‘equally with men the right to work, payment for work, rest, social insurance and education’
and also ‘state protection of the interests of mother and child, pregnancy, leave with pay’,
and provision of ‘a wide network of maternity homes, nurseries and kindergartens’.97
In practice the impact was mixed. It is true that women experienced greater security as a
result of tightening the obligations of men within the marriage settlement. There was also
a larger proportion of women in higher education and the professions than in Germany and
Italy. On the other hand, they were still not strongly represented politically. Although they
accounted for 15 per cent of the membership of the lower levels of the party, there were
none at the higher levels, in contrast with the situation in the Lenin era. Above all, there
is little evidence that the ‘double burden’ had been eased. More generous maternity provision
would normally reduce the number of women in the workforce; the latter, however, actually
increased in Leningrad from 44.3 per cent of the total in 1935 to 49.6 per cent in 1937.98
The revived importance of marriage placed more emphasis on women’s role as homemakers
and child-bearers – without, however, reducing the consequent problems in continuing to
be a major part of the labour market. Stalin’s revision of the egalitarian laws also had an
adverse impact on women, who were particularly affected by the increasing differentials in
pay. There were also inadequate attempts to control the misogynistic tendencies that had
always existed in the workforce.
Extensive research has now been done on women’s attitudes throughout the Stalin era.
One of the more surprising revelations is the strength of these attitudes, especially in the
opposition shown to the enforcement of collectivization in the rural areas which ran parallel
to the first Five-Year Plan. There were numerous ‘women’s riots’ (Bab’i bunty) which,
according to Viola, ‘proved the most effective form of opposition to the Soviet state’.99
Certainly there was no equivalent action by women in Fascist Italy or Nazi Germany. Less
spectacular, but no less deeply felt was the continuing resentment against the ‘double
burden’, especially in towns. This remained until the end of the Soviet Union – and beyond.
Even as late as the 1970s and 1980s women continued to experience its impact: the average
time per week taken in shopping and queuing for limited food supplies was nineteen hours.
Divorce remained high and many women in the Slavic regions of the Soviet Union had as
many as nineteen abortions in their lifetime. Improvements had certainly occurred after
1936 and again after 1956. But these were relative only to the harshness of life in the 1920s
and early 1930s.

Religion
Stalin’s policies towards religion followed a more complex pattern of change and counter-
change. They involved a more frequent swing of the pendulum than in other areas, probably
through his periodic attempts to compensate for earlier policies that had not worked properly.
What had started as adjustments became major changes, which were then considered to
have got out of control. Stalin’s ambivalence towards religion did not help here. He had
permanently lost any attraction to it as a result of his early experiences at an Orthodox
seminary; instead he had become an ardent Marxist and claimed to be second only to Lenin
in adapting Marxist theory to Russian conditions. He preferred, therefore, to undermine
78 Dictatorship in Russia

religion whenever possible – and certainly when he felt that the need arose. But he was
enough of an opportunist to see the advantages of religious support when he adjusted to
more traditional policies in other fields. At first he followed his preferences. He attacked
religion as a threat to the advancement of communism and he accelerated the campaign for
atheism which had started under Lenin.
From 1928, for example, church steeples were pulled down by volunteers in the League
of the Godless. Decrees the following year prohibited religious worship for all but registered
congregations and placed a blanket ban on attempts at conversion to religious belief;
particularly affected by these restrictions were evangelical groups like the Baptists. The
Orthodox Church suffered a reduction in the number of clergy, many of whom were arrested
and deported to labour camps. This period lasted until 1934, when official policy relaxed
its pressure on religion as part of a more general easing that also affected the economy and
society. The new approach was formalized by Article 124 of the 1936 Constitution, which
guaranteed ‘freedom of conscience’ and ‘freedom of religious worship’. This was, however,
balanced by an undertaking that the right to ‘anti-religious propaganda shall be recognised
for all citizens’.100 The effectiveness of such activity declined and, by 1938, membership
of the League of the Godless had fallen threefold from the 1932 figure.101 By contrast,
church attendance increased, especially during key festivals such as Easter and Christmas,
while the 1937 census (eventually cancelled by the government) suggested that over 50 per
cent of the population admitted to having religious beliefs.
By 1937–8 the pendulum swung back against religion, which became caught up in the
era of the purges. The main reason for this was a perception that most denominations had
over-asserted themselves during the preceding period of respite. Priests were accused of
extending their freedom to practise religion into promoting anti-atheist activity and involving
themselves in social and political issues. All religious denominations were affected by the
purges: a disproportionate number of victims were clergy and religious believers. The mass
closure of churches resembled that of earlier times: for example, Leningrad had only five
in 1938, compared with thirty-three in 1937.102 Then, from 1939, the most extreme measures
were removed, allowing the pendulum to swing back towards the centre. The outbreak of
war in 1941 made a further difference as, according to Davies, the regime was ‘forced to
recognise the strength of popular belief’ and ‘turned to the Church in its hour of need’.103
During the struggle with Germany, the Orthodox Patriarchate, abolished during the radical
period, was re-established to provide a focus for Russian patriotism. Ward argues that the
newly formulated policy led unofficially to a ‘Church-State concordat’.104 Stalin preferred
the Orthodox Church to the Catholics and Protestants, largely because he was more confident
that the Orthodox hierarchy would be able to restrain its laity from activities that might
threaten the wartime agreement. On the other hand, where Stalin felt that there would be
little benefit to the regime, concessions were much less likely. There was no let-up for the
Jews who, in the circumstances, were hardly likely to support the German invaders, nor for
the Muslims, the majority of whom were outside the German invasion path.
The impact of Stalin’s policies towards religion proved less damaging in the
longer term than at the time. Stalin’s successors, especially Khrushchev and Brezhnev, were
no more successful in undermining the Christian churches, which experienced a major
resurgence after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. The experience of Jews was more
uncertain. For the remainder of Stalin’s regime there was a significant increase in official
and popular anti-Semitism. This was especially distressing since it came on top of the policy
of systematic extermination carried out by the Einsatzgruppen during the German invasion.
The war had a mixed legacy. On the one hand, Russia now contained (after the United
 Dictatorship in Russia 79

States) the largest concentration of Jews in the world. On the other, the post-Stalinist era
saw increased pressure for emigration from the Soviet Union, especially to Israel. Islam
was also under strong suspicion, partly for its cohesive ideology and partly for the social
bond it provided in Asiatic republics like Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Stalin reduced the
26,000 mosques in the Soviet Union in 1921 to 1,312 by 1942 and ensured that Islamic
courts were abolished. But Islam was not permanently weakened. Its abiding social influence
among the population, in the form of large families and hostility to birth control or abortion,
along with the less extensive war damage in central Asia, meant that the population increased
more rapidly in the Muslim regions than in the Slavic areas. This had enormous implications
for the future: Islam outlived not only Stalinism but the Soviet Union itself.

Education and culture

Education underwent a similar transformation to the social changes outlined above. Under
Lenin during the 1920s educational theory had favoured relaxed discipline and group activity
in schools based heavily on Marxist ideas. At first Stalin intensified the Leninist approach.
In history, for example, the books of Pokrovskii emphasized the negative heritage of the
Tsarist and capitalist past. This seemed to harmonize with Stalin’s plans to modernize industry
and accelerate socialism. By 1934, however, Stalin had completely changed his approach.
He reintroduced formal learning, examinations and grades, and the full authority of the
teacher. Another example of revived conservatism was the restoration of school uniforms,
including compulsory pigtails for girls. History now placed a positive slant on the Tsarist
past and created heroic figures out of Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great. Stalin also
reversed the tendency of the 1920s to base access to higher education on social criteria.
Thus, instead of favouring applicants from the proletariat, Stalin insisted that the demands
of technology would be best served by selecting candidates with the highest academic
qualifications. As in other areas, his educational changes were an attempt to wrest the
initiative back from the radical dynamic which had spiralled out of control by the end of
the 1920s.
Much has now been written about the impact of Stalin’s initial radicalism and subsequent
conservatism in education. Both phases had advantages and disadvantages. During the
‘radical’ period, from 1927 to 1931, there were huge increases in institutions and enrolments.
The priority of Narkompros (People’s Commissariat for Enlightenment) was to create
education for the masses. Numerically this seemed to work. Schools increased from 118,558
in 1927–8 to 166,275 by 1933, and pupils from 7.9 to 9.7 million. During the same period
1,466 specialist institutes came into existence in higher education, student numbers increasing
from 168,500 to 458,300. Soon, however, the benefits of an expanding base gave way to
the problems of declining quality: in 1931, Narkompros was criticized by the party for
falling short on educational standards, in particular for general knowledge. The end of the
radical phase brought a revival of standards, partly through the restoration of formal content
such as the theoretical element of the sciences, and partly through the reintroduction of
entrance requirements based on academic success. This meant a change in the social intake
of students. Access to higher education once again favoured the more articulate sectors of
society and the automatic preference previously given to the proletariat was ended. It seems,
therefore, that overall numbers benefited from the radical phase, while improved standards
resulted from the return to traditional policies.
The official line intruded also into culture. At first, Stalin was even more radical
than the Bolsheviks. Art and literature were used to publicize the Five-Year Plans and
80 Dictatorship in Russia

collectivization. ‘Artistic brigades’ were set up, under RAPP or the Russian Association of
Proletarian Writers. As in other fields, however, complications soon emerged. Works of
real merit declined, while local application of artistic criteria allowed mediocrity to flourish
in an atmosphere of repressive confusion. Clearly something had to be done to instil order
and raise standards. In 1932, therefore, RAPP was replaced by the Union of Writers, which
redefined cultural criteria in accordance with ‘Socialist Realism’. This laid down direct
guidelines so that writers would mobilize the masses and aim consciously to be engineers
of the human soul. All literary works must also provide ‘a truthful, historically concrete
depiction of reality in its revolutionary development’.105 In 1958, the writer Sholokhov
provided a more straightforward description of Socialist Realism as ‘that which is written
for the Soviet government in simple, comprehensible, artistic language’.106 Stalin was also
susceptible to Russian tradition, showing a liking for Russian stories and folk tunes. His
own view of Socialist Realism, therefore, was that it was ‘National in form, Socialist in
content’,107 in effect a synthesis of socialist change and highlights from the past.
Again, the results were mixed. On the one hand, he reduced all art forms to state
subservience, which had obvious implications for quality. Painting was used directly for
political propaganda, which meant that most works were stilted or conveyed blatant untruths
about collectivization. The most common themes were contented peasants, industrious
workers with Stakhanovite aspirations, and the paternalist qualities of Stalin himself.
Architecture was even more directly controlled by the state, since plans and designs could
rarely be achieved without state funding. Priority was given to prestige projects, which
formed an integral part of the regime’s obsession with gigantomania. On the other hand,
the Soviet Union experienced something akin to a renaissance in music and film. Composers
were able to work more successfully under Stalin’s constraints than under Hitler’s. The
output of Prokofiev, Khachaturian, Kabalevsky and, above all, Shostakovich was impressive
by any standard, and the Soviet Union had a greater musical output than any other dictatorship
of the twentieth century. Film, too, was used more subtly in Russia than in Germany, and
Sergei Eisenstein directed October, Battleship Potemkin and Ivan the Terrible, all abiding
masterpieces.
Overall, Stalin moved from an early acceleration of Bolshevik radicalism to a revival of
past traditions. This has usually been put down to a deliberate policy on his part. It might,
however, be more appropriate to see it as a response to initial failure. As the regime appeared
increasingly ramshackle he had to abandon radicalism and attempt to restore authoritarianism
through more reliable traditions. The later policies were generally more beneficial – or less
harmful – than his earlier ones. The fracturing of society by collectivization and enforced
industrialization was predominantly negative, while the revival of traditional values provided
greater stability for social and cultural developments. Without exception, however, the
changes were introduced to bolster an insecure dictatorship. As a result, the main casualty
of all Stalin’s policies, whether radical or traditional, was the individual.

Support, opposition and resistance

We have seen from the previous sections in this chapter that the impact of Stalin’s policies
on the Soviet population was massive. As a direct result of his policies people throughout
the Soviet Union experienced disruption and relocation, famine and starvation, class war
against the kulaks, repression of religious groups, and incarceration within the gulag system.
Earlier historical views emphasized that the people were crushed into total subjection, or
at least into conformity, by a monstrous totalitarian system. This is, of course, hard to
 Dictatorship in Russia 81

discount, especially when the all-pervasive presence of the NKVD and the high-profile and
exemplary purges and show trials are taken into account. But, as in the case of Nazi
Germany, recent historians have drawn attention to the various shadings of public opinion,
from open support, through outward conformity and passive acceptance, to cautious
opposition and direct resistance. The type of response therefore depended on the actual
relationship between the individual or group and the regime.
Open and voluntary support for the regime came from those who benefited from it or
from those who were convinced by its ideology or propaganda. Many of the younger
members of society were effectively indoctrinated within Komsomol and questioned or
rejected many of the more traditional values. A new elite of workers grew out of the Stalinist
economic system and, like the Stakhanovites, were held up and rewarded by it, benefiting
particularly from the end of wage equalization. The command economy created a vastly
expanded bureaucracy, with many managerial positions dependent on Stalin’s economic
policies. Even more obviously, the security services, especially the NKVD, depended on
unquestioning loyalty to the regime. As the Party extended its roots into all the Republics
of the USSR, those who became involved in it developed as yet another elite, with reason
to prefer this new Sovietization to the old national identity. Overarching all of these
commitments to particular roles was the total loyalty accorded to Stalin – part of the
‘personality cult’ condemned in 1956 by Khrushchev. To an extent this was a substitute for
the more abstruse ideological details with which much of the population found it so difficult
to identify. Partly because of the cult, Stalin escaped much of the opprobrium heaped on his
officials, remaining in the public view detached from the policies he set in motion.
Open support needs to be distinguished from outward conformity and passive acceptance.
The latter tended to come from those who had not become part of a new elite, but from
those who nevertheless depended upon the state for their basic livelihood. Fitzpatrick has
argued that: ‘The state was the monopoly distributor of goods and services, which meant
that allocation – the power to decide who got what – was one of its most important
functions.’108 This meant that the state held individuals under its control more than any
other association, whether the family or local community. The state could therefore go some
way to enforcing compliance. Or to put it the other way round, the very survival of
individuals and groups often depended on co-operation with the state. Hence, according to
Fitzpatrick: ‘Homo Sovieticus was a ring-puller, a time-server, a freeloader, a mouther of
slogans, and much more. But above all, he was a survivor.’109 Never was this more applicable
than during the late 1930s, when survival could mean collaboration with the NKVD and
playing an integral part in the ‘endemic’ terror.
At times there would be grumbling, hostility and disobedience. Most of this was cautious
and restrained, but NKVD soundings showed that the unpopularity of the regime existed
in most towns, although it was more embedded in the villages.110 This was caused by a
variety of factors. The most widespread was resentment of the low standard of living which
had not been improved by the low priority given in Stalin’s policies to consumer goods;
this was exacerbated by envy of those who were clearly better off because of their elite
status or political placements. The result was the most common of all manifestations of
civil disobedience: the spread of the black market was in defiance of all the state regulations
which aimed to kill off any elements of capitalism, especially at local level.
With the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union, the opening of
official archives has produced considerable evidence of more fundamental opposition, even
resistance. According to Viola,
82 Dictatorship in Russia

The wider story of resistance reveals an entire world within the Stalinist dictatorship,
a semi-autonomous world of many layers, cultures, and languages of existence,
experience, and survival that coexisted with, evolved within, interacted with, and at
times bypassed the larger and seemingly omnipresent reality of Stalinism.111

A variety of examples of resistance has been identified. During the First Five-Year Plan
there were widespread strikes by industrial workers; in 1932 there were also uprisings against
food shortages and cuts in rations in the Lower Volga region, the Ivanovo Industrial region,
Ukraine, Belorussia, and even the Urals and western Siberia. Particularly apparent was
peasant resistance to enforced collectivization amidst the general chaos of enforcement by
local officials, especially in provinces like Riazan. Women were often at the forefront of
such incidents. McDonald explains that

Men were much more likely to be arrested for protest than women and tended to stay
on the sidelines unless the women were threatened. Only then could peasant men step
in on the grounds that they were defending their womenfolk.112

As well as gender, sexuality became a focus for small-group resistance: in open defiance
of criminal laws, there was an increase in organizations of and partnerships between
homosexual men. Finally, the closest any groups came to outright rebellion against the
Soviet state were representatives of the various nationalities who questioned the whole basis
of their inclusion into the USSR. To these we now turn.

The nationalities under Stalin

Stalin had considerable knowledge of the non-Russian nationalities – more, in fact, than
Lenin. Born in Georgia, he had extensive experience of transcaucasian politics and problems.
In 1913 he wrote Marxism and the National Question; his appointment by Lenin as
Commissar for Nationalities (1917) was the first of his major posts, to which he subsequently
added liaison official between the Orgburo and the Politburo (1919) and Secretary General
of the Communist Party (1922). Increasingly he abandoned his Georgian roots and Russified
himself, in much the same way that Hitler, the Austrian, became Germanized and Napoleon,
the Corsican, regarded himself as French. The significance of this background was threefold.
He understood the aspirations of the non-Russian nationalities and knew the concessions
they wanted; he was prepared to grant some of these. At the same time, he had developed
sufficient control over the Party to neutralize these concessions in practice. And, because
of his own conversion, he was willing to expand Russian influence beyond any limits
achieved by the Tsars.
There were certainly some positive indicators for the nationalities during the 1930s. The
1936 Constitution was intended as a showcase for the Soviet Union and was widely praised
in the West. For one thing, the concept of federalism was considerably widened. The eleven
republics, reconstituted from the four of 1924, were the RSFSR, Ukraine, Belorussia,
Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenia and Kirghizia.
This seemed broadly in line with the extension of political rights to all sectors of the
population through a new and equal suffrage from the age of twenty. There was also an
apparent attempt to balance social and ethnic representation in the form of a bicameral
Supreme Soviet, the Soviet of the Union being elected through equal constituencies, the
Soviet of the Nationalities representing the nationally-based republics. This was not dissimilar
 Dictatorship in Russia 83

to the structure of the United States Congress, with its House of Representatives based on
constituencies and the Senate representing the States themselves. Article 13 of the 1936
Constitution affirmed that ‘the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is a federal state, formed
on the basis of the voluntary union’ of ‘Soviet Socialist Republics’, which were ‘equal in
rights’. There was even a statutory provision for ending this union; by Article 17, ‘the right
freely to secede from the USSR is reserved to each constituent republic’.113 Could it be that
the Stalinist regime had provided a new and more equitable balance between the demands
and needs of the social and ethnic sectors of the Soviet Union?
In theory, perhaps. But there developed an ever-increasing gap between theory and
practice. Stalin continued – and intensified – the trend established by Lenin: subjecting the
Republics to the Communist Party and thereby strengthening the ties imposed by democratic
centralism. Under Stalin the process was taken a step further with the imposition of personal
control of the party – so that even the concept of ‘democratic’ centralism became
questionable. At the same time, Russians controlled the membership of the CPSU and
virtually monopolized the key organs. Aspiring apparatchiks of non-Russian origins, such
as Khrushchev from the Ukraine, had to accept the logic of the channels of power radiating
outwards from Moscow. They therefore hastened to Russify themselves as an essential step
towards controlling the Party and – through careful appointments – the nationalities. Stalin
also aimed deliberately at cultural assimilation. Although he allowed cultural diversity in
theory, this was in practice subjected to creeping Russification. Since the Five-Year Plans
involved centralization, the language used throughout was Russian; this applied also to the
army and the central organs of the Party. Russification was also apparent in ‘Socialist
Realism’ (see p. 80). Even the Soviet Union’s historic focus was essentially Russian as
Stalin revived the reputations of Alexander Nevsky, Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great.
But attempts to control the nationalities went beyond this – into the realm of terror.
These were applied to all sectors – including the kulaks among the peasantry, the industrial
managers and workforce, the membership of the CPSU, and the armed forces. Peasants
in the Ukraine, for example, were perceived as a double threat – for their resistance to
collectivization after 1929 and for their potential separatism. The Kazakhs were seen in
very much the same way. Indeed, under Stalin, mass repression was often conducted
primarily through ethnic channels. This applied particularly to the quotas of victims for
each republic and each area. The appropriate branches of the NKVD intensified the pressure
on the unfortunate inhabitants in an attempt to exceed the quota. In this way the channels
frequently flooded and systematic targeting turned into mass slaughter. In other cases,
economic and social policies became doubly repressive in certain areas. Hence the Ukraine
was targeted for the most intensive action against kulaks and other ‘saboteurs’ during the
collectivization campaign between 1929 and 1931, with the mass requisitioning of grain
resulting in famine and the death of at least 10 million Ukrainian peasants through starvation.
A particular characteristic of the Stalin era was the deportation of entire ethnic groups
and their relocation in other parts of the Soviet Union. Mawdsley provides three reasons
for this. One was the development of a system initially related to the deportation of kulaks
and peasants who resisted the implementation of collectivization; the network of labour
camps and the system of ‘special settlers’ could readily be adapted to ethnic groups. Another
reason was the pressure of external events, especially in the Far East. When Japan invaded
northern China in 1937, the Soviet authorities authorized the resettlement of the Korean
minorities to the central Asian Soviet Republics of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Third, the
Soviet annexation between 1939 and 1940 of eastern Poland, the Baltic States, Bessarabia
and parts of Finland provided new subject peoples who were subsequently thinned out by
84 Dictatorship in Russia

deportations to Siberia and central Asia. Among those resettled were 390,000 Poles and
180,000 Romanians, Ukrainians, Latvians, Estonians and Lithuanians.114 This provided the
setting for the more extensive and extreme persecution of the national minorities, which
occurred after the German invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941.

SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY, 1918–41

The foreign policy of Lenin and Stalin was highly complex, and involved numerous zigzags.
At its best, it was skilful, confident and effective; at its worst, it was blundering, uncertain
and ruinous. Throughout the period there was an internal conflict between ideological
motives on the one hand and, on the other, a pragmatism which bordered on cynicism.

1918–24
The new Bolshevik leaders displayed an intense ideological hostility to the Western powers,
believing in the inevitability of their eventual collapse and also in the necessity of this as
a precondition for the survival of communism. Trotsky argued that this collapse must be
accelerated by Russia: ‘Either the Russian Revolution will create a revolutionary movement
in Europe, or the European powers will destroy the Russian Revolution.’115 At the same
time, Lenin had to take into account the immediate situation in which he found himself and
make policy adjustments as he considered necessary. This meant that he was forced to make
agreements with Western powers in a style of diplomacy which was essentially pragmatic.
Although he also encouraged foreign revolutionary activity, as ideology seemed to demand,
this became a lesser priority.
There were two reasons for this apparent turnabout. The first was the influence of
external developments. From the time of the October Revolution until the death of Lenin
the Bolsheviks had to adapt to the pressure exerted on Russia by Western powers. This was
far more important than that exerted by the Bolsheviks on the West. The second factor was
even more important. Throughout the period the Bolsheviks remained vulnerable to internal
pressure from the Russian population. This did much to condition their response to the
West. Faced with these two interrelated influences, Lenin had to adapt rather than devise:
his foreign policy had to be more reactive than projective.
This became apparent almost as soon as the Bolsheviks had seized power. Ideology
suggested using the First World War to spread revolution among the working classes of
the capitalist powers. Common sense, however, dictated withdrawal from the war as quickly
as possible. Russia’s continued involvement had already brought down the Tsarist regime
and the Provisional Governmnent; why should the Bolsheviks now succeed where these
others had failed? The revolutionary impetus would almost certainly continue. Just as the
Provisional Government had fallen to the Bolsheviks, so the Bolsheviks were, in turn,
vulnerable to the Socialist Revolutionaries who were establishing separatist governments
to the east of the areas under Lenin’s control. To make matters worse, it was becoming
apparent that the bulk of the population was swinging its support behind the Socialist
Revolutionaries early in 1918. The Red revolution was therefore in danger of being overtaken
by a Green revolution. Marxists – Lenin and Trotsky included – were only too aware of
the importance of war as a catalyst for such a change. After all, ‘war is the locomotive of
history’ and, to use a different metaphor, acts as the ‘midwife for every old society pregnant
with a new one’. While being optimistic that history was on their side, the Bolsheviks were
more pessimistic about the indiscriminate impact of war.
 Dictatorship in Russia 85

As soon as he had come to power, therefore, Lenin issued a decree which called upon
‘all warring peoples and their governments to begin negotiations immediately for a just and
democratic peace, a peace without annexation and indemnities’. Unfortunately, Russia’s
negotiations with Germany at Brest-Litovsk at the end of 1917 hit a major snag. The
Germans insisted that Russia surrender, as the price for peace, Finland, Lithuania, Poland
and the Ukraine. The Russian delegation withdrew from the talks in February 1918 but was
forced to return. This was partly because the Germans had renewed their military offensive
and partly because the Socialist Revolutionaries were applying increasing pressure in the
Urals and the Volga region. In March 1918, therefore, the Bolsheviks conceded, in the
Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, to all the German demands. This enabled the Bolsheviks to deal
more immediately with their internal opponents, the Greens, and with the growing threat
of the Whites and their Western support.
It might be thought that the Civil War gave the Bolsheviks ample reason for permanent
hostility to the West. After all, the latter had provided supplies to the Whites through
Murmansk, Archangel, the Black Sea, the Caucasus and Vladivostok. Although this
intervention failed, there was to be further anti-Bolshevik action, in the form of aid to Poland.
In 1920, a Polish invasion conquered much of the Ukraine. The Red Army launched a
counter-attack, coming within striking distance of Warsaw, but a second Polish offensive
was made possible by extensive reforms carried out by Marshal Piłsudski and French help
provided through General Weygand. By the Treaty of Riga (1921) Russia suffered its
second territorial amputation in three years. Yet the period after 1921 saw attempts by Lenin’s
regime to come to terms with the West. There were two main reasons for this.
The first was pressure from within. Although the Whites had been defeated in the Civil
War and the Socialist Revolutionaries reduced to a splintered opposition, the Bolsheviks
were faced from 1920 with a wave of resentment from the peasantry. There were widespread
revolts and peasant wars, largely in reaction to the unpopular policy of War Communism.
The introduction of the New Economic Policy in 1921 was a tactical retreat which also
required a different attitude to the Western powers. The priority was now the end of Soviet
isolation and the acceptance of coexistence with capitalism. This would enable Soviet
Russia to concentrate on industrial growth in an attempt to create a balanced economy. It
might even be necessary to attract Western investment. According to Kamenev in 1921,
‘We can, of course, restore our economy by the heroic effort of the working masses. But
we cannot develop it fast enough to prevent the capitalist countries from overtaking us,
unless we call in foreign capital.’116 There was, however, more to it than that. By 1921 the
Bolsheviks had come to the conclusion that they could not hope to control the population
of Russia and engage in an offensive against capitalism.
The second reason for the search for coexistence was the failure of the Bolshevik hope
that a revolutionary flame would spread across Europe, consuming Russia’s enemies. The
year 1919 had brought high expectations but eventual disappointment. The left-wing socialist
regimes of Bavaria and Hungary were overthrown, while the communist uprising in Berlin
was put down, in January 1919, with considerable bloodshed. Clearly world revolution was
further off than had originally been hoped. There was a powerful irony here. Trotsky and
Lenin had believed that Bolshevik organization would be sufficient to activate revolutions
against the regimes in the leading capitalist states. In other words, a ‘top-down’ communist
initiative would promote a ‘bottom-up’ campaign against capitalism. In fact, the reverse
occurred. The ‘bottom-up’ threat came from within Russia, forcing the Bolshevik leadership
to take a ‘top-down’ decision to live with capitalism rather than to try to destroy it.
86 Dictatorship in Russia

Between 1921 and 1924 the Bolsheviks therefore reversed the connection between
diplomacy and revolution. Marxist theory had previously emphasized revolution as the main
strand of foreign policy, with diplomacy a method of adjustment. In the light of experience
between 1918 and 1921, however, Lenin focused on diplomacy in practice, although he
continued to use revolution as a subordinate theme.
Diplomacy produced some real gains for the Soviet government: in 1921 and 1924, for
example, trade agreements were drawn up with Britain. But the real target for Soviet activity
was Germany, isolated and resentful after the harsh terms of the Versailles Settlement. As
Lenin had stated in his 1920 speech, ‘Germany is one of the strongest advanced capitalist
countries, it cannot put up with the Versailles Treaty . . . Here is a situation we must utilize.’117
He did. The Soviet Foreign Minister, Chicherin, conducted secret negotiations with Rathenau,
his German counterpart. These reached their climax in Genoa in 1922. Ostensibly, Russia
and Germany were themselves objects of discussion among the other powers, but the tables
were turned when the Russo-German Treaty of Rapallo was announced. Germany became
the first state to extend full diplomatic recognition to Bolshevik Russia; both countries agreed
to expand trade, and Germany would provide credits and investment for Russian industry.
Rapallo is usually seen as a diplomatic victory and a vindication of Lenin’s approach. It
succeeded in splitting the Western powers and destroyed any immediate chance of a united
Western response to communism.
Meanwhile, Lenin continued to use revolutionary activity and propaganda as a subsidiary
device in his foreign policy. In March 1919 he established Comintern (Communist
International) to co-ordinate communist movements and to bring them under the overall
direction of Moscow. In 1920 Comintern based its whole structure on that of the Soviet
Communist Party and declared itself to be ‘a single Communist Party having branches in
different countries’.118 Its purpose was to promote radical activity and to weaken anti-Soviet
policies pursued by Western governments. At the same time Lenin established relations
with ‘countries of the East’ (a term which has now been replaced by ‘less developed
countries’) to encourage them to throw off Western influence. It did not matter that most
of these countries were themselves anti-communist. The important thing was they were also
anti-imperialist; wars of liberation in the colonies could be just as damaging for the Western
powers as internal revolution.
The overall impression was that ideology was subordinated to practicality. At the same
time, Lenin clearly did not relish what he was doing. He could not, of course, admit that
he was being forced in this direction by pressures from within Russia since this would not
fit well with Bolshevik claims to be leading the revolution rather than merely reacting to
it. Hence, he described his diplomacy with the West as a temporary expedient, a mere
diversion until the preferred policy of worldwide revolution could be resumed. The main
advantage, as he saw it, was that diplomacy would enable Russia to work on the differences
between the various capitalist states. In a speech to Moscow party activists in December
1920, he argued:

So long as we have not won the whole world, so long as we remain economically and
militarily weaker than what is left of the capitalist world, we must stick to the rule: be
able to exploit the contradictions and oppositions between the imperialists.119

He saw three particularly important areas of discord: in the Pacific between the United
States and Japan; the differences between the United States and Europe; and, above all, the
gap between the wartime Allies and defeated Germany. One – or more – of these was bound
to provide communism with opportunities in the future.
 Dictatorship in Russia 87

1924–39
Stalin’s foreign policy was so complex that it is the subject of considerable controversy.
This section will, therefore, provide a brief outline of the main developments and then attempt
to interpret their meaning.
At first the Soviet government succeeded in extending its respectability. It gained
diplomatic recognition, in 1924, from Britain, France, Italy and Japan. In 1926 a second
agreement was drawn up between Russia and Germany; the Berlin Treaty was, in effect, a
neutrality pact which also renewed the various agreements made at Rapallo. There were,
however, complications in Soviet relations with the West. In 1927, for example, the British
government broke off diplomatic relations after ordering the Soviet embassy in London to
be raided. By the end of the 1920s Stalin was deliberately playing down friendship with
the West. He argued that the Soviet Union no longer needed any form of Western economic
assistance and that, in any case, capitalism would be destroyed by an economic crisis. He
decided to keep open the contact with Germany by renewing, in 1931, the Treaty of Berlin,
but he made no attempt to assist the Weimar Republic to prevent the rise of Nazism between
1931 and 1933 and even restrained the German Communist Party (KPD) under Thälmann
from collaborating with the German Social Democrats (SPD). Indeed, Stalin saw the latter
as merely another manifestation of that same crisis of capitalism which had increased
Hitler’s support; hence, social democracy was the ‘moderate wing of Fascism’.120 Stalin’s
insistence that the SPD were unworthy of power because they were social fascists certainly
played a part in destroying any meaningful opposition to the Nazis, who came to power in
January 1933.
Between 1933 and 1934 Stalin attempted to maintain close relations between Russia and
Germany. In 1935, however, he appeared to change course and to draw up agreements to
contain Germany. Two examples are the Soviet–French and Soviet–Czechoslovak Treaties
of Mutual Assistance. Meanwhile, Stalin had also secured Russia’s entry into the League
of Nations and from 1935 he sponsored the growth of popular fronts throughout Europe in
which communists, socialists and liberals were encouraged to resist fascism. By 1938,
however, Stalin was clearly envisaging further alterations in Soviet foreign policy, while
1939 saw separate negotiations between Russia and, on the one hand, Britain and France
and, on the other, Nazi Germany. In August 1939 Stalin eventually settled for Germany
and the foreign ministers of the two powers, Molotov and von Ribbentrop, formally signed
the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact.
This somewhat tortuous route to Soviet security has often puzzled Western observers.
It is, however, possible to examine Stalin’s motives on two levels. First, what was the
underlying aim of his relations with other powers throughout the period as a whole? Second,
and arising from this, why did he pursue particular policies at various stages between 1924
and 1939?
The underlying motive seems to have been to provide security from abroad for the
construction of communism at home. This would eventually enable the Soviet Union to
turn its power outwards. In Stalin’s own words, ‘Our banner remains, as before, the banner
of peace. But if war breaks out, we shall not be able to sit with folded hands – we shall
have to make a move, but the move will come last.’ Stalin assumed ‘hostility from all
imperialist powers and, therefore, the need to keep them divided’.121 Short-term security
therefore merged with prospects for long-term offensives. From this basic assumption, three
priorities followed logically.
The first was the transformation of Russia into an industrial superpower: this would give
the military base necessary for survival. In justifying his policy of Socialism in One Country
88 Dictatorship in Russia

and the introduction of the planning system, Stalin constantly harped on the theme of Soviet
insecurity. In February 1931, for example, he said, ‘We have lagged fifty to a hundred years
behind the leading countries. We must cover this distance in ten years. Either we do that
or they crush us.’122 The second priority was to safeguard the Soviet Union, while this
reconstruction was under way, by not precipitating attacks from the West. Stalin therefore
opted for Socialism in One Country rather than Permanent Revolution, which might well
upset the external situation to Russia’s internal disadvantage. The third, and more distant,
option was eventual military involvement to defeat the capitalist West: this would both
ensure Soviet security and enable the recovery of territory lost by the treaties of Brest-
Litovsk (1918) and Riga (1921).
In his approach to foreign policy, therefore, Stalin gave priority to rapid internal growth
regulated by a planning mechanism, short- or medium-term external security, and long-
term military intervention. This was not a blueprint but a series of fairly general objectives
which linked the economy to industrial and military mobilization. It was, however, much
more difficult to decide what specific line of foreign policy was most likely to achieve
them. This is where historians have disagreed with each other. Broadly, they have followed
two lines of argument.
The first is based on the so-called ‘Rapallo’ approach. Stalin tried to continue the special
relationship established with Germany by the Treaty of Rapallo in 1922. This made sense
for a number of reasons. Rapallo and its successor, the Treaty of Berlin (1926), secured for
the Soviet Union investment and military co-operation from Germany. It put pressure on
Poland, which had, after all, won the Russo-Polish War of 1920–1. It might even have
neutralized the Anglo-French combination. This was an important consideration since Britain
and France were always likely to be hostile to Russia. Sooner or later, Russia’s special
relationship with Germany would pay off, especially if the latter could be enticed into a
conflict with the other capitalist powers. In this event, Soviet involvement could be used,
in Stalin’s words, to ‘throw the decisive weight onto the scales, the weight that could be
preponderant’.123 The second view is quite different. Stalin adopted a multilateral approach
based on improved relations with Britain and France, rather than a bilateral relationship
with Germany. This ‘collective security’ strategy would have two main advantages. It would
allow the Soviet Union a more pivotal role in European diplomacy while, at the same time,
building relations with the two countries most likely to constrain Germany, always the main
potential threat to Russia.
Are these two interpretations entirely antagonistic? By one analysis, the Nazi–Soviet Non-
Aggression Pact of August 1939 was a logical and direct consequence of a long-term strategy.
Stalin’s main hope, it is argued, was that Germany and the West would tear each other apart
and that Russia would be well placed to pick up the pieces. One of the main reasons for
Stalin’s willingness to see the Nazis in power in Germany was that they would be much
more likely than a democratic regime to attack the West. Another reason was that the
alternative – a collaboration between the SPD and KPD – would be highly embarrassing to
Stalin. The SPD were pro-Western and were therefore likely to reduce the chance of a split
between capitalist powers. Hitler’s rise, it would seem, suited Stalin perfectly. Of course,
Hitler’s policies from 1934 onwards were more forceful than Stalin had anticipated and it
was therefore necessary to take steps to contain Germany and to remind Hitler that Germany
had no option but to consider an eventual deal with Russia. But the collaboration between
the Soviet Union and the Western powers was never more than a temporary expedient,
designed to last until Stalin was able to return to his preferred policy. The opportunity came
in August 1939 and the Nazi–Soviet Pact represented, in Tucker’s words, ‘the fruition of
 Dictatorship in Russia 89

Stalin’s whole complex conception of the means of Soviet survival in a hostile world and
emergence into a commanding international position’.124 A new war was now inevitable, a
war which Stalin could help start. Then, from a position of neutrality, he could watch the
combatants exhaust themselves. He could then involve Russia, claim territory and sponsor
revolutionary movements to create a ring of socialist states.125
All this has a certain logic. But it is stronger in its analysis of the general purpose of
Soviet rearmament than it is in explaining the details of Soviet diplomacy. For one thing,
it attributes to Stalin the sort of long-term diplomatic objectives which amount almost to a
blueprint. The very considerable changes in Stalin’s foreign policy are seen as mere tactical
deviations in pursuit of a long-term strategy. But might they not actually have been a change
of long-term strategy as a result of short-term indecision, uncertainty and awareness of
previous errors? Within two years of Hitler’s rise to power, Stalin realized that Nazism was
far more resilient than he had expected. The only answer was a total change of strategy, to
end the connection established with Germany in the 1920s and to seek accommodation with
the West and Czechoslovakia. Stalin also ordered communists everywhere to collaborate
with socialists, in direct contrast to his previous policy towards the German communists
and socialists. The eventual switch back to Germany can be explained by the events of
1938. The Anschluss and the crisis over Czechoslovakia showed the West in the worst
possible light. Stalin was forced to the conclusion that the Western powers were unreliable
allies. It appeared that they would now allow Germany to rearm and expand without
hindrance. In 1939 Stalin had two options open to him. He could maintain the Soviet
friendship with France and extend it to Britain – but with more definite and specific military
commitments. Or he could seek agreement with Germany and draw up a territorial settlement
which would eliminate any possible cause of conflict. During the first half of 1939 Stalin
seemed willing to incline towards either alternative but was eventually infuriated by the
unwillingness of Neville Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister, to meet his terms. In
August 1939, therefore, he informed the Politburo of his decision to do a deal with Hitler.
In this perspective, the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact can be seen as one of two last-
minute alternatives, rather than as the logical outcome of all Stalin’s previous policies.
This line reveals a very different Stalin. Had he been as consistent as Tucker maintains,
he would have had to transcend not only Chamberlain and Daladier – admittedly not too
difficult – but even Hitler, whose forward planning has now been called into question by
a whole battery of historians. Stalin was no better as a diplomat than his contemporaries.
Perhaps he was worse. Indeed, his whole commitment to foreign policy has been open to
dispute. According to Haslam, he ‘took only a sporadic interest’ in this area; ‘on the whole,
Stalin abstained from direct intervention and contented himself with merely reviewing and
approving . . . Even the process of review was occasionally delegated to others.’126 We
could go further down the road opened by Haslam. The zigzag in policy shows the impact
of subordinates, upon whom Stalin relied to extract him from previous errors. For example,
Soviet agreements with France in 1935, together with the promotion of broad anti-fascist
fronts all over Europe, owed much to Foreign Minister Litvinov, who sought to improve
Soviet relations with the West through involvement in the League of Nations. But Stalin
had become convinced by 1938 that collective security had been destroyed by Anglo-French
appeasement towards Germany. He now blamed Litvinov for having involved the Soviet
Union too closely with France and replaced him with Molotov, who was more in favour
of moving towards Germany. Hence Stalin was influenced by advisers – until things went
wrong and he needed someone to blame. By this approach, Stalin was no more in control
of Soviet foreign policy than he was of many aspects of his domestic policy.
90 Dictatorship in Russia

The Nazi–Soviet Pact and the period 1939–41

The terms of the pact may be summarized as follows. Germany and Russia undertook ‘to
desist from any act of violence, any aggressive action, and any attack on each other, either
individually or jointly with other Powers’. Should either become involved in any conflict,
the other would remain strictly neutral. Neither would ‘participate in any grouping of
Powers whatsoever that is directly or indirectly aimed at the other party’.127 Accompanying
the Non-Aggression Pact was a secret additional protocol which provided for the demarcation
of spheres of influence in eastern Europe, including Poland. The two countries proceeded
almost immediately to implement this. Stalin invaded Poland on 17 September 1939, two
weeks after the start of the German Blitzkrieg from the west. The Red Army encountered
comparatively little resistance, for the Polish airforce had been obliterated by the Luftwaffe
and the Polish army had already been defeated by the German Panzer divisions. A further
agreement followed between the two powers, partitioning Poland for the fourth time in that
unhappy country’s history. The Soviet Union regained the Belorussian and Ukrainian areas
lost to Poland in the war of 1920–1. From this point Russia and Germany shared a common
frontier and maintained an uncomfortable coexistence – until Hitler broke this by launching
an invasion in June 1941.
The Non-Aggression Pact and its accompanying protocol put into perspective every other
initiative taken since Stalin’s assumption of full control in 1929. Not surprisingly, two very
different interpretations can be advanced about whether it was a success. These depend on
whether the pact was the outcome of a long-term plan or whether it was put together at the
last minute to compensate for all the frustrations and difficulties which had occurred during
the 1930s.
The first case is that Stalin had always intended to come to terms with Germany. This
had been a long and difficult process, involving several changes of direction on the way.
But the Non-Aggression Pact achieved much of what he had wanted. Hitler would now feel
more confident to attack Poland, thereby provoking France and Britain. Stalin would be
able, through the secret protocol, to recover Soviet territory lost to Poland in 1921, secure
in the knowledge that Britain and France still regarded the limit of the Polish state as the
Curzon Line. Russia would also be able to restore the economic connections with Germany
that had originated at Rapallo. Seen in this light, therefore, the Pact was the culmination
of everything that Stalin had planned. There is, however, an alternative approach. Rather
than the long-sought outcome of a long-term strategy, the Pact was merely one of the
unforeseen events in a long sequence of dislocating changes in Soviet foreign policy; far
from being in control of the situation, Stalin seized the Pact with Germany as a lifeline
once he had become aware of the failure of previous attempts to co-operate with France
and Britain. The protocol has also been misinterpreted. It contained no specific partition of
Poland – but rather a more general agreement on spheres of influence in eastern Europe.
In fact, Stalin invaded eastern Poland partly to limit the extent of the German advance;
Roberts goes so far as to say that ‘The partition of Poland in September 1939 was the direct
result not of the Nazi-Soviet pact but of the unforeseen rapidity of the Polish military
collapse’.128 Again, Stalin was reacting rather than planning.
How necessary was the Nazi–Soviet pact for Russia? Soviet historians argued that
‘subsequent events revealed that this step was the only correct one under the circumstances.
By taking it, the USSR was able to continue peaceful construction for nearly two years and
to strengthen its defences’.129 It has also been suggested that between 1939 and 1941 Stalin
was able to create a buffer zone in eastern Europe, without which the impact of the 1941
 Dictatorship in Russia 91

invasion would have been even worse than it proved to be. There are, however, alternative
arguments based on the proposition that the pact was not necessary for Russia. Laqueur
maintains that, without it, Hitler would not necessarily have invaded in 1939. He was, after
all, too preoccupied with Poland, Britain and France to draw off divisions for yet another
campaign. More telling is the observation that even if Hitler had moved immediately, the
Soviet Union could well have been better off. By 1941 German military production had
grown proportionately more rapidly than the Soviet Union’s, enabling Hitler to launch in
Operation Barbarossa the sort of offensive that would have been impossible in 1939.130
Besides, Russia lost any strategic advantage in 1940 with the fall of France and the inability
of Britain to launch a direct attack on the continent. This more than cancelled out any benefits
gained by Stalin from territorial acquisitions after the Nazi–Soviet pact. The notion of an
advantageous respite between 1939 and 1941 is therefore simplistic.
Even if it were not, there is plenty of evidence that Stalin misused those two years. At
the end of 1939, for example, he involved the Soviet Union in a war with Finland – to push
back the Finnish frontier from the outer suburbs of Leningrad and to secure facilities for a
naval base near the mouth of the Gulf of Finland. The Winter War proved more difficult
than Stalin had anticipated and the Red Army experienced a number of humiliating reverses
while struggling towards its objectives. It also showed up Russia’s military deficiencies and
bankrupted her diplomatic reputation to the extent that she was expelled from the League
of Nations. In all probability these failings convinced Hitler that he could afford to attack
the Soviet Union sooner rather than later. Stalin’s other activities aggravated Hitler further
between 1940 and 1941: dissatisfied with Soviet gains from the 1939 pact, he put pressure
on Hitler to make further concessions, especially in the Balkans. There were also diplomatic
complications. In September 1940, Germany, Japan and Italy concluded a Three-Power
Pact, which Stalin was invited to join. But when Molotov, the Soviet Foreign Minister,
visited Berlin in November 1940, he refused to adhere to this pact until the remaining Soviet
demands in eastern Europe had all been met. According to Grey, this meeting probably
confirmed Hitler’s decision to invade Russia in 1941.131 Yet, even when it became obvious
that Soviet relations with Germany were deteriorating rapidly, Stalin showed little awareness
of any threat of invasion. He assumed – wrongly – that this would not happen without an
ultimatum and that he would have time to make any necessary Soviet concessions. Worse
still, he ignored all warnings that Hitler was about to launch an attack. Further details, and
the reasons for his errors, are dealt with in the next section.

THE GREAT PATRIOTIC WAR, 1941–5

The invasion of 1941 and Soviet defeat, 1941–2

Operation Barbarossa was launched by Hitler on the Soviet Union on 22 June 1941. Other
states soon followed in declaring war on Russia, especially Romania, Italy, Slovakia, Finland
and Hungary. The invasion force totalled over 3 million men in 162 divisions, the greatest
in the whole of human history to that date. The objective was no less than the total destruction
of the USSR.
At first, German troops were remarkably successful. Their advance was divided into
three prongs – against Leningrad in the north, Moscow in the centre and Kiev in the south.
By the end of 1941 the whole of the Baltic coastline had been conquered, Leningrad was
under siege and the Germans were within 25 miles of Moscow. Although the attempt on
the capital had failed, most of the Ukraine was occupied, including Kiev, Kharkov and
92 Dictatorship in Russia

Odessa, and the Crimea was under German control. When the offensive was resumed in
the spring and summer of 1942 the main advances came in the south with the crossing of
the Don and the capture of the oilfields of the Caucasus. By August 1942 the Germans had
reached the Volga and Stalingrad. During the early phases of the invasion the Soviet armies
folded like cardboard. German tanks, for example, advanced an unprecedented 250 kilometres
within the first three days and, within the first three months, the Wehrmacht killed more
than 1 million Russians and took 1 million prisoners. Hitler told his generals at the outset:
‘We have only to kick in the door and the whole rotten structure will come crashing
down.’132 The results seemed to justify this confidence. The Germans had captured an area
that extended 600 kilometres from west to east and 1,500 from north to south, while 56.7
per cent of all Soviet losses in the war were incurred in the initial shattering campaign of
1941–2. The Soviet workforce initially fell from 66 million to 35 million and the construction
of industry accomplished within the Five-Year Plans was threatened with total destruction.
How can we explain this sensational collapse? The Soviet vindication was the numerical
superiority of German armaments in 1941. This simply will not do. Soviet forces
outnumbered the Germans and, at the time of the invasion, the Soviet Union possessed
24,000 tanks (compared with the Germans’ 3,400). Western historians have tended to focus
on the element of surprise and Stalin’s defective strategy before and at the time of the
invasion. This is nearer the mark but now needs to be considered within the context of
recent research into the specific ways in which Russia prepared for war. The combination
of newer and long-established views suggests two closely related reasons. First, during the
1930s, Soviet military infrastructure had been prepared for the type of war that Stalin had
considered most likely in the future. Second, however, Stalin blundered into a war of the
type – and in circumstances – that he had not envisaged.
The first of these has been given prominence in studies based on recent research. During
the 1930s a key purpose of Stalin’s Five-Year Plans was to prepare Russia for Total War
by means of rapid industrialization. But his was not to be the traditional pattern of defensive
warfare to repel invaders. Instead, Stalin had been converted to a new strategy by military
theoreticians like Varfolomeev and Triandafilov. They argued that since defensive measures
had not worked for Russia between 1914 and 1918, the Soviet Union should in future prepare
to deliver a swift and crushing blow through ‘the conduct of operations of annihilation’.133
To do this the Soviet Union would need to deploy all its forces as soon as war broke out
to deliver a sudden and decisive blow. Hence the priority of the Five-Year Plans was
rearmament in preparation for an offensive war and, throughout the 1930s, tanks, artillery
pieces, aircraft and small weapons were produced and stockpiled on a large scale.
It has, indeed, been argued that Stalin was preparing a pre-emptive strike on Germany,
which Hitler foiled by launching his invasion first. This theory was originally advanced at
the end of the 1980s by V. Rezun, a Soviet defector and former intelligence official. Writing
under the pseudonym Suvorov, he presented, in 1990, an account of Stalin’s intentions to
attack Germany in June 1941.134 The controversy about the claim has been intense.
Radzinsky135 inclines towards Suvorov’s proposition on the grounds that Chief-of-Staff
Zhukov drew up a document warning of an impending blow from Germany and
recommending that Stalin ‘anticipate the enemy and attack the German army at the moment
when it is the process of deploying and before it has time to organize its front and the
coordination of its various arms’.136 Attack should be concentrated south-west, to separate
Germany from its southern allies. This seemed to be in accord with Stalin’s general views
on war. In May 1941 a directive from Stalin stated that his regime should implement Lenin’s
intention to defeat capitalism ‘just as soon as we are strong enough’ and that ‘any war
 Dictatorship in Russia 93

waged by the Soviet Union is a just one’.137 Among those who are more doubtful that Stalin
was planning an invasion are Mawdsley,138 Volkogonov139 and McDermott.140 Navigating
carefully between contrary points of view, Uldricks argues that Stalin’s speech hinting at
aggression was deliberately leaked as a warning to Hitler not to invade. Furthermore, Stalin
turned down Marshal Zhukov’s proposals for a Soviet strike. The evidence is therefore
circumstantial, and a direct assumption that Stalin was planning an imminent attack on
Germany ignores the inconsistencies of Soviet foreign policy as a ‘frequently shifting
balance of elements involving both appeasement and resistance’.141 Instead, it makes more
sense to see a Soviet offensive as one of Stalin’s longer-term options. As Litvin and Keep
argue, ‘Had Hitler not invaded, Stalin might have launched a strike later, but this is to enter
the realm of hypothesis’.142
The real issue not so much that Stalin had planned a war in 1941, but rather that he had
allowed his thinking about the type of war he would wage in the future to blind him to the
threat in the present. The German invasion in June 1941 did not come without warning and
there is plenty of long-established evidence that Stalin wilfully ignored the threat posed by
Germany at the time, entirely misjudging the situation and committing colossal blunders.
The most basic of these was to misinterpret Hitler’s intentions. Stalin considered that, for
all his pronouncements, Hitler was fundamentally a pragmatist and, as such, would not
commit the major blunder of fighting a war on two fronts. After all, Hitler was still involved
in the west: Britain was still undefeated and the United States was becoming increasingly
hostile to Germany. Logically, therefore, Hitler would want to avoid conflict with Russia
– at least for the time being. Stalin could therefore expect plenty of warning of any
deterioration in relations between Germany and Russia, which could be repaired, if needed,
by well-timed concessions. The most pressing danger, as Stalin saw it, was not to give
Russia sufficient time in preparing for successful Total War by provoking Hitler into
immediate action.
This attitude was behind the mistakes that Stalin committed early in 1941, which delivered
up Russia to Hitler’s attack. Stalin was totally unreceptive to warnings from British
intelligence in April of German troop concentrations near the Soviet border. Stalin’s
reasoning was that Churchill was trying to provoke a conflict between Germany and Russia
which would open up a war on two fronts – to the benefit of Britain. At the time, this was
not an unreasonable assumption. But he also ignored intelligence reports from his own agents.
On 20 March, for example, General Golikov, the head of military intelligence, forwarded
to Stalin information he had received about the build-up of German troops in the border
areas. Similarly, in May, Admiral Kuznetzov quoted the German naval attaché in Berlin
that war was imminent, but Stalin dismissed the evidence as having been planted. Vital
information was also received from the pro-Soviet German agent in Japan, as well as from
the Soviet embassy in Berlin. Both gave the precise date of the intended attack – 22 June
1941. Stalin rejected these warnings on the grounds that they did not conform to his
interpretation of Hitler’s character and intentions. He has been strongly criticized for this
– from the 1950s to the present. In his destalinization campaign in 1956, Khrushchev accused
Stalin of deliberately ignoring the warnings of a German invasion threat and regarding the
beginning of the attack ‘as only a provocative action on the part of several undisciplined
sections of the German Army’. Khrushchev concluded that ‘everything was ignored; warnings
of certain army commanders, declarations of deserters from the enemy army, and even the
open hostility of the enemy’.143 According to Mezhiritsky, ‘Stalin was illiterate in military
matters’ and was ‘mesmerized by the dogma that Germany wouldn’t undertake a war on
two fronts’. Since he had ‘indicated a deadline for the Red Army to be ready for war –
94 Dictatorship in Russia

apparently in May 1942’ – Stalin ‘clung to this deadline’.144 Even those more inclined to
defend Stalin on many issues specifically exclude his conduct in the first half of 1941. Grey
refers to ‘a series of desperate attempts to appease Hitler’ and ‘painful efforts to avoid even
the semblance of provocation’.145 There is therefore general agreement that ‘The causes of
this disastrous behaviour lay in Moscow with Stalin’.146
Not surprisingly Stalin was personally devastated by this turn of events, although it is
not entirely clear what happened next. The usual view is that he experienced a breakdown
and for the first ten days after the invasion confined himself to his dacha, in isolation from
his officials, only to recover his resolution by the beginning of July. Just how much he
contributed personally to the administrative changes, in preparation for the fight-back,
remains unclear. It is certainly true that the first radio announcement of the invasion was
made by Molotov on 22 June and that Stalin’s broadcast did not follow until 3 July. It is
significant that part of this was a justification of his previous policy. Referring to the 1939
Non-Aggression Pact, he pointed out that ‘We secured our country peace for a year and a
half and the opportunity of preparing our forces to repulse fascist Germany should she risk
an attack on our country despite the pact’.147 The credibility of this is reduced by two factors.
First, as we have seen, Stalin was preparing for a future offensive war by the Soviet Union.
And second, his actions at the last minute actually undermined the capacity of the Red
Army to resist Hitler’s attack. As the German armies moved up to and over the frontier
Stalin had interpreted this as a minor breach of discipline and ordered Soviet units to fall
back to avoid provoking a larger onslaught. He had even issued orders against the
mobilization of reserves. It seems, therefore, that Stalin did not use the Non-Aggression
Pact to defend the Soviet Union; if anything, his own policies nullified any advantages it
might once have had.
The threat was not only the rapidity of German advance during the first weeks: the
momentum was maintained for several months which could not be stopped. Long-term
preparations for an offensive war now prevented a realistic short-term response in the form
of an orderly retreat. The result was a rout on all fronts. Yet even at this stage the leadership
failed to adjust its strategic thinking. Even while the Germans were nearing Moscow, Kiev
and Leningrad, official propaganda denied that there had been any reverses and that such
references amounted to ‘defeatism’ – to be dealt with severely. This delayed the possibility
of tactical retreat until it was too late. There were also longer-term blunders that contributed
to the military paralysis of 1941: these went back to some of Stalin’s extreme policies during
the 1930s. One was the decapitation of the Red Army’s leadership during the purges which
meant that many of the senior officers facing the Wehrmacht in 1941 had relatively little
direct experience. Another problem, again attributable to the period of Terror, was a massive
increase in political interference in military matters. Because of the chaos that the Terror
had produced, this involvement was often controlled by political and military ‘illiterates’.
Beneath Stalin’s own blunders there were therefore many lesser incompetents, suddenly
exposed by the emergency of the German invasion.148 Another damaging legacy from the
1930s was an enormous residue of resentment and dissatisfaction with Stalin’s regime. Here,
social and economic hardship caused by forced collectivization overlapped nationalist
resentments as millions of Belorussians, Ukrainians, Georgians and peoples in the Baltic
states initially welcomed the Germans as liberators. According to Fischer, up to 2 million
inhabitants of the Soviet Union fought for the German armies.149
In summary, the war that the Soviet Union fought between 1941 and 1942 was not the
one that Stalin had anticipated. He had been mobilizing the Soviet Union for conflict in the
unspecified future. This would take the form of Total War and would be followed by swift
 Dictatorship in Russia 95

victory. Instead, what Russia actually experienced was swift defeat, followed by Total War.
The German invasion therefore came as a profound shock to the whole military strategy of
the Soviet Union, as the diplomacy of Stalin destroyed any initiative that Russia might have
had. How could the Soviet state possibly hope to survive?

Revival and victory: 1943–5

The furthest extent of the German advance was reached towards the end of 1942. From this
stage onwards the occupying forces were slowly but steadily driven back by the unremitting
counter-offensive of the Red Army, made possible by a remarkable national revival.
The first major Soviet achievement was the successful defence of Moscow by Marshal
Zhukov. This was made possible by the withdrawal of Soviet troops from the Far East to
strengthen the capital. (It seems that this time Stalin decided to believe the news of the
Soviet agent in Tokyo, Richard Sorge, that Japan was about to launch an attack on the
United States, not on Russia.) The Battle for Moscow tested the German army to its utmost
and, although the German advance continued in 1942, it was directed against the south, not
against the capital. Stalin decided to focus the Soviet counter-attack on the city of Stalingrad,
which was eventually captured by Zhukov early in 1943. This was undoubtedly the turning-
point of the war and was followed in July 1943 by a Soviet victory in the tank battle at
Kursk. From this time onwards the Soviet advance proved irresistible. Kiev was liberated
by November 1943 and Leningrad early in 1944. During the first half of 1944 the Germans
were finally forced out of Russian territory while, in the second half, the Red Army advanced
into the Nazi-occupied states of eastern Europe. Most of Poland was captured, although
virtually no assistance was provided by Stalin to the Warsaw revolt against the Germans,
which was eventually put down with great brutality. Romania was forced to surrender in
August and Bulgaria in September, while in October the Yugoslav resistance forces under
Tito were assisted by the Russians to liberate Belgrade from German occupation. A final
effort from the north-east resulted, in January 1945, in the fall of Warsaw and the conquest
of the rest of Poland. From February 1945 Zhukov concentrated on the advance on Berlin.
The capital was besieged and heavily bombarded, eventually falling in April after savage
street-to-street fighting.
Considering the initial collapse between 1941 and 1942, the Soviet Union therefore made
the most remarkable military recovery between 1943 and 1945. Plenty of reasons have been
given for this transformation. One is the recovery of Stalin from the crisis of confidence
he experienced in the first weeks of the attack and the effectiveness of his subsequent
leadership. A second was the importance of the first three Five-Year Plans, which meant
that the Soviet Union was able to outproduce Germany in war matériel. Third, new military
strategies were adopted, which proved far more effective than the woeful performance in
1941. Fourth, the Soviet Union was able to liberate itself, with relatively little assistance
from its western Allies. This owed much to the fifth factor, the surge of patriotism that
facilitated Soviet recovery. Finally, Stalin owed much to the mistakes made by Hitler, who
lost the war as much as Stalin won it. These are all traditional explanations. Although most
are broadly correct, they need some refining in the light of recent research; it is also essential
to place more emphasis on them in combination with each other. Doing this provides a few
surprising twists to long-held assumptions.
Stalin’s personal recovery restored him to full leadership, enabling him to make the
structural changes necessary to mobilize the Soviet Union’s remaining strengths. Grey
emphasizes his ability to learn from earlier mistakes both in his military strategy and in his
96 Dictatorship in Russia

choice of subordinates. ‘With his disciplined mind and tenacious memory, he developed
considerable military expertise and technical knowledge.’150 He also made effective
administrative adjustments, dismantling part of the previous system and setting up two new
institutions, Stavka as the general headquarters and GOKO as the State Defence Committee.
The latter was given powers to conduct all aspects of the war and comprised Molotov,
Voroshilov, Malenkov and Beria. Under the overall authority of Stalin as People’s Commissar
for Defence, GOKO replaced the more complex party channels of communication, ending
the earlier state of administrative confusion and making possible a more rational approach
to economic and military planning. But some historians have questioned the extent to which
Stalin himself should receive the credit for all this. Volkogonov, for example,151 maintains
that Stalin had ‘no professional military knowledge’ and that the Soviet people eventually
prevailed not because of Stalin but in spite of him. According to Lewin, the recovered Stalin
still continued to dominate the administration to such an extent that other members were
afraid to show initiative. These, however, are minority views. The general consensus is that
Stalin did change the way in which he ran the Soviet Union and that he was personally
responsible for at least some of the improvements that resulted.
Military recovery was based on the Soviet Union’s eventual ability to outproduce Germany
and sustain the massive losses inflicted on the Red Army. The usual argument is that the
first three Five-Year Plans had geared the Soviet economy to Total War and could produce
more armaments than the more limited Blitzkrieg-based German economy. There had also
been a long-term shift of resources into Siberia which meant that 20 per cent of the country’s
industrial capacity was outside Europe by 1941. This was enhanced by the transfer of factories
eastwards to enable the continued production of weapons beyond the range of the German
attack. While this interpretation is sound enough, the conclusion usually drawn from it is
not. It has often been assumed that Soviet recovery was due to the full implementation of
Stalin’s command economy: more armaments were produced after 1942 because the planning
system was stepped up a gear. This intensification of previous controls has now been
challenged: historians like Sapir have shown that the reverse occurred. The mobilized
economy developed by the first three Five-Year Plans had been basically inefficient,
weakened by the tensions between central and local decision making. The crisis of war
stimulated a more efficient approach: interference by the centre with the local bodies was
reduced and more local initiative was allowed in the meeting of central armaments targets.
From 1943 local production was based on local decisions about the supply of raw materials
and the most effective methods of using labour resources. Market forces therefore became
more significant than central administrative constraints. This led to the paradox, pointed
out by Sapir, that the earlier ‘mobilisation economy had to be at least partially demobilised
to achieve war mobilisation’.152 But it worked. The whole process was possible because
the types of weapons and components were kept deliberately unsophisticated, which meant
that they were quick to build, easy to maintain and inexpensive to replace.
These changes in the command economy delivered overwhelming numbers of tanks,
aircraft, artillery pieces and small weapons to wherever on the front they were required.
These enabled Soviet forces to overwhelm the German Wehrmacht. Among the most
important of these were the Katyusha rocket-launchers, the SUS (self-propelled artillery),
heavy mortars, and the T-34 tank, which was admitted by one of the German commanders,
General Guderian, to be superior to anything in the panzer divisions. German vehicles were
not equipped for winter conditions and did not even have antifreeze (something that the
Soviet vehicles did not need as they ran on diesel). The initial German superiority in the
air was soon reversed as the Soviet airforce was provided with fourteen new types of aircraft,
 Dictatorship in Russia 97

including the II-2, nicknamed the ‘Golden Plane’ by Soviet pilots and the ‘Black Death’
by the Germans.
Soviet military recovery was, therefore, due to more appropriate styles of leadership and
more efficient use of economic resources. These were accompanied by a new strategy which
departed from the unqualified emphasis on ‘offensive’ warfare developed during the 1930s.
Instead, it was now considered more appropriate to combine the more traditional defensive
approach with a devastating counter-attack whenever this became possible. Zhukov’s advice
to Stalin in April 1943 showed this line of thought:

I consider it inadvisable for our forces to go over to the offensive in the very first days
of the campaign . . . It would be better to make the enemy first exhaust himself against
our defences, and knock out his tanks and then, bringing up fresh reserves, to go over
to a general offensive which would finally finish off his main force.153

The result was a close co-ordination between partisan warfare and the massive thrusts
of the Soviet forces at Kursk in 1943, followed by the invasion of Poland and the Balkans
in 1944. This meant the end of Blitzkrieg for the Germans and the beginning of the type
of Soviet offensive which had been anticipated in the 1930s. Clearly, the army had to be
given more initiative to implement these military changes. This was another example of
the partial reversal of an inter-war policy – in this instance the politicization of the army
was abandoned. After the catastrophe of 1941 and 1942 Stalin allowed a much greater degree
of military initiative. He promoted to supreme command able officers like Zhukov,
Tolbukhin, Konev, Malinovsky, Vatutin and Rossakovsky. He also allowed crucial military
decisions to be taken at the front. Hitler, by contrast, allowed the destruction of the German
army at Stalingrad by refusing to let von Paulus conduct an orderly withdrawal.
Stalin and Soviet historians always maintained that the Soviet Union liberated itself and
that any economic and military assistance given from outside provided only a small
contribution to Soviet victory. Recently, however, western historians have come to see
external help as vital. US and British aid provided large quantities of back-up equipment
and transport facilities, including trucks, jeeps and rolling stock. This filled gaps in Soviet
infrastructure, enabling Soviet factories to concentrate on producing armaments. As a result,
Soviet armies could move more quickly than they could otherwise have done from the
defensive to the offensive. Harrison also maintains that, although halting the German
advance ‘was conducted largely on the basis of Soviet domestic supply’, the subsequent
pursuit of the Wehrmacht and the ability ‘to project Soviet military power into the heart of
Europe’ were based ‘significantly on western resources’.154 The western Allies also
contributed substantially to the Soviet Union’s military fight back against the German
invasion. Although Stalin accused them of using up Soviet lives by their refusal to invade
France until 1944, they had already been involved in a second front in North Africa from
1942 and had invaded Italy in 1943. In the process, they drew off divisions vitally needed
by the Wehrmacht on the Russian front. British and American bombing raids over Germany
also restricted the amount of war matériel that could be produced by the Reich in 1944 and
1945 by which time, of course, the German presence in the east had to be scaled down to
resist the rapid advances in the west. The interaction between events on different fronts is
now strongly emphasized as being of benefit to both the Red Army and the Western
Allies.155
The patriotic response was also crucial to Soviet success, although the connection between
the ‘people’s war’ and Stalin’s leadership has recently been reassessed. On the one hand,
98 Dictatorship in Russia

there were contradictory policies from above to control the popular response and to maximize
patriotism. These involved both the harshest repression and unusually moderate concessions.
Repression included the elimination of those who were suspected of having already
collaborated with the Germans in 1941 and 1942, or those who might do so in the future.
This went beyond the arrest and execution of individuals to the transportation of whole
peoples from their homelands to remote parts of central Asia and Siberia: victims included
Balkars, Chechens, Karachais, Meshkhetians, Crimean Tartars and many Ukrainians, Balts
and Cossacks. The intention was to remove any core for future mass rebellions and any
distraction to the intensification of a patriotic response which was ideologically Soviet and
historically Russian. Stalin’s more moderate policies were designed to strengthen
commitment and patriotic support to ‘Mother Russia’. Hence he granted concessions to the
Russian Orthodox Church in exchange for the latter’s efforts to mobilize patriotic sentiment.
The regime also relaxed some of the harsher measures previously used to enforce
collectivization and tolerated at least some elements of a market economy. Soviet citizens
were targeted by propaganda which stressed the connections with the Russian past. The
‘Great Patriotic War’ against Hitler was therefore a parallel to the ‘Great Fatherland War’
against Napoleon, while Russian figures from the past were resurrected in Eisenstein’s films
Ivan the Terrible and Alexander Nevsky. A typical view of Stalin’s wartime measures is
that they were therefore a ‘combination of permissiveness with drastic punitive measures’
or the introduction of ‘permissive elements into a basically draconian practice’.156 At the
same time, Russia experienced a huge upsurge of patriotism from below, which far
transcended Stalin’s measures. The self-sacrifice of the citizens of Leningrad in the face of
the German siege, or of the Red Army at Stalingrad and Kursk, or the resistance of the
partisans behind enemy lines, was unprecedented in its scale, even in Russian history.
It has, finally, been argued that Hitler contributed as much as Stalin to the outcome of
the war between Germany and Russia. Certainly, Soviet recovery from defeat was paralleled
by the German collapse from victory. This happened in three ways. First, the impetus of
the German attack was sustainable only in the short term, whereas Soviet strength lay in
longer-term endurance which wore out the enemy. This was due, at least in part, to a contrast
between Hitler and Stalin, from which the latter benefited. Hitler’s military strategy initially
proved spectacularly successful but failed to deliver final victory within the timescale he
had envisaged; from 1942 onwards he refused to modify his policy of maintaining German
positions at all costs or allowing for orderly withdrawal and regrouping. For all his faults,
Stalin was able to take advantage of this; he showed some willingness to learn from previous
mistakes, whereas Hitler obstinately refused to accept the importance of German numerical
inferiority in crucial areas such as Moscow in 1941 and Stalingrad in 1942–3. Although
both had able commanders, Hitler was less willing to take advice after 1941 from Guderian
or von Paulus than Stalin was from Zhukov. Second, the misrule of captured territories,
especially the Ukraine and Belorussia, undermined any goodwill the Germans originally
encountered from their peoples. Nazi brutality, based on extreme racial arrogance, put into
perspective the earlier ruthlessness of Stalin’s economic policies. Even elements of the Nazi
regime saw the dangers of this. In October 1942, Bräutigam, the head of the Main Political
Department in the Reich Ministry of the Eastern Territories, strongly criticized the Reich’s
policy. In a memorandum he described the wishes of the Soviet population as ‘incredibly
modest’, adding that an administration ‘not intent simply on plunder and exploitation’
would have ‘kindled the greatest enthusiasm’ and ‘put at our disposal a mass consisting of
millions’.157 In not promoting regional autonomy (as he had already done in some occupied
areas in western Europe), Hitler missed the opportunity of enlisting a wave of anti-Soviet
 Dictatorship in Russia 99

ethnic support. Instead, German occupation was a vital catalyst for a Soviet patriotic revival.
Third, growing German problems allowed the recovery of Soviet production. The German
economy had not been geared to such a major undertaking as the destruction of the Soviet
Union: it had been mobilized only for short-term partial war, whereas the Soviet economy
had in the 1930s been prepared for long-term Total War. Hitler had relied on a series of
rapid victories followed by the absorption of the infrastructures of his conquests; in Russia,
however, Blitzkrieg had reached its limit and the conversion to Total War (see p. 241) never
succeeded in achieving overall victory. The Soviet economy had the reverse experience: it
was made more effective by the relaxation of some of the earlier constraints.

Relations with the West, 1941–5

When Germany attacked Russia in June 1941 Stalin’s whole attitude to Hitler underwent
a profound change. He hastened to seek the co-operation of those Western countries which
he had previously suspected. Hence, in 1941, the Anglo-Soviet Mutual Assistance Pact was
drawn up, followed in 1942 by the twenty-year Anglo-Soviet Treaty of Alliance. Stalin also
concluded a Lend-Lease agreement with the United States worth $11 billion. When the
United States entered the war against Germany, the Grand Alliance was formed (although
no document was actually signed), aimed at bringing down the Nazi regime. However,
collaboration was never complete. Throughout the war there existed an undercurrent of
distrust which grew stronger as the need for unity receded. This distrust went back as far
as the foundation of the Bolshevik state and was largely ideological: Trotsky, for instance,
had once referred to Lenin and Wilson as the ‘apocalyptic antipodes of our time’. But there
were also specific irritants throughout the period 1941–5 which were particularly apparent
at the major wartime conferences – at Tehran (November to December 1943), Yalta (February
1945) and Potsdam (July to August 1945).
The first of these irritants was military. Stalin wanted an active alliance and no repetition
of the ‘sitskrieg’ which had been the West’s response to Hitler’s Blitzkrieg against Poland
in August 1939. He considered it vitally important for the Western Allies to open up a
second front in France to draw off between forty and sixty German divisions from the Russian
sector. He made his first request for this to Churchill in July 1941. In August 1942 Churchill
visited Moscow to disclose his plans for Operation Torch – to be opened up, however, in
North Africa. Stalin’s reaction was bitter disillusionment: ‘All is clear’, he told his associates.
‘They want us to bleed white in order to dictate to us their terms later on.’158 The Anglo-
American landings in North Africa did help matters but Stalin did not regard them as a
justifiable substitute for an attack on France. This finally came in June 1944, although by
this stage Stalin was accusing the Anglo-American forces of advancing into Germany as
quickly as possible in order to minimize Soviet conquests in central and eastern Europe.
The second main breach concerned the frontiers and regimes of eastern Europe. The
most significant of these was Poland. Britain and the United States were prepared, at Yalta
and Potsdam, to concede the Curzon Line as Poland’s frontier, thus allowing the USSR to
retain all the Polish territory conquered in 1939. But at the same time they were profoundly
unhappy about the possibility of permanent Soviet control over Polish institutions; hence
their insistence on the Yalta Declaration on Liberated Europe, by which the powers undertook
to assist the liberated states to create democratic institutions of their own choice. This, of
course, produced an inevitable difference of interpretation between the Western powers,
who hoped for the installation of liberal democracies, and the Soviet Union, which had
always intended to promote revolutionary communist regimes. Above all, Stalin was
100 Dictatorship in Russia

determined to develop a buffer zone between Russia and the West, or a glacis of friendly
socialist states. Clearly this would be a major post-war issue.
The outcome of the war, and of the disagreements with the Western Allies, was clearly
in Russia’s favour. Stalin had, by the middle of 1945, every reason to feel satisfied with
the Soviet position in Europe. Nazi Germany had been smashed and partially dismembered
by the principle of zoning agreed at Yalta and Potsdam. All the gains made by Russia as
a result of the Nazi–Soviet Pact of 1939 were retained, namely eastern Poland, the Baltic
states and part of Romania. Indeed, Soviet expansion went beyond the 1939 limits, also
encompassing parts of East Prussia and Czechoslovakia. In the Far East, Russia had gained,
in return for minimal participation in the war against Japan, Sakhalin and the Kurile Islands,
which had been ceded by Tsarist Russia in 1905 and 1875, respectively. The sphere of
Soviet control extended far beyond these enlarged frontiers. Moscow now dominated a huge
socialist arc comprising Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria, together
with the Soviet zone of Germany. At last the USSR seemed to have both security and the
means to spread communism into the heart of Europe. Many of Stalin’s expectations had
therefore been realized. The capitalist states had come into conflict with each other and the
end result had been the strengthening of the Soviet Union and the opportunity to spread
Soviet influence.

The cost
It was not until 1956 that the full extent of Soviet losses in the Second World War were
revealed. It is now known that they are the heaviest suffered by any country in history as
the result of an invasion by another power.
The most devastating impact was on the population, both military and civilian:
5.7 million Russian soldiers surrendered to the Germans, of whom 3.3 million subsequently
died in captivity. The German High Command bore direct responsibility for the appalling
conditions faced by Russian prisoners-of-war; an order stated that the Bolshevik soldier lost
all claims to treatment as an honourable opponent in accordance with the Geneva Convention.
The occupying forces also treated Russian civilians with extreme brutality. The Slavs were
seen as a subhuman race and the Reichsleiter of the east, Rosenberg, aimed at no less than
the national disintegration of the USSR. Overall, the Soviet Union lost between 26 and 27
million people, compared with 375,000 Britons, 405,000 Americans and 600,000 French
people. The total looks even worse when placed on top of previous losses. Estimates vary
widely, but some point to 13.5 million in the First World War, Civil War, epidemics and
starvation; and up to 20 million during the 1930s in the famine and purges. To this can be
added a shortfall of births between 1914 and 1945 of well over 90 million, equivalent to
the combined actual post-war population of Germany and France.159
Destruction of property was also on a massive scale. Details were released as early as
1947. According to Molotov, the Germans destroyed 1,710 towns and 70,000 villages, 31,850
industrial enterprises and 98,000 collective farms. The sufferings of two Soviet cities are
particularly well known. Leningrad experienced a siege which lasted for 900 days and the
eventual casualty figure for this one city was greater than that of all the Western Allies
combined. The suffering was the direct result of starvation, dystrophy and scurvy, as well
as German bombing and bombardment. Stalingrad, meanwhile, was totally devastated.
Russian and German troops fought over each street, and then in the ruins and rubble. An
official Soviet description reads as follows:
 Dictatorship in Russia 101

In the trenches carved out in the steep banks of the Volga, in gullies and the shells of
ruined houses, in the cellars of bombed buildings the Soviet soldiers fought to the last
to defend the city. The German forces launched 700 attacks and every step forward
cost them tremendous losses . . . Between 500 and 1,200 splinters of bombs, shells and
grenades per square metre were found on the slopes of Mamai Hill, one of the main
centres of the fighting, after the Battle of Stalingrad had at last come to an end.160

Hutchings has placed Soviet sufferings in perspective by comparing the losses inflicted
in the two World Wars. Population losses in the Second World War were 50 per cent larger,
but the population of 1941 was much greater than that of 1913. Russia during the Second
World War experienced greater economic destruction than in the First, but substantially
less disruption, largely because the industrial base of 1941 was much greater than that of
1913. There was a significant contrast in the pattern of destruction; in the First World War
industry suffered more severely than agriculture, while the reverse was true in the Second.
Indeed, after 1945, agriculture remained a serious problem long after factories and houses
had been rebuilt. A key question was how Stalin would adapt his policies to deal with this
specific problem.
As it turned out in the longer term, the extent of destruction was to be an issue for the
very survival of the Soviet Union. Just as the Civil War had helped shape Bolshevism into
a repressive communist bureaucracy, so the experience of the Second World War proved
to be a major factor in its inability to change. Stalin won the war – but could he survive
the peace?

The treatment of the nationalities, 1941–5

The Soviet Union’s federal structure, established in 1922 and extended in 1936, was
maintained through the war. The territories taken between 1939 and 1945 were added and
the same principles of national self-determination were applied. The official line on the role
of all the peoples of the Soviet Union in the war can be seen in an extract from A Short
History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union:

The Soviet people won their historic victory in the Great Patriotic War because of the
socialist social and state system that had been established in the USSR, because the
workers and peasants, all the peoples of the Soviet Union, were bound together in real
friendship, because the Communist Party had fostered and encouraged this friendship.161

Significantly, this edition was published in 1970 and, because of the destalinization
campaign of the late 1950s, refers to the leadership of the ‘Communist Party’ rather than
to ‘Stalin’. It also conceals a major trauma affecting the ethnic groups within the Soviet
Union during wartime.
For most Russians the tight constraints of the 1930s were relaxed between 1941 and
1945 in a desperate effort to focus on winning the war. For the nationalities, however, the
repression became increasingly severe. Stalin was obsessed with the fear of potential betrayal
by non-Russian groups within the USSR and went to extreme lengths to neutralize this
possibility. Whole communities were uprooted from their homelands and transplanted to
other – more remote and barren – areas, a process organized by Beria and the NKVD and
carried out by the Red Army. The first affected were Koreans, Poles, Ukrainians, and the
102 Dictatorship in Russia

peoples of the Baltic, some of whom had already been removed before 1941. Then, after
the German invasion in 1941, Stalin ordered the deportation of 400,000 ethnic Germans to
Siberia and central Asia. A similar fate befell 69,000 Turkic Karachaians and 93,000
Kalmyks in 1943 and 500,000 Chechens and Ingush, 340,000 Balkars and 180,000 Crimean
Tartars during the course of 1944. Their autonomous republics and districts within the RSFSR
were all dissolved and removed from the records. The later deportations were unnecessary
in strategic terms since the Germans had long since been forced out of the regions concerned.
According to Mawdsley, ‘They can only be seen as a grand ethnic punishment or an extreme
version of the prophylactic counter-insurgency.’162 It could also be argued that Stalin was
using the opportunity to revert to a policy of Russification – but in a much more extreme
form than it had ever been applied before.
Further deportations came even after the victory over Nazi Germany as the Soviet frontier
was consolidated against the possibility of any future invasion from the west. Particularly
indiscriminate was the treatment of Ukrainians, Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians, all of
whom were accused of collaborating with the German invaders. It is true that there were
Wehrmacht and SS units formed from among these nationalities, although subsequent
measures were applied with little attempt to target those actually involved. As for the Jewish
minorities, those who escaped the Einsatzgruppen of the SS or deportation to the Nazi death
camps, faced a ban on the practice of their religion, the closure of their institutions, and a
prohibition on their publications. During the so-called Doctor’s Plot, fifteen Jewish leaders
were tried and executed in August 1952, a virtual re-enactment of the show trials of the late
1930s.

1945–53: MATURE DICTATORSHIP?

The regime and the man behind it, 1945–53

Stalin was unique among the dictators covered in this book in that he emerged as a victor
in 1945. Others had committed suicide, or been executed or sent into exile, or had survived
only by keeping their countries out of the conflict. In theory, Stalin’s position should have
been unassailable.
The broad outline of the regime often referred to as ‘High Stalinism’ is as follows. Stalin
gave absolute priority to consolidating his personal control over the Soviet Union through
the implementation of a series of changes from 1945 onwards. In many cases these reversed
the wartime policies introduced after the German invasion of June 1941. Among the state
institutions, the Council of People’s Commissars, or Sovnarkom, became the USSR Council
of Ministers and acquired a new inner Presidium. The state bureaucracy was increased in
size, the eighteen People’s Commissariats becoming forty-eight Ministries by 1947. At the
same time, Stalin ended GOKO, the State Defence Committee, which had played such a
vital administrative role during the war. There were also changes at the centre of the party,
as the Politburo was replaced by another Presidium in 1952. This had a much larger
membership, which Stalin rarely consulted, preferring the advice of a smaller, informal and
ever-changing core. Although Stalin maintained the party (in 1952 renamed the CPSU) as
a cement to keep the Soviet Union together while maintaining the fiction of ‘voluntary’
federalism, it was a shadow of its former self: for example, no party congresses were held
between 1939 and 1952. The army, too, became less influential, with the demotion of Zhukov
and other key generals, and the subordination of military officials to political commissars.
 Dictatorship in Russia 103

New organizational controls were accompanied by another round of purges – directed

at the army and the party, which Stalin targeted in the Leningrad Affair. This resulted in
the trial and execution of party leaders and war heroes, such as Voznesensky, who had done
what they could to organize resistance to the German siege. Stalin also sought to strengthen
his grip on society at large through the 1946 Zhdanov degrees. These tightened working
practices and reimposed on the arts the full force of Socialist Realism, which had been
relaxed during the war. Control over society and the arts in what is usually known as the
Zhdanovschina was at first directed at ideology, before expanding into other areas of culture
and society. Underlying the whole system was the intensification of terror. The NKVD,
under the direction of Beria, continued to take its toll through renewed persecution. Action
against the nationalities which had collaborated with the Germans during the Great Patriotic
War was extended to a new campaign against ‘kulaks’ and anyone questioning the
reintroduction of collective farming. Soldiers in the Red Army who had been held as
prisoners of war by the Germans were suspected as collaborators; many therefore found
themselves transferred to Gulag camps, the number of which grew rapidly after 1945. Finally,
the Soviet Union experienced a wave of virulent anti-Semitism, unquestionably exacerbated
by Stalin’s own views and punitive actions.
There is now a wide variety of interpretations about this period of Stalin’s dictatorship.
Most historians agree that Stalin’s health and some of his mental facilities were on the
decline, that he was obsessed with self-glorification and that he reached a new peak of
ruthlessness. So where is the focus of the controversy?
The original approach to ‘late Stalinism’ acknowledged that Stalin was infatuated with
power. But some biographers placed the emphasis on what Stalin tried to do with it.
Deutscher, for example, focused more on the paradox between Stalin’s pursuit of two policies,
‘nationalist’ and ‘revolutionary’,163 less on arbitrary nature of Stalin’s personality. He also
tried to anticipate Stalin’s longer-term contributions to Soviet power. Both approaches are
understandable in view of the date of Deutscher’s publication: 1949 – well before the extreme
revelations brought by Khrushchev’s destalinization campaign of 1956. Ian Grey also
emphasized the purpose of Stalin’s measures rather than the personality that produced them.
As we have already seen, he placed Stalin’s megalomania firmly within Russia’s autocratic
tradition, stressing the use of his ever-increasing authority to impose long-term solutions
to the destruction his country had experienced in wartime.164 Other historians made more
of the sheer brutality of the later regime, of Stalin’s grip based on fear and new purges.
But the corollary was still that, up to the time of his death in 1953, Stalin’s ascendancy
was total, based on new centralizing measures to consolidate his authority and the removal
of all perceived threats to the regime. These enabled him to launch a campaign of
reconstruction in industry and to reimpose collectivization in agriculture. He achieved his
original objective of making the Soviet Union a superpower and extended Russian control,
for the first time, over most of eastern Europe. Victory in the war was therefore the means
by which the totalitarian measures of the 1930s reached their logical completion in the late
1940s. Stalinism was fulfilled in a period of ‘mature dictatorship’ and Stalin himself came
closer than either Hitler or Mussolini to achieving totalitarian goals. It is true that his
organizational changes created internal tensions. But, if there was a degree of chaos, it was
planned – as a guarantee of Stalin’s own power. There is therefore a possible parallel with
Bracher’s explanation of ‘organized chaos’ in Nazi Germany.
Or is there more of a case for linking late Stalinism with the Broszat thesis on Hitler’s
regime: that chaos was more spontaneous and erratic?
104 Dictatorship in Russia

During the 1990s, no doubt as side-effect of the sensational collapse of the Soviet Union
in 1991, a new approach emerged to explain Stalin’s post-war dictatorship. This emphasized
its arbitrary nature and, at times, its breathtaking incompetence. The period 1945–53 was
not one of dictatorship fulfilled. All the problems that had confronted Stalin before 1941
now returned in full measure so that, far from being settled into ‘mature dictatorship’, he
was as insecure as ever. If Stalin remained arbitrary and despotic, this was not because he
was now so settled that he could do whatever he wanted. His increasingly irrational behaviour
was his response to threats to his system and a very real fear that it might break up. Age
and the war had taken their toll, and it was clear that Stalin was now deteriorating physically
and mentally, adding hugely to the chaos. Kenez, for example, emphasized that Stalin had
built up a ‘surrogate ideology of hero worship’; that, ‘isolated from Soviet reality’, he had
‘formed an imaginary picture of the world around him’; and that ‘he became the primary
victim’ of his own propaganda.165 Ward’s assessment of Stalin was equally striking. ‘This
was no self-confident tyrant in charge of a smoothly functioning totalitarian regime but a
sickly old man; unpredictable, dangerous, lied to by terrified subordinates, presiding over
a ramshackly bureaucracy.’166 If anything, victory had increased Stalin’s difficulties. His
personal ascendancy, far from reaching a new peak after 1945, was more seriously challenged
than at any time since 1929. The paradox, pointed out by Ward, is that ‘whilst the Russo-
German conflict strengthened the regime and legitimized the Generalissimo as a symbol of
the will to victory, Stalin’s personal power was threatened’.167 The success of the Red Army
raised the spectre Stalin had always feared – that the regime would be militarized and Stalin
himself would be the target of an internal coup. This explains why he demoted Zhukov and
wound up GOKO. He therefore repoliticized the regime, but even here was obsessed with
the possibility that future challenges to his authority might emerge from the centre of the
party. This is why he avoided summoning the key party organs and launched new rounds
of purges. His policies after 1945 were initiated for defensive reasons, from a position of
weakness rather than from one of strength: Stalin’s priority was to recover rather than to
sublimate his power.
But has this approach gone too far in the opposite direction? There has certainly been a
partial swing of the historiographical pendulum towards the original emphasis on Stalin as
both ruthless and effective. Two main examples can be cited. First, ‘late Stalinism’ was not
necessarily in headlong decline. Some historians have pointed up Stalin’s remaining strengths.
According to McDermott, he ‘obstinately and tenaciously clung to the reins of power, even
as his mental and physical capacities began to desert him by the early 1950s’. He was still
in complete control of decision making and of the secret police. He also remained ‘vindictive,
suspicious and murderously dangerous’. Hence ‘The Stalin who emerges is more complex,
but certainly no less a tyrant.’168 Second, there has been some emphasis on a purposeful
long-term strategy to implement a consistent ideology. After their research into the Soviet
archives, Gorlizki and Khleyniuk169 attribute to Stalin motives for his policies that were
based on a greater degree of political logic than had previously been allowed – a closer
approximation to the earlier interpretation of a powerful Stalin. But, as McDermott stresses,
they added another dimension. Stalin was motivated not just by the intensification of his
power base, but also by the pursuit of a ‘separate, respected and powerful socialist system’.170
Harassing his subordinates, manipulating the various committees and constantly changing
their membership did not, therefore, ‘contradict his wider political objectives’.
As we have seen elsewhere in this book, the major dictators have been recently been
given more credit for developing longer-term ideas and visions, however distorted these
may still seem. But, at some future time, the pendulum may well turn again.
 Dictatorship in Russia 105

Stalin’s post-war economic policies

Stalin’s main priority after 1945 was the reconstruction of Soviet industries and agriculture
after the appalling destruction caused by the war with Germany. He decided in 1945 to
return to his economic strategies of the 1930s, including central planning and collectivization.
The Fourth and Fifth Five-Year Plans (1946–50 and 1950–5) again placed the emphasis on
collective farming and the development of heavy industry at the expense of consumer goods.
Such measures are usually explained as an intensification of the command economy as the
most effective means of reconstruction. This, however, fails to take into account that many
of Stalin’s measures after 1945 were retrogressive. The inefficiencies of the 1930s were all
revived in the formal planning system. Despite its failings in the 1930s, collectivization
was not only revived but intensified: the kolkhozy increased in size and their number was
reduced from 252,000 to 76,000. The recentralization of industrial planning was also a step
backward, especially after the success of the partial demobilization of the economy during
the war. In effect, Stalin missed the opportunity to continue the more progressive wartime
policies and thereby abandon the more blatant failures of formal planning.
There were some positive achievements, however. As during the 1930s, Stalin pushed
the Soviet Union further in the direction of the status of a superpower. Considerable
investment was also channelled into the nuclear industry, again for military reasons. By
1949 the Soviet Union possessed the atomic bomb and, by 1951, the hydrogen bomb. By
1950 it was also announced that all the targets of the Fourth Five-Year Plan had been
exceeded and that the overall industrial base was now substantially larger than it had been
in 1940. But the deficiencies were as obvious as they had been during the 1930s. The
emphasis on heavy industry meant the continuing neglect of the Soviet consumer. The
conditions of the workforce were also very harsh. The forty-eight-hour week was regarded
as a minimum; workers were unable to choose their jobs or to move to other areas; industrial
discipline remained especially severe; and wages were based on piece work. But the Achilles’
heel of the Soviet economy was undoubtedly agriculture. The 1946 harvest, for example,
produced only 40 per cent of the crop of 1913. The problem was aggravated by low
investment, as agriculture received only 7.3 per cent of the total available in the Fourth
Five-Year Plan. There was also widespread discontent with the kolkhozy, with their artificially
low prices for agricultural produce and a lack of incentives.
Although recovery did occur between 1945 and 1953, it was much slower than that
accomplished by West Germany or Japan. In a real sense the infrastructural damage inflicted
by the Second World War was permanent because it was dealt with by the inappropriate
measures from the 1930s rather than new measures anticipating the 1950s. The emphasis
was very much on restoration rather than renewal. As we have seen, however, this was in
line with Stalin’s political perspectives.

Stalin’s post-war foreign policy

The last years of Stalin’s rule saw the extension of Soviet control over the countries of
eastern Europe and the intensification of the Cold War with the western powers. The two
processes were of course interconnected, as one constantly reacted with the other.
From 1945 onwards Stalin was determined to spread Soviet influence wherever possible,
especially to those areas liberated by the Red Army from Nazi rule. He enforced and
institutionalized Soviet hegemony by four main methods. The first was through territorial
acquisition: Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were directly integrated into the Soviet Union,
106 Dictatorship in Russia

along with the area taken by Poland in 1921, the easternmost part of Czechoslovakia and
parts of northern Romania. Second, this redefining of Soviet frontiers provided direct
military access to East Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Romania. The
security of this zone was guaranteed by a steady increase in the number of Soviet troops,
which reached 5.5 million by the early 1950s. Third, Stalin ensured Soviet political
domination by the communist takeover of eastern European governments that had started
in 1945 as coalitions and broad fronts. Two examples of this process were the replacement
Tildy and Beneš, the original coalition leaders of Hungary and Czechoslovakia, by hard-
line Stalinist regimes under Rákosi and Gottwald respectively. Fourth, Stalin institutionalized
Soviet ideological and economic control over eastern Europe through multilateral
organizations like the Communist Information Bureau (Cominform) and the Council for
Mutual Economic Assistance (CMEA or Comecon). The latter was designed to co-ordinate
the economies of eastern Europe and to direct Czech, Polish and Hungarian trade towards
the Soviet Union, thereby creating an almost self-sufficient commercial block. The one
major multilateral body that came after Stalin was the Warsaw Pact or Warsaw Treaty
Organization, a military alliance set up in 1956.
The result was a steady increase in tension between the Soviet Union and the West. The
ideological confrontation was now more intense than at any time since the creation of the
Bolshevik state. In a major speech on 9 February 1946 Stalin announced that he would
abide by the basic principles of Marxism–Leninism, and proceeded to attack the capitalist
powers as instigators of the Second World War. In the following month Churchill openly
criticized Stalin’s policy in eastern Europe. His speech, delivered in Fulton, Missouri,
contained the famous sentence: ‘From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic an iron
curtain has descended across the continent.’ The Cold War was subsequently hardened by
two open declarations of policy. One was the Truman Doctrine (1947) which promised
military or economic aid to Greece and Turkey and ‘support for peoples who are resisting
attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures’.171 The promise of
economic aid was subsequently implemented by the Marshall Plan. Stalin’s response was
the so-called Zhdanov Line. In a speech in 1947 Zhdanov warned of the new threat of the
capitalist West: ‘The cardinal purpose of the imperialist camp is to strengthen imperialism,
to hatch a new imperialist war, to combat socialism and democracy, and to support reactionary
and anti-democratic pro-Fascist regimes and movements everywhere.’172 The only answer,
he concluded, was to tighten Soviet control – in the ways already outlined.
Tension between the Soviet Union and the West was also apparent in areas beyond eastern
Europe. One of the earliest confrontations was the Iranian crisis (1945–6), in which the
continued Soviet occupation of the northern part of Iran was challenged by the United States
and Britain. The threat of armed conflict was eventually averted when, in 1946, Soviet
troops were withdrawn in return for oil concessions. Back in Europe, the Cold War entered
a particularly dangerous phase in 1948 with the Berlin Crisis. Stalin attempted to squeeze
out the Western presence from Berlin by closing off the supply routes which connected
West Berlin to the Western zones of occupied Germany. This policy, however, backfired.
The British and Americans airlifted sufficient quantities of food and fuel to supply West
Berlin, and Stalin was unable to prevent this for fear of American nuclear retaliation. The
Berlin blockade had another undesirable side-effect for Stalin. It convinced the West of the
need for a more systematic defence pact against Soviet aggression in Europe: hence the
formation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). Soviet involvement in the
Far East met with mixed success, especially over the Korean War (1950–3). When Soviet-
backed North Korea invaded the South, the latter was assisted by United Nations forces,
 Dictatorship in Russia 107

comprising mainly Americans. Stalin was forced to watch while the newly established
communist regime in China came to the rescue of North Korea. From now on the Soviet
Union had a major rival in the communist world.
Traditional interpretations of the motives of Stalin’s foreign policy focus mainly on his
response to external pressures on the Soviet Union. Because he now completely dominated
the political system within the Soviet Union he was able to determine this response, whether
he was dealing with the western powers or the eastern European satellite states. The key
events of the Cold War were therefore activated – even calculated – from above. But this
perspective now needs to be balanced with another. It is true that Stalin did take the key
decisions that led to the events already outlined. Yet, as we have also seen, the political
system within which he operated was somewhat flawed. As a result there were internal
pressures within the Soviet Union that helped shape the responses of ‘the Boss’ to the new
satellite states and the West.
This was partly due to the paradoxical impact of the Great Patriotic War (1941–5) and
its aftermath. On the one hand, the Soviet Union had been strengthened by a strong patriotic
response and the success of the army in preventing the disintegration of its various
components. On the other hand, once the war had been won, military victory seemed to
threaten Stalin’s personal power by creating alternative models for political leadership and
reducing the need for patriotism to the point of regional self-denial. Stalin therefore acted
to strengthen his dictatorship – but by reintroducing the political coercion and command
economy of the 1930s to replace the more relaxed measures that operated during the war.
Just as he had once used the threat of the West to justify the harshness of collectivization
and the terror of the purges, Stalin came to depend on a new conflict with the post-war
western powers to maintain his power internally. Hence domestic crises were frequently
explained, in the language of the Cold War, as the results of external ideological threats.
He also used this to justify the tightening of his control over eastern Europe which, he
stressed, would protect both the Soviet Union and the new communist regimes that had
come into existence by 1948. He also used the subjection of Poles and Hungarians to
guarantee his control over Ukrainians and Belorussians.
Different cases can be made as to whether or not Stalin succeeded in his policies towards
eastern Europe and the western powers.
In eastern Europe the Soviet Union seemed, by the end of Stalin’s rule, to have achieved
unprecedented security. Trotsky’s earlier attempts to achieve Soviet influence in the area
through revolution had all ended in failure. Stalin, by contrast, had succeeded in inflicting
upon it military conquest, political influence and ideological control. The result was in total
contrast to the hostility of all the states in eastern Europe shown to the Soviet Union before
1941, when Bulgaria, Hungary and Romania had even aligned themselves with Nazi
Germany. What Churchill referred to in 1947 as the Iron Curtain contained an area that
could now also be called a glacis, or open killing ground sloping up to a fortress, which
offered new strategic defence to the Soviet Union against the western powers or any future
German threat. Yet there is another side to all this, which became more apparent in the
longer term. The imposition of totalitarian regimes may have subdued the region for the
rest of Stalin’s lifetime, but this also created future resentment and unrest, with which his
successors had to deal – as in Hungary (1956), Czechoslovakia (1968), Romania during the
1970s and Poland from 1981. Meanwhile Stalin had entirely failed to dominate Tito’s
Yugoslavia, and Hoxha’s regime in Albania was able in the late 1950s to align itself with
China. By the end of the 1980s, the whole panoply of Soviet controls had fallen apart; the
ultimate irony is that all the states that had once been within Stalin’s glacis eventually moved
108 Dictatorship in Russia

towards multilateral western organizations like NATO and the European Union – to shed
forever the memory of the Warsaw Pact and Comecon.
How effectively did Stalin fare with the western powers? Again, there are examples of
success and failure. After 1945 the Soviet Union emerged as one of the world’s two
superpowers and a military supremacy over a large part of the continent that had never
existed before. With the development of the atomic and hydrogen bombs in 1949 and 1951,
Stalin also seemed to have closed the gap in technology where the west originally led.
Again, however, Stalin’s policies recoiled on the Soviet Union in the longer term. The west
responded in a more concerted way – through the Truman Doctrine and NATO – than it
had ever done in the inter-war period. Stalin did not have everything his own way – even
within the immediate area of his control. He was, after all, obliged to back down over his
Berlin blockade (1948–9). Indeed, there is a line of thought that the Soviet Union’s power
was still vulnerable, despite the obvious advances it had made. According to Kennedy-Pipe,
‘The Cold War was not a competition of equals: rather, it was an unequal struggle between
one strong regime, the United States, and one fragile regime, the Soviet Union’.173 It has
also been argued that in trying to compete with the United States, Stalin and his successors
placed intolerable strains on the Soviet economy; even the reforms of Andropov and
Gorbachev in the 1980s failed to prevent this leading to the collapse of the Soviet Union
in 1991.

The death of a dictator

All this brings us back full-circle to Stalin’s vulnerability. By 1953 Stalin had become more
insecure than ever; in Ward’s phrase, he was ‘raging, like Lear, against failure and
mortality’.174 This made him more dangerous than ever, especially to his subordinates, who
feared a revival of the great fear of 1938. In fact, Stalin was about to launch a new purge,
but this was prevented by his death in March 1953. He was staying at his country dacha
in Kuntsevo, where he suffered a stroke. When he did not make an appearance on 1 March,
none of his staff dared find out the reason. As Stalin’s absence lengthened into days, the
officer on duty contacted Stalin’s senior associates – Beria, Malenkov, Khrushchev and
Bulganin. They came quickly to the residence to find Stalin lying on his bedroom floor.
Stalin’s body was embalmed and placed next to Lenin’s in the mausoleum. There it remained
until 1961 when, on the orders of Khrushchev, it was cremated and buried in the Kremlin
Wall.
Stalin’s death had obvious implications for his system. Would this die with him? This
was the case with almost every other dictator covered in this book. Or would his – alone
– outlive the founder?

REFLECTIONS ON STALIN’S DICTATORSHIP

This chapter has considered the merits and defects of Stalin’s individual policies before
1941, during the Great Patriotic War, and after 1945. This final section will provide some
overall views of Stalin’s rule, concentrating on three questions.

What was the basis of Stalin’s power?

We have seen that Stalin rose to power through his control over the party and sought to
maintain it by means of social discipline and purges. Throughout his rule, however, there
 Dictatorship in Russia 109

were four factors which gave Stalinism its distinctive character: ideology, historical tradition,
personality cult and, of course, terror.
Stalin was not originally renowned as a philosopher, but he aimed to establish himself
as an authority on Marxism and to adapt Marxism to the needs of an industrializing society.
He wrote four major works: Marxism and the National Question (1913), Foundations of
Leninism (1924), Marxism and Linguistics (1950) and Economic Problems of Socialism in
the USSR (1952). He always prefaced any major policy statements with ideological
references, even in his speeches to the people during the Second World War. He succeeded
in turning Marxist principles upside down in order to justify his enormous personal powers.
As a result, Stalin has been disowned by most Marxists, who denounce his use of their
ideology to construct a totalitarian state.
Stalin did not, however, base his power entirely on ideology. Most of the early Bolsheviks,
especially Lenin, Trotsky, Bukharin, Kamenev and Zinoviev, had been Westernized Russians
who had turned against their Slavic inheritance – political, social and cultural. Stalin, by
contrast, was profoundly Slavic and quite deliberately revived an interest in an earlier phase
of Russian history. He was particularly fascinated by Ivan the Terrible (1533–84), with
whom he seemed in many ways to identify. Ivan had been confronted by opposition from
the landed nobility, or boyars, under their spokesman Prince Andrei Kurbsky; this paralleled
Stalin’s problems with dissidents within the party, led by Trotsky. Ivan tackled the problem
by initiating a series of purges carried out by the oprichniki (horsemen who carried, as the
emblem of their special authority, brooms and dogs’ heads attached to their saddles). This
may well have been one influence behind Stalin’s purges and the activities of the NKVD.
Stalin insisted on the official rehabilitation of this most unpopular of tsars and ordered
Eisenstein to produce an epic biographical film. He also restored pride in other periods of
the Russian past and, during the Second
World War, patriotism was deliberately
linked to ideology. In the words of Tucker,
‘Stalin merged Marx with Ivan the
Terrible.’175 He also developed an almost
tsarist attitude to power, but with his ver-
sion of Marxism taking the place of Divine
Right.
This brings us to the personal basis of
Stalin’s power. During the period 1929–53
Stalin constructed the most elaborate per-
sonality cult in history. An extract from an
official history read:

Stalin is the brilliant leader and teacher

of the Party, the great strategist of the
Socialist revolution, military com-
mander and guide of the Soviet state.
With the name of Stalin in their hearts,
the collective farmers toiled devotedly
in the fields to supply the Red Army

3 Joseph Stalin, late in life, c.1952 (David

King Collection)
110 Dictatorship in Russia

and the cities with food, and industry with raw materials. Stalin’s name is cherished
by the boys and girls of the Socialist land.

On Stalin’s seventieth birthday so many letters of congratulations and greetings were

sent to Pravda that it took three years to publish them. The Soviet Union was filled with
Stalin statues and busts, and numerous cities and towns were named after him.
In part this cult of personality was developed to cover Stalin’s personal deficiencies and
lack of charisma. Mediocrity and facelessness had assisted his rise to power, as his
contemporaries had not seen Stalin as a danger until it was too late. But mediocrity bred
insecurity, and insecurity was certainly a factor in Stalin’s campaign to eliminate the entire
1917 crop of Bolsheviks and to project himself as the only true successor to Lenin – the
best Leninist.176 Ulam provides another explanation for the cult:

Stalin was a butcher, who had sent tens and hundreds of thousands of men, women
and children to be tortured and shot on the strength of a diseased imagination. The cult
acted as a safeguard or a barrier keeping him from stepping over into actual insanity.177

He needed, it could be argued, to be reassured by overwhelming acclamation that he

was pursuing the right policies after all. In effect, therefore, Stalin practised the ultimate in
self-delusion, and indoctrinated himself.

How effective was Stalin’s power?

Stalin’s search for power was therefore total and the methods he used were more extreme
than those of his contemporaries – Hitler and Mussolini included. For decades historians

Estonian SSR
Latvian SSR
Lithuanian SSR

Belorussian SSR Leningrad

Moscow
Moldavian SSR
Kiev Gorkii Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic
Odessa Kharkov
Ukrainian SSR
Sverdlovsk

Novosibirsk

Georgian SSR
Kazakh SSR
Armenian SSR Baku

Azerbaijanian SSR
Tashkent
‘SSR’ = Soviet Socialist Republic
Uzbek SSR
Kirghiz SSR

Turkmen SSR Takjik SSR

Map 3 The Soviet Union in the later phase of Stalin’s rule

 Dictatorship in Russia 111

and students in the West have seen an automatic connection between method and result.
Stalin, it has been assumed, was both ruthless in his pursuit of power and efficient in his
use of it, with the first point leading directly to the second. Ruthlessness and efficiency
combined to create a form of totalitarianism which was more complete than that of Nazi
Germany. Stalin was fully in control of internal developments. He created an industrial
infrastructure through an effective planning system; he cut down possible opposition by
directly instigating purges; he changed the people’s cultural and social perceptions; and he
pursued a foreign policy which, with occasional changes in tactics, had an overall strategy.
Because of these developments, and despite the suffering inflicted, the Soviet Union was
able to inflict defeat on Nazi Germany. This followed a disastrous initial response, in which
Stalin completely misinterpreted Hitler’s intentions. But Stalin’s subsequent recovery
interacted with the long-term economic and military preparation, and with the centralization
already instilled, to overcome the much more limited military and economic base of Nazi
Germany. Victory also strengthened Stalin’s position after 1945. He restored the power and
the planning system which he had employed during the 1930s and ensured compliance
through a new set of purges. He also spread Soviet influence across eastern Europe and set
the pace in the development of the Cold War. In all respects, this was the period of ‘mature
dictatorship’.
Almost all parts of this chapter on Russia have put forward a different approach, one
which has gained ground rapidly since 1991. By this interpretation, Stalin’s regime was
ruthless but not, as a direct consequence, efficient. Totalitarianism was fundamentally
flawed: this was especially apparent during the 1930s and in domestic policy. As we have
seen, Stalin sought to centralize a political and economic system which kept falling to local
initiatives. As a result, central correctives had to be applied, which meant that Stalin’s policies
were as much reactive as they were planned. Similarly, his foreign policy had to be put on
to corrected courses, partly because of earlier errors of judgement and partly because of
circumstances beyond his control. The war with Germany initially paralysed the whole
system. The economic planning of the 1930s had been geared to mobilizing Russia for an
offensive campaign, whereas Stalin’s inappropriate diplomacy necessitated a defensive
response which could not immediately be delivered. Major changes were, however,
introduced to transform the situation. Soviet production was made more efficient,
paradoxically, by partially demobilizing the economic structure to enhance military
mobilization. The Soviet Union defeated Germany because it was able to transcend the
limits of Stalinism from the 1930s.
After 1945, however, Stalin’s position was vulnerable to the very forces which had been
responsible for military victory. He therefore had to reinstitute the sort of control which
had existed during the 1930s but which had been relaxed during the war. But this was an
expression of insecurity rather than ‘mature dictatorship’. There was also an element of
desperation about Soviet expansion in Europe. In part, it was a response to circumstances,
in part a means of justifying internal policies, a rerun of the interaction between foreign
and domestic policy during the early 1930s. As had always been the case, ruthlessness did
not necessarily engender efficiency; as often as not, it was itself a reaction to inefficiency.
As a system, Stalinist totalitarianism tended to use up more than it created.

Was Stalin necessary?

The most recent verdict on Stalin is therefore largely unfavourable. This was not, however,
always the case.
112 Dictatorship in Russia

Among Western writers, the most ardent defender of Stalin was Ian Grey, who deliberately
set out to redress what he considered a long-standing bias against Stalin. Many historians,
he argued, have been influenced by Trotsky’s vilification of Stalin. In reality, Stalin may
have had defects, but he also possessed a ‘great and highly disciplined intelligence’ together
with ‘single-mindedness’ and ‘implacable will’. He was totally dedicated to ‘the two causes
of Russia and Marxism–Leninism’, in the service of which ‘no sacrifice was too great’. His
ruthless measures were therefore applied for a higher objective. Throughout the purges Stalin
‘showed an extraordinary self-control and did not lose sight of his purpose’. In the last
analysis, Stalin could claim that ‘Soviet Russia had become stronger as a result of his
grandiose campaigns of industrialization, collectivization and social transformation.’178
Before 1991 most Western historians followed a more ambivalent approach.
Their argument was that Stalin constructed the most brutal dictatorship and used appalling
methods, but his achievement was considerable. His industrialization drive, in particular,
made possible eventual victory against fascism and the subsequent development of the Soviet
Union into one of the two superpowers. McCauley argued:

One may dismiss Stalin as a tyrant, as an evil man whom the USSR could have done
without. On the other hand, it is possible to argue that he rendered the Soviet people
a service which may eventually be seen as his greatest achievement. It is quite probable
that had the USSR not gone through the forced industrialisation of the 1930s she would
have succumbed to the German onslaught of 1941.179

E.H. Carr believed that Stalin was necessary, in that he was ‘an agent of history’,
produced by the circumstances following the Bolshevik Revolution. If Stalin had not set in
motion the process of industrialization, someone else would have done. In this respect,
Stalin was ‘the great executor of revolutionary policy’. He was, however, a man of opposites.
He combined immense achievements with utter brutality: he was, in Carr’s words ‘an
emancipator and a tyrant’.
The main dissenting voice against this line was Ulam, who chose to lay much more
stress on Stalin’s deficiencies, believing that Russia would have been much better off
without him. He refuted the argument that Stalin’s industrialization programme dragged
Russia into the twentieth century; on the contrary, much faster progress would have been
made by an alternative regime – possibly even by Tsarist Russia. It is also inappropriate to
argue that Stalin paved the way for victory in the Second World War; if anything, he impeded
it by his earlier liquidation of vast numbers of people who would have been useful to the
war effort.
This approach anticipated the most recent analysis which has emerged since the collapse
of the Soviet Union at the end of 1991. Previous views that Stalin was necessary were based
on the assumption that he developed and controlled a system which worked; disagreement
focused on the cost of this system. Revisionist historians have, however, shown that the
system did not necessarily work and that Stalin was not always in control. Perhaps the most
telling argument is that the Soviet Union was able to defeat Nazi Germany only by
dismantling the planning system which had been developed during the 1930s – the very
system which has always been considered to have been Stalin’s main contribution to the
victory over Nazism. If this argument is true, then the whole essence of Stalin’s achievement
is undermined. It is possible to pursue the argument further. Stalin’s Five-Year Plans were
based on the premise of a future offensive by the Soviet Union. This conditioned Stalin’s
diplomacy and delivered up to Hitler the opportunity for a surprise attack in 1941. Stalin’s
 Dictatorship in Russia 113

system would have collapsed but for the dismantling of that system and the reversion to a
more traditional form of warfare.
Such an argument would make Stalin redundant in the history of Soviet survival, let
alone that of Soviet development. Yet the answer is not that simple. The question which
must also be considered is whether the Soviet Union could have produced sufficient war
matériel as a result of the dismantling of the Five-Year Plans if the Five-Year Plans had
never existed in the first place. In other words, it is possible to criticize Stalin’s methods
while acknowledging that he had a vital role to play in preparing the Soviet Union for war.
The result may have been the wrong war but at least the infrastructure was there. It may
have been the wrong infrastructure for the particular war, but the infrastructure could be
modified to bring about a different type of war. In other words, Stalin’s system was unpicked
by him in the face of emergency to produce a new and less dogmatic method, which helped
produce victory. This appears not only to vindicate Stalin, but to make him crucial for the
very survival of the Soviet Union.
Until, that is, we consider the impact of Stalinism on the future. We now have the
advantage of a longer perspective. Previously the ultimate criterion for success or failure
was victory or defeat in the Second World War: this was bound eventually to vindicate
Stalin. But we are now aware of the ultimate paradox of Soviet history: that the regime
which survived Hitler died of old age in 1991. This, too, was Stalin’s legacy.
It used to be thought that Stalin’s victory in the war had created a hardened system which
was fully in control of a totalitarian dictatorship within and which pursued the Cold War
outside. Stalin was predominant: small wonder that he should have been criticized by his
successor, Khrushchev, who felt that he was in the shadow of Stalin’s monolith. The
destalinization campaign which was launched in 1956 was therefore an attempt to escape
from the shadow and restore the light of Lenin’s legitimate succession. The problem was
that Stalinism kept reappearing as the forceful strand of Soviet development. When
Khrushchev was overthrown in 1964, for the failures of agricultural reforms and for his
action in the Cuban Missile Crisis, Stalinism made a partial return in the policies of
Brezhnev; from 1964 and 1981, the Soviet Union re-established its military and nuclear
credibility. Between 1985 and 1991 Gorbachev sought to end the Cold War and reorganize
the Soviet economy, only to face attempted overthrow by neo-Stalinists under Yaneyev.
The post-Soviet regime of Yeltsin also experienced opposition from groups nostalgic for
the Stalinist past – and the association which it still enjoyed with power and efficiency.
There is now an altogether different perspective. Stalin reached his peak during the war
despite his system. When he attempted to restore his system after the war, he fell into a
decline which led to a crumbling of his regime. Stalin was not a posthumous threat to
Khrushchev because of his strength, but because of his weakness. And that weakness was
the way in which Stalin had personally distorted the communist system, which had somehow
survived in spite of him. Khrushchev therefore removed Stalin from history not to destroy
an entrenched system but to clear away its wreckage. Perhaps Khrushchev was the first to
realize that the Soviet Union had survived despite Stalinism, not because of it. As events
turned out, the negative legacy of Stalinism proved stronger than the positive. Khrushchev
fell in 1964 at least partly because of his experiments to rehabilitate agriculture. Brezhnev
and Kosygin failed on the same ground, while Gorbachev failed in his efforts to Westernize
the economy through perestroika largely because of the inflexibility of the Stalinist system.
The ultimate failure of Stalin, therefore, was to create a system which could not survive in
peace as well as it had done in war.
Chapter 4

Dictatorship in Italy

Italy was the first of the major European states to seek salvation in the policies of the radical
right, and Mussolini was the first of a succession of fascist dictators. Yet there has always
been a puzzling element about Mussolini’s rule. Although his influence was profound, he
is often derided as a buffoon. In 1919, for example, the socialist Giacinto Serrati described
him as ‘a rabbit; a phenomenal rabbit; he roars. Observers who do not know him mistake
him for a lion.’1 In 1961, A.J.P. Taylor called him ‘a vain, blundering boaster without either
ideas or aims’.2 ‘Fascism’, he added, ‘was a façade. There was nothing behind it but show
and empty rhetoric.’3 There have also been references to Mussolini as a ‘sawdust Caesar’.
With views like this it has often been difficult to take Mussolini and Italian Fascism
seriously. Yet this is precisely what we have to do if we are to avoid trivializing a topic
which has as much historical significance as Stalin’s Russia or Hitler’s Germany. The key
to understanding the Italian dictatorship is not to assume that it was simple but, rather, to
accept that it was complex. By avoiding the simplistic, recent analyses have provided plenty
of lines which can be pursued. This chapter aims to look at some of them.

THE RISE OF MUSSOLINI TO 1922: AN OUTLINE

From the beginning of his stormy career in journalism and politics until he became Prime
Minister in 1922, Mussolini underwent a series of major shifts in the direction of his beliefs
and tactics.
His original radicalism was of the left, not of the right. He leaned towards revolutionary
socialism, thought in terms of class struggle and uncompromisingly condemned nationalism
and imperialism, particularly Italy’s conquest of Tripoli in 1912. He was a member of the
PSI (Italian Socialist Party) and in 1912 was appointed editor of the newspaper Avanti by
the party’s militants. Through Avanti he aimed to promote popular revolutionary fervour,
while at the same time attempting to enter Italian politics legally; he failed, however, to
win a parliamentary seat in the 1913 elections. Throughout 1914 he devoted his energies
to putting the case against Italian involvement in the First World War.
Then occurred the first of Mussolini’s changes. By 1915 he was pressing openly for Italy
to join the fighting; clearly his ideological views were built on shifting sands. He was
promptly deprived of his editorship of Avanti and was expelled from the PSI. He succeeded,
however, in acquiring his own paper, Il Popolo d’Italia, in which he wedded war with
revolutionary fervour, using slogans like ‘Who has steel has bread’ and ‘Revolution is an
idea which has found bayonets’. His own personal contribution to the Italian war effort was
a spell of loyal but undistinguished military service, ended in 1917 by wounds received
after a grenade exploded in his trench.
 Dictatorship in Italy 115

In March 1919 Mussolini presided over a meeting in Milan which gave birth to the
Fascio di Combattimento. The Fasci soon spread to some seventy other cities and towns,
where they established themselves as local political movements with local programmes. At
the national level, the Fascio di Combattimento identified as its enemies a surprisingly large
number of groups: organized labour (especially the trade unions and the PSI), capitalism
and big business, the monarchy and even the Church. Not surprisingly, the Fascists failed
to win a single parliamentary seat in the 1919 elections, and the Socialists mocked Mussolini
by burying an effigy of Fascism in Milan.
These developments induced Mussolini to undergo, in 1921, a second change. This time
he was prepared to abandon his revolutionary inclination and prepare fascism for a
parliamentary struggle. Hence, he set up a political party (the PNF or Partito Nazionale
Fascista) and appealed to as wide a cross-section of society as he could by targeting the
enemies to socialism and the threat of red revolution. This strategy was more successful,
and in 1921 the Fascist Party won thirty-five parliamentary seats.
But broadening the appeal and abandoning open revolution did not mean less violence.
On the contrary, black-shirted Fascist squads launched numerous attacks on the left. They
were given their opportunity by a wave of strikes organized in the cities by the trade unions
and the PSI, as well as by action taken in rural areas by peasant leagues against landowners.
Throughout 1920 and 1921 militant workers and peasants were intimidated into submission,
through beatings and being forced to consume castor oil and live toads. All over Italy Fascist
activities were directed by local leaders (or ras). One of the most successful of these was
Balbo, who captured Ferrara and much of Romagna from the Socialists in May 1922. The
Socialists responded in August with an appeal for a general strike as a protest against Fascist
violence, but this played further into Mussolini’s hands. It took the Fascists only one day
to smash the threat and thus to emerge as the main safeguard against industrial disruption.
Meanwhile, the post-war Italian governments had become increasingly unstable and
unpopular. A succession of prime ministers sought to contain what they saw as a threat
from the left and, in the process, came to depend on the parliamentary support of the Fascist
Party. Even so, Mussolini had nowhere near sufficient electoral backing to establish an
alternative government; the best he could reasonably have expected was an invitation to
play a minor role in Prime Minister Facta’s cabinet. Yet 1922 saw a spectacular political
development: the replacement of Facta by Mussolini.
This occurred as the result of a threat of force from Mussolini and a reaction of near
panic from the government. On his way to the Fascist Party Congress in Naples in October
1922, Mussolini stopped off in Rome to demand at least five cabinet ministries. In Naples
he made preparations for a Fascist march on Rome to seize power if his conditions were
not met. Facta urged King Victor Emmanuel III to declare martial law so that the threat
could be countered by force. The King refused and, mindful of the Fascist contingents
gathering outside Rome, invited Mussolini to join a coalition government. Sensing the
possibility of total capitulation, Mussolini declined. On 29 October Mussolini, then in
Milan, received a request from the King to form his own government. This was followed
shortly afterwards by the much heralded March on Rome as Mussolini, now Prime Minister,
paraded his henchmen through the streets and announced the beginning of a new era.

THE RISE OF MUSSOLINI TO 1922: AN EXPLANATION

Four reasons can be given for Mussolini’s success by the end of 1922. First, Italy itself had
undergone a prolonged crisis before 1914, and again more acutely from 1919, in which
116 Dictatorship in Italy

conventional political and economic solutions no longer worked. Second, during the same
period, a new ideology had grown out of this crisis, providing Mussolini with an alternative
route to power. Third, this new movement attracted the support of a cross-section of a society
thoroughly disillusioned with the existing establishment. And fourth, Mussolini’s leadership
and strategy gave to this movement a versatility and vitality which contrasted all too
obviously with a tired and dull government.

Underlying instability, 1861–1922

Italy had been united as a liberal parliamentary regime but, in the era between Cavour and
Mussolini, lacked political stability. There was a rapid succession of ministries: twenty-two
between 1860 and 1900 (an average of 1.8 years each), nine between 1900 and 1914 (1.6
years each) and seven between 1914 and 1922 (1.1 years each). At first, parties were not
clearly defined and government depended on a consensus reached between the different
political groups, a process known as trasformismo. Unfortunately, this could be maintained
only by the distribution of favours and offices, a corrupt system which kept political power
in the hands of the very few.
There were several attempts to achieve political stability before 1914. During a period of
political crisis in the 1890s a conservative politician, Crispi, tried to convert the state into a
more authoritarian regime, based on that of Bismarck’s Germany. Although this failed at the
time, the potential was not lost on future politicians. For the moment, however, a more liberal
line was followed in the decade before 1914 as Giolitti (Prime Minister 1903–5, 1906–9 and
1911–14) tried to reform the whole process by seeking the co-operation of the Catholic Church
and the Socialists, and by introducing near-universal manhood suffrage in 1912. Giolitti’s
critics, however, argued that his efforts were already in trouble by 1914 and that Italian politics
had not been able to adjust to mass participation. These experiences were to be enormously
important in the early 1920s. Pollard maintains that ‘Fascism was to be the agent of reaction
on behalf of the grouping of forces which had been at work in the End of the Century Crisis’.4
In this respect, the roots of Mussolini’s solution to the crisis of Italian constitutionalism can
be seen in the 1890s. Giolitti, in the meantime, failed to build up a system to prevent this
development: ‘It is no exaggeration to say that Giolitti’s failure to launch Italy on the path
of a representative, mass democracy in the pre-war years helped open the way for Mussolini
and Fascism in the post-war period.’5
Two contrasting traditions had therefore appeared within the Italian political system.
One was the liberal experience of power, which was moderate but also corrupt and uncertain.
The other was the authoritarian backlash which seemed to offer something more substantial
and secure – if, that is, it could ever be achieved. Clearly a major upheaval was needed to
turn prospect into reality.
This was provided by the First World War; in the words of De Grand, it ‘marked a
rupture in the course of Italian political development’.6 In effect, it pushed Italy from
instability into crisis. The traditional governing groups were split in their attitude to the
war. Giolitti remained consistently opposed, while the wartime prime ministers, Salandra,
Boselli and Orlando, could neither co-operate with him nor do without him. The result was
a paralysis of parliamentary government, which was worsened by Italy’s military defeat at
the hands of the Austrians at Caporetto in 1917. The regime was reprieved only by the
Italian victory in 1918 at Vittorio Veneto against an Austria which was falling to pieces
internally. Governments were also under pressure from the threat of economic collapse and
social disruption. The total cost of the war was 148,000 million lire, over twice the total
 Dictatorship in Italy 117

expenditure of all Italian governments between 1861 and 1913.7 The economic base was
weakened by huge budget deficits and by unbalanced trade and industrial production. It has
been estimated that, by 1919, exports covered only 36 per cent of Italy’s imports.
Furthermore, the growth of industrial production between 1915 and 1918 had been geared
so directly to the war effort that it could not be maintained by the requirements of the post-
war home market. Unemployment soared, with demobilization mainly responsible for the
total of two million unemployed by the end of 1919. Inflation had also become a fact of
life, with the cost of living in 1919 about four times that of 1913.
With this gloomy economic background, it appeared that Italy had emerged from the
war with all the potential for violent confrontation. On the one hand, the urban and rural
working classes were desperate to prevent any further decline in their standard of living.
On the other, the industrialists and landowners feared that demands for increased wages
and employment protection would raise costs and threaten productivity and profits. The
situation was further complicated by the impoverishment of a large part of the lower middle
class which became radical and assertive, distrusting labour and capital alike. The crucial
issue from 1919 was whether the post-war governments could salvage the liberal approach
and pull these conflicting forces back together for the collective national good.
Giolitti, Prime Minister between June 1920 and July 1921, made some attempt but found
that all hope of consensus politics had now been dashed. The Socialist Party (PSI) and the
majority of the unions were militant in their demands, the lower middle classes were no
longer dependable as moderate voters, and the whole political scene was further complicated
by the emergence of the Italian Popular Party (PPI), a large Catholic grouping. The only
real hope for stability was a coalition which included Italy’s two largest parties, the Socialists
and the PPI. However, the gap between them was unbridgeable. Giolitti and his successors,
Bonomi (1921–2) and Facta (1922), therefore, operated in a political vacuum. Increasingly,
they came to depend on the Fascists – but in a way which was underhand, unparliamentary
and ultimately suicidal. Unable to resolve the growing crisis between labour and capital,
and ever conscious of the threat of revolution, the governments tacitly allowed the Fascists
to take direct and often brutal action against unions and peasant leagues. This was the last
resort of a government which seemed to have lost the will to govern.
Even so, the crisis of liberal government does not fully explain the ease with which the
handover was made to Mussolini and authoritarianism in 1922. After all, Mussolini was
appointed Prime Minister with a parliamentary base of only 35 seats out of 535. The reason
seems to be that 1922 was a low point in government stability, with both the Prime Minister
and the King contemplating disaster. Facta was in a caretaker role and was clearly hoping
that Giolitti would be able to resume power. His immediate concern was to try to prevent
Mussolini from pre-empting this changeover, which is why he was prepared to confront
him with the threat of martial law. The King, however, had different concerns. In the event
of a confrontation between the Fascists and the army, the latter might desert or there could
be a civil war. In either event, he could well be forced to abdicate. To him, therefore,
Mussolini seemed a safer alternative to Giolitti.
There is one final point. The fact that Mussolini had only 7 per cent of the seats in
parliament did not matter too much. Such a proportion was not unprecedented, as a number
of previous governments had been built on similarly insubstantial foundations. The
assumption was that a coalition would be quickly added around the core – perhaps the usual
combination of Liberals and Popolari. Only this time, the core would prove stronger because
it was more authoritarian. Perhaps this is what the King had in mind: giving more energy
to a failing liberal system while restraining the authoritarian alternative.
118 Dictatorship in Italy

Or perhaps there was no such calculation and Mussolini and the Fascist movement were
simply the beneficiaries of collective government indecision. Either way, the influence of
both Mussolini and Fascism must have increased phenomenally over a short period for such
decisions to have been made.

The emergence of a Fascist movement

Fascism did not, as is sometimes suggested, spontaneously ignite in post-war Italy. It had
a longer history than that and the ingredients which made it so combustible had been a long
time in the mixing. Nor was Fascism simply a superficial set of slogans designed to give
an appearance of an ideology to the personal pretensions of Mussolini. Instead, Fascism
and Mussolini were separate identities, although they came together in a symbiotic
relationship. Fascism was a magnet for widely divergent views and ideas, taking followers
from all other parts of the political spectrum. Normally the far left and the far right are
seen as the two poles on the political spectrum, separated from each other by all the other
political positions. Fascism was uniquely the result of what happened when the far left and
far right came together, in the process bypassing the more moderate sectors. This shortcut
enabled it to attract a far wider range of support than any of Italy’s more traditional political
parties.
Mussolini himself started on the far left. His early beliefs were influenced by a
combination of Marxism and syndicalism, the latter inspired by the French revolutionary
theorist Sorel. At he same time, he was able to become a full member of the more
conventional Socialist Party (PSI), thus merging three separate strands of the left. Among
the more genuine syndicalists was Rossoni, with whom Mussolini joined, along with radical
Italian Republicans, in promoting the pro-war cause in 1914, in the process leaving the PSI.
Already he and others from the far left were moving towards co-operation with the right.
Meanwhile an alternative and more radical right had also been emerging in Italy. Gabriele
D’Annunzio reflected the widespread disappointment in the way Italy had been united: the
process seemed incomplete, lacking in poetry and action. Hence the far right had strongly
theatrical inclinations. It was also all too aware that Italian aspirations were not being taken
seriously in Europe. Other activists included Marinetti (who, as a Futurist, emphasized the
importance of power and the application of modern technology to war), Corradini, a strong
critic of ‘ignoble socialism’, Federzoni and Rocco. In 1910 they established the Italian
National Organization, which called for an authoritarian regime and a power cult connected
with ancient Rome. This was of future importance in establishing contacts with the
conservative power base, especially business and the Church.
So far there may not appear much in common between the two extremes. But by 1914
they had come to share a strong antipathy to the liberal regime in Italy and to the main
alternative – socialism. From that stage onwards the dissident left and right began to
collaborate. The catalyst was the involvement of Italy in the First World War. Nationalist
and Syndicalist squads actively campaigned in favour of Italy joining the war, calling
themselves Revolutionary Action Groups (Fasci di Azione Rivoluzionaria). Mussolini, now
converted to the idea of Italian intervention, resigned from Avanti and founded Il Popolo
d’ltalia. He therefore allied with the far right, although he retained his attachment to some
of the key ideas of the left. D’Annunzio was also strongly in favour of Italian participation
in the war. He focused on the prospects of empire and imperialism, while at the same time
meeting the syndicalism of the left as a means of achieving a more radical economic
organization.
 Dictatorship in Italy 119

If the war brought co-operation between left and right, the peace which followed helped
turn this into convergence. Italy emerged disillusioned and heavily indebted to the Allies.
Political instability worsened and in the ensuing chaos the two strands now intertwined to
produce the characteristic components of Fascism. Mussolini concentrated on organization,
instituting the Fascio di Combattimento for activists of the far left. When this failed to
develop properly he turned to a second wave of organization at a local level in the form of
the ras, before finally opting for the level of a political party. By this time, Mussolini had
adapted his syndicalist origins to the realities of the Italian political situation. Meanwhile,
D’Annunzio was adding the theatrical elements to Fascism. His involvement in the Fiume
escapade immediately after the war produced the uniforms, slogans and rituals which were
soon to become an integral part of Fascism. Those who returned from Fiume also became
prominent in the ras squads. The realignment which was Fascism was completed by the
fusion of the Nationalist Association with the Fascist Party in 1923. This meant a major
shift of fascism to the right and the strengthening of the links with the Italian establishment.
Two historical debates have arisen from these developments. The first concerns the roots
of Italian Fascism. Sternhell argues that the left–right convergence occurred first in France,
with the convergence of Sorelian syndicalism and the ultra-nationalism of Maurras. This
convergence was transmitted to Italy along the same two channels, in effect making France
the seedbed of Fascism. In both France and Italy, Fascism originated from the rejection of
the tradition of the Enlightenment.8 Critics of this approach question the extent to which
France could have provided such a continuous influence, as well as the neatness of the
syndicalist–nationalist synthesis. The process was messier and involved a great deal of pulling
and tugging between different Italian-based factions (see Roberts). A similar case could be
made against Gregor’s view that Fascism was already a coherent and fully-formed ideology
by the time that Mussolini had taken power, with all its strands in place. Instead, according
to Roberts, Mussolini had to ‘balance personnel and innovations in order to foster a façade
of consensus’.9
Yet for all the positioning and repositioning of the various pieces, one thing remains
clear. What became Fascism had an extraordinary magnetism for groups as widely divergent
as revolutionary syndicalists, futurists, revolutionary republicans and ultra-nationalists. It
was able to absorb them and, in the process, create its own left–right polarity. The process
did not make for long-term stability but it was of vital importance to gain support for
Mussolini’s rise to power, with which we are concerned at the moment. The next question
which needs to be answered is: why did Fascism increase in popularity during the crucial
years of Italy’s political instability?

Support for Fascism

The emblem eventually adopted for the Fascist Party was the fasces, a bundle of rods with
a protruding axe-head, carried by magistrates in ancient Rome. These rods came to symbolize
the various groups supporting Fascism, individually weak but deriving a collective strength
from being bound together. Certainly Fascism appealed to a wide cross-section of society
at a time when the prevailing atmosphere was one of political instability and economic
insecurity. To many people, Fascism offered an alternative to a narrowly based and dis-
credited government on the one hand and, on the other, the upheaval of a socialist revolution.
The original support for Fascism came from war veterans – young, aggressive and,
according to Gregor, ‘irretrievably lost to organized socialism and ill-disposed toward the
commonplaces of the traditional parties’.10 Most of them were fiercely patriotic; they
120 Dictatorship in Italy

denounced the mutilated peace of the Paris Settlement and their ardour was fired by the
occupation of Fiume in 1919–20 by D’Annunzio. The Italian army was generally sympathetic
towards the Fascists, although two attitudes tended to prevail: the lower levels participated
enthusiastically in Fascist rallies and diverted a considerable amount of military equipment
and arms, while the officer corps tried to keep discipline within the army without actually
attacking Fascism. On the civilian scene, the carabinieri which, as the constabulary, was
the main force of law and order, openly sympathized with Fascism and stood aside when
attacks were directed at trade unionists.
The backbone of Fascism has long been considered to have been the lower middle class,
especially small shopkeepers, artisans and clerical workers.11 This normally moderate sector
of society had been destabilized by the process of industrialization and by the economic
difficulties caused by the war. They were the casualties of changes occurring all over central
Europe, and the sociologist Seymour Lipset has called them the ‘displaced masses’. They
were caught between the rival forces of labour and capital and spurned the solutions of the
socialist left, for these would involve a further depression of their status and their being
levelled down into the working class. Hence, in De Grand’s words, they saw the Fascist
movement as ‘the long sought instrument of bourgeois resurgence’,12 since it promised an
end to industrial disruption and revolutionary socialism on the one hand while, on the other,
it seemed ready to curb the power of big business. De Felice goes even further: for him,
‘Fascism as a movement was the idealisation, the desire of an emerging middle class.’13
In terms of its sheer influence, however, the agrarian sector has until recently been
underestimated. At first most of the support came from the landlords and estate owners.
Their contacts with Fascism emerged from fear of the left. In the 1920 elections the PSI
won control over many of the cities, including Milan and Bologna, along with twenty-five
provincial councils and 2,200 district councils. In these circumstances the traditional ruling
elites lost their predominance. At the same time they were also facing pressures from the
labour markets and the peasant leagues. This meant that the traditional groups were greatly
assisted by the Fascist attacks on peasant strikers. During the first half of 1921 Fascist
squads destroyed 119 labour chambers, 107 co-operatives and 83 peasant league offices.
Yet there is evidence that even more substantial numbers of the peasantry were won
over. These were mainly the smaller-scale peasant proprietors who were alienated by the
undertaking of the PSI to collectivize the land. Some 500,000 people had managed to acquire
ownership of land since 1918 and, even if the amount was meagre, they were determined
not to lose it to socialism. There was therefore an active preference for the later Fascist
policy of small land grants given to individual cultivators rather than the socialist
alternatives.14 Thus Fascism appealed to the cravings of two separate sectors of the landed
interest. The fact that these two sectors opposed each other was one example of the inherent
contradiction within Fascist support. Mussolini was even surprised by the extent of peasant
support, as he had originally seen Fascism as an urban phenomenon.15 The rural situation
is highly complex and is an area where further research is particularly needed.
Industry produced the most dramatic class rupture in post-war Italy and it is scarcely
surprising that the great industrialists should have backed Fascism. Because Mussolini’s
followers battered the unions into submission, the industrialists were willing to provide
large donations; two examples were Alberto Pirelli, the tyre magnate, and Giovanni Agnelli
of Fiat. Then, during the course of 1921, a number of workers joined the Fascist movement.
The main reason for this was the growing crisis of socialism. The PSI split in 1921 and a
separate Communist Party was established under the influence of Gramsci. The organization
of the socialist movement became even more decentralized and provincial, which meant
 Dictatorship in Italy 121

that the attacks of the Fascists rarely met co-ordinated resistance. Those workers who
defected from what they saw as a sinking ship were also attracted by the emergence of
alternatives to the unions – the Fascist syndicates.
Finally, there were sectors who assisted Fascism indirectly: although they could not bring
themselves to support Fascism openly they were at least prepared to tolerate it in a way
which would have been out of the question with, for example, socialism. One of these
groups was the political establishment, whose attitude has already been examined. Another
was the aristocratic class, who were appeased by Mussolini’s willingness to end his attacks
on the monarchy: he said in Udine in September 1922, ‘Now I really believe that the regime
can be profoundly altered without touching the monarchy . . . Therefore, we shall not make
the monarchy part of our campaign.’16 The Queen Mother, Margherita, and the King’s cousin,
the Duke of Aosta, rapidly became admirers of Fascism. A third sector was the Catholic
Church. This was won over by the moderation in Mussolini’s stance by June 1921, when
he was asserting in parliament: ‘Fascism neither practises nor preaches anti-clericalism.’17
The Church also took its cue from Pope Pius XI who, from the time of his election in 1922,
remained on good terms with Mussolini. The Church undoubtedly considered a communist
revolution to be the main threat. Mussolini, by contrast, had abandoned atheism and had
come to accept that ‘the Latin and Imperial traditions of Rome are today represented by
Catholicism’.18

The role of Mussolini himself

A distinction has already been drawn between Italian Fascism and Mussolini. The former
possessed considerable independent momentum, as was shown by the widespread local
support gained in 1920 and 1921. But Fascism was also diffuse and incoherent, likely to
dissipate unless given a national structure and identity. This is what Mussolini provided.
His first contribution to Fascism was its organization. It is true that he had an enormous
struggle to achieve any sort of centralization in 1921 and that local activism would continue,
undisciplined, for several years to come. He did, however, give Fascism its vital foothold
in parliament, and the PFI gained respectability and political credibility which transcended
purely local interests. He was also able to establish links between local activist groups, so
that Fascism could claim to be a national movement as well as a national party. In the
process, he provided a much needed synthesis between different parts. Augusto De Marsanich
observed in 1922 that the party was often ‘revealed as a mosaic’ and that in such
circumstances ‘only the intellect and will of Mussolini can still control and direct us.’19
Second, Mussolini showed the importance of opportunism and action rather than a fixed
ideology. Admittedly, he sometimes hesitated: Balbo, for example, is supposed to have
prodded him into action over the March on Rome by telling him: ‘We are going, either
with you or without you. Make up your mind.’20 He was also strongly inclined to intuitive
behaviour and he lacked a policy or a programme. He did, however, succeed in projecting
himself as a flexible pragmatist and he managed to cover up any erratic or inconsistent
views. He once explained: ‘Only maniacs never change. New facts can call for new
positions.’21 He claimed that his was a doctrine of action, and he saw his strength as having
neither an overall system nor, after 1919, an ideological straitjacket. This pragmatism
enabled him to make full use of the chaotic conditions in post-war Italy. He could use the
largely spontaneous Fascist campaigns of pressure and violence in order to satisfy the popular
craving for positive action; at the same time, he could pretend that Fascism was moderate
in parliament, so winning the grudging approval of the government.
122 Dictatorship in Italy

This brings us to Mussolini’s personal leadership. His career has been presented as one
of bluster and bluff – in huge proportions. But then the early 1920s were a period in which
outrageous bluff had a better than usual chance of success. Mussolini applied all his
journalistic skills and tricks to attract popular attention and support. He also learned, from
D’Annunzio during the Fiume escapade, how to create a sense of power among his followers,
even incorporating into the Fascist movement the war-cry of the Arditi: ‘Ayah, ayah, alala!’.
His personal attributes, according to Hibbert, included ‘a physical stance not yet devitalised
by illness, a style of oratory, staccato, tautophonic and responsive, not yet ridiculed by
caricature and a personal charm not yet atrophied by adulation’.22 With this presence, he
was able to act his way into power.
For this is what happened. He played upon the post-war crisis, making it appear that
Fascism really did have the strength to smash socialism and remould society, and that it
could disrupt the functioning of parliamentary politics. No chances were taken by the
politicians, and Mussolini was given more respect than his strength perhaps deserved; this
would explain the capitulation of Facta and Victor Emmanuel when they were put under
threat in October 1922. The counterpart to Mussolini, the destroyer, was the constructive
statesman who, alone, could reconcile, rally and unite; under his leadership ‘Fascism would
draw its sword to cut the many Gordian Knots which enmesh and strangle Italian life.’23
This personification of power had inherent dangers as, eventually, the bluff turned inwards
and, as Mack Smith argues, Mussolini fell victim to his own delusions.24

MUSSOLINI’S DICTATORSHIP, 1922–43

Between 1922 and 1943 Mussolini established, at least in theory, all the institutions and
devices associated with the totalitarian state. The foundation was the Fascist ideology, upon
which was set a one-party system and all the paraphernalia of the personality cult. Popular
support was guaranteed by indoctrination and, where necessary, coercion, while the economy
was brought under a corporative system and geared to the needs of war. This section will
examine the attempts to develop a dictatorship, the extent to which these actually changed
Italy, and whether they worked in practice. Below the surface there are indications that the
totalitarian state was extremely precarious. Fascist ideology was a makeshift alliance of
different interests, the political institutions retained a surprisingly large number of non-
Fascist influences, and the processes of indoctrination, coercion and corporativism were
never completed. Above all, foreign policy eventually destabilized the whole system.

The stages in Mussolini’s dictatorship

Although the individual components of Mussolini’s dictatorship are complex, there is a
discernible chronological trend to which they all at least partly relate.
The period between October 1922 and January 1925 saw Mussolini coming to terms
with his appointment as Prime Minister and his attempts to make that power more substantial
and permanent without, however, making radical changes based on ideology. Then, between
1925 and 1929, he aimed more consciously to step up the process of creating a Fascist
regime, in the process using the term ‘totalitarian’ for the first time at the annual congress
of the PNF in June 1925. A degree of stability seemed to have been achieved by 1930, in
both domestic and foreign policies.
This was, however, subsequently threatened by the economic pressures of the Great
Depression. During the early 1930s, therefore, Mussolini moved more definitely towards a
 Dictatorship in Italy 123

4 Benito Mussolini, photo taken in 1923

(© Hulton Archive/Getty)

concept of the ‘corporate state’ and tried to

integrate the various forms of totalitarian
control. The problem was that the regime
needed a more obvious appearance of
success. Mussolini sought this in a more
active foreign policy, which involved his
dictatorship in a series of wars. This meant
another round of radical changes in the late
1930s; these were the result partly of dom-
estic pressures and partly of influences
from Nazi Germany. The result was, in
Morgan’s words, that ‘Between 1936 and
1940 the regime consciously stepped up
and intensified its attempts to “fascistise”
Italian society.’25 This broke the earlier bal-
ance and consensus within Italy and meant
the intensification of repression on the one
hand and of opposition on the other.
Meanwhile, Italy’s economic infrastruc-
ture, seriously weakened between 1936 and
1939 by constant exposure to war, was
tested to the point of collapse by Mussolini’s disastrous decision to enter the Second World
War. Although Mussolini attempted between 1943 and 1945 to recreate something of the
original dynamism of Fascism, by this time he had become no more than a Nazi puppet
within a small part of northern Italy.

The ideology of Fascism

In 1932 Mussolini penned the basic ideas of the movement, clearly and emphatically, in
his Political and Social Doctrine of Fascism. Fascism, he said, was anti-communist, anti-
socialist and strongly opposed to an economic conception of history. He denied that class
war can be the preponderant force in the transformation of society. Fascism was also anti-
democratic, denouncing the whole complex system of democratic ideology. It was certainly
authoritarian: ‘The foundation of Fascism is the conception of the State. Fascism conceives
of the State as an absolute.’ Finally, it promoted territorial expansion as an ‘essential
manifestation of vitality’.26
On the negative side, this definition was a hotchpotch of the ideas of conflicting sub-
movements and sub-ideologies, of which De Grand has identified no fewer than five.27 The
first was national syndicalism which, in its emphasis on creating syndicates of workers and
managers, was initially republican, anticlerical and vaguely socialistic. The second was rural
fascism, which was anti-urban, anti-modern and anti-industrial. The third was technocratic
fascism; because it accepted industrialization, and all the implications of modernization, it
differed markedly from rural fascism. The fourth was conservative fascism; with its industrial,
agrarian, monarchist and Catholic connections, it was basically traditional, pragmatic and
non-ideological. The fifth was nationalist fascism, perhaps the most coherent version with
124 Dictatorship in Italy

an emphasis on an aggressive foreign policy and an authoritarian political system. In addition

to this five-way division between the strategies of these groups, there were other gaps.
National syndicalism and technocratic fascism were both radical. They regarded themselves
as the logical outcome of western Europe’s revolutionary heritage, although they restored
the emphasis on order and social harmony rather than individualism and liberal democracy.
By contrast, conservative and nationalist fascism rejected Europe’s revolutionary tradition
altogether; their purpose was not to rationalize the French Revolution but to do away with
it. This wide range of attitudes may originally have helped Fascism to gain popular support
but, once the Fascist regime had been established, it proved a source of weakness. The Fascist
state lacked the sort of monolithic base which Stalin’s version of Marxism–Leninism gave
to the Soviet Union.
Fascism was therefore an eclectic ideology, or one in which diverse components were
loosely stuck together. This was perceived even at the time. De Marsanich observed in 1922
that ‘our party is revealed as a mosaic’ and that there was ‘a multiplicity of interpretations
made by Fascists themselves so that each individual believes in his own type of Fascism’.28
This was partly because of the different strands which contributed to the emergence of the
ideology. We have already seen the broad convergence of the radical right and radical left.
Within this framework came the more specific views of a number of individuals bringing
with them the wreckage of their previous attachments. Hence, radicals of the left included
Arpinati, an anarchist, and Bianchi and Rossoni, both revolutionary anarchists. To the right
flocked radicals influenced by D’Annunzio, followed by Catholics, conservatives and
monarchists. Mussolini was always conscious that Fascism had never been able to develop
the sort of synthesis normally attributed to Marxism–Leninism. He gave reasons for this in
1932, as an introduction to the attempts to define Fascism: ‘The years which preceded the
March on Rome were ones in which the overriding need for action did not allow us the
possibility of profound philosophical enquiries or complete doctrinal elaborations.’29
From these puzzling observations we may draw several conclusions. First, because
Fascism was so eclectic, support was the most important issue. This meant that the leadership
was always influenced by views and developments from below. As a result, the real issue
was mobilization of support rather than purity or correctness of belief. But this had further
consequences. Mobilization at the expense of ideology meant depoliticization. The
contraction of ideology left a gap. This had to be filled by leadership as a pragmatic
attraction rather than as an ideological principle. As will be seen, this meant that a tension
was to develop between the ideology and the leader who purported to represent it.

Political power and institutions

Mussolini had come to power in extraordinary circumstances. From the end of 1922 he was
therefore in charge of an emergency government. In fact, he presided over two coalitions.
One was the multi-party cabinet, in which he was now Prime Minister; the other comprised
the different strands of the Fascist movement, of which he was the Duce, or Leader. From
this not very promising beginning, Mussolini gradually converted a semi-liberal regime to
a one-party dictatorship.
The process was complex and often confused. Between 1922 and 1925 Mussolini settled
for modifying the constitution to enhance his position in government. Then, following the
Matteotti Crisis, Mussolini set up from 1925 onwards a different type of regime, in which
two priorities emerged. One was to squeeze any remnants of democracy out of Italy’s
constitutional system through the advancement of Fascism. But the other was to adapt
Fascism to Italy’s traditions by wringing much of the radicalism out of the Fascist Party.
 Dictatorship in Italy 125

The regime therefore developed a dual momentum. In one sense, it has been seen as
revolutionary, with an acceleration into the institutions of dictatorship. At the same time,
the wilder nature of Fascism was being tamed: its momentum was being slowed to make
it more acceptable to Italian traditions. The result of this was political confusion as the
processes of change and continuity frequently tripped each other up, so that Mussolini himself
became the only figure able to reconcile the contradiction. This explains his enormously
enhanced position and the extent of his personality cult.

Initial coexistence with the liberal regime

In 1922 Mussolini headed a cabinet in which there were four Fascists and ten non-Fascists.
Since his party had only 7 per cent of the seats in the lower chamber of parliament, Mussolini
had, at first, to be cautious and conciliatory. He lulled the other deputies into a sense of
security by promising that he would defend, not destroy, the constitution. The former
governing parties seemed to have given up completely. Nitti, an ex-Prime Minister, was
convinced that ‘The Fascist experiment must be carried out without interference: there should
be no opposition from our side.’30 The King, meanwhile, was prepared to grant Mussolini
emergency powers for one year. As a result, Mussolini gradually built up his credibility.
This was shown when, in 1923, the Fascist Party (PNF) absorbed the Italian Nationalist
Association (ANI) and one of the latter’s leaders, Federzoni, joined Mussolini’s government.
The problem for Mussolini with this early constitutional arrangement was, of course, that
he could always be removed. The only thing that could prevent him from suffering the same
fate as Orlando or Giolitti was to establish a secure Fascist majority in the chamber. This
would then provide opportunities for the establishment of a permanent dictatorship in the
future. Mussolini managed to persuade the chamber that his intention was constructive, not
revolutionary. In a mood of revulsion against Italy’s habit of producing brief and unstable
ministries, the chamber passed the Acerbo electoral law in 1923. This stated that the party,
or bloc, with a 25 per cent poll would
automatically have a two-thirds majority
in the parliament and would therefore form
the government. The Italian electorate con-
firmed Mussolini’s power in the election of
April 1924 by giving the Fascists 4.5
million votes (64 per cent of those who
voted) and control over 404 seats. The com-
bined vote for the opposition was about 2.5
million. From this time onwards Mussolini
could claim a genuine electoral mandate
and therefore pursue more radical policies
with fewer inhibitions.
In view of the previous electoral per-
formance of the Fascists, this was a colossal
victory. The main reason for this success
has been put down to Fascism’s ‘Big List’.
This involved the defection of candidates

5 Benito Mussolini, 1883–1945

(© Popperfoto/Getty)
126 Dictatorship in Italy

from other parties – thirteen from the Popolari and eighty from the liberals and conservatives.
The support of major candidates like Orlando was especially important. Such defectors were
crucial in bringing electoral support which Mussolini would not otherwise have had. In
addition, Fascist intimidation had a considerable impact on the election process, putting off
much of the potential opposition vote. A divided left was another crucial factor: in 1924
there were three parties, the original PSI, the reformist PSU under Matteotti and the PCI
under Gramsci. The working class was still an undecided constituency, but it was not
mobilized against Fascism. According to Pollard, ‘United, the working-class parties might
have robbed Mussolini of his victory.’31
The election result was a sensation. Mussolini was jubilant and could afford to disregard
the claims of the PSU leader, Matteotti, that the election was invalid because of the extent
of Fascist violence and intimidation. He could not, however, ignore what happened next.

The turning-point: the Matteotti Crisis

In June 1924 Matteotti was seized outside his house, bundled into a Lancia and stabbed to
death. His body was discovered two months later in a shallow grave on the outskirts of
Rome. It soon became evident that the crime had been committed by over-zealous Fascists.
The impact of this was enormous: Payne considers it ‘the most serious crisis Mussolini
would experience before World War II’.32 The media turned against Mussolini, and many
of the recent converts to Fascism now hastened to desert. The murder was seen as a direct
blow at the Italian constitution by the Fascist Party, especially since the car was traced back
to Mussolini’s private office. More significantly, the support built up in the 1924 election
now threatened to unravel: Mussolini’s two-thirds majority had represented the decision of
only one-third of the electorate – and many of their votes had been delivered to the PNF
via the defections of the normal recipients of their votes. The Matteotti affair threatened a
major revival of the opposition, as Mussolini was criticized by Giolitti, Orlando, Salandra,
and others who, for the previous three years, had been either supportive or mute.
Mussolini’s recovery, however, was rapid and his subsequent actions illustrate his
opportunism. The Socialist deputies withdrew from parliament, as a protest, in what came
to be known as the Aventine Secession. Their intention was to show that parliamentary
democracy was dead and to force the King to dismiss a discredited government. In fact,
this proved to be the wrong strategy. The Aventine Secession undercut the position of Giolitti,
who remained within parliament, and allowed Mussolini the opportunity to seize the initiative
and defend the integrity of the chamber against pressures from outside. It also gave the
King a reason to wait on events rather than to make an immediate decision.
If the crisis was the worst Mussolini faced in peacetime, his recovery from it was
certainly the most pronounced. He reshaped his government by removing compromised
Fascists such as Finzi and De Bono; he attacked the Socialist deputies for reneging on their
parliamentary responsibilities; and he held out an olive branch to the parties which were
on the brink of deserting their alliance with Fascism. Probably the most influential speech
of his career was made to parliament on 3 January 1925: ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I now declare
before this assembly and before the entire Italian people that I assume, I alone, moral and
historical responsibility for all that has happened.’ He brought everything, however, within
the broad scope of the Fascist movement, losing the specific incident within the general:
‘If Fascism has been nothing more than castor oil and the truncheon, instead of being a
proud passion of the best part of Italian youth, then I am to blame.’33 By confessing to
everything – and therefore to nothing – Mussolini regained the initiative. He emerged as a
 Dictatorship in Italy 127

statesman prepared to take on burdens rather than as a politician confronted by a crime.

The opposition, meanwhile, appeared to have given up. Mussolini proceeded to hammer
home his advantage by refusing to allow the Aventine Secessionists to return to their places
within the chamber.
The significance of the Matteotti Crisis was enormous: indeed, it is often seen as a turning-
point in the development of the Fascist regime. Once Mussolini had recovered his confidence
and control, he clearly had to do something more permanent to stabilize the political
situation. In a series of measures usually described as a ‘second wave’, he resorted to a
programme which has been seen as both revolutionary and conservative, which broke with
the past while retaining some of its traditions.

Political ‘revolution’?
From January 1925 onwards, Mussolini accelerated towards the establishment of a
dictatorship. This involved the destruction of the Italian liberal state which had been in
continuous existence since 1861. It is not surprising that this process is sometimes considered
to be a ‘Fascist revolution’.
The first component of the ‘revolution’ was the destruction of parliamentary sovereignty.
This meant the swift dismantling of the opposition. The Secessionists were prevented by
force from resuming their seats in parliament, while in 1926 other anti-Fascists were told
that their electoral mandate was no longer valid. Many of the leaders went into exile, including
the Liberal Nitti and the PCI member Togliatti. Gramsci was jailed and died in 1936. The
one-party state was formalized in May 1928 by the introduction of a new electoral law; this
ensured that all parliamentary candidates would be selected by the Fascist Grand Council
from lists submitted by confederations of employers and employees. The final list had to
be voted for as a whole by the electorate. In effect, parliamentary elections had been
replaced by a plebiscitary dictatorship. The process was completed when, in 1938, the
Chamber of Deputies was abolished and replaced by the Chamber of Fasces and Corporations.
A second purpose of the political ‘revolution’ was to strengthen the executive powers
and to free them from any dependence on the legislature. Instead, the executive had
considerable freedom of action. This meant the massive consolidation of Mussolini’s personal
powers. A fundamental law, passed in 1925, altered the constitution to make him responsible
to the King rather than the legislature. Then, in January 1926, he was empowered to govern
by decree, a process which was to be used over 100,000 times by 1943. During the late
1920s he also accumulated offices on an unprecedented scale. In 1929, for example, he was
personally responsible for eight key ministries: foreign affairs, the interior, war, navy,
aviation, colonies, corporations and public works. This authority was accompanied by the
deliberate inflation of Mussolini’s own image in the creation of the cult of the Duce (this
is examined further on pp. 129–30).
A third component of radical political change was the reorganization of the Fascist Party
to enable it to meet the responsibilities of dictatorship. Originally it had been localized in
its composition, and there was a faction which demanded a permanently decentralized
organization and a limited membership. Eventually, however, the centralist viewpoint
prevailed. The radicals of the party, led by Farinacci, wanted a carefully organized machine
to ensure that the policies of Fascism could be uniformly implemented. The first step was
the establishment in 1922 of the Fascist Grand Council, under the control of Mussolini
himself. Then, during the Matteotti Crisis, the original party bosses at local level were purged
and a new structure came into being, based on the principles of centralized direction and
128 Dictatorship in Italy

widespread party membership. In 1928 the Fascist Party Grand Council was made ‘the
supreme organ that coordinates all activities of the regime’.34 Meanwhile, in 1926 a Special
Tribunal for the Defence of the State was set up to deal with suspected anti-Fascists –
another blow against the liberal tradition of political and ideological diversity.
The late 1920s saw a fourth example of radical Fascism. Mussolini had always been
strongly influenced by revolutionary syndicalism and, once his power was secure against
any opposition, he proceeded to implement it. In September 1926 he laid the foundation of
the corporate state in the form of twelve national syndicates, under a Ministry of Corporations
that was also established. The process was completed in 1934 when the syndicates were
replaced by national corporations. The corporate state was merged into the political system
by the replacement of a directly elected parliament by a corporative chamber; this, in turn,
was reorganized as the Chamber of Fasces and Corporations.
There were, finally, developments in ideology. Attempts were made in the early 1930s
to stabilize and define the Fascist revolution by giving its ideas a more dynamic appearance.
An article, written in 1932, for the Enciclopedia Italiana hailed the ‘Fascist century’, and
anticipated the wave of imperial expansion. We are left, therefore, with a picture of an
ideological dictatorship operated, with immense executive authority, through a one-party
system. All this seems to have been constructed on the ruins of the liberal state: it must,
therefore, have been a ‘revolution’.

. . . or political ‘continuity’?
A closer look, however, reveals some surprising inconsistencies in this picture. There is
evidence that Fascism conceded at least as much to tradition as it managed to change it.
Mussolini left a considerable part of the previous political structure intact. After all, he had
said in August 1921: ‘For me fascism is not an end in itself. It is the means to re-establish
national equilibrium.’35 This stopped the Fascist ‘revolution’ from attacking some of the
traditional bases of Italy – the monarchy, the Church and the army. In order to prevent these
from being openly threatened, Mussolini took as many measures to constrain the Fascist
Party as he did to advance it. Indeed, the constitution of the party (1929) explicitly provided
for the subordination of the party to the state. Although Fascist ministers were prominent
in government departments, in each case they were under the ultimate authority of Mussolini
himself.
At the local level the submission of party officials to the traditional authorities, the prefects,
was even more pronounced. Mussolini’s circular to prefects of 5 January 1927 read:

I solemnly affirm that the prefect is the highest authority of the state in the province.
He is the direct representative of the central executive power. All citizens, and in
particular those having the great privilege and supreme honour of supporting fascism,
owe respect and obedience to the highest political representative of the fascist regime
and must work under him to make his task easier.36

Mussolini even referred to the need to deal with any violent actions by the squadristi:
‘The prefects must prevent this happening by using all means at their disposal, I repeat by
using all means at their disposal.’37 Other major local officials, such as the mayors, tended
to be agrarian notables rather than Fascist activists – and the latter were again expected to
follow orders.
 Dictatorship in Italy 129

The party was therefore controlled at all levels. According to Payne, ‘One of the most
striking features of the regime was that the political dictatorship also became a dictatorship
over the party rather than of the party.’38 To make this possible, radicalism was removed
from the party. Some 60,000 of the more violent members were removed from its ranks,
and new members were only admitted from the youth movements: this ensured their loyalty
and obedience. The party increased in size from 300,000 in 1921 to over five million by
1943, in which middle-class membership predominated. The core of the party was also
constrained. In theory the Fascist Grand Council was the supreme co-ordinating body; in
practice it operated under the direct control of Mussolini himself, whose priority was to
ensure that it did not replace the traditional state institutions
Several historians have deduced from these developments that there was an overall party
depoliticization. ‘Beginning in the late 1920s,’ Tannenbaum argues, ‘the party became the
servant of the State rather than its ruler.’39 This, according to Payne, means that ‘There was
no “Fascist revolution”, save at the top.’ Indeed, ‘State administration changed comparatively
little.’40 If there was ‘not a revolution’, then what happened must have been ‘an authoritarian
compromise’.41

A political vacuum filled by the ‘cult of the Duce’ . . .

Revolution or continuity? The two approaches can be seen as entirely different interpretations
of how Mussolini consolidated his power, each complete in itself. Or they may have been
two different strategies used by Mussolini as circumstances allowed or dictated. The latter
is more likely, since common sense suggests that there were elements of both political
revolution and political continuity between 1922 and 1939.
Assuming that revolution and continuity could develop together, logic would next suggest
an uneasy and contradictory relationship between the two. Yet, on the surface, Mussolini
appeared to have achieved a one-party state, based on an overriding ideology, without
eradicating Italy’s traditional institutions. In an illusion of order and harmony, Mussolini
had managed to avoid a direct confrontation between party and state by injecting
revolutionary dynamism into traditional institutions. The trouble with this interpretation is
that it underestimates the turbulent impact of one upon the other. On the surface, there may
well have been order and collaboration between Fascism and traditional Italy, but beneath
the surface there was seething unrest as numerous members of the Fascist Party and the
squadristi came into direct confrontation with the equivalent layers of state officialdom.
Especially important was the conflict between local Fascist leaders on the one hand and
the prefects and mayors on the other. Numerous complaints reached Mussolini about the
way in which state authorities and the Church were flouting Fascist ideology. Mussolini
must have been aware that the harmony between the party and the traditional institutions
was only superficial. Indeed, after 1930, he became increasingly disillusioned with the most
important of these, the monarchy. Why, therefore, was he prepared to tolerate such an
unsatisfactory situation?
One view is that the conflict was deliberately created. Mussolini was able to construct
an overall relationship between the party and the state which ensured the survival of both.
At the same time, he aimed to create conflict and discord below the surface in order to
promote his own position and to make himself indispensable. Lyttelton, for example,
maintains that Mussolini ‘deliberately fostered untidiness and illogicality in the structure
of government’.42 This was because he intended to rule by balancing the different elements
which made up the state and the party. His basic fear was that one or more of these elements
130 Dictatorship in Italy

might eventually challenge his authority, and the greatest immediate threat seemed to come
from the Fascist Party itself. Hence, he took the drastic but logical step of depoliticizing
the regime. The result was a strange paradox: the strength of Fascism depended on the
weakness of Fascist organizations. Or, to put it another way, a movement which was famed
for its activism was encouraged by its leader to show inactivity. Mussolini was deliberately
creating a vacuum in the political and administrative structure where one would normally
expect to find a ruling class or elite. The explanation of this was that Mussolini
was opposed to the emergence of any group which was likely to compete with him for
power and public support. The gap was filled by the cult of the Duce,43 or Mussolinianism,
and Fascism was restrained so that this could predominate. The cult of the Duce was not
an essential part of the Fascist programme, but rather an elaborate superstructure imposed
on top of it. As far as Mussolini was concerned, however, it was the whole point of his
rule; after all, he had once said, ‘If Fascism does not follow me, no one can make me follow
Fascism.’44
There is much to be said for this approach. It gives more meaning to the cult of the Duce
than does the view of Taylor that Mussolini was a ‘vain, blustering boaster’. It also separates
Mussolinianism from Fascism and shows that the former did not arise from the latter but,
in fact, lived in tension with it. On the other hand, it assumes that Mussolini’s dictatorship
was dictated from above – that the cult of the Duce forced itself into the political vacuum
contrived by Mussolini himself.
It is difficult to imagine a personality cult being sustained entirely on a created need. It
is more likely to be the deliberate intensification of a need which was already there. An
additional dimension was therefore necessary. Mussolinianism was as much the response
to pressures from below as it was to calculations from above. The cult of the Duce met a
deep psychological need and therefore responded to public demand rather than creating it.
In their situation the population found hero worship an essential antidote to fear since it
provided hope and as near as they were likely to get to certainty. Ideology needed to be
personified so that the irrational could be rationalized and projections turned into realities.
The personality cult could succeed only if the projection of the personality was accepted
by the people. In a very real sense, therefore, Mussolini was a reflection of popular
aspirations. Mussolinianism was an extension of his skills of oratory: he adjusted to the
crowd in order to sway it.
Mussolini’s position was therefore doubly strong, but simultaneously doubly precarious.
During the 1920s and 1930s he could exist through a combination of radicalism and
conservatism, smoothing over conflict on the surface while allowing it to seethe underneath.
He could do this because he was sustained by popular adulation, which he strengthened
through speeches, role modelling and sloganizing. Of the three major dictators he was at
one moment the most acclaimed and at another the most reviled (his eventual fate, at the
hands of the system and the people, is dealt with on p. 166).

. . . or the ‘sacralization of Italian politics’?

It is, however, possible to reverse the argument. The style and ritual were not so much the
result of Mussolini’s attempts to impose his own presence within a political vacuum. Rather,
they were the penetration of a new dynamism into the state itself. This type of approach
has been advanced by modern historian Emilio Gentile45 who puts a case for Fascist Italy
being part of a general trend for the ‘sacralization of politics’, in which modern political
movements take on ‘aspects of religion’ in ‘their ideology’. They do this through ‘the ways
 Dictatorship in Italy 131

in which they socialize and integrate’, in the ‘formulation of a body of beliefs’, the ‘fideistic
cult of their leaders’ and ‘the adoption of ritual and symbolism’.46 This institutes ‘a lay
religion’ aimed at creating subjects ‘dedicated body and soul to the nation’.47
There are certain advantages to this interpretation. First, it takes Mussolini and Italian
Fascism seriously again by pushing back previous approaches that underestimate their
importance – either by openly ridiculing Mussolini’s posturing or by focusing on the
papering-over effect of Fascist ceremony. In re-examining arguments about substance and
style, Gentile reintegrates Fascism and Mussolinianism rather than seeing the two in tension
with Mussolini deliberately creating a void to fill it himself. This also re-establishes the
case for Fascist Italy being a totalitarian state after the constant questioning by some
historians. At the same time, Gentile avoids overstating the strengthening effect ‘sacralization’
or underestimating its negative side-effects. ‘In the enterprise of spreading its doctrine and
arousing the masses to faith in its dogmas, obedience to its commandments, and the
assimilation of its ethics and its life-style, Fascism spent a considerable capital of energy
diverting those energies from other fields that might perhaps have been more important for
the interests both of the regime and of the people.’48
There are, however, problems with the ‘sacralization’ theory. Does it go too far in the
opposite direction to those of structural chaos and Mussolinianism? In correcting the
approach to Mussolini’s regime as an absurdity – and by reviving the connections between
the ideology, the system and the leader – perhaps it has done too much to depersonalize
the whole system. Are the personal appeal, eccentricities and inconsistencies of Mussolini
himself now understated? Does ‘sacralization’ create a function out of the personal nature
of the adulation of the Duce and understate the tensions this sometimes brought to the whole
Fascist Party and movement? After all, such conflicts were the real distractions from the
coherence of Fascism. There are also deficiencies with the very term ‘sacralization’.
Admittedly there were instances of direct parallels between political and religious liturgy:
an example of this was the Fascist credo. Yet making this too conscious a policy – as a
parallel liturgy covering all areas, rather than an occasional piece of unfortunate plagiarism
– would surely have undermined the undoubted sympathy that the Catholic Church had for
Mussolini and Fascism. After all, the papacy had been explicit in its condemnation of
secularism and atheism. Its preference for fascism over communism rested on its certainty
that the former would defend the Catholic tradition against attempts to undermine it.

Indoctrination and culture

While altering the base of political power, Mussolini also sought to establish a new national
identity for the Italian people. This followed broadly the same pattern as the political
developments within Italy. In the first three years the changes were relatively slow, followed
by a more adventurous approach between 1925 and 1929, but as yet without any radical
ideological input: this was increased as a result of the Great Depression between 1930 and
1934. The most significant developments in indoctrination occurred after 1935, with the
invasion of Ethiopia and the growing influence of Nazi Germany. Mussolini’s aim was to
create New Fascist man, who would live in the ‘century of Fascism’. For this, it was essential
to have the full participation of all Italians.49 Mussolini’s method to guarantee this would be
‘totalitarian’; this was a term he first used in a speech to the Fascist Party Congress in June
1925 – in which he referred to the ‘totalitarian will’ of Fascism.50 The whole process of what
Falasca-Zamponi has called an ‘aesthetic-totalitarian project’51 involved the exaltation of
violence, which was ‘sanctified’ as ‘the premise for Italy’s renewal’.52
132 Dictatorship in Italy

But it had to be controlled and focused on Fascism, the new state and the Duce. All
allegiance was to be directed to Mussolini himself. His short stature and partial baldness
were disguised by a ramrod-straight stance and a shaven head, both of which were intended
to give him a ‘Roman’ appearance. His demagoguery remained impressive, based on the
unsubtle belief that ‘the crowd loves strong men’. Falasca-Zamponi provides the following
description: ‘He talked with tight teeth; words were assembled in groups and distanced by
pauses; each unit of words was pronounced with a measured rhythmical style.’ This was
accentuated by his head leaning ‘halfway back, his eyes almost out of their sockets, his
chin and mouth forward’. In fact, ‘The speech became one of the main elements through
which the spectacle of Mussolini’s power unfolded.’53 Mussolini summed up his intentions
on the balcony thus: ‘mine are not speeches in the traditional sense of the word. They are
elocutions, a touch between my soul and yours, my heart and your hearts’.54 He was also
portrayed as an expert rider, aviator, fencer, racing driver and violinist. The public were
also assailed by slogans such as ‘The Duce is always right!’ and ‘Believe! Obey! Fight!’.
It might be thought that education would play a crucial role in the new order, but changes
were slow at first and subject to subsequent modification. In 1923 the Education Minister,
Gentile, introduced a structure specifically intended to create a new elite: technical education
was separated from the classical courses which became the passport to university education,
and a rigid examination system was applied. This, however, came under universal criticism
from parents and was so difficult to operate that Fedele, Gentile’s successor, had to modify
it from 1925 onwards. After 1929 there was more of an effort to Fascistize schools under
the Ministry of National Education, which replaced the earlier Ministry of Public Instruction.
The process was accelerated by Bottai in 1936. Textbooks became a state monopoly; the
number of approved history texts, for instance, was reduced from 317 to 1, while a junior
Italian reader informed solemn eight-year-olds that ‘the eyes of the Duce are on every one
of you’. From 1938 racism was openly practised and taught in the classroom, while 1939
saw the introduction of the Fascist School Charter. By and large, however, education was
not one of the more successful examples of indoctrination. There were too many loopholes
and evasions and, in the universities, underground resistance to and contempt for so-called
Fascist values.
Hence, the regime came to place more emphasis on the organization of youth groups
outside the school sector. Again, the pace gradually intensified. Initially the whole process
was very haphazard. From 1926, however, the youth organizations were grouped into the
Opera Nazionale Balilla (ONB). During the 1930s the stages of these became more clearly
defined. At the age of four, boys became Sons of the She-Wolf; at eight they joined the
Balilla, before moving to the Avanguardisti at fourteen and finally the Fascist Levy at
eighteen. The creed of the Balilla blatantly superimposed a doctored version of Italian history
on a twisted religious format:

I believe in Rome the Eternal, the mother of my country, and in Italy, her eldest daughter,
who was born in her virginal bosom by the grace of God; who suffered through the
barbarian invasions, was crucified and buried, who descended to the grave, and was
raised from the dead in the nineteenth century, who ascended into heaven in her glory
in 1918 and 1922 and who is seated on the right hand of her mother Rome; who for
this reason shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the genius of
Mussolini, in our Holy Father Fascism, in the communion of the martyrs, in the
conversion of Italians and in the resurrection of the Empire.55
 Dictatorship in Italy 133

This was principally part of the more radical wave which occurred after 1936. The
organization was further tightened as all sections of youth were brought under the collective
Gioventu del Littorio (GIL) in 1937, membership of which was made compulsory in 1939.
How effective were these organizations? It is true that a large proportion of Italy’s youth
responded enthusiastically to Fascism. They were, for example, given opportunities for
outdoor recreation which had previously been lacking. On the other hand, membership of
these paramilitary organizations was by no means universal, as some 40 per cent of the age
group between eight and eighteen managed to avoid joining them. The proportion was much
higher among girls, many of whom were not given a sufficiently fulfilling role to compensate
for the subservience which Fascism expected of them in society. Recent research has also
shown that the youth groups were more influential in the urban than in the rural areas, in
the north and centre rather than in the south, and in the middle classes rather than in the
peasantry or working classes.
Fascism also tried to organize the population at large, through the OND or Dopolavoro.
Although set up in 1925, this really came into its own during the Great Depression as a
means of ensuring the total commitment of the workforce. It co-ordinated the various
different work schemes and clubs, and promoted library, radio, sports and recreation facilities.
The next stage was the emergence of the OND as a full ministry in 1935, with the intention
of providing for a more fully co-ordinated use of the mass media for the purpose of
indoctrination. This is another example of the increased radicalization from the mid-1930s,
but did not develop into anything like the more sophisticated systems of the KdF and SdA
in Germany.
That Mussolini considered the control of the press to be a major priority was hardly
surprising, in view of his own experience as a newspaper editor. Early measures included
the suppression of many papers by the exceptional decrees of 1926 and, in 1928, the
compulsory registration of all journalists with the Fascist Journalist Association. The press
office under Rossi controlled news and censorship. The process was extended in the early
1930s when the press office came under the control of Polverelli. He increased the control
over individual journalists and was responsible for the development of the cult of the Duce
in the press. He managed to exert effective control over what was published; in difficult
cases the government called upon the local prefects to enforce its decisions. Further changes
were made when Ciano established the Ministry for Press and Propaganda – another example
of radicalization for the purpose of presenting the Ethiopian campaign in the most positive
way. By and large, Mussolini’s regime of journalism was more successful than most other
elements of the totalitarian state. There was, however, a price: constant distortion of the
facts about Italy’s record in her three wars led eventually to the entire government being
misinformed. Mussolini, in particular, lost all contact with reality, even though – or because
– he spent several hours each day reading the newspapers.
Cultural output was, on the whole, more diverse in Italy than in either Germany or the
Soviet Union. There was less attempt to create a grand style and there was more receptiveness
to outside influences. According to Pollard, ‘There was no such thing as a “Fascist culture”,
even less a cultural revolution in Italy. What Fascist Italy lacked was a clear cultural
programme and strategy.’56 This began to change, however, from 1935 onwards when
Mussolini expressed increasing concern about the preoccupation of Italians with art for art’s
sake. Instead, he insisted, it was now necessary to develop a more utilitarian approach which
would help reinforce Italy’s expansionist and martial roles.57 Attempts were later made to
institutionalize the control of culture through two bodies set up in the 1930s. The first was
the Propaganda Ministry (1935), with the Ministry of Popular Culture following in 1937.
134 Dictatorship in Italy

The latter tried to regulate music, literature, art and the cinema. But it was never as efficient
as the measures used by Goebbels to Nazify German art and literature or the Socialist Realism
of Stalin.
One of the more popular forms of culture was the cinema which, according to Mussolini,
was ‘the strongest weapon’. This provides a more detailed example of the incomplete nature
of Fascist control. On the one hand, there was an increase in institutions and regulations.
A film institute was set up in 1925, followed, in 1934, by the Office for Cinematography.
The government insisted on quotas (100 films were to be made in 1937) and tried to dictate
the themes of major epics. On the other hand, such controls were far from total. Most films
were produced by private enterprise and were not geared to the state’s propaganda
requirements. Indeed, Fascism’s lack of cultural awareness alienated the younger generation
of film directors, like De Santis and Visconti, who aimed at realism rather than distortion.
Thus, ultimately, Mussolini’s ‘strongest weapon . . . was turned against Fascism itself’.58
The overall impression, therefore, must be that the Fascist state failed to exert the type
of control over ideas which is normally associated with totalitarianism. The traditional liberal
culture proved impossible to eradicate, even through the more radical impulses of the 1930s.
The negative result was that Mussolini was able to attract less total popular commitment
than either Hitler or Stalin through culture. The positive side was that there was less to
expunge after the end of the Fascist regime. Bosworth, for one, has shown that there is
more continuity in Italian culture, before and after 1945, than is commonly realized.59

Coercion
Indoctrination is invariably linked to coercion. The use of force had been implicit in the
Fascist movement from the beginning and a system of repression was gradually constructed.
The Law on the Defence of the State was established in 1926. This provided for terms of
imprisonment for anyone attempting to reconstitute an opposition party, or attempting to
propagate ‘doctrines, opinions or methods’ of such organizations.60 These offences would
be tried by a Special Tribunal for the Defence of the State. The following year saw the
formation of a secret police, or OVRA (Opera Voluntaria per la Repressione Antifascista).
Those who experienced the full pressure of these organs were mainly ex-politicians and
dissidents who refused to take the oath of loyalty to the regime, although, from the late
1930s, the apparatus was also used to enforce a policy of anti-Semitism.
How effective was this system? On the one hand, it was clearly part of the paraphernalia
to exert control over the population and to eliminate alternative ideas. Historians accept
that the intention was to facilitate subjection. According to Morgan, ‘the police’s preventive
and repressive powers were now so extensive and pervasive as to create a real climate of
fear and repression’.61 The Fascist regime operated on the joint principles of conversion
and coercion. Support for the system was therefore engendered in a repressive atmosphere
which was intended to remove any element of choice. Ultimately the effectiveness of the
conversion depended partly on the strength of the propaganda and indoctrination but partly
on the fear of the consequences of evasion. During the 1930s about 20,000 actions were
taken by the police every week, many of these being initiated on the basis of information
received from people known to the accused. This meant that repression was assisted by the
people themselves within a general and widespread fear of recrimination.
The scope of repression was therefore considerable. But the degree of terror it employed
was not. OVRA was not equivalent to the SS in Germany or the NKVD in the Soviet Union.
Nor was there any fundamental change in criminal justice to correspond with the creation
 Dictatorship in Italy 135

of the People’s Court in Germany: within Italy the legal system continued to operate much
as it had always done, despite the so-called Fascistization of the regime. The death penalty
was used only nine times between 1927 and 1940 while, of the 4,805 cases actually brought
to court, 3,904 ended in acquittal. During the entire Fascist period 5,000 people were given
prison sentences for political reasons and 10,000 sent into political exile.62
There is, not surprisingly, a broad consensus about the Fascist police state which has
been unaffected by any other interpretations concerning Mussolini. During the 1990s, Payne
argued that ‘In Italy the Mussolini regime was brutal and repressive, but not murderous and
bloodthirsty’;63 according to Whittam, the ‘threat posed by this mysterious organisation
[OVRA] . . . was more important than its actual activities’,64 while Pollard maintained that
‘Though life was no joke for dissidents in Fascist Italy, it was eminently preferable to their
fate in the other two totalitarian states.’65 Such views only reinforce the earlier conclusion
of Cassels that ‘The Fascist regime used terror, but was not in any real sense based on
terror.’

Anti-semitism and racism

Nowhere is there a greater contrast in the earlier and later policies of Mussolini than in the
treatment of Italy’s Jewish population.
During the 1920s anti-Semitism was hardly an issue. There were, it is true, some anti-
Semitic influences from France – and especially from Maurras. A few Fascists, such as
Preziosi and Farinacci, tried to propagate them, but they did not translate easily into practice.
Italy had always been less affected than other parts of Europe by anti-Semitism, largely
because Jews had never amounted to more than one in a thousand of the total population.
Individual Jews had joined the Fascist Party in the early 1920s: ironically the proportion
of their membership was well above the overall national average. Mussolini had seen no
problem with this. His approach to Fascism had been on the left-wing, syndicalist strand,
which meant that he had no instinct for the anti-Semitism of the right. Indeed, he had
originally denounced Nazi racism as ‘unscientific and absurd’,66 going so far as to ensure
full legal status for Italian Jews in 1932 and, from 1933, to give sanctuary to 9,000 Jewish
exiles from Germany.
Then came a dramatic reversal of attitudes and policy. In July 1938 a Manifesto on Race
was drawn up by Mussolini and ten professors as a scientific exposition of Fascist racial
doctrine. It proclaimed that ‘the population of Italy is of Aryan origins and its civilization
is Aryan’, that ‘there now exists a pure Italian race and that Jews do not belong to the
Italian race’.67 It was followed by decrees banning intermarriage between Jews and non-
Jews and removing Jews from prominent positions in finance, education and politics.
Property restrictions were also imposed and any Jews who had entered Italy since 1919
were to be repatriated.
These changes took Italy by surprise and were immediately associated with growing
influences from Nazi Germany. Some historians still agree with this. De Felice maintains
that Mussolini ‘introduced state antisemitism in Italy . . . because of his basic conviction
that, to render the Italian–German alliance iron-hard, it was necessary to eliminate every
strident contrast between the two regimes’.68 It would be pointless to deny this external
channel of influence. By 1938 Mussolini needed Hitler’s support in Europe and the
Rome–Berlin Axis was moving steadily towards a military alliance. It therefore made sense
to bring Fascist ideology more into line with Nazi racism. Even if, as Pollard maintains,
there is no evidence that Hitler put pressure on Mussolini to make this change, it is possible
136 Dictatorship in Italy

that Mussolini felt ‘out of step with almost every other Fascist movement’.69 It was no
coincidence that Hungary and Romania also introduced anti-Semitic legislation in 1938.
But there is a tendency to go too far in this direction and to assume that anti-Semitism
was entirely an external transplant into Italy. There was, on the contrary, a powerful influence
within Italy for the change of policy – the conquest of Ethiopia between 1935 and 1937.
This made race a more important public issue and resulted in direct access to anti-Semitism.
Admittedly, ‘one can argue equally logically that Italy had already ruled an empire (Eritrea,
Somalia and Libya) for fifty years before the invasion of Ethiopia without developing any
discernible anti-Semitic tendencies’.70 On the other hand, the circumstances of the conquest
of Ethiopia carried extreme connotations of racial ‘inferiority’. The whole process was
unusually brutal, involving the use of mustard gas, and there were also fears of miscegenation
between the considerable number of Italian troops and the indigenous population. Racism
therefore became ingrained in the later phase of Fascist ideology. Mussolini needed to prepare
the Italian people for a role of future domination over ‘inferior’ peoples, in very much the
same way that Aryan domination was being projected for eastern Europe.
Italian anti-Semitism was an extension of this vision. The connection was, of course,
suggested by developments within Germany. This does not, however, remove the indigenous
origins. Given the changing situation in foreign and imperial policy during the second half
of the 1930s, Mussolini had his own reasons for revising his views about the Jews. This
was partly because a small number of Jews were beginning to draw attention to themselves
– thereby creating unintended pressure from below. Two issues proved especially important.
The first was the opposition of Italian Zionists to Mussolini’s proposals to take over the
Palestinian mandate from Britain. The second, and more important, was the courageous
criticism by Jewish intellectuals of the Italian campaign in Ethiopia. Mussolini promptly
resorted to the traditional European response of using an identifiable target as a scapegoat.
The stance on Palestine and Ethiopia must indicate a Jewish ‘conspiracy’, which was behind
the decision of the League of Nations to impose sanctions against Italy. It was the ‘conspiracy’
theory rather than direct pressure from Germany which brought Fascist Italy into the
mainstream of anti-Semitism – another traditional European response.
The policy was, however, intensified by competition with Germany. Mussolini felt under
increasing pressure to compete with Hitler for seniority within the partnership between Italy
and Germany. This involved creating an Italian counterpart to the German master race, and
Mussolini’s special ingredient was racial purity. Hence, ‘While the racial composition of
the other European nations has altered considerably even in recent periods, the grand lines
of racial composition have remained essentially the same in Italy during the last thousand
years.’71 The only blot on this record were the Jews, who comprised non-European racial
elements and had never been assimilated in Italy.
Mussolini’s anti-Semitism was never the focal point of Fascist ideology; nor did it
become the heart of consuming obsession. Policies against the Jews were therefore perceived
as being out of place in Italy. Such actions were neither popular nor accepted: they were
widely resented. In asking ‘Why, unfortunately, did Italy have to go and imitate Germany?’72
Pope Pius XI was voicing both the Catholic conscience and the secular misgivings of those
who saw the creeping influence of Nazism in Italy. In the event, the racial decrees were
never applied effectively, another illustration of the incomplete nature of the totalitarian
state. During the Second World War there were no large-scale shipments of Italian Jews to
Nazi camps until the Germans occupied northern Italy in 1943; elsewhere anti-Semitic
legislation gradually lapsed, especially after the fall of Mussolini.
 Dictatorship in Italy 137

Mussolini’s attitude to racism and anti-Semitism can, in the final analysis, be seen as a
barometer of the pressures on Fascism. During his rise to power, anti-Semitism was one of
the right-wing strands of Fascist ideology which he could entirely ignore. Nor, during the
1920s, was there any reason to target the Jews: they were entirely outside his attempts to
carry through a Fascist revolution while keeping traditional institutions intact. As the regime
entered economic difficulties during the Great Depression there was still no search for a
Jewish scapegoat, the reverse of the situation in Germany. It was the conquest of Ethiopia,
itself a radical response to growing internal pressures, which produced a powerful current
of racism. The anti-Semitic channel developed with the aforementioned Jewish criticism of
Mussolini’s objectives. The diplomatic link with Hitler suggested what measures should be
applied in Italy – but these were part of an overall intensification of Fascism in Italy in the
period leading up to the Second World War. As Whittam argues, ‘Mussolini sought to
reinvigorate the regime by his racial programme and his foreign policy.’73
This, however, carried the risk of upsetting the earlier consensus and creating more
resentment. Radicalism would lead to further war and Mussolini was gambling on military
victory as a universal panacea. As it turned out, the regime fell into the vortex of defeat
but, according to Morgan, it was the contemporary perceptions of anti-Semitism in Italy
that ‘shaped the Italian people’s response to the Fascist regime in the late 1930s’.74 This,
in turn, has been seen as the ‘triumph of old humanitarian values over new Fascist
principles’.75

Relations between church and state

There was no natural affinity between the Church and Fascism. After all, Mussolini had
once been a strident atheist and very few of the Fascist leaders were practising Catholics.
Both sides, however, had much to gain from ending the deep rift between Church and state
which went far back to the era of Italian unification. Mussolini claimed the credit for this
reconciliation, arguing that the ‘serenity of relations’ was ‘a tribute to the Fascist regime’.76
In fact, the healing was started by Orlando, Prime Minister between 1917 and 1919. It
could, however, be argued that the process was greatly accelerated by the Fascist government.
The highlights were the three agreements of 1929. The Lateran Treaty settled the question
of the Pope’s temporal power by restoring the Vatican City to his sovereignty. The Concordat
defined more carefully the role of the Church in the Fascist state. Catholicism was to be
the sole religion of the state, religious instruction would return to schools, and Church
marriages would be given full validity. In a third agreement the papacy was compensated
for financial losses, incurred in the nineteenth century, by the payment of 750 million lire
in cash and 1,000 million in state bonds.
Why was this arrangement reached – and what was hoped to develop from it? Each side
had its own, somewhat contrasting, view. The Pope hoped that Fascism would provide a
better medium than the former liberal state for the revival of Catholic influence over the
secular power. Mussolini hoped that the support of the Church would provide more security
and stability for Fascism. Although he was acknowledging that Fascism was not now going
to replace traditional Catholic virtues, the agreement meant that Mussolini could concentrate
on those areas in which Fascism could be more actively extended – the economy, education
and foreign policy.
Two views have recently been advanced as to the wisdom of the Lateran Treaty. The
first, very much in line with the traditional perspective, is Morgan’s argument that ‘the
Conciliation was probably the most important contribution to the consolidation of the Fascist
138 Dictatorship in Italy

government in power on a wider basis of support and consent’.77 The alternative approach
is that Mussolini was to some extent duped. Bosworth, for example, comments that the
‘uneasy relationship between Fascism and Catholicism’ was ‘a meeting between a long-
sighted Church and a short-sighted regime’.78 There are elements of truth in both. On the
one hand, Mussolini was able to use the agreement to considerable political advantage. On
the other, he also found himself in conflict with an institution which had no intention of
yielding the essential pressure points of its power.
Mussolini’s gains are readily apparent. He had, after all, succeeded in gaining the support
of a power which had been hostile to successive governments for a period of fifty years.
Pius XI claimed that the Lateran Accords ‘brought God to Italy and Italy to God’.79 The
Vatican was therefore willing to urge the electorate to vote for the Fascist list in 1929 and
1934. There was also strong support for Mussolini’s policies on population increase, the
family and divorce. Above all, there was a considerable overlap of interest between the
government and the papacy in foreign policy.80 Cardinal Shuster, for example, compared
the invasion of Ethiopia with the Crusades, while Pius XI openly justified Mussolini’s
participation in the Spanish Civil War on the grounds that he was helping contain the main
enemy of Christianity: ‘The first, the greatest and now the general peril is certainly
Communism in all its forms and degrees.’81 This attitude met with the overwhelming
approval of the upper levels in the Church’s hierarchy.
On the other hand, Mussolini never succeeded in subordinating the Church to the full
control of the state; it could even be said that the Church emerged strengthened from the
relationship and came eventually to threaten the Fascist state. Three issues proved especially
contentious. In the first place, Mussolini’s insistence on controlling the minds of the young
was bound to lead to conflict. In 1931 the Pope protested in his encyclical Non abbiamo
bisogno against Fascist attempts to close down youth clubs and to monopolize education.
The Church won a number of concessions in the form of the 1931 Accords which allowed
involvement in specifically religious activities for youth groups. Second, the Pope reacted
with hostility to that part of Mussolini’s racial legislation in 1938 which forbade intermarriage
between Italians and Jews: this was on the grounds that Jews could no longer be converted
to Catholicism. In the process, the Church found itself in harmony with Italian public opinion
which opposed racism for more general reasons. Finally, there were underlying tensions
throughout the period between the Pope’s vision of an Italy reconverted to Catholicism and
Mussolini’s vision of a sacralized Rome – an eternal secular Italy based on the principles
of ancient Rome. Again, the survival of the Church in the 1930s meant that the papacy
could restore its claim to represent the conscience of Italians – once the regime was
threatened with the spectre of defeat.
The extent to which Catholicism helped to undermine the Fascist regime in its critical
period is examined on page 146. Key roles were played by Catholic Action, an organization
of laymen which had been established by the Pope in 1922, by the FUCI (Federazione
Universitari Cattolici Italiani), a university-based movement of Catholic students and intel-
lectuals, and the Movimento Laurienti. It has to be said that, if Mussolini’s deal with the
Church consolidated Fascism in the 1930s, it also enabled Catholicism to gather its own
strength against Fascism in the early 1940s.

Economic policies
The overall trend in economic policy was from initial free enterprise to state intervention
and control. The process was complex. In summary, the regime’s approach to the economy
 Dictatorship in Italy 139

was, until 1925, a continuation of earlier liberal policies. An attempt was then made to
increase state control without going the whole way to establishing a socialist base. Mussolini’s
solution was a compromise: a partnership between the state and private economic enterprise
in the form of ‘corporativism’. The corporate state was gradually set up between 1926 and
1934 and was widely publicized. It was not, however, particularly effective. Instead of using
it as a means of harmonizing economic policy, Mussolini increased government control
outside the scope of corporativism. The result was a confusion of institutions and often a
conflict of aims.
The main development between 1926 and 1934 was the emergence of the corporate state.
The idea of corporativism was not new; it was based partly on medieval guilds and
corporations and partly on the revolutionary syndicalism of Georges Sorel, an early influence
on Mussolini. The basic intention was to replace the old sectional interests (such as trade
unions and employers’ organizations) which so often produced conflicts between labour
and capital. Instead, the Rocco Law of 1926 recognized seven branches of economic activity:
industry, agriculture, internal transport, merchant marine, banking, commerce and intellectual
work. These were formed into syndicates, under the control of the Ministry of Corporations,
also established in 1926. The system was further refined by the creation in 1930 of the
National Council of Corporations and the organization of economic activity into twenty-
two more specialized corporations by 1934. By 1938 this process was brought into the
political system with the creation of the Chamber of Fasces and Corporations in place of
the old Chamber of Deputies.
In theory, corporativism was the Fascist alternative to socialism on the left and undiluted
capitalism on the right. The so-called ‘third way’ would increase state control over the
economy without destroying private enterprise and it could be adapted to the new Fascist
institutions. In particular, it was a means by which Italy could be helped to tackle the pressures
of the Great Depression. In practice, however, the whole system proved inefficient and
cumbersome. It failed to provide any sort of consensus between employers and workers
and was almost entirely excluded from any real decision-making on the economy. Historians
have always been critical of its practical applications. Cassels remarks that ‘the corporative
state was a true child of Mussolini: the great poseur brought forth an organism which was
a travesty of what it purported to be’.82 According to Pollard, ‘In reality, in the corporations
and other new government agencies Fascism had created a vast, largely useless apparatus.’83
The corporate state has been seen largely as a means of sharing power between Fascism
and the economic interests of the landowners and industrialists. It was more about creating
a subservient labour force than about providing a structure capable of undertaking genuine
economic change. Hence, in the words of Tannenbaum, ‘Fascist Italy had complete control
over the labour force and very little control over the nation’s economic structure.’84
Increasingly, the whole structure of corporativism was ignored and policies pursued
outside its scope. In terms of finance, industry and agriculture, the government pursued
separate lines. In each case these originated in the 1920s and were intensified during the
1930s. They managed, however, to remain largely beyond the gravitational pull of
corporativism.
Between 1922 and 1925 Finance Minister De Stefani followed a traditional course of
balanced budgets, avoided price fixing and subsidies, and withdrew government involvement
in industry. From the mid-1920s, however, the views of Mussolini became more influential.
These were based as much on the dictates of national prestige as on sound economic
thought. He was obsessed, in particular, with the value of the Italian currency, declaring:
‘I shall defend the Italian lira to my last breath.’ In 1929 the lira was reflated to the level
140 Dictatorship in Italy

of 90 to the pound sterling, a decision which seriously undermined Italy’s competitiveness

as an exporter and which probably brought on recession even before the impact of the Great
Depression. During the 1930s the government imposed increasingly tight financial controls
which, from 1936, became an integral part of the policy of autarky (self-sufficiency)
necessitated by war. This was the most radical phase of Mussolini’s economic policy,
corresponding with the acceleration of changes in other areas. The impetus for such decisions
was certainly not a corporate one: it came from Mussolini’s priorities in foreign policy and
from pressures from heavy industry.
Fascism always favoured heavy industry at the expense of light (or consumer) industry,
because of the former’s close association with armaments. At first the emphasis was on
encouraging private enterprise and leaving untouched private concerns like Fiat, Montecatini
Chemicals and Pirelli Rubber. With the onset of the Great Depression, however, the
government became more heavily involved by introducing schemes for job-sharing and for
rescuing those industries in difficulty. In 1933 it set up the IRI (Istituto per la Recostruzione
Industriale) to channel state investment into those industries which were considered most
vital. The policy of autarky brought more rigid controls and centralization. By 1939,
according to De Grand, the IRI controlled 77 per cent of pig-iron production, 45 per cent
of steel production, 80 per cent of naval construction and 90 per cent of shipping.85 Morgan
points to the separation between these developments and the corporate state. The organization
of the IRI was parallel to corporativism, rather than integrated into it, and therefore ‘resembled
a “consortial” rather than a “corporate” state’.86
In some respects, industry recovered reasonably well from the impact of the Great
Depression. Between 1936 and 1940 it overtook agriculture for the first time in Italian history
as the largest single contributor to the GNP (34 per cent as opposed to 29 per cent).87 Imports
had dropped considerably by 1939 when compared with the levels of 1928: raw materials
by 12 per cent, semi-finished articles by 40 per cent and finished articles by 48 per cent.
Meanwhile, industrial production as a whole had risen by 9 per cent. These figures were
offset, however, by the persistence of serious weaknesses in the Italian industrial sector.
Mussolini’s policies failed to remove the huge disparity between north and south, while
Italy remained affected by low productivity, high costs and a decline in domestic
consumption. Overall, Italy’s recovery from the effects of depression was slower than that
of any other European power. What made the situation intolerable, however, was the
exposure of an inadequate industrial infrastructure to the constant pressures of military
conflict – in the form of the invasion of Ethiopia (1935–6), involvement in the Spanish
Civil War (1936–9) and the invasion and occupation of Albania (1939). It is hardly surprising
that Italy was defeated so rapidly during the Second World War: the country had already
been brought to the point of exhaustion by policies which undermined any reconstruc-
tion which had been managed. It has to be said that neither the policies nor the reconstruction
had much to do with the corporate state.
The most important development in agriculture was the drive for self-sufficiency in grain
which was intended to improve Italy’s balance of trade with the rest of Europe and with
North America. Characteristically, Mussolini introduced the 1925 campaign as the Battle
for Grain and, amid massive publicity, was photographed reaping, or driving tractors. The
battle succeeded in increasing grain production by 50 per cent between 1922 and 1930 and
by 100 per cent between 1922 and 1939. This was, however, largely at the expense of other
crops like fruit and olives which would have been more suited to the additional land given
over to grain.
 Dictatorship in Italy 141

Mussolini also sought to create extra arable land, through reclamation schemes, and extra
people, through a higher birth rate. The former was accomplished by schemes like the
draining of the Pontine Marshes. The latter was attempted by the Battle for Births, the aim
of which was to double Italy’s population within a generation. The reasoning behind such
a dramatic demographic change was that a static population reflects a decay of national
vitality and that a larger population would be essential for the empire which Mussolini was
in the process of creating. The incentives for larger families included the payment of benefits
for children, the imposition of extra taxation on single people and giving priority in
employment to fathers. The whole scheme, however, failed in its objective: between 1921
and 1925 there had been 29.9 births per 1,000 people, whereas between 1936 and 1940 this
had declined to 23.1 per 1,000, due partly to the mobilization of men to fight in Mussolini’s
foreign wars.
It is difficult to avoid a negative overall assessment of Fascist economic policy. The
‘third way’ of corporativism was attractive in theory but irrelevant in practice. The economy
was taken forward instead by a process of mobilization, based on increasingly direct
government intervention. The result was a confusion of two strategies which had implications
also for social policies.

The social consequences of Mussolini’s regime

The impact on social classes

Before 1922 Mussolini claimed that Fascism represented the interests of all classes. By
1939, however, it was evident that any real benefits had accrued only to a small minority
– the great industrialists, the estate owners and those members of the middle class serving
in the Fascist bureaucracy. For the majority of Italians, by contrast, the quality of life
deteriorated.
The industrialists were able to depend on a permanent alliance with the government. The
1925 Vidoni Pact and the Charter of Labour (1927) greatly increased their powers while
destroying the capacity of the trade unions to resist. The corporate state, too, was loaded
in favour of employers, who continued to be represented by their traditional spokesmen,
while the workforce had to depend on government lackeys. Thus all forms of industry, from
mass production to small-scale sweatshops, were free from official regulations. Of course,
parts of industry were adversely affected by the Great Depression, but they were given top
priority by the government after 1933, either through investment from the IRI or through
official approval of the spread of cartels. The latter effectively reduced competition between
the industrial giants, making life easier at the top but also preventing any substantial
modernization.
The landed gentry also maintained their status despite the Depression. They were helped
by government policies which were intended to maintain a large rural labour pool. In 1930,
for example, the movement of rural workers to cities was allowed only by permission of
local prefects, while in 1935 special workbooks (libretto di lavoro) were introduced. Also,
despite Mussolini’s original belief that Italy was a country of small landholders, the large
estates were maintained undiminished. By 1930 the large landowners, who accounted for
0.5 per cent of the population, owned nearly 42 per cent of the land; the small landholders,
87 per cent of the rural population, owned a mere 13 per cent.
The lower middle class experienced mixed fortunes. Those in private enterprise were
adversely affected by the economic circumstances of the 1930s, but those who entered state
142 Dictatorship in Italy

service did reasonably well for themselves. The complexity of the administration and the
growth of the corporate state produced large numbers of civil service jobs. On the whole,
wages were reasonably high and the fringe benefits considerable.
The rest of Italian society suffered severely, mainly for the same reasons that the upper
classes benefited. The urban workers were tied down by the regulations introduced by the
industrialists with government approval, and were also intimidated by the fact of high
unemployment (about two million by 1932). The peasantry and agricultural workers were
so badly affected that many defied government edicts and moved to the cities (particularly
Rome, Milan and Turin) to swell the slum population. They were driven to this by a
reduction in agricultural wages of up to 40 per cent during the 1930s. The working masses
as a whole experienced a comparable decline in living standards; it has been estimated that
the index of real wages fell between 1925 and 1938 by 11 per cent. Food became more
expensive because, although retail prices moved downwards, they did not correspond to
the reduction in wages. Moreover, Mussolini’s obsession with the Battle for Grain meant
the neglect of other foodstuffs and the wasteful use of marginal land. Hence, a whole range
of essentials and luxury items like meat, fruit, vegetables, butter, sugar, wine and coffee
became too expensive for many urban and rural workers. Mussolini recognized this
development; he also justified it and, in the process, turned his back on his original guarantee
of material well-being for all. ‘We must’, he said in 1936, ‘rid our minds of the idea that
what we have called the days of prosperity may return.’88

The impact on women

Fascism had always stressed that gender inequality was natural, whereas class differences
were artificial.89 The intention was that men should fill the occupations and the armed
services, while the role of women was to manage the home and produce the population that
Italy needed.
The usual view is that, as a result, their status was deliberately and systematically
repressed. Women were not given political rights: the undertaking in the 1919 Fascist
Programme for women’s suffrage was applied only in 1925 – to local elections only – but
these were abolished a year later. Although the fasci feminili gave women direct access to
the fascist movement, its role was essentially non-political and involved only attending
rallies and organizing charitable enterprises. It was always under the control of the PNF,
which consistently opposed advancing the powers of women in politics or employment.
Women were also constrained from seeking social emancipation. Both the press and the
PNF condemned the behaviour of women in France or Britain, contrasting the ‘donna crisi’
with the Italian paragon – the ‘donna madre’. By the Battle for Births (1927) the latter were
placed firmly in the roles of childbearing, family management and the homemaking sciences.
This was underpinned by the Rocco Criminal Law of 1932 which banned contraception,
sterilization and abortion, as well as enhancing the husband’s authority over his wife in
both financial and legal terms. Other measures included marriage loans, the waiving of
school taxes for ‘large families’ (redefined in 1934 as comprising eight or more children)
and ‘premiums’ paid for multiple births. During the 1930s a spate of edicts also restricted
the participation of women in most branches of employment. By 1938 women were permitted
to take up to no more than 10 per cent of the total jobs available. In some areas it was even
more restrictive. From the 1920s women were prohibited from teaching philosophy, modern
languages and, above all, history, while in the early 1930s women were barred from
competitive entry to state employment.
 Dictatorship in Italy 143

The impact of Fascism on women was therefore fundamentally negative. Nevertheless,

two further factors need to be considered.
One is that the Fascist treatment of women was not particularly radical in a society that
was already patriarchal and anti-feminist. Almost all of Mussolini’s laws on women had
the full backing of the Catholic Church. According to Bosworth, ‘Fascist State and Catholic
Church were generally in patriarchal concord about the proper place of women in society’.90
Caldwell agrees: the Fascist insistence on the primacy of motherhood for women ‘has to
be read in conjunction with these Catholic traditions, which precede the period of Fascism
but reinforce the tendency to regard women primarily as biological reproducers and
nurturers’.91 If anything, De Grand maintains, the Fascist regime ‘found itself increasingly
dependent on the moral power of the Church to achieve its demographic aims’.92 What
Mussolini did was not, therefore, revolutionary, but rather an intensification of existing
trends.
The second point is that the impact of Fascism was uneven at the best of times. This
was because the policies relating to women were constantly contradicted by other needs.
For example, the population policy demanded an emphasis on the maternal role, while the
crisis in the standard of living, which affected many Italians, made it more sensible to have
smaller families. Far from increasing under Mussolini, Italy’s rate of population growth
was actually lower during the Fascist era than it had been before 1914. By the late 1930s
the birth rate was at 23 per 1,000 inhabitants, compared with over 30 before 1914.93 This
was often the result of a direct challenge to official policy. According to de Grazia, ‘Fascism
spoke of the family as the pillar of the state, but family survival strategies in the face of
terrible economic want accentuated the antistatist tendencies of Italian civil society’.94
Despite the inducements, the number of marriages per annum hardly changed: between
1921 and 1928 there were 8.17 per 1,000 people, rising to 8.9 by 1937 but dropping back
to 7.3 by 1938.95 Nor did employment policies relating to women work out as intended.
The percentage of women in the agricultural workforce was 44.7 in 1921 and 39 in 1936;
the equivalent proportion of women in industry was 34.4 per cent in 1921 and 33.1 per cent
in 1936.96 Indeed, attempts to remove women from employment had to be reversed towards
the end of the 1930s as the mobilization of men for war brought increased pressures on
industry.
The overall outcome was clearly mixed. On the one hand, social constraints on women
were successfully maintained, but only because these had the force of tradition and, above
all, the Catholic Church behind them. On the other hand, where the Fascist state tried to
enforce changes they encountered the problem of trying to resolve competing priorities.
The most important of these was a series of wars which, from 1935 onwards, imposed
problems that could not be offset. The increase in population did not happen; even if it had,
it would have had no impact on Fascist Italy’s capacity to mobilize effectively until well
into the 1940s. This would have been much too late. The only way out was to allow women
back into the workforce on a major scale, thereby breaking one of the key social tenets of
Italian Fascism.

Benefits to Italy?
Did Fascism confer any real social benefits upon Italy? Some have, indeed, been identified.
According to Gregor,97 Fascist social welfare legislation compared favourably with the more
advanced European nations and in some respects was more progressive. To take some
examples, old-age pensions and unemployment benefits were both increased and medical
144 Dictatorship in Italy

care improved to the point that there was an appreciable decline in infant mortality and
tuberculosis. Pollard maintains that the emphasis on increasing the birth rate led to ‘the first
attempt in Italian history to provide a universal and comprehensive antenatal care system
and was thus one of the first steps in the establishment of an Italian National Health
Service’.98 Welfare expenditure also rose impressively – from 7 per cent of the budget in
1930 to 20 per cent in 1940, while the state spent 400 million lire on school-building between
1922 and 1942, compared with a mere 60 million spent between 1862 and 1922. Finally,
the party provided welfare agencies known as EOAs (ente opere assistenziali) which co-
ordinated relief funds for the unemployed, especially during the winter months. This has
been seen as a ‘capillary’ structure which enhanced the general flow of relief to where it
was most needed.99
On the other hand, state benefits, valuable though they were, could not in themselves
make up for the heavy loss in earning power. In any case, many Italians dropped through
any safety nets spread by the state. About 400,000 people lived in hovels made of mud and
sticks, while others lived ten to a room. Poverty remained deeply rooted throughout the
rural south where other forms of control also remained intact. Duggan’s work has shown
that Fascism made comparatively little impact on the Mafia. Although the regime claimed
to have eradicated this criminal organization, all that happened was the development of a
dual system. ‘What was distinctive about Sicily in the 1930s was not that the mafia had
been destroyed, but that the authorities could not use the word to describe the chaos.’100
Hence, Fascism was unable to release this highly traditionalist brake on its few attempts at
modernization.
Was it entirely the fault of the Fascist regime that so many Italians faced impoverishment?
After all, the Italian economy had always been vulnerable and during the 1930s other
industrial nations also suffered severely as a result of the Great Depression. While allowing
for this, it is still possible to attribute many of Italy’s problems directly to Fascist policy.
The policies of the 1920s, especially the revaluation of the lira, pushed Italy into recession
before the Depression, and possible recovery in the 1930s was slowed down by preparation
for war. It could be argued that even the population policy contributed directly to the falling
standard of living. When the United States cut its annual quota of Italian immigrants to
4,000 in 1924, Mussolini did everything possible to promote migration from the United
States to Italy. This reduced the remittances sent to Italy by workers in the United States
by something like 90 per cent: from five billion lire per annum to 500 million. Given this
ambivalent relationship between what Fascism inherited and what it did, we need to turn
now to the attitudes of the people who were affected.

Attitudes to Mussolini’s regime

Recent research on Germany and Russia has shown that the populations of these two
countries were more involved in the actions of the regimes than was originally thought.
Conversely, there was also more opposition. Much less research has been done on this in
Italy, but it would be surprising if the same overall trend had not applied there as well. De
Felice anticipated the first part of the argument when he maintained in 1974 that Mussolini
had extensive support within Italy, especially during the 1930s. What is more difficult to
accept, however, is that the support remained constant. Indeed, it now seems that Mussolini’s
regime was more subject to fluctuations than those of Hitler or Stalin and that there were
more obvious peaks and troughs.
 Dictatorship in Italy 145

The first of the peaks was the 1924 election, which showed popular confidence that
Mussolini could provide a political stability which had eluded the liberal governments. The
second was the 1929 election in which some 90 per cent of Italian voters supported the
regime. Even allowing for the absence of any real electoral alternative, this was not entirely
a distortion of public political opinion. By 1929 many Italians had concluded that Fascism
was offering a real chance of economic recovery as well as becoming more moderate by
coming to terms with the Catholic Church; Mussolini appeared to be achieving a balance
between totalitarian rule and respect for traditional institutions. The third peak in Mussolini’s
popularity came with the Italian conquest of Ethiopia between 1935 and 1936 which provided
military victory, enhanced Italian nationalist aspirations and offered the prospects of increased
international status.
Between these high points in the regime there were, however, alarming dips in public
confidence. The first of these occurred in 1924 over the Matteotti Crisis: the turn of events
so shocked the parliament and the press that the public response appeared to endanger the
very base of Mussolini’s government. The second trough, between 1932 and 1935, was
caused by growing economic problems; these probably had a direct impact on Mussolini’s
decision to invade Ethiopia (see p. 136). The euphoria after military success was followed
by a third downturn as a result of the increasing commitments to Hitler and the introduction
of unpopular anti-Semitic policies. Mussolini never succeeded in regaining his former
credibility and the disastrous involvement in the Second World War from 1940 onwards
resulted in demands for his dismissal in 1943.
Beneath this zigzag response to Mussolini’s leadership and policies there was a more
consistent underlying attitude. As we saw in the previous section, estate owners had every
reason to support Fascism whatever the aberrations of the moment, as did the leading
industrialists and the clerical sections of the middle class. Other groups, such as the industrial
and agricultural working classes, were more ambivalent, some joining the adulation in the
peak periods, others remaining loyal to outlawed political groups such as the Socialists or
Communists. The latter were to experience a sudden resurgence from 1943. Much of the
population also managed to evade full participation in the activities sponsored by the regime
even though it professed loyalty. This applied, for example, to 40 per cent of young people
managing to keep out of ‘compulsory’ Fascist youth movements, as well as to lay Catholics
who chipped away at the secularizing influence of Fascism in the schools. Mussolini’s regime,
therefore, was never as deeply rooted as those of Hitler and Stalin.
The attitudes of two groups are worth a more detailed examination: women and Catholics.
These accounted for a substantial majority of the population.
The previous section considered how women were affected by Fascist social policies.
How they reacted is more problematic. The reason for this is that Fascism was continuing
and accentuating a traditional undercurrent within Italian society while, at the same time,
also encountering cross-currents. The attitudes to women differed in the north and the south,
the former coming more into line with liberalizing movements in Britain, France and the
United States, the latter remaining more traditionalist. Hence, the changes brought by
Fascism were more obvious in Milan and Turin than in Naples and Palermo. Women would
also have had a wide variety of attitudes, which can be stereotyped only to a certain degree.
Many in the middle classes would have strongly resented the impediments placed upon
their professional development; others, however, would have been won over by the renewed
emphasis on the family. The majority would have been unconvinced by the new twist given
by Fascism to the traditional message of anti-feminism but would have resigned themselves
to the inevitable, especially during the period of the Depression. For most, the key factor
146 Dictatorship in Italy

was the impact of Fascist policies on the family, which meant a growing concern about the
expenditure on armaments at the expense of consumerism. Above all, the hectic foreign
policy pursued by Mussolini from 1935 onwards proved thoroughly disruptive to family
life. This more than offset any appeal that Fascism might originally have had as a guarantor
of family cohesion, whereas in Germany Nazism proved less disruptive, at least until 1939.
Catholic attitudes to Mussolini were also ambivalent. At first the Church hierarchy was
won over by the Lateran agreements of 1929 and largely approved of what Mussolini did
until the late 1930s. The Catholic laity, however, showed a lack of enthusiasm for the
compromise between Church and state. The main ground of conflict was education. Catholic
organizations, especially the youth wing of Catholic Action, continued to compete with the
Balilla. This meant initially a division between the upper levels of the hierarchy and the
rest of the Church. The leadership eventually came more into line with the laity in 1938 as
a result of the introduction of the racial laws and the closer diplomatic relationship between
Mussolini and Hitler.
But throughout the period it was Catholic Action, an organization for laymen, which
took on the government. The main area of contention was the type of education intended
for Italy’s youth. An agreement was reached in 1931 whereby Catholic Action would
confine its recreational and educational activities to a purely religious content and would
not try to undermine Fascist ideology. By 1939, however, Catholic Action had developed
a number of institutions for youth which drew membership away from the Fascist paramilitary
organizations and which directly competed with official social and cultural groups. It seemed
that while approving Mussolini’s fight against alien beliefs abroad, within Italy the Church
competed aggressively with Fascism for the soul of the people.
There were also political implications. Two other organizations sprang up in the 1930s
– the FUCI, for university students and staff, and the Movimento Laureati which aimed,
quite deliberately, to foster a new order. Together with Catholic Action, these proved to be
a potential opposition. Indeed, according to a police report in Milan in 1935, Movimento
Laureati could form ‘in a few hours, the strongest and most important political party in
Italy’.101 As the Fascist regime entered a period of crisis after 1939, Catholic leaders began
to take a direct initiative. Aldo Moro, for example, revitalized the FUCI, and what was
almost an alternative government formed around De Gasperi in 1943. Bitterly disillusioned
by military defeat, Italians eventually shook off Fascism and returned in part to the traditional
left, in part to Catholic politics – this time in the form of the Christian Democratic Party.
Overall, the attitude of the Italian mass of the population was still tacitly loyal to the
regime in 1939, despite the hardships faced. From 1941, however, discontent grew rapidly
as opposition turned into resistance and disobedience into insurrection and civil war. This
was the result of Italy’s catastrophic involvement in the Second World War – the culmination
of an adventurist foreign policy, to which we now turn.

MUSSOLINI’S FOREIGN POLICY, 1922–40

Did Mussolini have a foreign policy?

In his first speech as Prime Minister to the Chamber of Deputies (1922), Mussolini proclaimed
that ‘Foreign policy is the area which especially preoccupies us.’ His intention, he said on
another occasion, was simple: ‘I want to make Italy great, respected and feared.’ He
undertook to end Italy’s traditional backstage role in European diplomacy; instead of picking
up the scraps left by other powers in their rivalries with each other, Italy would seize the
 Dictatorship in Italy 147

diplomatic initiative. As a result, she would be able to secure a revision of the post-First
World War settlement – that ‘mutilated victory’ – and extensive territory in the Mediterranean
and Africa.
Historians have not, however, been inclined to take Mussolini particularly seriously. At
a very early stage in post-war historiography, he was attacked for being inconsistent and a
dupe to Hitler. Salvemini wrote in 1953 that he was ‘an irresponsible improviser, half
madman, half criminal, gifted only – but to the highest degree – in the arts of “propaganda”
and mystification’.102 This view was more or less duplicated by A.J.P. Taylor in 1961:

Everything about Fascism was a fraud. The social peril from which it saved Italy was
a fraud; the revolution by which it seized power was a fraud; the ability and policy of
Mussolini were fraudulent. Fascist rule was corrupt, incompetent, empty; Mussolini
himself was a vain, blundering boaster without either ideas or aims.103

From the late 1960s historians responded to the opening of the Italian archives by
providing more complex interpretations but, even so, there has been nothing like the sort
of debate which has been caused by the foreign policies of Hitler and Stalin.
This section will, therefore, attempt an overall perspective on Mussolini’s foreign policy
which uses some of the themes applied to Germany and Russia. Mussolini is as entitled as
any other leader to be considered a serious player on the European scene. Like Hitler, he
combined traditional objectives with a new radical vision of the future. Like both Hitler
and Stalin, he was an opportunist who took advantage of situations as they arose while, on
occasions, seeking to force the pace through more projective action. Like them, he scored
successes and made mistakes, although, in his case, the latter were predominant. In addition,
there was in Italy, as in Germany and Russia, a close interconnection between foreign policy
and domestic issues.
In outline, Fascist foreign policy was an amalgam of three main components. The first
was a continuation of Italy’s traditional objectives, which had been apparent before the First
World War. The liberal state, established in 1861 and completed in 1870, had sought to
increase its influence in Europe in a variety of ways. Diplomatically, it had allied with
Germany and Austria-Hungary in 1882 and had also sought to expand Italy’s influence
within the Mediterranean and in the Balkans. An empire had been formed in Eritrea and
Tripoli, and an attempt had been made to conquer Ethiopia, which failed on the plains of
Adowa in 1896. By 1914 Italy was still unfulfilled as a major power and its involvement
in the First World War was due to a calculated gamble, in the Treaty of London, that it
was more likely to achieve its objectives on the side of Britain and France. Several of the
objectives constantly referred to by Mussolini were therefore pre-Fascist. Italy already had
expansionist aspirations in its immediate vicinity – conscious that it alone had not benefited
here from the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in Europe. Italy was already a state with
imperialist ambitions which were given more urgency by the ‘martyrs’ of Adowa. And Italy
was already conscious of its importance in European diplomacy, with any decision to
change sides being likely to affect the overall balance of power. Hence, there was nothing
new about Mussolini’s focus on the Balkans and the Mediterranean, his talk of conquest
in Ethiopia, and his policies of ‘equidistance’ and side-changing in Europe.
The second element was a strong sense of disillusionment which followed the Paris Peace
Settlement of 1919. Italy’s gains by the Treaty of St Germain had been confined to South
Tyrol and Trentino. This meant that Italy’s share of territory from the collapsed Austria-Hungary
was less than that received by Poland, Romania or Yugoslavia. There was no compensation
148 Dictatorship in Italy

in Istria, despite strong Italian representation for this at the Paris Conference, and nothing at
all was forthcoming from the Turkish islands in the Aegean. Italy was, therefore, already a
revisionist state. Nationalist and liberal parties attacked the settlement in parliament and post-
war governments were half embarrassed, half pleased by the antics of D’Annunzio in Fiume.
On coming to power in 1922 Mussolini therefore inherited an immediate agenda as well as
longer-term aspirations.
What, then did Mussolini provide? This was the third component. His vision for the
future was based on the past – both recent and distant. The recent past had produced a
united Italy, a country and a people seeking an identity based upon a modern nation state.
This priority can be called ‘etatism’, with the focus on the state itself. The distant past
provided traditions of power based on the Roman Empire. Mussolini sought to revive this
heritage by giving Italy another base – the ‘imperium’, or empire, which would eventually
transcend etatism. This overall aim has, however, attracted considerable controversy – both
in its conception and in its attempted fulfilment.
Some historians, mainly Italian, deny that Mussolini had long-term grandiose schemes
for imperial expansion;104 others, like Knox,105 Kallis,106 Rodogno107 and Mallet,108 consider
that such aims were fundamental to Mussolini’s foreign policy. There are also differences
of opinion as to whether Mussolini had a natural affinity with Nazi Germany. One view,
advanced by A.J.P. Taylor, De Felice and others, is that he stumbled into an eventual alliance
with Hitler by antagonizing Britain and France after 1935: a more positive version is that
Mussolini deliberately pursued ‘equidistance’ (a careful manoeuvring between the powers
to Italy’s advantage) until events forced him to opt for Germany. According to Mallett,
however, these views are now outdated. A combination with Germany was always
Mussolini’s preferred choice, since Britain and France were always the main impediments
to Mussolini’s main geopolitical objective – Italian control over the Mediterranean, north
and east Africa,109 while Kallis and Rodogno point to numerous parallels in German and
Italian expansionism.
Overall, it seems that any significant turning point in Mussolini’s foreign policy came
after 1935, with the invasion of Ethiopia. Before that there were two possibilities: either
Mussolini followed a largely opportunistic course, or he was unable to embark on longer-
term objectives because events had not yet moved in his favour. After 1935 there could also
be two main explanations for his actions. On the one hand, he was forced towards Germany
by the elimination of possible co-operation with Britain and France. On the other, changing
circumstances in Europe made it easier for Mussolini to achieve the diplomatic and military
partnership he had always preferred. These approaches will be integrated into the following
sections.

The development of Mussolini’s foreign policy

Between 1922 and 1940 Mussolini’s foreign policy underwent major changes. The first
phase (1922–9) saw his aspirations being constrained in Europe while Italian colonial rule
became increasingly brutal in north Africa. During the second phase (1930–5) Mussolini
moved towards agreement with Britain and France, for reasons to be analysed. The turning
point came in 1935 with the Italian invasion of Abyssinia and the third phase (1935–40)
was dominated by a growing commitment to Germany and hostility towards Britain and
France. Attempts to make sense of these contradictory developments have produced a
variety of explanations which, in recent years, have grown increasingly complex.
 Dictatorship in Italy 149

Phase I: 1922–9
During the 1920s Mussolini’s foreign policy appeared erratic, alternating between aggression
and conciliation. Mussolini was tempted by the prospect of revising the Treaty of St Germain
in Italy’s favour and of expanding Italy in line with the broader imperial vision he was
already showing by 1922. He was, however, constrained by the growth of collective security
abroad and by the need to play himself into power at home. The result was a period in
which nothing much happened for Italy in Europe apart from pinpointed aggression against
Corfu and Fiume, and an attempt at anti-French diplomacy. As yet there were no opportunities
to challenge British naval power in the Mediterranean or British and French predominance
in north and east Africa: without an ally there was simply no prospect of Italy attempting
either of these. As Mussolini realized from 1927, the only feasible possibility here was
Germany, a fellow revisionist state with resentment against the Peace Settlement of 1919.
But Germany was tightly constrained militarily, and the political ideology and base of the
Weimar Republic had very little in common with those of Fascist Italy. Even by 1929 there
seemed little chance that Italy would be joined in Europe by a second fascist regime under
Hitler and Nazism. All that Mussolini could do in the 1920s was to apply pressure to Europe’s
diplomatic fabric to see where there might be a chance of swift glory cheaply bought while,
at the same time, consolidating Italy’s imperial control in Africa. In Europe Mussolini was
forced to accept outcomes that were well short of his aims and to play the diplomat himself.
The energy of Fascism was more apparent in Africa where there were fewer constraints on
the regime’s aggression and brutality.
The first instance of aggression was the Corfu Incident. On 21 August 1923 General
Tellini and four other Italians were assassinated by terrorists while working for a boundary
commission which was marking the border between Greece and Albania. Mussolini seized
the opportunity to browbeat Greece, demanding compensation of 50 million lire and an
official apology. When these did not materialize, he ordered the occupation of the Greek
island of Corfu, clearly his original intention. Greece, however, appealed to the League of
Nations which, in turn, referred the whole matter to arbitration by the Conference of
Ambassadors. The outcome was a compromise which Mussolini accepted, with extreme
reluctance, under strong British diplomatic pressure. Italian marines were pulled out of Corfu
on 27 September and the Greek government paid the 50 million lire, but did not apologize.
Within two weeks of the settlement of the Corfu Crisis, Mussolini tried again, this time
more successfully. He installed an Italian commandant in Fiume, a city whose status was
in dispute as it was claimed by both Italy and Yugoslavia. In this instance, Yugoslavia had
no alternative but to agree to the Italian occupation as her main ally, France, was militarily
involved in the Ruhr. Mussolini’s victory was formalized in 1924 by the Pact of Rome.
By 1925, however, Mussolini was showing a more reasonable face – this time to the
European powers. Gustav Stresemann, Aristide Briand and Austen Chamberlain, foreign
ministers of Germany, France and Britain, were committed to international co-operation
and the construction of a system of collective security. Mussolini was at first reluctant to
involve Italy in any specific scheme, as it would limit his chances of a future diplomatic
coup. Increasingly, however, he came under pressure from two directions. Externally, he
was persuaded by French and British diplomats and was courted by Chamberlain, who
particularly wanted Mussolini’s participation. Internally, the more traditional and non-
Fascist career diplomats of the Italian Foreign Ministry brought all their persuasiveness to
bear.110 The result was Mussolini’s signature on the Locarno Pact. Partly as a result of this
concession, British opinion of Mussolini became more favourable. Over Corfu he had
150 Dictatorship in Italy

shown a petulant outburst which seemed to go against the pragmatic trend of Italian
diplomacy; Locarno seemed to indicate that he had at last moved to a more moderate and
sensible course – in the tradition of Cavour.111
Or had he? Elsewhere in Europe Mussolini was doing what he could to destabilize the
international scene. It could be argued that he was trying to make up for his lack of influence
in western Europe by pressing particularly hard for advantages in the Balkans. He was
resolutely hostile to French efforts to influence eastern Europe through a series of alliances.
More fundamentally, Mussolini had conceived a deep dislike for France. This was partly
ideological, as France harboured most of Italy’s anti-Fascist exiles. It was also partly
strategic, as France seemed to block the way to Italy’s expansion in the Mediterranean and
Africa. Hence, he tried to destroy the French system in eastern Europe and, in the process,
to penetrate the Balkans. His main target was the French-sponsored Little Entente of
Yugoslavia, Romania and Czechoslovakia. At first it appeared that he might break this by
peaceful means. In 1924 he drew up a commercial agreement with Czechoslovakia and
a treaty of friendship with Yugoslavia. But then he overreached himself in a sudden
lunge for territory and glory. He became involved in the Albanian Civil War, supporting
the rebel Noli against Yugoslavia’s protégé, Zogu. Although Italy came to establish a virtual
protectorate over Albania, Mussolini lost the chance to detach Yugoslavia from the French
system. Indeed, the Little Entente tightened and Mussolini felt obliged to attempt to sponsor
a counter-bloc consisting of Albania, Hungary and Bulgaria.
How successful had Mussolini been by 1929? On the one hand, his policies had been
confined to the achievement of the possible: Mussolini’s objectives were based at this stage
on a limited etatist base and seemed to lack the broader sweep of the imperium. He was
clearly frustrated by the restrictions imposed upon him by Italy’s limited infrastructure but
had not yet developed the confidence (or recklessness) to try to break through these. The
positive side was that he was highly rated by British leaders. Churchill called him ‘Roman
genius in person’ and Austen Chamberlain said, ‘I trust his word when given and think we
might easily go far before finding an Italian with whom it would be as easy for the British
Government to work.’112 On the other hand, there was still much unfinished business. Italy
remained outflanked by French influence in the Balkans and there were times when the
Locarno Pact seemed a major disadvantage; in helping guarantee the Rhine, Mussolini had
freed French and German attention, which could now wander to central Europe, and Austria.
During this period Mussolini looked beyond Italy’s shores and frontiers for the achieve-
ment of his more grandiose designs for Italy. Although there was – as yet – no chance of
achieving a new Roman imperium in Europe and the Mediterranean, he could consolidate
Italy’s position in north and east Africa, thereby promoting Italian expansion from the
periphery towards the centre rather than by the more conventional Roman way. He aimed
at this stage to consolidate Italian control over Eritrea and Somaliland in east Africa and
over Libya in north Africa. Mussolini had aspirations for linking these together by future
conquests in Ethiopia, the Sudan and possibly Egypt. An enlarged Italian empire would
confirm Italy’s claim to be a major European power and provide an outlet for the future
expansion of Italy’s population. This scenario for a new Roman empire might seem far-
fetched in the 1920s – until we remember that Hitler was at the same time developing ideas
for Germany’s Lebensraum in eastern Europe. The difference was that Mussolini was
already Prime Minister of Italy, whereas Hitler had just served a prison sentence on a charge
of treason.
Mussolini’s main focus in the 1920s was north Africa. Libya had been held by Italy as a
colony since 1912, but virtually nothing had been done to administer or develop it and Italian
 Dictatorship in Italy 151

control had loosened. Mussolini visited it in 1926 and made it the target of special plans for
the future. These included new urban centres, land reclamation and the attraction of tourism.
Between 1928 and 1933 Libya was ‘pacified’ by Badoglio and Graziani – which involved
removing a population of some 100,000 from parts of the interior. This was conducted with
deliberate ferocity and brutality and the concentration camps set up on the coast brought many
deaths from starvation and disease. In dealing with a local rebellion from 1931, led by Omar
el-Mukhtar, the Italians bombed civilians with poison gas.113 Altogether, it has been estimated
that one-tenth of Libya’s population perished under Fascism.114 This was shrouded in
secrecy, even after the end of the fascist regime in Italy. It is significant as the exception to
Mussolini’s otherwise restrained external policies during the 1920s and early 1930s, showing
that restraint was imposed upon him rather than chosen by him. It was also an indicator for
the future, showing the potential of Fascism for racism overseas and providing the experience
and testing ground for later expansion in Ethiopia.

Phase 2: 1930–5
The European situation changed between 1929 and 1934 as a result of the Great Depression.
Multilateral co-operation through international institutions began to give way to bilateral
agreements and rivalries. This situation clearly benefited Mussolini, since it gave him more
room within which to manoeuvre.
It has usually been argued that Mussolini aimed to make a more definite mark on
European diplomacy through the pursuit of a more consistent and reasoned policy. In this
way he would emerge, as he had always intended, as Europe’s senior statesman and arbiter.
It has been argued that, at this stage, Mussolini was capable of a shrewd and realistic
assessment of the European scene. His new device was to promote rival blocs, with Italy
acting as mediator and maintaining a calculated equidistance between the powers involved.
On one side would be France and Britain. On the other would be Germany, increasingly
revisionist and determined to undermine the Versailles Settlement. Mussolini would commit
Italy to neither; instead, he would create tensions or, alternatively, promote détente in such
a way that Italy would always be the beneficiary. He may even have thought that Britain
and France would become so dependent on Italian co-operation in containing Germany that
they would have to grant major concessions in the Mediterranean and Africa. Should they
ever take Italy for granted, Mussolini could always exert diplomatic pressure on them by
producing the German card, or backing German revisionist claims. Either way, etatism would
eventually expand into the imperium.
Before long, the argument continues, Mussolini found this card unplayable, for Germany
came to pose an even greater threat to Italian interests than had France. The source of the
trouble was Austria. It was well known that the German right had long favoured the
absorption of this rump of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, a danger which increased
with Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor in January 1933. Mussolini was desperately anxious
to avoid this Anschluss, since he regarded Austria as an Italian client state and as a military
buffer zone. A crisis occurred in 1934 when the Austrian Nazi Party was involved in the
assassination of the Austrian Chancellor, Dollfuss. Fearing that Hitler would use the chaos
within Austria as an excuse to annex it, Mussolini sent Italian troops to the frontier.
Meanwhile, he was forced to swallow his previous prejudices and seek closer ties with
France – who also dreaded the prospect of an enlarged Germany. He therefore dropped his
designs on the Balkans, and in January 1935 formed an accord with France. This was
followed, in April, by the Stresa Front in which Mussolini joined Britain and France in
152 Dictatorship in Italy

condemning German rearmament, announced by Hitler in the previous month. Although

forced by events in Austria to abandon his preferred strategy of equidistance, Mussolini
seemed, nevertheless, to have recovered a degree of diplomatic security. He also took part
in discussions with French foreign minister Laval in January 1935 which would allow
Mussolini a free hand in Ethiopia in return for continuing Italian diplomatic support over
Germany. The end of equidistance therefore gave way to the pursuit of the imperium.
More recent interpretations have called into question both the intended permanence of
‘equidistance’ and the extent of Mussolini’s alienation from Germany. Instead, the Duce
was biding his time until he could extract more favourable terms from the Führer which
would enable him to pursue Italian expansion at the expense of British and French interests.
The pressure on Hitler imposed by the Stresa front was to Mussolini a manoeuvre rather
than a change of course and could easily be reversed in the future. As we have seen
elsewhere, this approach takes Mussolini more seriously by acknowledging that he had
long-term objectives. Nevertheless it may well underestimate the instinctive dislike and
distrust that Mussolini had for Hitler in the period 1933–6. He had already criticized Nazi
racial policies; he had also considered Nazism a sufficient threat to justify sending Italian
troops to the Austrian frontier after the assassination of Dollfuss in 1934. In any case, how
much did Mussolini actually need German military support in 1935? Irrespective of his
longer-term aims at their expense, it might have made more sense to boost Italy’s imperialism
with the tacit agreement of Britain and France. Germany was as yet unproven as a revived
military power: the remilitarization of the Rhineland and the beginning of the Four-Year
Plan began only in 1936. In 1935, therefore, Mussolini opted openly for Italian action in
east Africa, ending the period of Italian containment but keeping his options open for the
future. He was confident that this would be a success.

Phase 3: 1935–40
From 1935 Italy became involved in a period of hectic activity, behaving in every way like
an expansionist power with further imperial ambitions in both Africa and Europe. Mussolini
began by launching an invasion on Ethiopia in 1935, moved on to providing military
assistance to Franco and the Nationalists in Spain, and then seized Albania in 1939. In the
process, Italy gravitated towards Germany in three stages – the Rome–Berlin Axis (1936),
the Anti-Comintern Pact (1937) and the Pact of Steel (1939). This course led Italy into an
ultimately disastrous war in 1940.
The Ethiopian War was sparked by the Wal Wal Incident. In December 1934 a party of
Italians was fired upon at an oasis on the Ethiopian side of the border with Italian Somaliland.
An immediate apology was demanded from Ethiopia, since Italy claimed the right to use
Wal Wal. The matter was, however, referred to the League of Nations, while Italy prepared,
over the next ten months, for a full-scale invasion of Ethiopia. All seemed well for Mussolini,
particularly since Britain and France were unwilling to condemn his attitude. When the
League eventually refused to apportion blame for the Wal Wal Incident, Mussolini decided
to go ahead with the invasion; this commenced, from Eritrea, in October 1935, under the
leadership of Graziani and De Bono. Italian troops won a major victory at Adowa, erasing
the humiliating memory of defeat there in 1896. In November, however, a sinister
development occurred with Badoglio’s use of poison gas against Ethiopian troops and
civilians. This time the League responded more decisively by applying, from October,
economic sanctions against Italy. Unfortunately, these were largely ineffectual since they
excluded vital materials like oil, coal, iron and steel. It also appeared that Britain and France
 Dictatorship in Italy 153

were willing to connive at Mussolini’s conquests. The Hoare–Laval Pact of December 1935
would have given Italy northern and southern Ethiopia, leaving an independent state in the
centre. This scheme was leaked to the press and eventually howled down by public opinion.
Nevertheless, nothing was done to prevent the Italian advance on Addis Ababa, which fell
in May 1936.
The Ethiopian War was a turning point in Italian policy, for which various reasons have
been given. More traditional views have emphasized Mussolini’s inconsistency. A.J.P.
Taylor confessed to being mystified by Mussolini’s decision for action in Africa in 1935
at a time when Germany was still threatening Austria. This threat did, however, dictate a
speedy conquest to enable Italy to prevent further German threats in central Europe. Some
historians have attributed Mussolini’s decision to a determination to allow no further delay
in completing the task of conquest that had failed so disastrously at the first attempt in
1896. The international situation had to be favourable, which involved some fine calculations
on Mussolini’s part: 1935 provided a more favourable chance than Mussolini had had before
– provided that he could produce a quick result. Others, such as Cassels, Mack Smith and
De Felice consider that internal dynamics explain the apparent inconsistency of Mussolini’s
actions. Rearmament was essential to reactivate the economy after a period of decline brought
on by the Depression. Fascism had stalled ideologically and needed renewed impetus, while
social cohesion and support would be strengthened by military success.
There are, however, dissenting voices. ‘Taken as a whole, none of these explanations
have stood the test of time.’115 Mallett’s summary of the arguments against these includes
three main points. First, the impact of the Depression was largely over by 1934 and social
cohesion was not threatened, since there was no real challenge to the political supremacy
of Fascism, ‘Italy being a one-party dictatorial state with a mostly efficient internal security
apparatus’.116 Second, there had been a long-standing commitment to imperial expansion
and to domination of the Mediterranean, which meant that Italy would have to come
eventually into conflict with Britain and France. ‘Works that have examined more closely
Mussolini’s thinking over the period from January 1935 onwards have confirmed that, for
him, an Italian annexation of Ethiopia marked not a limited phase of overseas expansion,
but, on the contrary, only the beginning of a more ambitious imperial policy.’ Third, this
would entail future expansion into the Sudan and possibly Egypt and therefore conflict with
Britain. According to recent research into the Italian archives, Mussolini ordered Italian
forces to prepare for attacks on the Royal Navy if necessary. He was greatly assisted by
the low-key approach taken by the Baldwin government in Britain which, at this stage, was
anxious to avoid any possibility of direct conflict with Italy.117
Far apart though these views appear to be, they are not entirely mutually exclusive. There
is certainly a strong case for saying that expansion in the Mediterranean and into Ethiopia
were part of a long-term geopolitical ambition – even if this risked the possibility of conflict
with Britain and France and necessitated a future alliance with Germany. The Ethiopian
venture was, therefore, more than a desperate attempt to seek a distraction from problems
within Italy or an opportunist exploitation of favourable international circumstances. Yet
to place all – or even most – of the emphasis on the pursuit of a project for its own sake
is not entirely convincing either. Mussolini may well have been holding back on the pursuit
of long-term aims before 1935. But what made 1935 the decisive turning point in his foreign
policy? Mussolini was still at odds with Germany over Austria, while Hitler had yet to
provide any convincing evidence that Germany would provide the military support and
military strength that Italy would need to challenge Britain and France. There was still an
area of considerable uncertainty and Mussolini was taking as much of a chance as ever, as
154 Dictatorship in Italy

Taylor pointed out. Yet the Taylorian explanation that Mussolini was a blunderer is also
unconvincing. Mussolini must have had sound reasons for concluding that 1935 was the
right time to launch the invasion of Ethiopia. This is where the argument for the favourable
international situation still applies – just as it does to the opportunities provided to the
achievement of Hitler’s objectives between 1936 and 1939. And committing Italy to such
a vast undertaking must also have been integral to Italy’s domestic needs, interpreted by
Mussolini as the emergence from economic crisis into a new era of accelerated Fascism
based on popular enthusiasm mobilized by intensified propaganda. The motivation was
therefore long-term but the means of achieving it was more immediate.
The Ethiopian War had momentous results. By one argument, it narrowed the range of
Mussolini’s future diplomatic options. Britain and France were alienated by the method of
conquest and were never to trust Mussolini again. Germany was considerably strengthened,
as Hitler used Mussolini’s involvement in Africa, together with the diversion this caused
to Britain and France, to remilitarize the Rhineland in 1936. Mussolini had seriously
miscalculated; Hitler had reacted far more rapidly than he had expected and, to make
matters worse, Austria was more vulnerable than ever before. From 1936 Germany exerted
a profound influence on Italy, based on growing diplomatic confidence and military strength.
Within Italy this influence took the form of a racial programme, while externally Mussolini
was hoping to synchronize his own ideology with Hitler’s Nazism to produce a century of
Fascism.
This line has, however, been questioned as being too dismissive and a more positive
interpretation of Mussolini’s approach has been suggested. By 1936 Mussolini was more
concerned with challenging Britain and France than with preventing Germany’s expansion
into Austria. Indeed, Italian concessions over Austria could be used as a means of persuading
Hitler to back Mussolini against Britain, thereby ending any need for Mussolini to try to
regain Britain’s goodwill. Hence, according to Bell, ‘From being a member of an anti-German
coalition, Italy began to cultivate German friendship’.118 The implication is that Mussolini
made a definite decision to move Italy towards Germany, rather than being forced away from
Britain and France. In addition, Mallett points out that recently released archival material
‘leaves little room for doubt that in the aftermath of the Ethiopian Crisis of 1935–6 Mussolini
actively courted Hitler’s Germany, and aligned Italian policy closely to that of the Reich’.119
Although such interpretations do acknowledge that Mussolini was more in control of
Italy’s foreign policy after 1935 than was once thought, they do not indicate that he followed
the most appropriate course. From 1936 a policy of consolidation would have made most
sense, giving Italy the chance to replace losses caused by the Ethiopian War. Yet even
before this conflict had ended Mussolini had made another commitment – this time to
assisting Franco’s National Front against the Spanish Republic. Involvement in the Spanish
Civil War was motivated partly by an obsessive hatred of left-wing popular-front
governments. The future, he wanted to proclaim, lay with Fascism, nationalism and right-
wing militarism. It might well be possible to establish Italian influence over a series of
fascist or semi-fascist states in the Mediterranean; influence over Spain, for example, could
well lead to control over Salazar’s Portugal. In strategic terms, this would weaken Britain’s
naval position in the western Mediterranean and make Gibraltar extremely vulnerable. It
would mean that the Soviet Union would lose Spain as a potential ally and that France
would be outflanked by three hostile states – Spain, Italy and Germany. There was also a
military motive for involvement, as Italy could test the efficiency of her armed forces in a
different theatre of war. Italian contributions to the Nationalist cause were considerable. By
1937 50,000 Italian troops were active in Spain and the total death toll had reached 6,000.
 Dictatorship in Italy 155

Mussolini also provided 763 aircraft and 1,672 tons of bombs, 950 tanks and 7,663 motor
vehicles, 1,930 cannon and 240,747 small arms, and the use of 91 warships – all at a total
cost of 14 billion lire.120 Admittedly, other governments became involved; Hitler also
supplied Franco, and Stalin assisted the Republic. There is no doubt, however, that Italy’s
sacrifices were by far the largest.
To what effect? Italy’s involvement has usually been seen as a major blunder. Certainly
Mussolini was unable to make up the loss of equipment before the outbreak of the Second
World War. This was to prove very serious. Both Britain and France, convinced that Italy
was now irrevocably hostile, began from 1937 to rearm at a pace which Italy, with her
smaller industrial base, could not match. While all the other major powers were stronger
in 1939 than they had been in 1936, Italy was undeniably weaker. The full extent of her
vulnerability was not yet known, but clues were provided by the humiliation of the Italians
by Spanish Republican forces at Guadalajara. Nor was there any real gratitude from Franco,
who would agree only to guarantee Spanish neutrality in any conflict between Italy and
another power. More than ever, Mussolini had to depend on Germany. He tried to ignore
the uncomfortable truth that war, and the policy of autarky which accompanied it, had
disrupted Italian trade and allowed Germany to penetrate Italy’s markets in the Balkans.
He therefore had to swallow his personal dislike of Hitler and give Italy up to what F.W.D.
Deakin has termed the ‘Brutal Friendship’. Again, this has been questioned by the more
recent argument that Mussolini was actively preparing the way for a stronger relationship
with Germany in preparation for taking on British and French influence; the emphasis is
now very much on the ‘aggressive and pro-Nazi characteristics of the Duce’s policies’.121
This connection between Italy and Germany was formalized by the Rome–Berlin Axis,
a term first used by Mussolini in a speech delivered in Milan on 1 November 1936. This
followed a visit by the Italian Foreign Minister, Ciano, to Berlin and Berchtesgaden to
secure an agreement on joint intervention in Spain. Both Germany and Italy were well
satisfied. Germany had succeeded in pulling Italy into her corner. As von Hassell, German
ambassador in Rome, had observed, the Spanish Civil War was reinforcing the lesson of
the Ethiopian War and Italy was realizing ‘the advisability of confronting the western powers
shoulder-to-shoulder with Germany’.122 The Axis was further tightened by the signing of
the Anti-Comintern Pact with Germany and Japan in November 1937 and the Pact of Steel
(May 1939) which committed Germany and Italy to mutual support in any offensive or
defensive war. Italy, for her part, was momentarily enjoying the sensation of power. In
1937 Ciano exulted: ‘The situation of 1935 has been transformed. Italy has broken out of
her isolation: she is in the centre of the most formidable political and military combination
which has ever existed.’123
Unfortunately for Mussolini, Germany’s seniority in the Rome–Berlin Axis soon became
obvious. Hitler forced the pace, and some of his actions showed open contempt for Mussolini.
In March 1938, for example, he gave Rome only a few hours’ notice before sending German
troops into Austria. This has been seen as the beginning of the end of Fascist Italy as ‘the
shadow of the predatory and overwhelming force of pan-Germanism’ fell over her.124 It is
true that Mussolini managed to regain some of his stature as a mediator at the Munich
Conference in September 1938, but this was because it suited Hitler to cast Mussolini
temporarily in this role, before returning to his customary offhand manner. On two occasions
in 1939 Mussolini was given virtually no advance notice of German intentions: the occupation
of Bohemia in March and the conclusion of the Nazi–Soviet Pact in August. Yet, amazingly,
Mussolini’s government failed to monitor the wording of the Pact of Steel which bound
Italy militarily to Germany; instead, Ciano virtually gave a blank cheque to his German
156 Dictatorship in Italy

counterpart, von Ribbentrop. Mussolini was also deceived over Hitler’s timetable. He had
assumed in May 1939 that Germany was not intending to fight a war before 1943 at the
earliest. When Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, Mussolini was severely
embarrassed by Italy’s total inadequacy to meet the commitments of the Pact of Steel. Ciano
had to submit to Berlin a list of strategic matériel urgently needed by Italy. When Germany
offered only a small quantity, Mussolini had no option but to seek from Hitler a temporary
release from his military obligations. Part of the problem was that Italy’s resources had
been overextended by Mussolini’s attack on Albania in April; he could not afford now to
rush into a conflict with France and Britain which Hitler had so inconveniently provoked.
Even so, for a man with such a huge ego, this peace was a humiliation, to be reversed at
the earliest opportunity.

Conclusions 1922–40
Overall, Mussolini’s foreign policy had definable long-term aims. These involved converting
etatism into the imperium – in the Mediterranean, Africa and Europe. They would involve
challenging Britain and France as the containing powers and also as the anti-revisionist
guarantors of the Versailles settlement. But such aims could only be latent between 1922
and 1935; during this period small gains could be made through opportunism, which related
to short-term methodology rather than to overall ambition. The fulfilment of this ambition
began in 1935, the turning point at which Mussolini committed Italy to Germany as an
essential part of his challenge to Britain and France in the Mediterranean and Africa. The
problem was that the extension of Italy’s base by Mussolini beyond the traditional overseas
imperial one could not be achieved with Italy’s resources. This was to be Mussolini’s real
failure.

The interconnection between foreign policy and domestic issues

It has become increasingly common in historical writing to point out the close links between
foreign and domestic policies. Much has been made of the attempts made by rulers like
Napoleon III and Wilhelm II to mobilize popular support and maintain domestic harmony
through the deliberate use of aggressive diplomacy, territorial expansion and war. Most
observers see the same tendency in Mussolini’s policy and would agree with Morgan’s
assessment that the ‘customary separation of foreign and domestic matters’ can be ‘artificial
and distorting’. Instead, ‘Internal and external policies were explicitly linked and interacted
in a synchronised way.’125
There is, however, some difference over the extent of his calculation, especially over
the decision to invade Ethiopia. Perhaps the grandest conception has been put forward by
De Felice, who sees Fascism as a ‘revolutionary phenomenon’ which aimed at the
‘mobilization of the masses and the creation of a new kind of man’.126 This had not been
accomplished during the 1920s by domestic policies and clearly a new impetus was needed.
This would be external expansion; hence ‘the Ethiopian question was not only one of waging
war, but also principally of creating the new Fascism after the conquest of the empire’.127
In terms of generating a new spirit and mobilizing support behind the Duce, the Ethiopian
War was Mussolini’s political masterpiece and his greatest success.
Another Italian writer, Carocci, emphasizes the search for an instant remedy rather than
the achievement of a grand design. By 1935, he argues, the situation at home was potentially
dangerous:
 Dictatorship in Italy 157

People all over the country felt indifferent to the regime, detached from it. In order to
overcome these feelings, in order to galvanise the masses and try to break the vicious
circle of economic crisis, more drastic and more attractive measures were needed.128

De Grand partly disagrees with this – but in terms of the timing rather than the principle.
He maintains that the decision was not born of desperation; there were ‘no compelling
economic imperatives in Italy for expansion in 1934 and 1935. The worst crisis of the
depression had been overcome.’129 Nevertheless, he adds, the decision for the invasion was
made at the peak of the economic crisis in 1932. Mack Smith argues that the purpose of
Mussolini’s foreign policy was to bolster his prestige, which by the mid-1930s had been
affected by economic strain. The device used was propaganda on a massive scale; indeed,
‘any history of Mussolini’s foreign policy has to be . . . a history of propaganda’.130 The
whole process created an addiction; the addiction led to self-delusion. Increasingly Mussolini
was misled by his own pronouncements, pursued erratic policies and ignored basic facts.
Such an argument was also adopted by contemporaries of Mussolini. Salvemini, an exile
from Fascist Italy, identified Mussolini as ‘a buffoon, a sawdust Caesar’, living hand-to-
mouth in a desperate effort to make his foreign exploits rally support for his domestic
measures and to stabilize the base of his regime.
Some historians remain unconvinced by this type of argument. Knox, for one, sees in
Mussolini’s expansionism a genuine vision – equivalent to Hitler’s quest for Lebensraum.131
Foreign policy did not proceed from ‘internal social or political pressures’. Indeed, what
happened in the 1930s was the opposite of ‘social imperialism’. To extend this line of
reasoning, it might be said that Fascism was an ebullient ideology which had to turn out-
wards in order to seek sublimation in struggle, militarism and conquest. This approach would
reduce the emphasis on domestic problems in the mid-1930s. It could be argued that
Mussolini’s personality cult had already won the battle for popular acceptance and support;
it now had to be justified by action. After all, Italians had been led to believe, it was better
to live ‘one day as a lion than a thousand years as a lamb’.

WAR AND COLLAPSE, 1940–5

Italy in the Second World War

Italy’s neutrality, announced by Mussolini on 3 September 1939, came to an end with his
declaration of war on Britain and France on 10 June 1940. Why did he change his mind?
During the intervening months the situation in Europe had been transformed. Hitler’s
Blitzkrieg had crushed Poland within four weeks and his offensive in the west had brought
the collapse of Norway, Holland and Belgium. Mussolini, therefore, felt that he had little
to fear. Italy would not be committing herself to a prolonged struggle, as France was on
the point of defeat and it was only a matter of time before Britain fell. Hence, there was a
chance for Mussolini to erase the humiliating memory of non-belligerence by joining Hitler
as an equal partner in a great Axis offensive. He envisaged a short conflict, lasting perhaps
only a few weeks, and followed by a conference at which Italy would receive the spoils
due to a victorious power.
These expectations were not fulfilled. Italian troops made slow progress in the Alpine
War against a severely weakened France, managing to win only a few square miles of
territory. The main disappointment was that Hitler was unwilling to hand France’s North
African colonies to Italy, preferring to leave them and the French Mediterranean fleet under
158 Dictatorship in Italy

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Map 4 The Italian overseas empire by 1939

 Dictatorship in Italy 159

the puppet Vichy regime to ensure the latter’s permanent collaboration with Germany. Nor
could Mussolini expect easy compensation in the form of British territory in Africa: the
Royal Navy was still active in the Mediterranean and the long-awaited German invasion
of Britain had not materialized. Once again there was the danger that Italy would play a
totally subordinate role to Germany – unless, of course, Mussolini could regain the initiative.
He attempted to do so in the ‘parallel war’. The intention was to develop an Italian sphere
of influence in the Balkans and North Africa, leaving Germany to dominate northern Europe.
Hence, in September 1940, he launched an Italian invasion of British Egypt from Libya
and, in October, attacked Greece. But his hopes of a new Roman Empire covering most of
the eastern Mediterranean were swiftly shattered. The Greeks repulsed the Italian attack
and Hitler had to mount an extensive rescue operation in the Balkans in 1941; when,
eventually, Greece and Yugoslavia did fall, it was to the Germans not the Italians. The
British, meanwhile, counter-attacked from Egypt, achieving major successes under Wavell
early in 1941. Again, the Germans had to take over and Mussolini was partly relieved,
partly humiliated by the successful campaigns of Rommel. No rescue was possible, however,
in the Horn of Africa where, during the course of 1941, Italy lost to British Empire troops
her prized colonies of Somaliland, Eritrea and Ethiopia.
Floundering badly in the sort of prolonged war which he had not anticipated, Mussolini
became increasingly desperate and irrational. He proved entirely willing to go along with
Hitler in widening the scope of the war. In 1941, for example, he pressed on Hitler a total
of 61,000 Italian troops to assist the German invasion of the Soviet Union. In the same year
he declared war on the United States in the naïve belief that America was a degenerate
power which could never adapt a consumer-based economy to military needs. He placed
increasing emphasis on ideology, envisaging an ultimate Fascist triumph over the forces
and theories of Bolshevism and liberal democracy. Yet, despite his attempts to retain at
least some influence over the Axis alliance, the reality was that Italy’s dependence on
Germany was now total.
The trouble was that Germany was now beginning to lose ground. From late 1942
German forces in North Africa and on the eastern front were heavily assailed by Montgomery,
Eisenhower and Zhukov. Hitler’s priority was the Russian campaign, which involved
drawing off German troops and supplies from North Africa. This sealed Italy’s fate. The
Western Allies won back North Africa early in 1943 and, at the Casablanca Conference,
agreed that the first attacks on Axis-controlled Europe should be directed against Italy as
its ‘soft underbelly’. Consequently, British and American troops landed in Sicily in July
1943. Even before they crossed over to mainland Italy, Mussolini had been removed from
power. On 8 September the new Italian government officially surrendered to the Allies.
The Germans, however, occupied northern Italy, delaying final victory for the next eighteen
months.

Reasons for the Italian defeat

One of the main factors in the Italian defeat was the series of disastrous decisions taken by
Mussolini himself, often against the advice of his ministers. The first of these was to
commence hostilities in June 1940 with the full knowledge that the Italian Commission on
War Production had warned that Italy could not sustain a single year of warfare until 1949.
The second was to initiate a ‘parallel war’ when it seemed unlikely that Germany would
co-operate with Italian designs on French colonies; Mussolini’s invasion of Greece in
October 1940 was a botched attempt to gain territory in the other direction to compensate
160 Dictatorship in Italy

for this disappointment. The third error was to commit Italy so lightly and with so little
thought of the consequences against the world’s two industrial and military giants, the United
States and the Soviet Union. The former played a vital part in rolling back the Axis
occupation of North Africa, while the latter drained off the Axis troops needed to prevent
this. Of the three mistakes, the first was the most catastrophic, as it made Italy entirely
dependent on German military success. Hitler destroyed Mussolini’s chances of swift victory
by broadening his own objectives to fit into his own visionary scheme, and the invasion of
Russia doomed Fascist Italy long before it brought about the collapse of the Third Reich.
Italy’s armed forces were inadequate to the demands placed upon them by Mussolini.
Earlier losses incurred in the Ethiopian War (1935–6) and the Spanish Civil War (1936–9)
had not been made up and there was, by 1940, a hollow ring to Mussolini’s boast that Italy
could mobilize 8 million men within hours. In fact, the Italian army in 1940 comprised a
total of 3 million men, who were inadequately supplied with 1.3 million rifles (of 1891
design); the most reliable weapons proved to be those captured from the Austrians at the
end of the First World War. The army had only 42,000 vehicles, including obsolete tanks
and armoured cars which could be pierced by rifle fire. Ignorant of these deficiencies,
Mussolini gambled everything on a lightning war – or guerra lampo – the equivalent to
Hitler’s Blitzkrieg. In practice this strategy was inoperable, partly because Italy had no
equivalent to Germany’s panzer divisions and partly because Italian generals were intensely
suspicious of such methods; they regarded the tank as having little practical application to
the demands of warfare either in Europe or in North Africa. The army was also poorly
organized and the mobilization of August 1939 was so inept that it is doubtful whether Italy
could have entered the war at that stage even if Mussolini had decided to do so. There was
virtually no co-operation with either the German government or the German High Command,
in complete contrast to the joint planning undertaken by the Western Allies in their conquest
of North Africa and France.
Of the other two services, the navy was the better equipped and had actually been admired
by Hitler in the mid-1930s. Yet here, too, there were serious deficiencies. Italian warships
were designed essentially for speed, which meant that their heavy fuel consumption limited
their effective range to 6,500 miles. No aircraft carriers were built, as Mussolini believed
that Italy was herself a ‘natural aircraft carrier’. Although eight battleships were under
construction in 1939, the incredible fact remains that not one of them hit an enemy ship
with its shells. Italy did possess the world’s largest fleet of submarines but they were
notoriously slow to submerge and losses amounted to 10 per cent within the first weeks of
war. Italy’s airforce was also defective. Mussolini had once boasted that he could make the
skies black with Italian aircraft, but in reality Italian production was far below that of the
other Axis powers, Germany and Japan. The quality was also suspect, and the RAF had
comparatively little difficulty in knocking out the Fiat CR 42, the Fiat G 50 and the Macchi
MC 200. Matters were made even worse by the refusal of the airforce leadership to co-
ordinate its plans with the army and navy. Unlike the Luftwaffe and the RAF, the Italian
airforce always demanded, and received, special autonomy. This was part of a long-term
rivalry between the three services, which made combined operations virtually impossible.
Hence, according to Whittam, ‘Military weakness had been built into the regime from the
very start.’132
Underlying Italy’s military weakness was a severely limited economic and industrial
base. Mussolini’s policy of self-sufficiency had failed to solve the problem of the shortage
of strategic matériel and, as we have seen, Germany was slow to respond to Ciano’s appeals
for help in August 1939. Italy went against the overall trend for industrial nations by
 Dictatorship in Italy 161

experiencing between 1940 and 1943 a decrease in production of 35 per cent in industry
and 25 per cent in agriculture. The figure which most effectively conveys Italy’s limitations
as an industrial power is that for steel production: 2.4 million tons in 1939, compared with
Britain’s 13.4 million and Germany’s 22.5 million. This meant that Italy had serious
problems in converting her limited industrial infrastructure to sustained warfare. Kennedy
estimates that Italy’s ‘war potential’ in 1937 was only 2.5 per cent of the combined total
of all the great powers, compared with Germany’s 14.4 per cent, Britain’s 10.2 per cent
and the Soviet Union’s 14.0 per cent.133 Between 1940 and 1941 Italy’s expenditure on
armaments rose from $0.75 billion to $1.0 billion: the comparable figures for Britain over
the same period were $3.5 billion and $6 billion.134
The problem was, of course, partly historic, as Italy had industrialized at a later stage
than her competitors. But the responsibility rests also with the policies of Fascism, as Italy
was less prepared for war in 1940 even than she had been in 1915. Germany was able to
increase its levels of production from 1941 onwards by converting to ‘Total War’; Italy,
however, was already in economic overdrive by 1940. It is often thought that Germany had
to help Mussolini by shoring up Italy from then onwards. This certainly applied militarily,
but there is more doubt concerning economic contributions. Indeed, the overall balance may
even have worked against Italy; according to Morgan, ‘Germany began to extract more
from Italy than she gave.’135 For example, Germany made use of 350,000 Italian workers,
many of whom were skilled specialists. This was partly responsible for the growing internal
resentment which brought about the collapse of Mussolini’s regime in 1943.

Italy as ‘conqueror’
This might be seen as an unusual heading, for two reasons. One is that Italy’s martial role
in the Second World War was, as we have seen, brought to a comparatively swift end. The
other is that some historians, especially A.J.P. Taylor, have created a stereotype of the
absurdity of Mussolini’s regime. Yet there is another side to this rather negative picture.
Italian Fascism did have extensive ambitions for conquest and domination and, for a while,
developed an actual taste for both. And, with his special relationship with Hitler, Mussolini
was, for a while, able to implement some of his ambitions. At its peak, the Italian empire
comprised both African colonies and European subject states. The former consisted of Eritrea
and Somaliland (annexed from 1886 onwards), Libya (taken from the Ottoman Empire in
1912 and ‘pacified’ between 1923 and 1934), Ethiopia (invaded and conquered between
1935 and 1936), and part of Egypt. Italy’s European possessions were Albania (taken in
1939), Slovenia, Croatia and Montenegro, parts of Greece (1941–3) and south-eastern
France (1940–3).
The impetus behind Italy’s empire was threefold. First, it was an intensified version of
traditional colonialism. Ever since the late nineteenth century Italy had competed with Britain,
France, Portugal and Germany for colonial possessions. In this respect, Mussolini inherited
the concept of empire as a ‘right’ of a great power and as a means of achieving equality
of international status with Britain and France in particular. Second, the extension of
territorial control into Europe as well seemed to have been guaranteed by the 1915 secret
Treaty of London – by which Italy had been promised South Tyrol, Trentino, parts of
Dalmatia and Turkey, and the Dodecanese Islands – as an inducement to enter the Great
War on the side of the Allies. Third, Mussolini took Italy’s aspirations beyond both of these.
Under his rule Italy had much in common with Nazi Germany. In the words of Kallis, the
leaders of both regimes ‘repeated the themes of constant struggle, elitism and living space
162 Dictatorship in Italy

with a consistency . . . which could not be dismissed a priori as mere propaganda or bluff’.136
Nevertheless, certain features of expansionism were more specific to Italy than to Germany:
Mussolini placed heavy emphasis on the Roman past, which he equated with Fascist Italy
and, in particular, with Italy’s further ‘Roman’ expansion in the Mediterranean and Africa.137
New attention has also been brought to the purpose and style of Italian occupation by
Rodogno, who argues that, in contrast to the earlier colonial empires, ‘Fascism intended to
impose on . . . the European peoples what the British and French had imposed on Africa
and Asia’.138
In the end, Italy’s African colonies had all conquered by the Allies before the invasion
of Italy in 1943. The possessions in Europe were formally ceded by the terms of the
armistice signed with the Allies but this was inoperative since they were taken over by
German occupation, from which the Germans had to be dislodged by a combination of
resistance movements and Allied intervention. In effect, however, Italy ceased to be an
empire of any description in September 1943. Her brief experience of practising conquest
and occupation raises an issue which has been an uncomfortable one for post-war Italy –
war crimes. Italy has long been seen as a victim of Fascist buffoonery and of more sinister
Nazi influence – and therefore, in part at least, as a victim. But the increasing seriousness
given to Mussolini as a genuine dictator carries with it some culpability for the actions of
a repressive totalitarian regime, however flawed this was in practice. Rodogno maintains
that ‘Although the Italians were not the “race of conquerors” that Mussolini wanted, they
were nevertheless capable of brutality and violence’.139 Admittedly the war crimes of Fascist
Italy were fewer in total terms than those inflicted by German or Japanese occupations or
by puppet dictatorships like the Ustasha in Croatia, or through the internal measures of
Stalin in the Soviet Union and Franco in Spain. But there were massacres, heavy casualties
in concentration camps, and calculated retaliation against civilians, whether in overseas
colonies or in European territories; in Libya and Ethiopia, of course, there was also the
extensive use of mustard gas. There has long been some reluctance to consider these outside
the more general excesses of European colonial rule or the regrettable side-effects of
twentieth-century warfare. But in the final analysis, can any country be both ‘conqueror’
and ‘victim’?

The fall of Mussolini

Military disaster provoked a wave of disillusionment with Mussolini’s regime. Taken in by
his own propaganda, the Duce was totally unaware of the dangers; as Mack Smith observes,
‘he had got used to living in cloud-cuckoo land’.140 There was increasingly widespread
opposition to German ideological and military influence; in March and April 1943 there
were extensive strikes and protests, which the police were powerless to prevent.141 There
was also resentment at the rapid fall in living conditions: Italians had to put up with some
of the worst hardships suffered by civilians anywhere in Europe. There was, finally, pressure
for peace from those traditional groups which had once collaborated with Fascism – the
industrialists and military leaders like Badoglio and Caviglia. Even the Church tried to
disentangle itself from the regime, and now swung its support behind the King rather than
Mussolini. The Fascist Party proved incapable of rallying the population to face adversity
and was itself demoralized by the internal convulsions brought about by Mussolini himself.
Indeed, Mussolini set in motion the chain reaction of events which led to his collapse.
In February 1943 he sacked Grandi, Bottai and others from high office within the Fascist
Party. This provoked a set of conspiracies in which De Grand has identified two main
 Dictatorship in Italy 163

elements. The first involved the traditionalist pre-Fascist politicians and military leaders,
the second the moderate Fascists who hoped to dump Mussolini and replace him with
Caviglia. With the Allied landings in Sicily, the conspirators decided on drastic measures.
At a session of the Fascist Grand Council in July 1943 Mussolini was attacked by Grandi,
Bottai and Ciano for his conduct of the war. They called for the full restoration of the legal
organs of the state and the dismissal of Mussolini himself. This motion was eventually
carried by nineteen votes to seven and Grandi explained the decision to the bewildered
Duce: ‘You believe you have the devotion of the people . . . You lost it the day you tied
Italy to Germany.’142 The following day Mussolini was dismissed by King Victor Emmanuel
and imprisoned at the Gran Sasso. Marshal Badoglio was appointed as the new Prime
Minister.
Why was Mussolini so powerless to prevent this startling turn of events? The answer
lies in the delicate balance between the different powers and institutions within Italy, which
Mussolini had been so careful to maintain. Under the strain of war this balance was destroyed
and Mussolini was left without any political protection. During the 1930s he had missed
the opportunity of giving the Fascist Party greater unity and had deliberately encouraged
the growth of cliques in order to pursue a policy of divide and rule. This recoiled on him
in 1943; he could rely on only a single group led by Farinacci, while the majority of the
Fascist leaders turned against him, charging him with having deliberately distorted the Fascist
movement. This meant, in Pollard’s description, that ‘The overthrow of Fascism when it
came was essentially a “palace revolution”.’143
Mussolini’s vulnerability was intensified by the existence of an alternative form of
leadership in Italy. Unlike Hitler, Mussolini had never assumed all the powers of head of
state. The monarchy, which had been left intact, became a rallying point for the Italian army
in 1943, while the coup against Mussolini was backed by Victor Emmanuel himself. In
addition, Mussolini never placed his personal stamp on the Italian army. The oath of
allegiance, for example, was still to the state and not to the Duce in person. Nor had he
managed to create an entirely loyal military elite like Hitler’s Waffen SS. He had also been
less careful than Hitler in anticipating trouble from his generals, and had not taken the
trouble to shuffle their positions to prevent plotting or the build-up of opposition. Even his
intelligence service was defective, for he was taken completely by surprise by the July coup.
Despite his known contempt for Mussolini, Hitler was astounded by the suddenness of the
Duce’s fall and asked: ‘What is this sort of Fascism which melts like snow before the sun?’

THE ITALIAN SOCIAL REPUBLIC (RSI), 1943–5

Mussolini was rescued from the Abruzzo mountain stronghold of Gran Sasso on 12
September 1943 by a German glider-borne expedition. He was taken to Germany, where
plans were made for the formation of a new Fascist state in that part of Italy which had not
yet been occupied by the Allies. The intention was that Rome would remain the capital,
but this was the next target of the Allies and its fall was thought to be imminent. The
headquarters were therefore placed at the safer location of Salò on Lake Garda, although
different ministries of the new government were spread across northern Italy. The area
covered included the cities of Turin, Genoa, Milan, Verona, Padua, Venice and Bologna.
The leadership was provided by three main types of Fascist. There were pro-Nazis like
Pavolini, Ricci, Farinacci and Preziosi; opportunists like Graziani, who had no military
future under the royal government in Rome; and those, like Pini, who remained devoted to
Mussolini himself.
164 Dictatorship in Italy

A ‘return to the beginning’?

It has been said that the new Repubblica Sociale Italiana (RSI), alternatively known as the
Salò Republic, represents a return to the beginning of the Fascist movement.
The plot of 25 July showed Mussolini how treacherous the monarchy and the old
establishment could be. In a speech on 18 September, the day on which the Republic was
proclaimed, Mussolini stated: ‘It is not the regime that has betrayed the monarchy’, but
rather ‘the monarchy that has betrayed the regime’. Shorn of his alliance with this, and
other, traditional institutions, Mussolini was free to revive his early ideological preferences.
Once again, he became anti-monarchist (‘When a monarchy fails in its duties, it loses every
reason for being’) and displayed the kind of radicalism that once again attacked capitalism.
Instead of allying with industrialists, he now intended to ‘annihilate the parasitic plutocracies
. . . and make labour the object of our economy and the indestructible foundation of the
state’.144 This meant that ‘The state we want to establish will be national and social in the
highest sense of the word; that is, it will be Fascist, this returning to our origins’. This was
implemented by a new programme devised at Verona in November 1943, followed by the
socialization law of February 1944. Key industries were to be nationalized, workers were
to participate in factory and business management, land reform was to be initiated and there
were to be wage and price controls. Overall Mussolini hoped to rebuild the original
connection between radical nationalists, syndicalist workers and activist squadristi. It was
intended as a complete reversal of the earlier trend of abandoning radicalism in a compromise
with traditionalism.
From the start, however, the RSI proved a pale imitation, even a mockery, of the early
Fascist movement. For one thing, it had few military powers. Since 600,000 Italians were
now in internment camps in Germany, the Italian forces had been substantially reduced.
Indeed, it is unlikely that there were more than 45,000 plus 80,000 conscripts and up to
50,000 elsewhere.145 This meant that Mussolini had lost all control over Italy’s destiny and
was now heavily dependent on Germany. All decisions made by the Republic had to go
through German Ambassador Rahn, or SS General Wolff, while eight north-eastern provinces
in South Tyrol, Venetia and the Adriatic were removed from the Republic and placed under
direct German administration. Pollard points out the similarity between the Salò Republic
and other puppet regimes such as Vichy France, Tiso’s Slovakia and Pavelic’s Croatia.146
In addition, the Republic held few of the former attractions for the various sectors of the
population. Workers and peasants, who had once deserted the left for Fascism, now
abandoned Fascism to return to the socialist and communist left. They took part in strikes
and demonstrations and joined the Italian resistance movement. Industrialists saw no
advantages to Mussolini’s new radicalism and did everything in their power to prevent the
implementation of the 1944 Decree Law. By 1945, therefore, only a few dozen enterprises
had been nationalized. Finally, the mainstay of Fascism, the lower middle class, became
resentful at the decline of living standards caused by prolonging the war against the Allies.
They, too, switched their allegiance and once more craved parliamentary politics. It seemed
that Italy had been jolted back into its pre-Fascist course. The RSI had become totally
inappropriate.
The collapse of the Italian Social Republic, although delayed by eighteen months, was
inevitable. It was rent with dissension as extremists like Farinacci and Pavolini hunted down
the traitors of 25 July, to the alarm of the moderates. The Republic seemed to focus on
revenge rather than unity; at Verona, for example, Ciano and several others were found
guilty of treason and executed in January 1944. Mussolini himself became bitterly
 Dictatorship in Italy 165

disillusioned and cursed the Italian people for what he called their soft character and dislike
of vigorous action. He came to the conclusion that Italy was not, after all, the historical
heir to ancient Rome, but a nation of serfs. As for his government, it was almost entirely
in foreign hands. northern Italy had been divided into two sectors – one under German
administration, the other under German influence. In the latter, which included the republic,
the German army introduced a set of institutions that ran parallel to those of Mussolini and
also controlled the entire network of communications between Mussolini’s ministries.
Mussolini’s survival therefore depended entirely on German military fortunes.

Struggles in the north

Meanwhile, the RSI was confronted by growing internal opposition from many sectors of
the population. This included a revival of political movements, especially the Communists
(PCI), Socialists (PSI), Liberals (PLI), Christian Democrats (DC) and Actionists (Pd’A).
These came together after the announcement of Mussolini’s dismissal, forming the
Committee of National Liberation (CNL). Part of the intention was to offset the appearance
of being totally dependent on the Allies by playing a part in Italian liberation from both
Nazism and Fascism. The Germans were, however, still very much in control in the north,
while the newly constituted Fascist regime at first seemed to have sufficient strength, in
the RSI police contingents and the National Republican Army under Graziani, to contain
the opposition. The question therefore was: who would overcome this remaining obstacle
– and how?
The view of the Allies was that the Italian resistance was not particularly effective and
might be an encumbrance in their military campaigns against the Germans. Certainly the
Allies undertook the main task of driving the latter back: first in the Battle of Monte Cassino;
then, four months later by the occupation of Rome; then by breaking through the Gothic
Line, north of Florence; and finally by advancing across the plains of northern Italy into
the foothills of the Alps, where the Germans surrendered in April 1945. The resistance did,
however, play an increasingly important role. Their numbers swelled from an initial 9,000
to 90,000 by the spring of 1944 and 250,000 by April 1945.147 The Communists established
the Garibaldi brigades from the middle of 1944, especially in Piedmont. Their purpose was
to attack the German armed forces, the Fascist regime, and the industries and communications
assisting the Axis war effort. There were also Patriotic Action groups (GA) which were
largely independently operating cells, carrying out attacks on German and Fascist personnel
and installations; these were denounced by Mussolini’s governments as ‘terrorists’. In all
areas women played a vital role, with 35,000 in direct combat, and 70,000 in Women’s
Defence Groups, communications, organization and supplies.
How has this struggle been interpreted? Immediately after the end of the war and in the
emergence of a new democratic Italy, the emphasis was on a united resistance that had
included all Italians who were not actually Fascist. Resistance organizations liberated Italian
towns and villages, in many cases before the actual arrival of the Allies. This approach was
agreed by all political groups, including Social Democrats and Communists and was the
basis of the work of historians such as Battaglia, who links the leadership of the Communists
and the Italian proletariat with the driving force of popular patriotism.148 Most historians
see the communists as part of a broader spectrum. Procacci, for instance, maintains that the
resistance ‘was above all a very wide political movement. It had been the achievement not
only of the workers who had sabotaged and the men of the military formations who had
fought, but also of the peasants who had fed them and the priests who had hidden them’.149
166 Dictatorship in Italy

Some, however, place more emphasis on the complex cross-currents of a ‘civil war’. Pavone,
for example, provides a detailed analysis of the personal as well as political views of
combatants on both sides.150 It has even been argued – for example by De Felice – that the
majority of Italians did not contribute directly to either the Resistance or to the RSI, but
were trapped between the two sides. The vicious nature of the struggle is emphasized by
Mack Smith, who describes the ‘growing fever of terroristic reprisal and counter reprisal’.151
Finally, there have been suggestions of a ‘class war’ within the ‘civil war’, between those
wanted to strengthen the position of the Communist Party in the future and those who feared
the prospects of Communist political dominance. It has been pointed out that the resistance
gave the Communists a disproportionate influence in Italian local government and made
the PCI the largest Communist party outside eastern Europe.
Four ‘struggles’ have therefore been identified. The main war was the continuing military
conflict between the Allies, on one side, and the Germans and Italian forces of the RSI on
the other. This was accompanied by a popular Italian uprising, against both the RSI and
the German occupation in the north, supported by a wide variety of social groups and political
parties. The other two struggles are more contentious. One is a minority and vicious civil
war between two bitter ideological opponents, from which the majority of the population
tried to disengage. The other is a class war with the rivals, especially the Communists,
seeking to build up their strength in anticipation of a new post-war Italy. The scope for
further research into this whole area is therefore considerable.

The end
In April 1945 German resistance finally collapsed as the Allies broke through the
Commacchio Line and the Argento Gap. After the surrender of General Wolff to the Allies,
Mussolini fled from Milan with his mistress, Clara Petacci. They were picked up by partisans
on the Lake Como road and, on 28 April, were shot against the gates of a villa. The final
indignity was the public exhibition of their mutilated corpses, along with those of Farinacci
and other leading Fascists, in the Piazzale Loreto in Milan. By a cruel irony, Mussolini had
once said (referring to the martial spirit of Fascism) that ‘Everybody dies the death that
corresponds to his character.’152

REFLECTIONS ON MUSSOLINI’S DICTATORSHIP

The ideology
The relationship between Mussolini and Fascism has been seen – broadly – in three different
ways. One emphasis is on Fascism as empty rhetoric or as a mere extension of Mussolini’s
vacuous ideas. A.J.P. Taylor dismisses Fascism as a ‘fraud’. ‘Everything about Fascism
was a fraud. The social peril from which it saved Italy was a fraud; the revolution by which
it seized power was a fraud.’153 Others have focused on Mussolini’s opportunism and the
basic absence of ideology. The striking thing about Fascism, argues Halperin, ‘was its identity
with a single individual’. Fascism was ‘fundamentally nothing but Mussolinianism’. Its
identity with Mussolini gave it ‘tremendous rhetorical dash’ but also ‘accounted for its
extraordinary intellectual poverty’.154 Fermi finds Mussolini’s political ideas ‘shallow or
objectionable, or both’,155 while his ‘doctrine of government’ could be summed up ‘in the
words of one of those slogans of fascism which were soon to appear everywhere, in the
press, on the sides of houses, along main roads and railways’.156
 Dictatorship in Italy 167

An alternative – and less dismissive – approach is that Fascism was a real force, created
by Mussolini and adapted as he went along. There is, however, a particular focus on the
political history of Fascism, especially as it impacted on Mussolini personally. This is
common in some (but not all) biographies of Mussolini. Mack Smith, for example, maintains
that ‘Italian fascism was more than just Mussolini.’ However, ‘the quirks of character in
this one man were a crucial factor in both its successes and failures.’157 Sometimes there
is a tendency not to distinguish between Fascism and the Fascist Party;158 ideology, as such,
is given little coverage beyond the actual application of ideas in action within the Party and
the Fasci di Combattimento. A more distinctive role is attributed to Mussolini by Gregor.
Fascism had more collective origins, formed by the ideas of men like Gentile, Michels,
Papini, Malaparte, Prezzolini and Croce. Mussolini had merged these to organize ‘a belief
system’ that was ‘intellectually coherent’ even before the Fascist movement was formed.
Hence, ‘There are few historians today who can insist that neither Fascism nor Mussolini
had an ideology.’159
The third possibility is that Fascism was a serious entity – with or without Mussolini.
There was a strong ideological undercurrent, to which Mussolini contributed, but not
infrequently, a conflict developed between them as one of them shifted position. Roberts
argues that ‘Fascism was a messy mixture, and its centre of gravity changed as the regime
evolved’.160 Nevertheless, its ideology should not be trivialized. Its texts provide ‘serious
debate’ over corporativism, ‘serious rethinking of the Hegelian ethical state for a mass age’,
and ‘serious discussion of the scope of Giuseppe Mazzini in the light and outcome of
Marxism’.161 The very complexity of the contributions to Fascism and the ‘contradictions
among the founding impulses’ helped produce ‘the impasse’ that affected ‘the regime’s
later phase’ and the ‘increased centrality of the Cult of the Duce’.162
The first approach is overstated and either precedes or ignores the considerable amount
of work done on Fascist ideology since the late 1960s. Its main deficiency is that it confuses
the issue with Mussolinianism, which can be given a separate, if overlapping identity. The
second approach takes Fascism more seriously but perhaps attributes too much importance
to Mussolini, either as its founder or as the co-ordinator of its different components. The
third captures the diverse nature of Fascism and the internal contradictions which this
subsequently engendered, although it tends to associate the centrality of Mussolini with
distortion and conflict. Mussolini had the capacity both to reconcile the strands of Fascism,
especially during the 1920s, and, during the 1930s, to try to radicalize Fascism with a new
infusion of his own ideas: this is where the distortions occurred which some Fascists – and
not a few historians – attributed to the growing influence of Nazism. This restores the
initiative – but not the control – to Mussolini.

The Duce
There has always been a negative image of Mussolini, emphasizing the grotesque,
incompetent and hollow features of his leadership and his regime. Mussolini was, for
example, ‘a vain, blundering boaster without either ideas or aims’.163 The image of the
buffoon, however, trivializes Italy’s Fascist experience and encourages unhelpful stereotypes
about both the dictator and his country. Instead, it is worth recalling his two contemporary
images. During the 1920s he was widely praised as a ‘statesman’ in Europe and as a
‘reconciler’ at home. In the 1930s, his own propaganda asserted his claim to be a warrior
and to have introduced a more dynamic phase of Fascism. The question which arises is
whether this was the same man, or whether he underwent a fundamental change.
168 Dictatorship in Italy

It could be argued that the Mussolini of the 1920s was under constraints which the same
Mussolini had blown away by the 1930s: in other words, there was an underlying continuity
in his aims. As De Grand argues, ‘Despite this instability in Fascist policy, Mussolini’s
personal beliefs remained constant.’164 What changed was the degree of his intervention to
implement those beliefs.
Quite simply, during the 1920s he had no choice. His domestic policy involved having
to build a consensus to stabilize his control over the state. He was, after all, still constrained
by the King as head of state, by a largely conservative civil service and by the universalism
of the Catholic Church. His best prospects lay in swift pieces of legislation which received
official sanction. His foreign policy was restricted by Italy’s military and economic base.
Again he was obliged to confine himself to small offensives and to play the diplomatic role
in international relations. The one exception was in the colonies, where – for anyone who
cared to notice – Mussolini’s more extreme ideas were unleashed from the start. But
generally the restrained Mussolini was actually quite successful and at this stage attracted
admiration rather than ridicule. What changed? Not Mussolini: during the 1930s he began
to pursue his earlier objectives – as the constraints were lifted. This was not because things
became easier, but because they became more difficult and chaotic. At home Italy was hit
by depression, abroad it was threatened by a more assertive Germany. Mussolini’s fear was
that the impetus of Fascism was slowing down. He therefore revived it by accelerating
corporativism, then autarky, while abroad he went all out for imperialism and expansion.
It is often asked whether Mussolini was a pragmatist or ideologue. He was, of course,
both. During the 1920s his approach to power was pragmatic and authoritarian, while he
set up the ideological consensus. There were ideological initiatives – such as the launching
of corporativism; but there were also reconciliations, especially with Catholicism. Then,
during the 1930s, occurred what De Felice has called the ‘totalitarian turn’ and a greater
emphasis on ideology. The impetus behind this is controversial. De Grand argues that Fascism
had reached ‘an ideological dead-end’.165 The implication is that Mussolini had to try
something new. De Felice, by contrast, attributes the turn the momentum established by
success in Ethiopia. Between the two comes Bosworth’s argument that he might ‘somehow
at last spark a genuine revolution’ and ‘paradoxically sustain the ageing and tiring Mussolini
through further years of office’.166 Whichever of these applies, the late 1930s brought an
injection of radicalism to Fascism and to the regime itself.
The problem was that the ‘totalitarian’ turn damaged Italy’s infrastructure and threatened
the consensus which had been established during the 1920s with the social, industrial and
religious establishment. By contrast with where the ‘turn’ was now taking Italy, the frame-
work of the regime in the 1920s had, been ‘conservative-authoritarian’.167 It was a major
error in terms of Fascism’s political stability – but the last chance to achieve Mussolini’s
real objectives for Fascism.

The regime
Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia have always been considered radical and extreme: the
term ‘moderate’ appears very rarely and tends to be used only by apologists. Fascist Italy
is different. Two faces are genuinely perceived – the moderate as well as the extreme. Italian
Fascism is seen as milder than Nazism or Stalinism in the sense of being less organized
and systematically ruthless. According to Halperin, ‘Neither as potent nor as efficient as
Nazism, fascism was less brutal and more widely imitated than its German counterpart.’168
Ridley goes further:
 Dictatorship in Italy 169

But in a number of ways it was milder than Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia or the
royal despotisms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It resembled more closely
Tsarist Russia in the nineteenth century, Metternich’s Austria, or the France of Napoleon
I and Napoleon III.169

The strong implication here is that Fascist Italy belonged to the authoritarian category
of dictatorships, not the totalitarian.
There is something to be said for this view, and examples can be found at various points
in this chapter. The OVRA was far less intrusive than the Gestapo or NKVD and there was
never any equivalent of the SS. Italy was considerably less repressive internally than
Francoist Spain and other more conservative regimes. Nor was there any equivalent of the
redemptive and eliminationist influences in the anti-Semitism shown in Nazi ideology. The
Fascist regime was based on a broad consensus and was officially sanctioned by the Catholic
Church. The penetrative power of Fascism was also weakened by pronounced inefficiency
– sometimes to grotesque and comical levels. Finally, the Fascist ideology itself was at least
partially influenced by the ideas of Giovanni Gentile who, according to Gregor, was its
conscience – ‘a conscience singularly missing from National Socialism, and Marxist–Leninist
totalitarianisms’.170
It has also been argued that there was an overlap between Fascist Italy and the more
traditionally liberal regimes. This has been shown in two ways. First, the economic policies
of De Stefani in the 1920s owed as much to liberal economic principles as to Fascism.
Second, and more controversially, it has been said that modern liberal states have pursued
policies which have themselves verged on the ruthless, thereby coming close to overlapping
with fascism. According to Kedward, ‘What looks like a revisionist, less severe approach
to Mussolini’s Italy is in many ways paving the way for a more severe critique of authoritarian
liberal regimes.’171 This could even point to ‘ways in which fascism of the Italian variety
and an exceptional liberalism converge’.172 The contrast between Italy and some of the
democratic states has been overdrawn, given the harshness of some of the latter’s economic
policies and the measures taken against trade unions and dissent.
This is not, however, the whole story. There is another, very different perspective, which
takes into account all developments under Fascist rule, not just those which created a
moderate consensus. The essential point is that the Fascist regime within Italy changed as
it developed. As it established itself during the 1920s it was bound to have liberal influences.
But these were not permanent. But, according to Bosworth, it was a distorted derivation.
‘Fascism was as surely the bastard, post-First World War child of liberalism as communism
was of social democracy.’173 Moderate influences can themselves be radicalized, as happened
during the 1930s. We have already seen that the Fascist regime became more assertively
ideological during its second decade. This was when it began to move towards Nazism as
well as towards Nazi Germany. Although some of the Nazi race science was unacceptable,
Italian scientists were developing their own variant and formed part of a new racial initiative
which came from Rome. Racism was part of a larger re-education programme to accelerate
the development of the ‘fascist man’. Mussolini’s legislation in 1937 included a ban on
Africans to citizenship – they could only ever be subjects: this compared with Germany’s
Nuremberg Laws in 1935. To Mussolini, anti-Semitism was not simply a by-product of the
Nazi influence but a hardening of the whole context of Fascism. Because it upset the earlier
consensus it was, of course, difficult to impose. This was a reflection on the regime’s
organizational deficiencies rather than on any moderation on its part. Mussolini went on to
authorize the intensification of racial theory and made it one of the key influences in the
Salò Republic from 1943.
170 Dictatorship in Italy

Fascism has sometimes been said to have followed a form of ‘spiritual racism’ to
distinguish it from Nazism. This is discounted by Fascist attitudes and polices in Africa
from the very beginning of the regime. The thread linking Libya and Ethiopia finally
emerged in Italy itself from the mid-1930s. Fascism not only had the potential for brutality
on a substantial scale, but also was brutal. Marshal Badoglio wrote to Graziani in 1930:
‘But now the course has been set and we must carry it out to the end, even if the entire
population of Cyrenaica must perish.’174 In Libya the regime set up concentration camps
and experimentation with poison gas. According to De Grand: ‘The empire became a
gigantic testing ground for a Fascism that sought to free itself from any constraints.’175 This,
indeed, is where totalitarianism would be more completely imposed than in Italy itself.
Ethiopia, too, was the scene for Fascist brutality unaffected by any degree of moderation.
Mussolini himself authorized unconstrained warfare, pressing for the use of gas and for the
‘gradual liquidation’ of the rebellious population.176 It is true that the scale of the killing
was much smaller than that in Bolshevik Russia and Nazi-controlled eastern Europe.
Nevertheless, it showed the same ferocity and gratuitousness; what it lacked was the same
degree of efficiency and infrastructure. The colonial experience does, indeed, show ‘what
Fascism was really about’.177
Chapter 5

Dictatorship in Germany

Adolf Hitler was appointed Chancellor on 30 January 1933. His rise to power and the decline
of the Weimar Republic are sufficiently complex to justify a preliminary section relating
the main developments up to that date before proceeding to look at explanations.

THE WEIMAR REPUBLIC AND THE RISE OF HITLER, 1918–33

The formation and development of the Weimar Republic,

1918–29
The Weimar Republic was born of military defeat and revolution at the end of the First
World War. Under the threat of military collapse the Kaiser’s Second Reich was transformed
into the Weimar Republic during what has come to be known as the ‘German Revolution’.1
This occurred in two phases. The first was a revolution from above as, early in October
1918, the military establishment handed over power to a civilian cabinet. The High
Command, under Ludendorff and Hindenburg, sensed the inevitability of defeat and tried
to ease the way towards an armistice with the Allies by advising Kaiser Wilhelm II to
appoint Prince Max of Baden as Chancellor. A powerful underlying motive was the army’s
desire to avoid any direct blame for Germany’s surrender, when it came. The Allied response,
however, was unfavourable; President Wilson argued that the German power structure was
still intact and that he could deal only with a genuine democracy. Prince Max now prevailed
upon the Kaiser to dismiss Ludendorff from his command and it seemed that, despite the
Allies’ reservations, the Second Reich had the most genuinely representative government
since its formation in 1871.
The second phase was a revolution from below which brought down the Second Reich
altogether. In late October and early November the sailors of the German fleet mutinied in
Kiel and Wilhelmshaven, while military discipline was also subverted in Hamburg and
Cologne. Similarly dramatic events occurred in the south, as Kurt Eisner declared Bavaria
an independent republic. Prince Max, fearing the complete disintegration of Germany,
resigned on 9 November, to be replaced as Chancellor by the leader of the Social Democrats,
Friedrich Ebert. On the same day the Kaiser and the lesser German rulers abdicated, and a
republic was proclaimed by another Social Democrat, Philipp Scheidemann, from the
balcony of the Reichstag building in Berlin. Scheidemann’s concluding words were: ‘The
old and rotten – the monarchy – has broken down. Long live the new! Long live the German
Republic.’2 Two days later, on 11 November, Germany signed an armistice with the Allies.
But the German Revolution was not yet complete. The country now experienced a brief
period of civil war as rival groups of the left competed for power. The main contenders
172 Dictatorship in Germany

were the Social Democrats (SPD) and two more radical groups, the Independent Socialists
(USPD) and the Spartacists. At first a Provisional Government was established, comprising
both the SPD and the USPD. The former, however, were afraid that Germany might follow
the example of Russia the year before, and that the Provisional Government would be
destroyed by a coup from the radical left, perhaps from the Spartacists. To prevent this,
Chancellor Ebert made a controversial deal with the army commander, General Groener,
to put down any Bolshevik-style revolution which might occur. The test was not long in
coming. In December the Independent Socialists withdrew from the government, while the
Spartacists (who now called themselves Communists) demanded the ‘sovietization’ of
Germany and the continuation of the revolution. The SPD put down subsequent Spartacist
demonstrations in January 1919, and in the violence and bloodshed the two Communist
leaders, Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg, were killed. A second Spartacist uprising
was suppressed, with much greater bloodshed, in March, while, in April, troops were sent
to overthrow the Republic of Soviets which had just been proclaimed in Bavaria. Moderate
socialism now appeared safe from the far left, but the latter neither forgot nor forgave the
experience of 1919.
During this crisis a move was made towards establishing permanent institutions. Elections
were held in January 1919 and a Constituent Assembly convened in Weimar, away from
the street violence of Berlin. Three of the moderate parties formed a coalition government:
the Centre Party (Z), the Democratic Party (DDP) and the Social Democrats (SPD). In
opposition to the coalition were the parties of the right – the Nationalists (DNVP) and the
People’s Party (DVP) – as well as the Independent Socialists (USPD) of the far left. The
Communists (KPD) did not contest this election. Ebert now became the first President of
the Republic, with Scheidemann his Chancellor until June 1919.
Meanwhile, a constitution was being drafted by a special committee under the jurist
Hugo Preuss. Eventually promulgated in August 1919, this embodied many advanced
principles of democracy and borrowed freely from the experience of England, France and
the United States. The main terms were as follows. The head of state was to be the President,
elected every seven years by universal suffrage. He was given, by Article 48 of the
constitution, emergency powers: ‘In the event that the public order and security are seriously
disturbed or endangered, the Reich President may take the measures necessary for their
restoration.’3 The head of the government was to be the Chancellor, appointed by the
President and needing the support of the majority of the legislature, or Reichstag. The
Reichstag, elected by universal suffrage by means of proportional representation, would be
able to deal with legislation, defence, foreign policy, trade, finance and security. The last
section of the constitution carefully itemized the various ‘rights and duties of the Germans’.4
By the end of 1919, therefore, the republic had overcome pressures from the far left and
had acquired a legal framework. The question now arising was: could it survive? The next
fourteen years saw, in succession, a period of instability and severe problems (1919–23),
a remarkable recovery and a period of consolidation (1923–9) and, finally, the crisis which
eventually destroyed the republic (1929–33).
The most serious obstacle to the new government in 1919 was the signing of the Treaty
of Versailles with the victorious Allies. The German delegation was horrified by the
harshness of the terms but the Allies were determined not to make major modifications. In
June, Scheidemann resigned as Chancellor in protest but his successor, Bauer, eventually
agreed to accept the treaty. Versailles was to prove a millstone around the neck of the
republic, and had much to do with the second problem of this early period: inflation. The
devaluation of the mark started during the war but was aggravated by demobilization and
 Dictatorship in Germany 173

by the stiff reparations imposed, under a provision in the Treaty of Versailles, in 1921.
Speculation, massive overprinting of paper money and the French occupation of the Ruhr
in 1923 all completed the collapse of the mark in November 1923 to 16,000 million to the
pound. Savings were wiped out overnight and, for a few weeks, barter unofficially replaced
the use of coinage. During the same years, political challenges compounded the difficulties
of the republic. One example was the Kapp Putsch (1920), an unsuccessful but frightening
attempt by the far right to seize power in Berlin; another putsch was tried by Hitler in
Munich (1923) in circumstances described in the next section.
Nevertheless, the period 1923–9 saw a remarkable recovery and greater stability. This
is generally known as the ‘Stresemann era’ because of the profound influence exerted by
this leader of the DVP, first as Chancellor in 1923 and then as Foreign Minister until 1929.
Vital economic developments included the stabilization of the currency in the form of the
Rentenmark and an agreement on reparations with the Allies in 1924 known as the Dawes
Plan. Massive investment followed, mostly from the United States, which enabled German
industry to recover almost to 1913 levels, despite the loss of resources and land in 1919.
At the same time, Stresemann stabilized Germany’s relations with the rest of Europe. He
followed the 1922 treaty with Russia with another in 1926, participated in a collective defence
pact with four other countries at Locarno in 1925, and took Germany into the League of
Nations in 1926. Underlying these achievements was a period of relative political stability
as coalition governments functioned more or less effectively, lubricated by the political
diplomacy of Stresemann himself.
These halcyon years did not last. Stresemann died in 1929, a year in which Germany
was suddenly confronted by economic catastrophe. Meanwhile, lurking in the background,
and preparing to take advantage of any such change of fortune, were Hitler and the Nazis.

The early years of the Nazi movement, 1918–29

Many Germans were bitterly opposed to the revolution of 1918, blaming Jews, socialists,
liberals and Catholics for the fall of the Second Reich and military defeat. Particularly
resentful were the völkisch groups which sprang up all over the country and issued racialist
and anti-liberal propaganda.
One of these was the German Workers’ Party (DAP), formed by Anton Drexler in Munich
in January 1919. It was joined, in September 1919, by an Austrian with unfulfilled artistic
pretensions who had fought in a Bavarian regiment in the German army throughout the
First World War. Hitler blamed the republic for Germany’s surrender and openly expressed
his ‘hatred for the originators of this dastardly crime’.5 He rose rapidly to the position of
the party’s theorist and chief propaganda officer, and his talent as a public speaker was
apparent even at this early stage. In February 1920 he headed a committee which devised
the party’s twenty-five-point programme, consisting of a variety of nationalist, socialist,
corporativist and racialist principles. Meanwhile, the name was extended to ‘National
Socialist German Workers’ Party’ (NSDAP), commonly abbreviated to ‘Nazi’. Branches
were organized beyond Munich and support came from disbanded soldiers and from some
elements of the army, or Reichswehr. The mouthpiece of the NSDAP was the People’s
Observer (Völkischer Beobachter), acquired in 1920. The next stage was Hitler’s rise to
the leadership of the party. By mid-1921 he was in dispute with the committee under Drexler
over the question of organization and strategy. Eventually he outmanoeuvred Drexler and
was elected Party Chairman in July. He immediately decided to demonstrate that the NSDAP
was radically different from all traditional ‘bourgeois’ parties and to centralize everything,
174 Dictatorship in Germany

especially propaganda, on Munich. The movement was given teeth by the formation, in
July 1921, of the Sturmabteilung (SA), a violent paramilitary organization intended, in the
words of the newly named Völkischer Beobachter, ‘to develop in the hearts of our young
supporters a tremendous desire for action’.6 The SA proceeded to intimidate opponents,
disrupt other parties’ meetings and engage in bloody clashes in the streets. Hitler developed
a sense of irresistible power and overwhelming confidence, and was prepared to prove the
Beobachter’s maxim that ‘history does not make men, but men history’.
Mussolini, it seemed, had demonstrated this in his March on Rome in 1922. Could Hitler
do the same in 1923? The republic was experiencing a many-sided crisis at least as serious
as that confronted by the Italian monarchy. Hitler hoped to march on Berlin with the support
of the right-wing Commissioner of Bavaria, Gustav von Kahr, and the Bavarian armed
forces; the majority of the Reichswehr would then be won over. In November 1923, 600
SA men, under Hitler’s command, took over a meeting being addressed by Kahr in the
Bürgerbräu Keller, one of Munich’s largest beer halls. Kahr, even at gunpoint, refused to
support the putsch and an SA street demonstration the following morning was dispersed by
the Bavarian police. Hitler’s attempt at power therefore ended in ignominious failure and
he was put on trial for treason. He was, however, treated leniently by sympathetic judges,
and was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment in Landsberg Castle. He served just over
one year, in comfortable conditions which enabled him to write the first volume of Mein
Kampf (My Struggle). On his emergence from captivity in December 1924 he found the
NSDAP in total disarray; in his absence it had disintegrated into warring factions. Hitler
was not displeased with this, as it guaranteed his own indispensability and meant that he
was well placed to resume control.
During his internment Hitler had time to develop a more systematic version of his ideas
and aims. Up to this point they had developed untidily over three main stages. During his
early life in Vienna (1907–13) he had been profoundly influenced by anti-Semitic literature
and the political utterances of Karl Lueger. He had also developed a deep hatred of the
multi-ethnic empire of Austria-Hungary, identifying instead with the newer German nation.
His experiences of the war and its immediate aftermath (1914–19) left him with a burning
resentment, a drive for vengeance and a deep hatred of the far left. The period 1920–4 saw
the fusion of anti-Semitism and anti-Communism and the development of a vision of
expansion by Germany against the ‘inferior races’ of eastern Europe; this would follow the
preliminary revolution and internal reordering within Germany. According to Kershaw, ‘By
the mid 1920s, then, Hitler had developed a rounded philosophy which offered him a
complete view of the world, its ills and how to overcome them. Its substance never changed
down to his death.’7 This substance is considered briefly in Chapter 2.
When he refounded the NSDAP in February 1925, Hitler emphasized the need for a
change of strategy. Until November 1923 he had assumed that the Weimar Republic could
be overthrown directly. But the failure of the Putsch showed that democratic government
was more resilient in Germany than in Italy. Hitler would therefore have to settle for a
constitutional or ‘legal’ path to power. This did not mean a fundamental conversion to the
principles of constitutional democracy; on the contrary, parliamentary politics would be the
means, not the end. Revolution was still the ultimate aim, but would now be the result of
achieving power rather than the means by which power would be achieved. For the time
being it would be necessary, in Hitler’s words, ‘to hold our noses and enter the Reichstag
alongside Marxist and Catholic deputies’. At the same time, he saw a continuing need for
the SA and paramilitary influences. In fact, Hitler now led the Nazis at two levels. On the
surface they were a parliamentary party, aiming at gaining electoral support at the expense
 Dictatorship in Germany 175

of their rivals. Below the surface they remained a mass movement, committed to gaining
mass support. Their chance would come in the future, after the victory of the ‘legal’
approach.
To accomplish this change of strategy it was necessary to extend the Party’s appeal. The
Nazi Party had to move away from its narrow working-class base. It could not hope to
compete effectively for the working-class vote with a moderate SPD and a revolutionary
KPD. Instead, Hitler decided to reformulate parts of the 1920 Party programme so as to
appeal to different parts of the population. This meant that he had to move away from
socialism; in 1927 he told his economic adviser, Keppler, that the economic goals of the
original programme were now ‘unusable’. By attacking socialism and the left, Hitler began
to exercise more of an appeal to the middle classes and the right. This meant that Hitler
increased the emphasis on nationalism, on the ‘stab in the back’ and ‘November Criminals’
myths of 1918 and the Versailles diktat of 1919.
Despite this new approach, the period 1925–9 proved exceptionally difficult for the Nazi
Party and the movement. In the first place, Hitler was confronted by opposition from north
German leaders, especially Gregor Strasser, who considered that the party’s ideology should
place heavier stress on socialism and the nationalization of key industries. Hitler eventually
gained unquestioned ascendancy over the northern units of the party at the Bamberg
Conference (February 1926) in which he out-argued Strasser and, by the force of his rhetoric,
won over one of his arch critics, Josef Goebbels. (The latter had, only a short time before,
demanded the expulsion of the ‘petty bourgeois Adolf Hitler’!) The overall result of this
victory was that Hitler tightened his control and established the monolithic structure he had
always sought. In the subsequent reorganization, cadres of dedicated activists were set up
in the basic party units, the Gau, under the control of the officials, or Gauleiters, who were
appointed by Hitler himself.
The second and more intractable problem of this period was the stability of the republic
and the poor electoral performance of the NSDAP. In the Reichstag election of December
1924, for example, the NSDAP acquired only fourteen seats, making it the least significant
of the national parties in terms of electoral support; its performance in 1928 was even poorer,
resulting in only twelve seats. Yet the party was nothing if not resilient. It showed a
remarkable capacity to survive these hard times and switched its campaign from the cities
to the rural areas, which agricultural depression had made more volatile. The Völkischer
Beobachter observed in May 1928: ‘The election results from the rural areas in particular
have proved that with a smaller expenditure of energy, money and time, better results can
be achieved there than in the big cities.’8 The party therefore developed an electoral base
which expanded rapidly as Germany came under the grip of economic recession.

The years of crisis, 1929–33

The origins of the Great Depression are dealt with in Chapter 1. Of all the industrial states,
Germany was undoubtedly the most vulnerable to a sudden downturn in economic conditions.
Her industry was heavily dependent on foreign investment to the tune of 5 billion marks
per annum by 1928. Her banking system was geared to the use of short-term loans for long-
term enterprises and, as a result, was potentially very vulnerable. As the Depression deepened,
foreign loans were withdrawn and the banking system eventually collapsed in 1931.
Meanwhile, industrial output had to be cut back through lack of investment and the
contraction of overseas markets. The boom years of the late 1920s came to an abrupt end
with a dramatic rise in the number of bankruptcies. The inevitable result was a rapid increase
176 Dictatorship in Germany

in unemployment, from two million in 1929 to 3.5 million in 1930, 4.4 million in 1931 and
over six million in 1932.
The Depression dealt a devastating blow to democracy in Germany. Chancellor Müller’s
coalition fell apart on 27 March 1930 over the question of cutting dole payments. Since the
power of the Chancellor depended on the support of the Reichstag and the economic crisis
had made collaboration between political parties more difficult, the initiative now passed
to the President. The republic’s second President, elected in 1925, was Field Marshal
Hindenburg. Very much a product of the old establishment of the Second Reich, he had an
authoritarian approach to politics. During the stable years he had had no option but to play
an inactive role in the manoeuvring for power between the various parties. From 1930,
however, he was able to fill the vacuum left by the sudden death of consensus politics.
Under the influence of one of his main advisers, General Schleicher, Hindenburg appointed
the Centre Party leader, Brüning, as Chancellor. When Brüning tried to introduce a
deflationary budget it was rejected by the Reichstag. Hindenburg sought to enforce it by
presidential decree, under Article 48 of the constitution. The Reichstag objected to this
course, with the result that Hindenburg agreed to Brüning’s request for an election in
September 1930. The results proved disappointing to Brüning and he was forced to carry
on without the support of the Reichstag. He resorted increasingly to the use of presidential
decrees so that, by the time of his fall in May 1932, parliamentary democracy had virtually
disappeared.
Meanwhile, the NSDAP was rapidly expanding the base of its support. It was geared to
take full advantage of the republic’s crisis, as Hitler arranged mass rallies, travelling speakers
and a flood of material from the propaganda department. The Reichstag election of 1930
was a triumph for the NSDAP, which secured 6.5 million votes and increased its
representation from 12 to 107 seats, thus becoming the second largest party in the Reichstag.
Hitler capitalized on this success by cultivating connections with the traditional right,
including the Nationalists (DNVP), the army, industrialists like Thyssen, and agriculturalists;
this alliance was formalized in the Harzburg Front of October 1931, directed against the
republic’s policies and record. In January 1932 Hitler made a direct appeal to German
industrialists in his Düsseldorf speech, denouncing parliamentary democracy and highlighting
the ‘Bolshevik threat’. He was carefully establishing his credentials as an anti-revolutionary.
Hitler’s self-confidence was now at its peak and he challenged Hindenburg for the
presidency. The 1932 election ran to two ballots. On the first, Hindenburg obtained 18.7
million votes (49.6 per cent of the total), Hitler 11.3 million (30.1 per cent) and Thälmann,
the Communist leader, 5 million (13 per cent). On the second ballot Hindenburg secured
an overall majority with 19.4 million (53 per cent) to Hitler’s 13.4 million (26.8 per cent)
and Thälmann’s 3.8 million (10.2 per cent). This result was a disappointment to Hitler, who
had expended a massive effort to no avail. The only other possibility was now to try for
the second most important office – the chancellorship.
In this he was to prove more successful, and ultimately he came to power by the back-
door methods of diplomacy and intrigue rather than over the threshold of electoral support.
The process was highly complex, involving President Hindenburg, General Schleicher and
an aristocrat, Franz von Papen.
The first stage was the collapse of Brüning’s government in May 1932, largely because
it had lost the support of those who mattered, namely the President and his retinue. Schleicher
had been alienated by Brüning’s decision to ban Hitler’s SA, and Hindenburg by a proposal
to take over bankrupt Junker estates for use by landless peasants. Hindenburg therefore
pushed Brüning into resignation and Papen was installed as the new Chancellor, the first
 Dictatorship in Germany 177

in the history of the republic not to have the basis of party support. Hitler agreed not to
oppose the new government in exchange for the removal of the ban on the SA and new
Reichstag elections. The latter, held in July 1932, showed another sensational swing to the
NSDAP, which now became easily the largest party, with 230 seats and 37.3 per cent of
the popular vote. When Hitler was invited by Papen to join his cabinet he demanded, instead,
the chancellorship. This was refused, however, by President Hindenburg. Papen then tried
to weaken the position of the NSDAP by calling yet another Reichstag election in November
1932. This time the NSDAP lost electoral support, declining to 196 seats in the Reichstag
and 33.1 per cent of the vote. Clearly Hitler’s popularity had peaked and it would have
come as no great surprise if the Nazi phenomenon had faded to its semi-obscurity of the
late 1920s. This was due partly to a slight upswing in the economy and partly to the
disillusionment of part of the electorate as Nazi violence and intimidation intensified on the
streets. Already in 1930 the Prussian state government tried to curb this by banning outdoor
meetings and parades, along with SA uniforms. The extent of the criminality of the SA was
to be evident in 1932: within one month of an emergency decree, issued by Papen to legalize
the SA, 99 people had been killed and 1,125 wounded in street attacks.9 Then on 10 August
nine uniformed SA men broke into a miner’s home in Potempa in Upper Silesia, beating
and torturing him to death. In the subsequent court case the assailants were sentenced to
death and Hitler did his reputation little good by delivering an impassioned appeal in their
support. No one could claim that the Nazi movement had not already shown its violent
credentials before 1933.
But then events swung back in Hitler’s favour. Papen proved incapable of holding power
for very long and the chancellorship went to Schleicher, who had managed to convince
Hindenburg that he could broaden the base of his support by detaching members of the
NSDAP from their support for Hitler. In this he failed dismally; the only Nazi who seemed
interested in his offer was Strasser, who was promptly thrown out of the party. Meanwhile,
Papen felt sufficiently slighted by Schleicher to intrigue against him with Hitler. In January
1933 Papen persuaded Hindenburg to appoint Hitler as Chancellor in a coalition government
which would contain only three Nazis and which would be carefully monitored by Papen
as Hitler’s deputy. Schleicher had tried to keep his own government afloat by asking for
further emergency powers. These Hindenburg was not prepared to grant, since he now had
an alternative. On 30 January 1933 he confirmed Hitler’s appointment, believing that
sufficient precautions had been taken to tame the radicalism of the NSDAP. In fact, Hitler
proceeded to destroy the Weimar Republic within weeks of his coming to power. Only one
more election was to be held before Germany was subsumed into the Third Reich.

EXPLANATIONS OF THE RISE OF HITLER

The rise of Hitler involved distinct processes which, although connected, did not lead
inevitably from one to the other. One was the collapse of democracy within the Weimar
Republic and the development after 1930 of an authoritarian regime which was hostile to
the whole basis of the republic. Another was the emergence of an entirely new form of
right-wing movement which, under Hitler, eventually replaced this authoritarian system with
a totalitarian regime. The latter could not have occurred without the former: Hitler’s rise
was accomplished through the collapse of the republic. But this collapse was not necessarily
tied to a historical trend leading inevitably to Nazism; it could have been followed by an
alternative system.
178 Dictatorship in Germany

An explanation as to why Hitler became Chancellor can be advanced in three stages.

First, the Weimar Republic became increasingly destabilized with the disintegration of
effective democracy. Second, Nazism emerged as a dynamic movement which was capable
of gaining support from a substantial part of an electorate which had become disillusioned
with the republic. And third, the conservative right provided a channel which enabled this
new dynamic to penetrate and force open the flawed structure. The whole picture is complex,
and it is necessary to avoid any one-sided or oversimplified view.

The vulnerability of Weimar democracy

The bedrock of any democracy is its constitution. As we have seen, the constitution of the
Weimar Republic had certain advanced democratic features, including the enfranchisement
of all men and women at twenty, and a form of proportional representation which guaranteed
one seat in the Reichstag for every 60,000 votes cast. It also made it necessary for the
Chancellor and his cabinet to have the support of a majority in the Reichstag, thus ensuring
that the executive would at all times be responsible to the legislature. Yet several problems
soon emerged to negate these positive features, making the constitution extremely difficult
to operate.
One was the tendency of proportional representation to encourage the proliferation of
parties. When this was associated with the need for majority government, it became evident
that everything would depend on the assembling of coalitions. At first this seemed
theoretically simple. The three parties most responsible for the formation of the republic –
the SPD, the Centre and the DDP – earned in the 1919 elections 76 per cent of the vote,
which translated into 78 per cent of the seats. But in the election of 1920 their support
dropped to only 48 per cent of the vote, which meant that government became dependent
on other parties as well. The eventual solution was the support of Stresemann, who brought
in part of the DVP. Unfortunately, this was offset between 1923 and 1928 by the withdrawal
of the SPD into opposition. It even became necessary to bring into two cabinets several
right-wing politicians from the DNVP. This, of course, meant that the base of the government
was broadening all the time, which made more difficult any concerted decision-making.
Serious enough in the favourable economic climate between 1924 and 1928, this became
an intolerable handicap when Germany was struck by the Great Depression. The result was
the collapse of the normal process of democracy as, under Brüning and his successors, the
government no longer sought the regular mandate of the Reichstag. This led, between 1930
and 1933, to the authoritarian phase of the Weimar Republic, which, in turn, provided the
opportunity for Hitler in 1932 and 1933.
Some historians and recent German politicians have identified an undercurrent of anti-
democratic feeling which severely damaged the fabric of the republic. According to Snyder,
the new regime was seen as a ‘stopgap’ and ‘from the days of its origin the Weimar Republic
was unwanted and unloved’. Theodor Heuss, the first President of West Germany, maintained
that ‘Germany never conquered democracy for herself.’10 It could certainly be argued that
democracy was handed down from above in 1918, without any serious attempt to change
the existing civil service or the judicial and military elites. Below the surface of a democratic
constitution, therefore, was a profoundly conservative base, with no commitment – emotional
or intellectual – to a republic. Certain sections of the community could have become
permanently reconciled to the new system – for example, the proletariat and the middle
classes. These, however, were severely affected by the impact of the 1923 and 1929
economic crises. Much of the population was highly vulnerable to right-wing ideas and
 Dictatorship in Germany 179

organizations. A strong tradition of anti-Western and anti-democratic thought was maintained

by writers and activists like Moeller, van den Bruck and Junger, who induced widespread
nostalgia for the Second Reich and anticipation of a Third. The response of much of the
population was to criticize the Weimar politicians for their facelessness and to turn to more
authoritarian figures like Hindenburg and, ultimately, Hitler. Throughout the period 1918–33,
therefore, the onus was always upon democracy to show that it was a better system than
the authoritarian models of the past. Many people remained highly sceptical.
Unfortunately, the image of democracy was not strengthened by the performance of the
political parties. According to Fraenkel, these failed to fulfil ‘the functions which devolve
upon them in a constitutional pluralistic Parliamentary democracy’.11 The traditional right
– the DNVP – maintained a consistent hostility to the republic. They attacked it at every
opportunity and eventually welcomed its demise. Indeed, in collaborating openly with
Hitler’s NSDAP, they provided the channel for his appointment.
The more moderate Centre Party did manage to keep a respectable level of support,
attracting over 50 per cent of the Catholic vote. It had, however, little appeal to Protestants,
despite professing to be primarily a ‘Christian’ party. But the most damaging impact of the
Centre Party was its swing to the right. This occurred in two stages. In 1928 Monsignor Kaas
took over from Wilhelm Marx as party leader, emphasizing the party’s clerical attachments
and undermining its ability to reconcile the moderate parties on secular issues. Then, after
1930, the Centre displayed an unfortunate willingness to adapt to presidential dictatorship.
Once Müller had withdrawn the SPD from government, Brüning was content to rely upon
President Hindenburg to issue emergency decrees under Article 48 of the constitution. Thus,
after playing a key role in upholding democracy, the Centre delivered the first blows against
it.
The liberal part of the political spectrum was also badly flawed. Germany had developed
the unique phenomenon of two varieties of liberalism. To the left of centre, the DDP
represented the political and social freedoms which made their way into the constitution,
while the DVP, on the right, merged liberal economic theory with nationalism and authority.
The two parties rarely collaborated, except during the period of Stresemann’s ascendancy,
and neither was able to maintain the support of the middle classes, which should have been
their natural constituency. In part, this was because they were never able to appeal to the
‘diverse social and economic interests’ which constituted the ‘material base’ of the middle
classes.12 The result was to be a devastating change in voting behaviour as, after 1928, the
DDP and DVP lost almost all their electoral support to the Nazis. This defection was the
greatest single factor in converting the latter from a fringe to a mass party. In a very real
sense, therefore, fascism emerged from the ruins of liberalism.
It might be thought that the best chance of upholding the republic came from the left
wing. After all, the parties of the left had fairly consistent support, ranging from 45.5 per
cent of the vote in 1919 to 36.9 per cent in November 1932. Unfortunately, the left was
also fragmented into two segments (three for the brief period 1919–23). The bitter rivalry
between the SPD and the KPD was the legacy of the German Revolution of 1918–19. The
KPD never forgot the bloodshed of January 1919 and regarded the SPD, who had put down
their attempted coup, as class enemies. There was also a profound ideological gap. Thälmann,
the KPD leader, was influenced by Stalin’s belief that social democracy was not essentially
different to fascism and that they were both manifestations of capitalism. He argued, indeed,
that the greatest threat to German communism lay in the SPD, ‘in the social democracy
which gains the trust of the masses through fraud and treachery’.13 He believed that the
Depression would act as a great catalyst for changes in the voting pattern and that the KPD
180 Dictatorship in Germany

would pull in the working-class vote in much the same way as the NSDAP was benefiting
from the support of the middle classes. (The KPD did make certain inroads; for example,
in July 1932 it reduced the SPD’s share of the vote to 21.6 per cent and boosted its own
to 14.3 per cent. But it never became a mass party to rival the NSDAP.) Thälmann also
hoped that, if Hitler were to achieve power, he would soon be overthrown by a proletarian
revolution organized by the KPD; in this sense, a fascist regime would be a ‘temporary
intermediate development’. As far as Thälmann was concerned, therefore, there was no
reason to co-operate with the other parties in preventing the accession of Hitler.
If the SPD so distrusted the KPD, could it not have made more of its links with other
groups? Herein lies the SPD’s greatest failing. Although by far the most important influence
behind the formation of the republic, it never quite managed to sustain a role in government
proportionate to its size in the Reichstag. In the words of Hiden, ‘They failed to make of
their early association with the bourgeois parties, or so-called “democratic middle” of DDP,
Centre and DVP, a lasting and constructive partnership.’14 They refused, for example, to
be involved in the government of the republic during the crucial period between 1923 and
1928. The SPD remained during the period of the Weimar Republic essentially a party of
the working class and made very few inroads into the middle classes. This was in contrast
to the British Labour Party which sought greater middle-class support as it became the main
alternative to the Conservatives. Part of the problem for the SPD at this stage was that it
was limited by attachments to its trade union movement and was concerned that any attempt
at a more concerted appeal to the middle classes would lose it votes to the Communists.
Chapter 1 referred to the importance of a catalyst in the breakdown of parliamentary
systems. This was particularly important in the case of Germany, where economic crisis
destabilized the whole social structure, with serious side-effects for the political system.
Two stages were involved in the process – inflation and depression. General Morgan of the
Disarmament Commission said of the former: ‘Inflation has destroyed the equipoise of
society. It has ruined the middle classes and impoverished the workers . . . Inflation has
undermined the political basis of the Republic and concentrated all real power in the hands
of a few, namely the great industrialists.’ In fact, a period of recovery followed this perhaps
premature diagnosis. But the real significance of inflation was that any future economic
crisis would be bound to have a doubly serious impact. Hence, from 1929 the Depression
radicalized sections of the population which
inflation had already rendered unstable,
turning them either to the extreme right
or to the far left. It also destroyed any
possibility of political consensus and, as we
have seen, returned Germany to the practice
of authoritarian government.

The strength and appeal of

the Nazis
The rise of Hitler was also due to a number
of active factors. To be examined in this
section are the role of propaganda and

6 Adolf Hitler, 1889–1945, at Berchtesgaden

(© Popperfoto/Getty)
 Dictatorship in Germany 181

organization, Hitler’s strategy and identification of key issues, and the importance of his
own personality and influence. Also of vital importance is the support given to the NSDAP
by different sections of the population.
The success of the Nazi movement is inevitably associated with the highly skilled use
of propaganda and the development of an efficient organization. In these respects it was
far ahead of all the other German parties, including the KPD. The importance which Hitler
attached to propaganda and organization can be seen clearly in several extracts from Mein
Kampf: ‘The function of propaganda’, he argued, ‘is to attract supporters, the function of
organization is to win members.’ He continued:

Propaganda works on the general public from the standpoint of an idea and makes them
ripe for the victory of this idea, while the organization achieves victory by the persistent,
organic, and militant union of those supporters who seem willing and able to carry on
the fight for victory.

Or, to put it another way:

The first task of propaganda is to win people for subsequent organization; the first task
of organization is to win men for the continuation of propaganda. The second task of
propaganda is the disruption of the existing state of affairs and the permeation of this
state of affairs with the new doctrine, while the second task of organization must be
the struggle for power, thus to achieve the final success of the doctrine.15

The manifestations of propaganda were numerous. Albert Speer later asserted that ‘Hitler
was one of the first to be able to avail himself of the means of modern technology’.
Admittedly, he was unable to make effective use of radio until after coming to power and
establishing a monopoly over this medium, but he did use numerous other means, including
loudspeakers, provocative posters and bands. Above all, he depended on the power of the
spoken word, which he always considered more important than written material. He had a
profound insight into the collective emotions of crowds and believed that his message to
them had to be kept simple, striking and memorable: ‘The receptivity of the great masses
is very limited, their intelligence is small, but their power of forgetting is enormous.’ Hence,
propaganda ‘must be limited to a very few points’,16 which must be constantly repeated to
establish them as incontrovertible facts. It was also vital to make the individual feel important
only in the context of the crowd and to establish stereotyped enemies and targets by means,
if necessary, of ‘the big lie’. Organization, of course, was essential for the maintenance of
mass commitment: hence the vast number of marches and rallies, the uniforms and
paramilitary drill, and the street fights with Communists and Social Democrats. The whole
process was intended to prepare the movement to seize power when the opportunity arose.
The identification of this opportunity depended on Hitler’s strategy and timing. His first
bid for power was defective, based, as it was, on the mistaken belief that he could imitate
Mussolini’s successful March on Rome. But the failure of the Munich Putsch in 1923 was
followed by a more skilful adaptation to a dual role of legality in party politics which drew
attention away from the radicalism of his mass movement. This course lulled the suspicions
of the republican government, which considered the KPD as a more serious threat and, as
a result, underestimated the revolutionary potential of the Nazis. It also enabled Hitler to
appear as a more moderate politician to those sectors of society who had previously been
put off by the gutter politics of the early years of the movement. Along with this overall
182 Dictatorship in Germany

change in strategy, Hitler aimed constantly to reformulate the party programme so as to

appeal to different parts of the population as they became alienated from the republic. In
1927 he told his economic adviser, Keppler, that the economic goals of the original
programme were now ‘unusable’. He considered that some of the details of the 1920
document were too doctrinaire and he was more prepared than some of the more orthodox
Nazi leaders to be flexible and pragmatic in the presentation of a party image. He went so
far as to establish a section within the organization to identify the reasons for different types
of public discontent and to develop specific remedies which would appeal to different social
groups. As Stachura has put it, the ‘NSDAP revealed itself to be perhaps the most tactically
flexible and opportunistic political movement in the Republic.’17
In developing a broad appeal for the Nazi movement, Hitler relied on the projection of
general issues for the consumption of the population as a whole, and specific issues for the
different classes. An example of the former was his attack on the republic’s foreign policy.
Taking advantage of the unpopularity of the Versailles Settlement, Hitler was able to implant
upon the national consciousness terms like ‘November Criminals’ and the ‘stab in the back’.
Bullock adds:

His was a closed mind, impervious to argument or doubt. It was thanks to this assurance
that he possessed the key to history, and with it could unlock the future as well, that
he was able to exploit tactical opportunities, without any risk of losing sight of his
objectives.18

He also slammed the policy of détente pursued by Stresemann: ‘our people must be
delivered from the hopeless confusion of international convictions and educated consciously
and systematically to fanatical Nationalism’. Another mainline policy, guaranteed to be
taken seriously across most of the political spectrum, was anti-communism; this is seen by
Hamilton as one of the most important of all Hitler’s appeals.19 Finally, he made effective
use of the deep undercurrent of anti-Semitism in Germany, making the Jews scapegoats for
all of Germany’s evils, whether in the form of callous capitalism or revolutionary
communism. Above all, he made a permanent and intentionally damaging connection
between the regime and the detested minority, developing the concept of the ‘Jew Republic’.
What was the importance of the personal role of Hitler in the rise of the Nazi movement?
Emphasis is usually placed on his charismatic leadership and an almost demoniac willpower.
Trevor-Roper, for example, maintains that ‘His own firm belief in his messianic mission
was perhaps the most important element in the extraordinary power of his personality.’20
He also possessed, according to Bullock, a ‘sense of opportunity and timing’. This was the
right combination of characteristics to take advantage of the troubles of the Weimar Republic
since Hitler was at his best when destroying a system by exploiting its crises. He later
experienced much greater difficulty when he had to defend his own system which, in turn,
came under threat in the second phase of the Second World War. At this stage, Hitler’s
personality was to become a major liability to the Nazi movement and to Germany’s military
survival.
The final issue which needs to be examined is the basis of support for National Socialism.
Much research has been carried out on the defection to the NSDAP during the late 1920s
and early 1930s. It was once thought that Nazism appealed mainly to the middle classes,
with substantial additions from the working class and from the upper levels of society who
were, nevertheless, more reluctant to shift from their original political allegiances. Now,
however, the tendency is to assume more general and widespread support for Hitler.
 Dictatorship in Germany 183

It is still possible to say that the middle classes made up the largest single proportion of
Nazi support, and that their defection from their traditional parties was vitally important in
converting Nazism into a mass movement. During the 1920s they had voted in large numbers
for the DDP and the DVP, although some also supported the DNVP and, if they were
Catholic, the Centre. Some historians, like Childers, have argued that the basis for the middle-
class movement towards the NSDAP had been established during the late 1920s, even before
the onset of Depression from 1929.21 Others maintain that the flow occurred only after
1929, making it a direct result of the Great Depression. The middle classes found unbearable
the impact of a second economic crisis which destroyed the apparent recovery from the
first. The psychological blow was so profound that they made an uncharacteristic move
away from the moderate centre to the radical right. These two interpretations can be
harmonized. The older section of the middle class, comprising artisans, small retailers and
peasant farmers, formed the core of the support for Hitler and were showing support for
him before the Depression: theirs was a disillusionment with the structure and policies of
the republic itself. To these was subsequently added the weight of much of the new middle
class – the non-manual employees, civil servants and teachers – who aligned themselves
with Nazism as a direct result of the Depression. It is possible that they were moving in
this direction anyway. But the simple fact is that the NSDAP secured only twelve seats in
the Reichstag election of 1928; it therefore took the Depression to convert a trickle of middle-
class support into a flood.
There is a further controversy over the connection between Nazism and the working
class. It was once strongly argued that the working class remained largely loyal to the parties
of the left which, in any case, had a distinctively proletarian appeal. The KPD was especially
class-based and its support increased during the Reichstag elections of 1930 and 1932.
Although the SPD lost seats, it came nowhere near the collapse suffered by the parties of
the centre, clearly indicating that it retained the bulk of its support. By this analysis, the
proletariat was less drawn to Nazism because, in the words of Stachura, ‘The Party was
unable to establish a significant working-class constituency because it did not develop a
coherent interpretation of “German Socialism”.’ This was partly because Hitler’s ‘innate
contempt and distrust of the proletariat remained paramount’.22 Other historians, such as
Mühlberger, are not convinced by the ‘middle-class thesis’ of Nazism.23 Recent research
has tended to support the view that working-class input was substantial. Studies of Nazi
membership records show something like 40 per cent of the membership coming from the
working class, while 60 per cent of the SA were of the same origins. Parallel research on
electoral trends has, through computer analysis of statistical data, produced very similar
voting results. According to Fischer, ‘a good 40 per cent of the NSDAP’s voters were working
class, remarkably similar to the proportion of workers in the party itself’.24 Again, there is
a possible synthesis between two interpretations. On the one hand, the working class never
came to provide the largest body of support for Nazism: in that respect, the original views
seem correct. On the other hand, it is possible to overestimate the continued loyalty of the
working class to the parties of the left. After 1928 substantial shifts did occur: the growth
of the Communists was more than offset by the decline of the SPD. The latter shrank by
between a quarter and a third: these lost votes almost certainly went straight to the Nazis.
Thus, although the NSDAP was not primarily a working-class party and the majority of
workers remained with the parties of the left, the inflow of working-class support for
Nazism was still a vital factor in the conversion of Nazism into a mass movement.
The attitudes of the upper classes to Nazism were largely pragmatic. Landowners,
businessmen and industrialists saw in Hitler the prospect of safety from the threats of
184 Dictatorship in Germany

communism and socialism on the left. Arguably, they saw beyond this and looked to Nazism
to deliver over to them a disciplined and constrained workforce. They looked to Hitler to
undo the pro-trade union and welfare policies of most of the governments of the Weimar
Republic. Even those who distrusted the violence and vulgarities of the Nazi movement
were still likely to be supporting it indirectly. It was unlikely that the affluent sectors of
German society after 1929 voted in significant numbers for any party to the left of the
DNVP, and the DNVP itself was in close collaboration with the NSDAP after Hugenberg
assumed the leadership. Hence, the Nazis benefited considerably from the respectability,
publicity and funding brought by a relatively narrow but highly influential sector of society.
To some extent, the appeal of Nazism transcended class barriers altogether. The three
more general categories usually considered most important are religious denomination,
gender and age. There is no doubt that the Protestants were more likely than Catholics to
vote Nazi. They had no existing party base, whereas the Centre Party held the Catholic vote
even at the height of the economic and political crisis. Many were also profoundly suspicious
of the Weimar Republic, which, as we have seen, they identified mainly with Catholic and
working-class values. On the whole, they had far more affection for the memory of the
Kaiser’s rule and were not, therefore, averse to another change of regime. As far as gender
is concerned, the Nazis managed to make up for an early imbalance in their support. Before
1930 the majority of women were more right wing in their voting behaviour than men; yet
the majority of Nazi votes came from men rather than women. By 1933 there was a more
even split as many women became convinced that Hitler was the best prospect for bolstering
the institution of the family in troubled times; this probably counteracted the earlier and
well-founded suspicion that Nazism was profoundly anti-feminist. Finally, the Nazi
movement had a powerful generational impact. It appealed directly to youth, partly through
its dynamism and attack on traditional ideas and institutions, partly through the oversimplified
solutions to the problem of unemployment. Young men, more than any other section of the
community, were prepared to submerge their identity and to respond to Hitler’s appeal to
the crowd instinct.
It is difficult to escape the conclusion that during the later period of the Weimar Republic
the NSDAP was the most heterogeneous party in Germany. It included people from the
complete range of social backgrounds, even though the precise proportion of these may be
open to debate and controversy. Hitler alone managed to create a radical movement with
which he could transform into fanaticism the desperation of a profoundly disturbed people.

The channel to power provided by the conservative right

After 1928, therefore, Hitler succeeded in collecting for the NSDAP much of the electorate
which had become disillusioned with the republic’s manifest deficiencies. This was essential
for Hitler’s rise to prominence but it does not fully explain his rise to power. A further step
was needed – a means of forcing a way in through the republic’s fissures. This was greatly
assisted by the drift to authoritarian rule within the republic after 1929, in which democracy
was systematically undermined by the conservative right. This, in turn, led to an opportunist
alliance between the conservative right and the Nazis as the former tried to use the latter
to sweep away democracy and strengthen the conservative–authoritarian base.
Ironically, the initial drift to authoritarianism was made possible by the constitution itself
which, in Article 48, allowed the President to assume emergency powers should he consider
these necessary. The first President, Ebert, had used Article 48 constructively to maintain
the stability of the new democracy. But his successor, Hindenburg, was a very different
 Dictatorship in Germany 185

proposition. His election in 1925 has been seen as a major disaster for the republic: he was
an authoritarian and military figure, with a considerable suspicion of the whole parliamentary
process. Eyck comments that ‘No matter how Hindenburg might comport himself in the
immediate future his election as president of Germany was a triumph of nationalism and
militarism and a heavy defeat for the Republic and parliamentary government.’25 Hindenburg
brushed aside the problem of finding a parliamentary majority by exercising presidential
decree powers allowed by Article 48. According to Boldt, the use of decree laws increased
from five in 1930 to forty-four in 1931 and sixty in 1932, while sittings of the Reichstag
declined from ninety-four in 1930 to forty-one in 1931 and a mere thirteen in 1932.26 This
trend effectively ended the role of party politics. The situation deteriorated further after the
fall of Brüning in 1932 as Papen and Schleicher were both determined to avoid any return
to parliamentary sovereignty.
But why were the conservative right willing to allow Hitler and the radical right to benefit
from this? The explanation seems to be that the conservative right (which included the
DNVP, some of the army command, President Hindenburg and Chancellors Papen and
Schleicher) intended to use Nazism for their own purpose. They believed that the republic
had outlived its usefulness and that any return to the party politics of the 1920s was
impossible. Instead, conservative constitutional theorists argued in Unsere Partei that the
party system would eventually fracture and be replaced by a broad front. For this reason,
the DNVP therefore aimed to create a broad ‘movement’ of the right which would also
include the NSDAP. The latter could be used for its radical impetus. It had the capacity to
destroy the republic, but once that was achieved it would be brought into line with the more
conservative objectives of the DNVP. The collaboration between the Nazis and the DNVP
was crucial; Hiden goes so far as to say that it ‘played handmaiden to Adolf Hitler and his
movement at the close of the 1920s’.27 This strategy, which eventually proved to be fatally
flawed, provided Hitler with access to power. His appointment as Chancellor was due to a
fortuitous circumstance – the personal rivalry between the last two Chancellors, Papen and
Schleicher. The latter faced a political crisis when, in January 1933, the Reichstag challenged
his use of Article 48. The constitution provided a loophole in that the President could dissolve
the Reichstag and call an election. But, having already done this twice in 1932, Hindenburg
preferred to find an alternative Chancellor. This explains his receptiveness to Papen’s
recommendation that Hitler should be appointed, with himself given a watching brief as
Vice-Chancellor.
Hence, Hitler came to power largely through a conspiracy. Yet this does not mean that
the Nazis did little themselves to achieve it. The conservative right would not have been
so willing to collaborate with a weak fringe group. It was evident to them that the NSDAP
had managed more effectively than any other party to mobilize popular discontent against
the republic. Hitler appeared to them an elemental force whom they intended to use in their
own way. But there is a final irony. Hitler came to power as the support for the Nazis was
starting to ebb: after all the vote for the Nazis fell back slightly in the second election of
1932 and it seemed a reasonable assumption that Hitler’s popularity with the electorate had
peaked. This, the conservative politicians calculated, would make Hitler easier to manipulate.
Nazism appeared sufficiently strong to be directed against parliamentary democracy but not
strong enough to challenge the authoritarian conservatives. It was a flaring flame which
would destroy the republic and then die back into the traditional authoritarianism which
would be all that was left.
The politicians who gave Hitler power in this way made the most ghastly political
blunder in the whole of Germany’s history.
186 Dictatorship in Germany

THE THIRD REICH, 1933–45

Dictatorship established, 1933–4

When he was appointed Chancellor on 30 January 1933, Hitler’s power was by no means
absolute. He had only three Nazis in his cabinet and he was constrained by Papen who, in
his position as Vice-Chancellor, had to be involved in any contacts between the Chancellor
and President. Another problem was that Hitler had no emergency powers beyond those
which Hindenburg was prepared, under Article 48 of the constitution, to grant him. It seemed,
therefore, that Papen was fully justified in believing that Hitler could be tamed. Within two
months, Papen argued, ‘we will have pushed Hitler so far into a corner that he’ll squeak’.28
Yet, within six months, all constraints had been eliminated. Hitler was able to kick away
the ladder by which he had ascended to power and establish a dictatorship based in effect
on a permanent state of emergency.
Hitler’s first priority was to strengthen the position of the NSDAP in the Reichstag so
that he could use the latter to force through measures to change the constitution. He intended,
in other words, to use the democratic process to destroy democracy. He therefore demanded
immediate elections, and the Reichstag was dissolved on 1 February, two days after his
appointment as Chancellor. In the election campaign which followed, Hitler had two major
advantages over the other parties. First, he had more direct access to the media, especially
radio; this he used more effectively than any previous politician, thereby enhancing the
electoral appeal of the NSDAP. Second, he was able to use emergency powers to weaken
the position of some of his opponents. For example, the decree of 4 February made it possible
to control the meetings of other parties. It also enabled Goering to draft a special police
order in Prussia to the effect that the ‘activities of subversive organizations are . . . to be
combated with the most drastic measures’. Indeed, ‘failure to act is more serious than errors
committed in acting’.29 Even more extreme measures were allowed by the decree of 28
February which suspended many personal liberties ‘until further notice’. The pretext for
this was a much publicized attempt to burn down the Reichstag building on 27 February.
It used to be thought that this was a deliberate ploy by the Nazis to cast the blame on the
Communists and SPD. It is now generally believed that the fire was the work of a single
individual, van der Lubbe, and not part of an organized plot. Whatever the truth, however,
the event was exploited by Hitler to the utmost. He was empowered to suspend various
articles of the constitution and to take over the power of the state governments if necessary.
The election results were announced on 5 March. They showed considerable gains for
the NSDAP when compared with the results of the elections of November 1932. The Nazi
vote increased from 11.7 million to 17.2 million and its percentage of the total from 33.1
to 43.9. Hitler’s partners, the DNVP, gained 200,000 votes and an extra seat. The Centre
Party made marginal increases and the SPD remained about the same. Real losses were
experienced by the DVP and other middle-class parties, and also by the Communists.
Three reasons can be given for Hitler’s gains. The first is that his tactic in calling an
immediate election completely unsettled his opponents. Most of the non-Nazis in his first
cabinet had meekly submitted to this demand for a dissolution and, according to Broszat,
‘were guilty of the first fateful blow against the concept of containing Hitler’. Second, there
appears to have been a degree of resignation in the Reichstag itself as the deputies failed
to use the Committee for the Protection of Parliamentary Rights effectively; this might have
challenged Hitler’s demand for an election as being too hasty. And third, the Nazi monopoly
of the state media and extensive use of emergency decrees cut away much of the opposition’s
capacity to present an effective case against Hitler.
 Dictatorship in Germany 187

But the process of establishing a dictatorship was not yet complete, for the NSDAP still
lacked an overall majority in the Reichstag. What happened next was a new offensive as
the constitution was stormed from below, at the level of local government, and from above,
within the Reichstag itself.
Recent historical studies have drawn attention to the importance of Nazi pressure in the
individual states, or Länder, in many cases amounting to a ‘terrorist, revolutionary
movement’.30 In March 1933 SA and SS squads went into action, taking over town halls,
police headquarters and newspapers. The resulting chaos was usually so serious that the
central government had to intervene via the Minister of the Interior, Wilhelm Frick. Nazis
were appointed to the local office of Police Commissioner and, on 7 April, a new law
allowed for the installation of special Reich governors in all states. In effect, therefore, Nazi
rule was imposed at the local level throughout Germany even before dictatorship had been
completed at the centre. Nevertheless, Hitler was conscious of the need to restrain some of
the wilder Nazi activists in case they should impede the revolution from above – which
was now well under way.
The Reichstag reconvened on 21 March 1933. Hitler now intended to secure the passage
of an Enabling Act which would radically reduce the Reichstag’s powers. Such a major
constitutional change, however, needed a two-thirds-majority vote, which the NSDAP and
their allies, the DNVP, did not between them possess. Hitler’s solution was ingenious. First,
he used the emergency decree of 28 February to expel from the Reichstag all Communist
deputies. He then negotiated with the Centre Party an agreement whereby the latter would
vote for the Enabling Act in return for special guarantees for the Churches. Hitler was very
reassuring on this point. He saw in Christianity ‘the most important factors for the
maintenance of our society’ and would therefore ‘permit and guarantee to the Christian
denominations the enjoyment of their due influence in schools and education’.31 On 23
March 1933 the Enabling Act secured its required majority, with only the SPD voting against
it. Its terms virtually destroyed parliamentary powers by allowing the Chancellor to issue
laws without consulting the Reichstag.
The changes now gathered momentum as the new power was used to eliminate other
political parties. Between March and July all parties apart from the NSDAP were forced to
wind themselves up. The whole process culminated in the law of 14 July 1933 ‘Against
the Establishment of Parties’ which declared it a criminal offence to organize any political
grouping outside the NSDAP. Another election was held in November 1933, in which a
single party list was put to the electorate for its approval. The result was that the NSDAP
took all the seats in the Reichstag. Germany was officially a one-party state.
Why did the opposition give up? The most obvious reason is that it had no choice. The
parties of the left were smashed by the government’s emergency powers. The Communists,
for example, were prevented from taking their seats in the Reichstag, and the SPD were
banned outright in June. The Centre Party gave up any pretence at political opposition in
return for a guarantee of religious freedom; it liquidated itself voluntarily. Even the DNVP
was unable to keep itself afloat as its leaders found it increasingly obvious that they no
longer had any hold on the political monster they had helped create. President Hindenburg,
no admirer of the party system, made no attempt to interfere with Hitler’s assault on the
opposition, for fear of provoking a more violent and radical constitutional upheaval.
By the middle of 1933 Hitler was still not completely secure. His position could be upset
either by the radical wing of his party or by the army. The most likely threat was that
undisciplined action by the former could provoke a counter-blow from the latter.
188 Dictatorship in Germany

The destructive capacity of the Nazi radicals had been evident in March 1933 when the
rank and file had brought about at local level changes which were far more sweeping than
Hitler had intended. The SA were especially violent and the party leadership regretted its
earlier failure to tame them. By the middle of 1933 there were also demands for a new Nazi
revolution. Ernst Röhm, for example, wanted to extend the scope of the SA so that the
German army would be absorbed into it. Röhm expressed the disillusionment of the radical
Nazis with Hitler’s apparent caution: ‘A tremendous victory has been won,’ he argued, ‘but
not absolute victory.’ He added: ‘The SA and SS will not tolerate the German revolution
going to sleep.’32 Hitler was unimpressed by such views. He was particularly anxious to
keep the support of those very interests under attack by Röhm. He was also opposed to
radicalism for its own sake: ‘Revolution is not a permanent condition . . . The stream of
revolution once released must be guided into the secure bed of evolution.’33 Further
provocative activities were therefore to stop. Accordingly, Frick’s circular of 6 October
1933 instructed the activists that ‘These infringements and excesses must now cease once
and for all.’34
What made Hitler particularly wary of antagonizing the army was that he hoped shortly
to become President. Hindenburg was approaching death and the army, if threatened by the
Nazis, might prevail upon him to nominate a successor. Alternatively, the army might attempt
a coup against Hitler, with or without Hindenburg’s approval. Hitler would be able to counter
this coup with the help of the SA, but this would make him a virtual prisoner of the radicals.
He could, however, adopt another course: he could crush the SA with the support of the
army and, over a period, establish the same influence over the military commanders as he
had over the politicians. There would be more chance of total penetration and control if
Nazification was slow and cautious. The army had good reason to co-operate with Hitler:
it hated the programme of the SA and was particularly averse to Röhm’s aim to see ‘the
grey rock’ of the Reichswehr submerged in the ‘brown flood’ of the SA. The dislike was
mutual: the SA despised the aristocratic connections of the army officers, while the army
regarded the SA leadership as uncouth upstarts. The Reichswehr commanders saw Hitler
as the moderate who would seek to preserve at least some of the traditional values. They
were therefore prepared to do a deal with Hitler; they would stand back while Hitler took
whatever measures he considered necessary against his own delinquents. They would even
intervene to save Hitler from the SA if necessary.
As events turned out, their help was not required. By the beginning of July 1934, the SA
leadership had been cut down by Hitler’s elite corps, the SS. The ‘Night of the Long Knives’
claimed the lives of Röhm, Strasser and many other Nazis who were considered disruptive.
A grateful army was now prepared to concede to Hitler the office of head of state. When
Hindenburg died five weeks later, Hitler succeeded him as Reich President, adding the title
of Führer for good measure. The army took an oath of personal allegiance: ‘I swear before
God to give my unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, Führer of the Reich and of the
German People, Supreme Commander.’35

Was there a ‘legal revolution’?

The political changes accomplished between 1933 and 1934 have often been referred to as
a ‘legal revolution’. Two interpretations can be applied to this: one with the emphasis on
legal, the other stressing the concept of revolution. Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor in
January 1933 had been due partly to the broadening electoral appeal of the Nazis from
1931, in line with his strategy of legality after 1923, and partly to intensified Nazi activism
 Dictatorship in Germany 189

and violence in the streets. This contradiction – the seizure of power (Machtergreifung)
accomplished ‘legally’– now continued until the destruction of the Republic was complete.

Was it ‘legal’?
The Nazis took care to build a logical progression towards dictatorship, each stage dependent
on the last, thereby providing a facade of legality. For example the Enabling Act, or ‘Law
for Terminating the Suffering of the People and Nation’ of 24 March 1933, contained within
its preamble the words: ‘The Reichstag has passed the following law, which has been
approved by the Reichsrat. The requirements of legal constitutional change having been
met, it is being proclaimed herewith.’36 This part was a direct reference to the Constitution
of the Weimar Republic, Article 76 of which had stated that: ‘acts . . . amending the
Constitution can take effect only if two-thirds of the legal number of members are present
and at least two-thirds of those present consent’.37 To secure the necessary two-thirds
majority the government used the emergency powers under Article 48 of the Weimar
Constitution to exclude the Communists from the Reichstag. Once passed, the Enabling
Act became the ‘legal’ means by which the Chancellor could use his new executive powers
to alter other parts of the political process. After all, under Article 1 of the Enabling Act,
‘the government also is authorized to pass laws’ the latter being ‘issued by the Chancellor
and published in the official gazette’.38
Under this economical and highly convenient arrangement, further legislation followed.
The Law of 31 March for the ‘Coordination of the Länder of the Reich’ reorganized the
whole structure of local state governments; the Law of 7 April for ‘the restoration of the
professional Civil Service’ purged the administration of non-Aryans and political opponents;
the ‘Law against the New Formation of Parties’ (14 July) confirmed that: ‘The sole political
party existing in Germany is the National Socialist German Workers’ Party.’39 Just over a
year later, the ‘Law Concerning the Head of the German State’ (1 August 1934) used the
same formula laid down in the Enabling Act to combine the office of President with that
of Chancellor.40 In each case, therefore, the ‘legality’ of Hitler’s abolition of previous
constitutional safeguards was justified by amendments to the constitution itself through the
process of ‘legal constitutional change’.
This circuitous piece of logic is open to extensive criticism. After all, Hitler’s
main intention was to use some of the powers allowed by the Weimar constitution to destroy
other areas which these were intended to protect. This meant that the way in which the
letter of the law was observed was entirely contrary to the spirit of that law. Hitler’s objective
was nothing less than the end of the Weimar democratic system. He achieved this in three
ways, all under the procedures allowed by the Enabling Act. First, he converted precautionary
powers, allowed to the President in an emergency, into a convenient method by which the
Chancellor could bypass the legislature on a regular basis. Article 48 had been included in
the Weimar Constitution to preserve democracy against potential enemies, whereas the
Enabling Act was based on the premise that democracy was itself the enemy. Second, the
entire federal system, integral to the Weimar Constitution, was undermined by the withdrawal
of the autonomous power of the Länder. Third, the destruction of the multi-party system –
a basic ingredient of the Weimar Constitution – changed the whole purpose of voting. Instead
of voting for a government that would prepare legislation through the Reichstag, the
electorate now expressed its occasional approval, in a plebiscite, for major measures
introduced by the government by the process of edict. And fourth, the previous separation
between the head of state and the head of government, a necessary component of any
190 Dictatorship in Germany

democratic system, was destroyed by the absorption of the presidency and the chancellorship
into the Führer.
The whole notion of ‘legality’ was therefore a mockery. A democratic constitution was
not amended by due process of law: it was destroyed by anti-democrats who targeted its
emergency provisions against the constitution itself. Modern historians confirm this view.
Bracher, for example, refers to ‘the purely formalistic conception of a “legal” seizure of
power’.41 The purpose of the ‘legality tactic’ was to surround ‘this new type of totalitarian
power seizure with its seductive aura’, making all legal, political, or even intellectual
resistance difficult’, indeed ‘well-nigh impossible’.42 Even if Hitler’s appointment in January
1933 was legal, the subsequent extension of his powers was not. According to Leitz, ‘Hitler,
clearly, did not seize power. However, the rapid progress of events which began with Hitler’s
appointment and ended on 2 August 1934 with the union of the offices of president and
chancellor in the person of the “Führer and Reich Chancellor Adolf Hitler” did amount to
a seizure of complete power’.43
Finally, there is considerable doubt as to whether the Nazis even observed the letter of
the Constitution. Hitler’s ‘legal’ changes were accompanied by pressure and violence – of
the very type that the constitution had originally been conceived to prevent. After all, Article
48 had been intended for presidential use to put down mass activism, not to unleash it
against selected constitutional targets. Hildebrand refers to ‘Nazi terrorist tactics’ and
maintains that ‘it was often difficult to distinguish terroristic from legal measures’.44 The
key reason for the two-thirds majority behind the Enabling Act was the exclusion and
imprisonment of the Communist deputies elected to the Reichstag two weeks earlier; there
were also attempts, by SA intimidation and threats of violence, to prevent the Social
Democrats from casting their votes against the Enabling Act. Similarly, the state governments
were forced by mass pressure to accept the reduction of their constitutional powers. Pressure
therefore made impossible any challenge to the use of ‘legality’ – in a way that was clearly
illegal.

Was it a ‘revolution’?
In view of what has already been said, perhaps it is more appropriate to describe the accum-
ulation of political power by Hitler as ‘revolutionary’. But here the thrust of the argument
can be put into reverse. The very notion of ‘step-by-step’ change – and its dependence on
previous constitutional provisions – is not normally seen as a ‘revolutionary’ process.
Hitler’s institutional changes were strictly limited in terms of the destruction of previous
systems. After all, the Weimar Constitution was never formally abolished and the Reichstag
and Reichsrat remained intact as the legislature. The existing ministries in the central
government were retained; the posts (for example, the Foreign Minister, Interior Minister,
Finance Minister and Ministers for Economics, Justice, Defence, Food, Posts, Labour and
Transport) were remarkably similar to those within the Weimar Republic. Much the same
applied to the civil service and even the federal structure. The Nazification of the institutions
of the Weimar Republic occurred in such a way as to minimize the chances of a sudden
break with the past, probably to prevent the possible accumulation of opposition. All this
bears little resemblance to the revolution within Russia. Lenin had taken the decision to
remove any remaining connection with Western-style legislatures and to substitute a new
legislative system based on the soviets. The government, too, was new, based on the Central
Executive Committee and its inner core, the Politburo. The post-Tsarist system introduced
by the Provisional Government was swept away, to be replaced by Lenin’s 1918 Constitution,
 Dictatorship in Germany 191

as amended by Stalin in 1924 and 1936. Even the earlier attempt at change in Germany
(1918–19) seems to warrant the description of ‘revolution’ more directly that the process
of Nazification between 1933 and 1934). After all, the Communist-inspired Räterepublik
of 1919 followed the Bolshevik approach in a populist replacement of western institutions
with councils and soviets. It is true that the Nazis had their own populist undercurrent,
which featured particularly in the 1933 ‘town-hall revolutions’; but this was brought to heel
by Hitler in the Night of the Long Knives once it had become apparent that Röhm was
exceeding the powers allowed to him by the Führer.
Yet are the arguments against the Nazi regime being ‘revolutionary’ any more convincing
than those for its ‘legality’? Or, to put the case the other way round, disputing its legality
helps, for two reasons, to confirm that it was revolutionary. First, we have already seen that
the basic purpose of regime was nothing less than the destruction of constitutional democracy.
In whatever way this was to be achieved, it was still a seizure of power – conforming to
Hitler’s notion of Machtergreifung. Although the institutions of the Weimar Constitution
still existed (even with some of their previous functions) they had none of their previous
powers. Indeed, these powers were now exercised by new institutions that had been imposed
alongside the existing ones: the extent of this is examined more fully in the next section.
Why should the substitution of power to duplicated institutions be considered any less
revolutionary than the establishment of entirely new ones? The ‘substance’ of power was
what counted, not the ‘shadow’. Second, the whole process involved a revolutionary
undercurrent that had always been apparent in the Nazi movement. It is true that Röhm’s
attempted changes in 1934 were crushed. But these could be seen as a tactical challenge
to the direction Hitler was taken. This is, after all, a common feature of revolutions, whether
in the form of Robespierre against Danton or Stalin against Trotsky. What counts in the
end is the monopoly of coercive power held by the main revolutionary faction. In the case
of the Nazi ‘revolution’ this control was just as clear as in the Soviet equivalent. The
disciplining of the SA was accomplished by the SS, the innermost core of the SA that had
emerged by 1934 to become a separate entity. The ultimate purpose to which this new
institution was put must even be considered to have exceeded the customary parameters of
‘revolution’. Not only had the SS come to control the operation of many state powers by
1941; it was also the means whereby Nazi racial policies were to be achieved. The Holocaust
went beyond revolution. But it arose from it.

Party, government and leadership

By the end of 1934 Hitler had, to all intents and purposes, destroyed the Weimar Republic.
The constitution of 1919 was never formally abrogated but all opposition parties had been
eliminated, individual rights withdrawn, the Reichstag’s control over the government ended,
and all the major offices of state concentrated into the hands of one man. Democracy had
been superseded by dictatorship and institutionalized terror. The traditional view is that this
was efficient and tightly organized, with Hitler in total control. This view has, however,
undergone modification. It is now argued that the German dictatorship was far less orderly
than used to be supposed; indeed, there were elements of chaos. Basically, there existed in
the Third Reich two competing trends. One was the revolutionary activism of the Nazi
movement, the other the persistence of traditional institutions and structures. The result was
duplication, overlapping and conflict, evidence of which can be seen at the levels both of
central and local governments.
192 Dictatorship in Germany

Despite the so-called ‘Nazi revolution’, central government experienced a surprising

degree of continuity. All the former ministries were retained, and their powers were even
increased by the Enabling Act. The civil service continued to function; in the words of
Noakes and Pridham, it was a ‘bureaucracy of high competence and long traditions’.45 There
was certainly no attempt to destroy existing institutions and to replace them with new NSDAP
organs. Hitler was never overenthusiastic about the idea of undiluted party rule, but preferred
to develop parallel institutions, which generally competed with each other. There were several
examples of this process. One was the appointment of Special Deputies who were outside
the government ministries but fulfilled similar functions to ministers. Hence, Todt, as
General Inspector for German Roads, overlapped and came into conflict with the Minister
of Transport, while the Youth Leader of the Reich had powers which impinged on those
of the Minister of Education.46
The confusion was compounded by the development of a third layer of personnel, who
were outside the scope both of the normal ministers and of the parallel party functionaries.
These included the office of the Deputy Führer, the Four-Year Plan Office (along,
confusingly, with its six ministries), and the SS/Gestapo/SD complex under the authority
of Himmler. All this resulted in widespread inefficiency. The main problems were the
duplication of functions between agencies and growing conflict between officials. On
numerous occasions appeals were made to the Führer himself to arbitrate in disputes between
them. His response was to distance himself from routine disputes and to rely upon Hess as
a mediator. Faced with this sort of problem, it is hardly surprising that there was a threat
of creeping inertia among subordinates as officials at all levels shied away from taking
responsibility through fear of making a mistake – not of policy but of jurisdiction.
Untidiness and overlapping were also apparent in local government, where two main
types of authority jostled for power. The first type comprised the traditional authorities,
under the Minister-President of each state. This office was retained even when the Reich
was reconstructed in January 1934 and the federal system weakened. The Minister-President
was regarded as a useful post in the Nazi regime and was subordinated to the central
government’s Ministry of the Interior. Meanwhile, a second type of official had emerged
– one which was based more directly on the party. Hitler decided to appoint ten Reich
Governors from among the most prominent of the Party Gauleiters; their purpose was to
enforce the Führer’s edicts and orders. What happened was open competition and conflict
between the Ministers-President and the Governors, each complaining regularly to central
government about the activities of the other.
What was the reason for this curious state of affairs? Two broad explanations have been
advanced by historians. One is that Hitler did all this on purpose. The ‘intentionalists’ argue
that Hitler deliberately set his institutions and officials against each other in order to maintain
his own position as the only one who could manoeuvre between them. Bracher, for example,
maintains that Hitler remained detached from the struggles between officials: ‘the antagon-
isms of power were only resolved in the key position of the omnipotent Führer’; indeed
‘the dictator held a key position precisely because of the confusion of conflicting power
groups’.47 Similarly, Hildebrand believes that ‘The confusion of functions among a multitude
of mutually hostile authorities made it necessary and possible for the Führer to take decisions
in every case of dispute, and can be regarded as a foundation of his power.’48
An alternative position is taken by historians usually categorized as ‘structuralists’ or
‘functionalists’. They stress that any chaos was entirely unintended and that it resulted from
confusion and neglect. Far from deliberately distancing himself from competing officials
in order to maintain his position, Hitler was simply showing incompetence and administrative
 Dictatorship in Germany 193

weakness. According to Broszat, ‘The authoritative Führer’s will was expressed only
irregularly, unsystematically and incoherently.’49 Mommsen maintains that ‘Instead of func-
tioning as a balancing element in the government, Hitler disrupted the conduct of affairs
by continually acting on sudden impulses, each one different, and partly by delaying
decisions on current matters.’50
The debate has been given a new dimension by Kershaw’s use of the concept of ‘working
towards the Führer’, a term quoted from Hitler’s state secretaries in the mid-1930s. Kershaw
maintains that Hitler provided the essential goals, such as territorial expansion eastwards
and the removal of Jews and other race ‘enemies’; Hitler was also the ‘unifier’, ‘activator’
and ‘enabler’ in the Third Reich. In these ways he provided the impetus between radical
policies. Yet the actual implementation of policy was ‘largely brought about by others,
without Hitler’s clear direction’.51 Hence Hitler was not trying to create chaos in order to
create his own position. That was the result of others acting on the ‘will of the Führer’ as
they interpreted it.
Which of these is the more likely scenario? As is often the case in historical interpretation,
a judicious combination of the two schools is possible. There is no doubt that Hitler did
whatever he could to fragment potential opposition: indeed, he had already welcomed the
partial collapse of the party while he was in Landsberg prison. It is not, therefore, beyond
the realms of possibility that he welcomed discordance within the state in order to regulate
his subordinates and prevent the emergence of ‘overmighty’ barons. The ‘intentionalists’
therefore have a point. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine this being planned. The
deliberate projection of chaos carries enormous risks which may seem justifiable in retrospect
but which can hardly have been chanced at the time. In any case, if the original ‘legal
revolution’ had been ‘planned’ on the basis of the simplest and most direct route to
dictatorship, what would have been the logic in complicating the process by deliberately
creating overlapping bureaucratic layers? The balance of credibility therefore switches here
to the ‘structuralists’. But only when considering the origins of the chaos; once we focus
on its continuation, Bracher’s perspective makes more sense. Conceding that the chaos was
unintended, what possible motive could Hitler have had for tolerating it unless it was in
his interests to do so? Would it be too much to assume that, having adjusted his approach
to taking power by 1933 and to consolidating it by 1934, Hitler would have been unable
to correct any aberrations thrown up in the process? It is more likely that it suited Hitler
to live with the chaos which had emerged despite his efforts because this was an effective
way of cancelling out trouble-makers within the party. Broszat therefore convincingly
explains the origins of the Nazi administrative chaos, with Bracher providing the vital reason
for its continuation.

Coercion and terror

Changes in the political system were accompanied and reinforced by the transformation of
the institutions of justice and of law and order. The basic principles of the law were radically
altered while, at the same time, there developed an enormously powerful apparatus of
coercion and terror. In effect, the Third Reich was under a perpetual state of emergency.
The legal system was altered in both theory and practice. Hitler disliked the ‘liberal’ and
‘formalistic’ elements of legal theory. Instead, he insisted that the basis of law should be
the ‘healthy popular feeling’ and ‘welfare of the national community’.52 In practice, the
‘legal revolution’ brought government control over the whole judiciary. Judges were
appointed on the basis of their loyalty and part of their training had to include ‘a serious
194 Dictatorship in Germany

study of National Socialism and its ideological foundations’.53 For a while the process of
Nazification was incomplete, as Minister of Justice Gürtner was not himself a Nazi. On his
death in 1941, however, he was succeeded by Thierack, and the whole judicial system slid
under the control of the SS.
The latter was not the original force of Nazi coercion. This unofficial power belonged
to the Sturmabteilung (SA). Formed in 1921, this had been responsible for much of the
Nazi violence during the period of the Weimar Republic and the opening year of the Third
Reich. After the purge of 1934, however, the SA’s role was severely restricted. Although
it continued to provide street activists and bully-boys (as, for example, in their central role
in Kristallnacht in 1938), as well as some of the massed ranks for official ceremonies and
rallies, most of its powers and influence passed to the SS. The leaders of the SA, Lutze
(1934–43) and Schepmann (1943–5), had nothing like the authority wielded by Röhm
before his execution in 1934. Instead, Germany came under the thrall of a different set of
institutions collectively known as the SS/Gestapo/SD complex which was responsible for
all areas of policing and security – and for much else besides.

The SS
The SS/Gestapo/SD complex grew from three separate strands to form a network that covered
all areas of policing and security. The SS (Schutzstaffeln) originated in 1925 as the elite
within the SA and came under the leadership of Himmler in 1929. The SD (Sicherheitsdienst)
was set up in 1931 as the NSDAP’s internal police force. The Gestapo (Geheime
Staatspolizei) was established in Prussia by Goering in April 1933 and was initially
accountable to the Ministry of the Interior. Gradually the three strands came together. In
1934 Himmler became the effective head of the Gestapo, to which he added the position
of Reichsführer SS. The process was officially recognized in Hitler’s decree of 17 June
1936 ‘to unify the control of police duties in the Reich’. From this stage onwards the SS
expanded even further. It penetrated the army by means of the SS Special Service Troops
(SS-Verfügungstruppe – SS VT); from this was created the Waffen SS, the divisions at the
forefront of every military campaign. Finally, the SS took over from the SA the organization
of the concentration camps, manning them with the Death’s Head Formations (SS-
Totenkopfverbände), while the genocide programme from 1941 came under the control of
the Reich Security Main Office (Reichssicherheitshauptamt or RSHA).
The functions of the SS/Gestapo/SD complex became ever more extensive. As well as
security and policing, the SS underpinned the racial emphasis of the Volksgemeinschaft
more completely than did any of the state institutions. The SS also played a vital role in
seizing and administering German conquests in eastern Europe; above all, it was responsible
for implementing much of the Nazi extermination programmes, first through the
Einsatzgruppen, then through working to death in concentration camps or gas chambers in
the extermination camps. The main victims were ‘anti-social elements’ such as ‘Jews,
Gypsies, Russians and Ukrainians, Poles with sentences of more than three years, Czechs
and Germans with sentences of more than eight years’.54 Another key area of SS involvement
was the economy, where it ran a large number of industrial enterprises through the Main
Administrative Office for Business and Commerce. Finally, Himmler even brought the SS
into matters of religion. In 1937 he maintained that it was part of ‘the mission of the SS to
give the German people over the next fifty years the non-Christian ideological foundations
for a way of life appropriate to their character’. At first his views had comparatively little
influence, largely because Hitler at the outset maintained a pragmatic connection with the
 Dictatorship in Germany 195

Christian churches, especially through the 1933 Concordat, and frowned at anything that
might disrupt this. The real influence of the SS came during the late 1930s and the period
of war, when Hitler and other Nazi leaders accepted Himmler’s assertions that Christianity
was pacifist, unpatriotic and pro-Jewish. By then the SS had extensively incorporated
paganism into its ritual and had led Nazism into a strongly anti-Christian stance that was
not shared by the majority of Germans.
These developments altered the whole balance of the Nazi state. At first the regime had
been a compromise between party influences on the one hand and, on the other, the traditional
forces in the administration, army and business. In 1933 and 1934, the period of the so-
called ‘legal revolution’, the SS played a subordinate role. Increasingly, however, it became
independent of both the party and the state, although two recent historians have disagreed
about the extent of the actual influence of the SS or as to whether the Nazi state was converted
into an ‘SS state’.
Browder sees the SS as a constantly expanding entity that exerted huge influence on the
whole development of Nazism: it went beyond anything originally envisaged by Hitler, who
had initially considered the priority to be measures to maintain domestic control during his
pursuit of an active foreign policy. Although Hitler ‘did not have to be persuaded to adopt
a police-state system like the one Himmler offered’, he did have to abandon his customary
principle of divide and rule in concentrating ‘enormous powers in Himmler’s hands’. As
for the later policies of imperialism and genocide, ‘These required the SS state’.55 Browder
maintains that the SS helped shape Hitler’s policy here. ‘Hitler had not yet formulated clear
lines of action that required the existence of the SS-police system.’ Therefore, ‘It was only
after the emergence of that machinery that the potential for radical solutions to “racial
problems” came into view as a correlated result.’56
Kitchen, on the other hand, emphasizes the limits of SS power and the strength of
opposition to it. Although the SS did indeed have ‘a vast commercial and industrial empire’,
this had to be ‘constantly defended against the claims of the military’. In the process, ‘many
a round was lost, and the SS were never able to achieve its aim of turning Nazi Germany
into an SS state’.57 There was, for example, some resistance from Wehrmacht officers to
SS attempts at infiltration and control, even though there was a surprising degree of co-
operation over action involving atrocities. A later – and more serious – breach opened up
between the SS and the NSDAP. From 1943 onwards Bormann controlled the party more
effectively than had any of his predecessors, acting increasingly as ‘Hitler’s Cerberus’.58
Despite the enormous powers he had accumulated, Himmler found himself increasingly
restricted in his direct contacts with the Führer. Goebbels, too, counted for more in the
political elite once he had been appointed Plenipotentiary for Total War from July 1944.
Bitter rivalries also developed between the SS, the government ministries and the new layers
of administration in eastern Europe. For example, Himmler clashed with Foreign Minister
Ribbentrop over policy towards Romania in 1941: Himmler and the SS supported the Iron
Guard in their bid for power, while Ribbentrop persuaded Hitler to back Antonescu. At the
same time Himmler was criticized by Governor Hans Frank over the SS deportations of
Poles and Jews into the Central Government, which disrupted Frank’s plans for the creation
of a German colony with a successful economy.
There were also multiple internal flaws within the SS: these included administrative
conflicts between the multiple branches and the various units within these branches. There
were questions as to the precise role of the SD and the relationship of the Gestapo with
Sipo and Kripo, while the WVHA’s interests in twenty concentration camps and 165 work
camps, as an integral part of the SS commercial enterprises, came into direct conflict with
196 Dictatorship in Germany

the RSHA over the extermination of potential labourers.59 Above all, there were bitter, and
frequently public, antagonisms between individuals. The most significant of these was
Himmler’s differences with Heydrich until the latter’s assassination in 1942. Heydrich was
a ruthless pragmatist, while Himmler was governed more by the principles of ‘racial purity’,
based on the ‘values of blood and selection’.60 According to Höhne, ‘the SS world was a
bizarre and nonsensical affair, devoid of all logic’. As such, ‘it was anything but an organ-
ization constructed and directed on some diabolically efficient system: it was the product
of accident and automatism. The real history of the SS is a story of idealists and criminals,
of place-seekers and romantics: it is the history of the most fantastic association of men
imaginable’.61 This may be seen as going too far. After all, might not the last point apply
to the story of Nazism generally? But, given that the ‘fantastic’ did occur, the SS should
be seen as playing a vital structural role in its realization. This makes more sense than
seeing the SS merely as a ‘fantastic’ part of the Nazi system.
An overall conclusion might be this. The SS under Himmler was the most completely
totalitarian part of the Nazi regime and, while it was expanding, provided the strongest
impetus behind the most radical measures of Nazism. During the first half of the war it
might even be seen as a state within a state. But it had too many internal structural defects
and personal conflicts to overcome the pressures mounting against it from the NSDAP and
the Wehrmacht. It eventually imploded under the threat of imminent defeat by the Allies
– especially by the Red Army in Berlin in 1945. The SS was, therefore, better at expansion
than it was at consolidation.

The Gestapo
The Gestapo (Geheimestaatspolizei), along with Kripo (Kriminalpolizei), was a section of
Sipo (Sicherheitspolizei), although it is far better known than these other two institutions
within the SS orbit. Its main leader, under Himmler, was Heydrich, followed, after the latter’s
death in 1942, by Müller and Best. Along with the Soviet KGB, the Gestapo became the
twentieth century’s epitome of the effective and all-embracing totalitarian police force
affecting the entire population. But how true is this picture?
Earlier historians tended to regard the Gestapo as a success story. Crankshaw, for
example, considered it a ‘highly professional corps’.62 According to Schultz, ‘scarcely a
politically significant initiative against the National Socialist regime went undetected’.63
Delarue maintains, ‘Never before, in no other land and at no other time, had an organisation
attained such a comprehensive penetration of society, possessed such power’.64 More recent
views, by contrast, have stressed that the reputation of the Gestapo is a myth that derives
from its own propaganda. Gellately, for example believes that ‘The Gestapo’s reputation
for brutality no doubt assisted the police in the accomplishment of its tasks, but brutality
alone . . . does not provide a satisfactory explanation for its effective functioning’.65 Mallman
and Paul argue that the Gestapo was insufficiently equipped to carry out its directives and
that it had to rely on information volunteered by members of the public. Recent local studies
show that ‘the Gestapo at local level was hardly an imposing detective organization, but
rather an under-staffed, under-bureaucratized agency, limping along behind the permanent
inflation of its tasks’.66 This applied to Gestapo headquarters in Stettin, Koslin, Hanover,
Bremen, Dortmund, Düsseldorf, Würzburg and other areas. The outbreak of war aggravated
the problem with a further decline in the number of staff. Inexperienced officials replaced
those who had been conscripted into the Wehrmacht. The total membership of the Gestapo
was little more than 32,000, of which only half were fully concerned with the task of political
 Dictatorship in Germany 197

policing.67 In the circumstances it could function only through the enormous number of
denunciations which came from a generally compliant population. Some authorities have
even asserted that the effectiveness of the Gestapo was superseded by the East German
police force, the Stasi, itself directly influenced by the Soviet NKVD and KGB. This is a
clear indication that the totalitarian policing methods of Stalin’s Russia have been considered
more effective than those of Hitler’s Germany.
The latest interpretations have returned to a more central position, where the Gestapo
now reassumes its capacity for inflicting terror on the population without being totally
dependent on the latter’s complicity. Burleigh, for example, questions the focus on ‘desk-
bound policemen, almost buried under the avalanche of denunciations from ordinary citizens’.
Instead, ‘The Gestapo’s primary task was to destroy political and clerical opposition. It was
clearly highly effective’ in smashing Communist resistance which sank ‘without trace
between 1939 and 1941’.68 According to Evans, the emphasis on a ‘self-policing’ society
underestimates the ‘terror and intimidation in the functioning of the Third Reich’.69 Johnson
believes that the stress on denunciations tends to ‘underestimate and obscure’ the capability
of the Gestapo and to ‘overestimate the culpability of ordinary German citizens’.70
Between them, these changes in approach provide a good example of the way in which
historical interpretation typically works. In this case, the pendulum starts with a swing towards
the ‘top-down’ effectiveness of a totalitarian institution. This is later replaced by a sweep
towards a greater emphasis on a ‘bottom-up’ collusion from the population, followed in
turn by a partial return to the ‘top-down’ explanation, although with some acknowledgement
of popular co-operation. There are other examples of similar historiographical patterns
elsewhere in this chapter and in other parts of this book.

Indoctrination and propaganda

According to Goebbels, reconciliation with – or neutrality towards – the new regime was
insufficient. ‘Rather’, he said at a press conference on 15 March 1933, ‘we want to work
on people until they have capitulated to us, until they grasp ideologically that what is
happening in Germany today not only must be accepted but also can be accepted’.71 Eighteen
months later, at a Nazi Party Congress in Nuremberg, he emphasized the importance of
propaganda in accomplishing this. ‘Among the arts with which one rules a people, it ranks
in first place.’ Indeed, ‘there exists no sector of public life which can escape its influence’.72
An administrative infrastructure was clearly needed to co-ordinate the transmission of
ideology. This was developed by two changes. The first increased the power of the Ministry
of Education over the states, or Länder, to remove the possible threat of local particularism
to the achievement of educational conformity. The second established a new Ministry for
People’s Enlightenment and Propaganda in 1933. Under the overall control of Goebbels,
this eventually comprised a series of chambers for press, radio, theatre, music, creative arts
and film. In theory the regime now had the power to apply negative censorship in whatever
form it considered necessary and, more constructively, to shape the development of culture
at all levels.
How effectively did these institutions carry out the regime’s intentions? Any assessment
needs to make a distinction between ‘propaganda’ and ‘indoctrination’. It is true that the two
were connected in that indoctrination of the population involved regular exposure to official
propaganda. There were, however, separate features. Indoctrination was a process carried
out largely in education, the youth movements, the workplace and the armed forces. Propa-
ganda made more direct use of channels such as radio, cinema and the press. Indoctrination
was a continuous, long-term process, whereas propaganda provided the highlights.
198 Dictatorship in Germany

Indoctrination, education and youth movements

The methods used to indoctrinate Germany’s youth were nothing if not thorough. The main
intention was to indoctrinate, to implant fixed ideas and doctrines, rather than to open
minds. Hence, Hitler once said, ‘When an opponent declares “I will not come over to your
side”, I calmly say, “Your child belongs to us already.”’ The subjects primarily affected
were history, which emphasized Nordic, Nazi and military themes; science, based strongly
on Nazi race theories; and literature, which was virulently anti-Semitic. The school
curriculum also received the additions of race study and eugenics, used as vehicles for Nazi
ideology. In some areas ‘elite’ schools were established, the most important of which were
the Napolas (to educate future government and military personnel), the Adolf Hitler Schools
and the Castles of Order. Teachers were recruited and kept for their ideological conformity,
their main obligation being ‘to defend without reservation the National Socialist state’.73
To guarantee this degree of loyalty, membership of the Nationalsozialistische Lehrerbund
(NSLB), or Nazi Teachers’ Association, was compulsory. The impact of these measures
was considerable, creating among the young an emotional commitment to the regime which
was often absent in the adult population. The universities were also the target of a regime
which both despised and feared the academic world. Again the emphasis was on ideological
conformity. The Minister of Culture told the universities in 1933: ‘From now on, it will
not be your job to determine whether something is true, but whether it is in the spirit of
the National Socialist revolution.’74 To enforce this new approach to higher learning, the
government deprived university senates of their authority and assumed control of the
appointment of rectors.
In many ways, however, the educational process was flawed. Changes were held up by
constant argument between administrative and party organs. For example, the Ministry of
Education continued to use the guidelines of the Weimar Republic largely because it could
not agree with the party headquarters the shape of their replacement. The conflict between
Ley and Rust on the one hand and Bormann and Hess on the other meant that the new
regulations for elementary education were delayed until 1939, while secondary schools were
served little better. This had two unfortunate side-effects for the Nazis. One was the dilution
of the content of the curriculum by more traditional influences than was originally intended.
The other was the persistence of confusion within the schools themselves as to the precise
means of delivering the curriculum. Gestapo reports were full of references to unsatisfactory
teachers; but many of these were probably confused rather than deliberately uncooperative.
There was also a serious decline in educational standards. A typical complaint expressed
by the army was that ‘Many of the candidates applying for commissions display a simply
inconceivable lack of elementary knowledge.’75 Vocational and technical schools frequently
claimed that basic ignorance seriously impeded normal coverage of the curriculum. There
were also problems in higher education: Nazi policies led inevitably to a decline in the
standard of scientific research, especially with the abolition of the ‘Jewish Physics’ of Albert
Einstein. Ultimately Germany paid a heavy penalty for this straitjacket on academic freedom,
losing against the Western Allies the race to develop the atomic bomb.
Indoctrination was also attempted by means of mobilization through the youth movements.
All young people were to be trained for a future role. In the case of boys this was military
service, while for girls the emphasis was on preparation for marriage and motherhood. To
ensure the martial and marital message did get through, boys and girls were co-opted into
the Hitler Youth. This was subdivided into several components. Boys joined the Deutsches
Jungvolk (DJ) at the age of ten, proceeding at fourteen into the Hitlerjugend (HJ). Similarly,
girls entered the Jungmädelbund (JM) at ten and the Bund Deutscher Madel (BDM) at
 Dictatorship in Germany 199

fourteen. The whole organization was placed under the control of Baldur von Shirach as
the Reichsjugendführer. Total membership of the Hitler Youth grew from 2.3 million in
1933 to 7 million in 1939, increasing during the same period from 30.4 per cent to 77.2
per cent of the 10–18 age group.
How important was the Hitler Youth in the Nazi system? In some respects the varied
activities had widespread appeal, initially appearing as a challenge to more conservative
forms of authority and giving youth a sense of collective power. Earlier historians tended
to emphasize the seductive nature of the various sections: Jarman, for example, wrote in
the 1950s that ‘it was a real punishment to remain, for any reason, outside’. Children ‘wanted
to march and sing and salute’ and ‘to enjoy the wonderful, exciting life’ that was organized
for them or ‘to go to the Nazi camps’.76 There was also a tendency to dwell on the success
of the whole process of indoctrination. There may well be some truth in both of these points,
especially during the earlier stages of the movement. It had widespread appeal, giving youth
excitement and a sense of collective power; within it there was also extensive adulation for
the Führer himself. But more recently historians have stressed the failings of the Hitler
Youth. The whole organization suffered from administrative imbalance: this time the conflict
was between the Ministry of Education and the Reich Youth Leadership over underlying
objectives and priorities. This meant that the Hitler Youth and the education system frequently
diverged. It also lost part of its attraction to many young people as it came to be seen as
part of the new establishment. This is particularly strongly put by Peukert.77 According to
the latter, ‘The more the Hitler Youth arrogated state powers to itself, and the more
completely young people were assimilated into the organisation, the more clearly visible
became an emergent pattern of youth nonconformity.’ As a result, significant numbers sought
‘their own unregimented styles in spontaneous groups and gangs’.78 This accelerated rapidly
with the emergence of the Edelweiss Pirates and Navajos (see p. 211) and the further
proliferation of dissident subcultures under the impact of war.
Yet it should not be deduced from this that the Hitler Youth lost its direct impact. It was
rather that its overall emphasis changed over time. Although there had been some decline
in its general appeal and its capacity to generate enthusiasm, there was, by contrast, a
strengthening of its more specific contributions to the Nazi system. The work of Rempel
and Harvey79 provide two examples of this. Rempel shows the growing importance of the
boys’ section of the Hitler Youth as a source of recruitment to the SS, providing constant
replenishment during the war years. The female equivalent, emphasized by Harvey, was
the recruitment of many former members of the BDM for service in the Volkstumskampf;
this involved an important non-military contribution to the Germanization of conquered
territories in the East. There is also evidence that the Hitler Youth system lost none of the
intensity of its powers to indoctrinate, even if declining proportions of its membership were
affected. After all, among the most fanatical of Hitler’s last-ditch resistance fighters against
the invading Allies in 1945 were recruits from the Hitler Youth who filled some of the gaps
left in the collapsing Wehrmacht.

Propaganda and culture

The main target of indoctrination was youth, while propaganda and culture affected the
entire population. The institution mainly responsible was the Ministry of People’s
Enlightenment and Propaganda which fulfilled two functions. In the words of Goebbels,
the minister in charge, ‘popular enlightenment is essentially something passive; propaganda,
on the other hand, is something active’. Propaganda had to dominate. ‘It is not enough to
200 Dictatorship in Germany

reconcile people more or less to our regime, to move them towards a position of neutrality
towards us.’ Instead, it was essential to ‘work on people until they are addicted to us’.80 As
with the indoctrination of youth, the impact of propaganda and the new culture met with a
mixed degree of success.
The Nazis gave priority to the radio since this increased the impression of personal contact
between the people and their leader, thereby enhancing the effectiveness of the Führer cult.
Goebbels was convinced that the Reich had to make full use of technology to enable state
propaganda to reach the masses. Increased access to radio sets was, of course, an essential
prerequisite for the success of this approach. This was achieved, with ownership of sets
increased from 25 per cent of households in 1932 to 70 per cent by 1939, the largest
proportion anywhere in the world. These were all brought into a web of the Reich
Broadcasting Corporation, over which the government established control in 1933. Radio
was also used to generate a feeling of collective loyalty by communal listening to Hitler’s
speeches, which were relayed by loudspeakers specially set up factories, stores, offices and
blocks of flats. For the vast majority of the population the radio provided the most abiding
impression of the Führer that they were ever likely to have. As such this component of
propaganda must go down as a considerable success.
Film proved a more difficult medium and the regime used it less effectively than it did
radio. The most accomplished film was not necessarily the most influential. Riefenstahl’s
Triumph of the Will was commissioned by Hitler himself as a record of the Nuremberg
rallies of 1934. Technically a brilliant achievement, it created a multi-layered image of
Nazism which brought in all elements of society and directly fostered the Führer cult. On
the other hand, it was too long for most audiences, who sometimes reacted negatively to
the repetition of the same types of scene. During the war years the anti-Semitic component
of films became more extreme; here, however, Hitler’s vision of what was likely to engage
the public was less effective than that of Goebbels. The Eternal Jew, commissioned by
Hitler and directed by Hippler, was so crude that audiences were repelled by the images
created. The anti-Semitic message was conveyed more skilfully through a feature film, Jud
Süss. By this stage, Goebbels had learned how to introduce propaganda as a subliminal
message within the context of a story with which the viewers could identify. This applied
also to his attempts to engender a spirit of resistance to the Allies with his film on Frederick
the Great. But such developments came too late to have anything but a peripheral effect on
the morale of a population facing imminent defeat.
At first it proved more difficult to subordinate the press to propaganda. One reason was
that it had had longer to develop under private ownership, whereas the more recent technology
of the radio could be brought more easily under state control. Another was that the number
of newspapers had greatly increased during the period of the Weimar Republic to a total of
over 4,700: these covered a diversity of views, attitudes and allegiances. Gradually, however,
the government extended its powers. State-owned newspapers increased from 2.5 per cent
of the total in 1933 to 82 per cent by the end of the Nazi era. The German News Agency
(DNB) was set up to control the activities and output of journalists, who were made
responsible to the state rather than to their editors. There were also regulations for the
presentation of news features, with detailed guidelines on the line to take. It was, for
example, forbidden to show photographs showing government ministers drinking alcohol in
case these should give the mistaken impression that they were taking their responsibilities
lightly. The result was a less stimulating read for those among the public who avoided the
official Nazi propaganda of the Völkischer Beobachter or the virulent extremes of Streicher’s
Der Stürmer. The decline in German readership was therefore hardly surprising.
 Dictatorship in Germany 201

The Nazis attempted to introduce a new cultural policy, or Kulturpolitik; according to

Welch, they were ‘the first party systematically to organize the entire cultural
life of a nation’.81 But this, too, produced problems. The Ministry of People’s Enlightenment
and Propaganda found much in the arts that was suspect or even objectionable but never
quite succeeded in promoting an alternative. Traditional literature, art and music were
severely pruned, with the intention of allowing the growth of a new and distinctive Nazi
culture. The results were generally negative. Literature experienced a complete void; music
experienced some new activity; and art developed rapidly – but with work of low quality.
Literature was heavily affected by preventive censorship. This involved book-burning
sessions, mobilized by the SA, and the removal of over 2,500 German authors from the
approved lists. To some extent, destruction was cathartic – the relief of pent-up anti-
intellectualism. It could never seriously have been the preliminary to an alternative Nazi
literature. It discouraged any diversity of viewpoints and individual experience, seeking
instead to stereotype collectivism. Within this atmosphere any chance of creating much of
an ‘official’ literature disappeared, even supposing that the population would have been
allowed any time to read it.
The visual arts were more successfully used by the Nazis in inculcating basic ‘blood and
soil’ values. Painters like Kampf and Ziegler were able to provide pictorial stereotypes of
physical appearance, of women as mothers and home-minders, and of men in a variety of
martial roles. Such images reinforced the roles already developed through the institutions
of indoctrination, such as the BDM and the HJ. On the negative side, the result was a form
of art which was bland and lacking in talent: the vacuum produced by preventive censorship
was filled with mediocrity. Of all the art forms, it was architecture which held the deepest
interest for Hitler; it would, after all, be the visible measure of the expected millennium of
Nazi rule. Hitler made the revealing comment in 1937 that ‘the greater the demands the
state makes upon its people, the more imposing it must appear to them’. He therefore became
obsessively involved in designs for the rebuilding of Berlin and Nuremberg – plans eventually
scrapped because of their unsurpassed ugliness.
The Nazi regime ended the period of musical experimentation which had been a major
cultural feature of the Weimar Republic. The works of Schoenberg and Berg were considered
un-German, while those of Mendelssohn were banned as ‘Jewish’. Yet the majority of
German or Austrian composers were unaffected and retained their place as part of Germany’s
cultural heritage. The Nazis did, however, use certain composers as the spearhead of their
cultural penetration: foremost among these was Wagner, whose Ring cycle was seen by
Hitler as the musical embodiment of völkisch values. Contemporary composers like Richard
Strauss and Carl Orff had ambivalent attitudes. They managed to coexist with the regime
and produce work which outlived the Reich. In this sense the quality of the Reich’s musical
output was superior to the work of painters like Kampf and Ziegler, but the result was less
distinctively Nazi. Overall, Nazi culture was ephemeral and, unlike Socialist Realism in
Russia, had no lasting impact.

Indoctrination, propaganda and the test of war

The ultimate test of the success of Nazi propaganda was whether the people of Germany
could be brought to accept the experience of war. Throughout the Nazi era there were really
two levels of propaganda: one put across Hitler’s basic ideology, the other made pragmatic
adjustments to fit the needs of the moment. Up to 1939, pragmatism frequently diluted
ideology, giving rise to considerable theoretical inconsistency in Hitler’s ideas. During this
202 Dictatorship in Germany

period Hitler was presented as a man of peace and yet all the processes of indoctrination
and propaganda emphasized struggle and its martial refinement.
The period 1939–45 tended to bring together more completely the man and his ideas.
This occurred in two stages. The first was the acclimatization of the people to the idea of
war, achieved through the emphasis on Blitzkrieg, or ‘lightning war’. Logically this fitted
in with the notion of easy conquest achieved by the ‘master race’, and while it lasted it was
a considerable success: Hitler probably reached the peak of his popularity in 1940, at the
time of the fall of France. During the second stage, however, propaganda had to acclimatize
the people to the experience of war. At first Goebbels scored a propaganda success in his
‘total war’ speech in 1941, but in the longer term there was a clear decline in popular
enthusiasm. From 1943 the main characteristic shown by German civilians was fortitude
in the face of adversity and destruction, not a fanatical desire to achieve a world vision. By
this stage, Nazi propaganda and indoctrination had not so much failed as become irrelevant.

Women in the Third Reich

Women played a crucial role in electing and supporting the Nazis: according to Boak: ‘the
NSDAP received more votes from women than from men in some areas before 1932 and
throughout the Reich in 1932’.82 Hitler was also massively popular with women, although
the adulation for him was not extended to most of his subordinates. For many years after
the fall of the Reich the assumption was that women submitted totally to the regime
receiving, in return, inducements for marriage and childbearing as compensation for being
deprived of equality of opportunity and higher-level careers. They tended to be seen as
generalized masses with a common pattern of behaviour and an overall inertness, deprived
of any scope for individual achievement other than in the home environment. But recent
historiography, to which major contributions have been made by women, has moved away
from this approach by integrating women more fully into the mainstream of German life.
As such, they would have had the full range of views about Hitler and Nazism – and would
have played a more active role in the Reich. This is not to deny the existence of gender-
based exploitation but, rather, to question the extent of its enervating impact.
That Nazism was an ‘overtly misogynistic movement’83 can certainly be seen in the
views of the Nazi leadership that women had a limited and clearly defined role. In a rally
at Nuremberg in 1934 Hitler said that ‘man’s world is the State’, while ‘the world of the
woman is a smaller world. For her the world is her husband, her family, her children and
her house’.84 According to Goebbels: ‘The mission of woman is to be beautiful and to bring
children into the world . . . the female prettifies herself for her mate and hatches the eggs
for him.’85 The emphasis on reproductive and domestic functions produced an overall policy
to remove women from the top levels of the civil service, law, medicine and politics. At
all stages there was a heavy stress on women’s racial ‘responsibilities’. The opportunity to
qualify was also affected, the number of female university students falling by nearly three-
quarters between 1933 and 1939. Instead, girls were given a narrow education and were
indoctrinated to their role in the BDM. The rules for selecting a marriage partner, issued
by the Nazi Racial Policy Bureau, included instructions like: ‘Being a German, only choose
a spouse of similar or related blood’ and ‘your duty is to produce at least four offspring in
order to ensure the future of the national stock’.86 Once married, women were induced to
stay at home by new marriage credits and child bonuses.
Yet these measures were never particularly successful. The general decline of
unemployment created a new demand for labour. The result was the steady recruitment of
 Dictatorship in Germany 203

women into both agriculture and industry, the total reaching 5.2 million by 1938. In any
case, it has been established by Stephenson that the exclusion of non-Aryans and political
opponents ‘from influential or promoted positions in thoroughgoing purges in 1933’ meant
that ‘German male labour and professional expertise were not alone sufficient for the
regime’s ambitions’. Hence women were encouraged to enter the employment market,
‘even areas that had previously been designated “men’s” jobs’.87 For some women, therefore,
the Nazi regime brought further opportunities than had been available under the Weimar
Republic. This applied especially to women who had few formal qualifications but wished
to be involved in political activism. Nor were overt Nazi policies fully enforced in the
professions, from which women were far from fully excluded. Women remained in teaching,
medicine, the law and the civil service, although most were in lower positions or women’s
sections. Opportunities increased during the war with the shortage of men in the professions,
although many of the highly qualified never regained their former status. Even the bulwark
of Nazi racial policy – the family – was not fully protected. Divorce rates increased more
rapidly than marriage rates in Nazi Germany, while the number of births fell far short of
expectations: the overall pattern had been a gradual decline in the Weimar Republic followed
by a gradual increase in the Third Reich – but only to earlier Republic levels.
It is now recognized that the Nazi system ‘rested on a female hierarchy as well as a male
chain of command’.88 The largest organization within this was the NS-Frauenschaft (NSF
or Nazi Women’s Group) which also co-ordinated the Deutsches Frauenwerk (DFW or
German Women’s Enterprise) and the Women’s Labour Service. By 1935 about eleven
million out of the country’s thirty-five million females belonged to the NS-Frauenschaft
and were willing to support the ideas and beliefs of Nazism. Women were responsible for
implementing the increasing number of laws affecting social planning by providing the
details and names of those who were Jews or racially or socially ‘unfit’; many of the latter
were eventually subjected to sterilization or ‘euthanasia’. Women also organized the
redistribution of Jewish property that had been confiscated. Above all, women leaders
exercised a profound influence on the German family, regarding it, in the words of Koonz,
as ‘an invasion route that could give them access to every German’s most personal values
and decisions’.89 A detailed analysis has also been provided of women’s involvement in
Volkstumskampf, the Germanization of the East.90 Initially this meant the borderlands, then
from 1939 the occupied areas of Poland and other eastern areas. According to Harvey,
volunteers created ‘model communities and a model domestic culture as the bedrock of the
future German nation’.91 Young women, who had been fully ‘socialized’ and inducted into
Nazi ideology through the BDM and the Women’s Labour Service, provided help and advice
– not always appreciated by the local population – on the welfare of mothers and families.
Sometimes they went beyond this in carrying out the more penetrative policies of occupation
such as the redistribution of property confiscated from Poles to new or existing German
settlers.92
More attention is now also paid to individual leaders within this system. The most
significant was Gertrud Scholtz-Klink, the leader of the NS-Frauenschaft/DFW and the
Women’s Labour Service. Although never acknowledged as in any way equal to her male
counterparts, she nevertheless had administrative ability and exerted considerable influ-
ence over a total of seven million women. Auguste Reber-Gruber, meanwhile, supervised
100,000 women teachers in Germany. To her, the purpose of education was to mould
‘German girls as the carriers of the National Socialist point of view’.93 She was more
distrusted than Scholtz-Klink by male administrators because she was more combative and
less diplomatic or submissive. Sophie Rogge-Berne was more openly feminist than either
204 Dictatorship in Germany

of these, arguing in 1937 that it was misguided to remove women from the professions
since ‘Women doctors could give aid and comfort to fatigued mothers. Women teachers
would be most suited to instruct adolescent girls. Women jurists would be most qualified
for dealing with cases involving children’.94
The ‘female hierarchy’ was supposed to harmonize with the rest of the administrative
structure. In fact, it contributed to contradictions and tensions within that structure. A
fundamental conflict developed between the submissive role of womanhood in the racial
state on the one hand and their part in their more active involvement in the economy and
Lebensraum on the other. It was extremely difficult to combine the two. Hitler’s ideas about
the subservience of women, although integral to his larger racial vision, actually impeded
the achievement of the expansion he wanted. Conflict arose with his subordinates as Hitler
rejected pleas from Speer, Sauckel and others for the conscription of women to the wartime
workforce or for the increase in women’s wages. This partially explains the huge increase
in conscripted and slave labour from conquered territories – which was still not sufficient
given the ever-increasing threat to Germany from the western Allies and the Soviet Union.
Goebbels forced the issue with his official announcement of Total War in 1943, which
meant that women were finally drafted into wartime work. Another example of the tension
within the policy towards women was Himmler’s obsession with Aryan breeding, which
produced fissures within already established policy. Giving full credibility to unmarried
mothers and instituting the policy of Lebensborn increased the gap between parts of the
Nazi leadership, official morality and the Catholic Church.95 Even the involvement of
women in the Volkstumskampf created tensions within the increasingly complex
administrative machinery for the conquered territories. Their work frequently crossed the
conventional line of the female role, which resentful male administrators saw them as
transgressing. As in almost every other area of Reich administration there was therefore a
degree of confusion and conflict.
If women were more active in the Nazi regime than was once thought, what implications
does this have for their responsibility for the actions taken in the name of that regime? It
has always been acknowledged that a number of women contributed to some of the worst
crimes of the Nazi era, especially the 3,000 female warders in concentration camps (such
as Irma Griese at Auschwitz and Ilse Koch at Buchenwald); at the same time, the vast
majority of women have been considered submissive to a regime that in many ways
victimized them. More recently, as we have seen, the emphasis has moved to a more widely
spread complicity in the enforcement of Nazi ideas. As Koonz argues, ‘Over time, Nazi
women, no less than men, destroyed the ethical vision, debased humane traditions, and
rendered decent people helpless.’ Yet, she continues ‘other women, as victims and resisters,
risked their lives to ensure Nazi defeat and preserve their own ideals’.96 The extent of their
opposition ranged, as with men, from mild dissent to active campaigning (as with Sophie
Scholl in White Rose) and secret work for SOPADE. Yet the emphasis on women’s
complicity or opposition has been accompanied by acknowledgement of their victimhood,
but in a more gender-specific sense – the rape of hundreds of thousands of women and girls
by invading armies in 1945, especially in the east.97

Relations with the churches

Germany has, since the Reformation, been divided between the Protestant north and the
mainly Catholic south. Both denominations had been highly suspicious of what they saw as
the blatant secularism of the Weimar Republic and were prepared to do a deal with the Nazi
 Dictatorship in Germany 205

regime. Hitler’s initial attitude was reassuring. He said in the Reichstag on 23 March 1933
that Christianity was ‘the unshakeable foundation of the moral and ethical life of our
people’.98 There was, however, some doubt as to whether this was the real policy of the Nazis
or merely a precaution to maintain a measure of support while the regime consolidated. The
passage of time soon pointed to the latter.
The Protestant Churches were prepared to welcome the arrival of the Nazi regime,
regarding the Weimar Republic as un-German and ungodly. According to Steinbach, many
of the Protestant clergy ‘welcomed the Nazis’ seizure of power because they mistook it for
the reestablishment of “order” and traditional state authority’.99 Hitler took only six months
to exploit this. In July 1933 the twenty-eight provincial Protestant Churches (Landeskirchen)
were centralized into a single Reich Church, which soon came under Reich Bishop Müller.
Then, in 1935, the Reich Church was placed under the control of Hans Kerrl, Minister of
Church Affairs. There was also increasing evidence of the infiltration of Nazi values, with
the establishment of the DC (German Christians). This sect managed to combine Christian
beliefs with racism, anti-Semitism and Führer-worship, laying itself open to the accusation
that it was the ‘SA of Jesus Christ’. In opposition to the DC there emerged the Confessional
Church, under the leadership of Pastor Niemoller. It retained its political detachment from
the Nazi regime and, perhaps because of this, was banned in 1937, Niemoller himself being
interned in a concentration camp.
The Catholic Church was also willing to collaborate with Hitler in 1933. The Centre
Party, still a political arm of Catholicism, had supported Hitler’s Enabling Act (March 1933)
in return for certain religious guarantees from the government. This compromise was
followed, in the same year, by the Concordat, drawn up by Cardinal Pacelli for the Church
and by von Papen for the political authorities. This promised continuing freedom of worship,
the protection of denominational schools and the right to publish and distribute pastoral
letters. In exchange, the Church agreed to withdraw totally from active politics; the Centre
Party, for instance, dissolved itself voluntarily. The Nazis, however, soon subverted the
agreement. Various organizations, like the Cross and Eagle League and the Working Group
of Catholic Germans, sought to disseminate Nazi values, while the government deliberately
discredited the clergy by holding public ‘immorality’ trials involving nuns and monks. By
1937 the situation had deteriorated so badly that Pope Pius XI abandoned his earlier
neutrality and issued an encyclical called Mit brennender Sorge (‘With Deep Anxiety’)
which was strongly critical of government measures. This was followed by growing
disillusionment within the Catholic Church and real doubts about ultimate Nazi intentions
towards religion.
By the late 1930s these intentions had come out into the open. As the Churches reacted
with hostility to government attempts to Nazify them, many party officials inclined
increasingly to non-Christian forms of religion. One example was the German Faith
Movement, which introduced pagan ceremonies (widely used by SS officials) and virulently
attacked the most sacred tenets of Christianity. According to Sigrune, the journal of the
German Faith Movement, ‘Jesus was a cowardly Jewish lout who had certain adventures
during his years of indiscretion.’100 Two prominent Nazis were particularly anti-Christian;
Julius Streicher, notorious anti-Semite and pornographer, claimed that the Crucifixion was
an instance of Jewish ritual murder. Martin Bormann declared in 1941 that ‘The concepts
of National Socialism and Christianity are irreconcilable . . . Our National Socialist ideology
is far loftier than the concepts of Christianity, which in their essential points have been taken
over from Jewry.’101 Hitler’s own views were more ambivalent. On the one hand, the ideas
of Rosenberg, Himmler and Bormann did not impress him and, according to Burleigh, ‘both
206 Dictatorship in Germany

neo-paganism and efforts to Nazify Christianity itself were second-order considerations, at

least for Hitler himself’.102 On the other hand, there was a definite ‘sacralization of politics’
within the Hitler cult. Burleigh emphasizes his grandiose conceptions. ‘He saw himself as
the last chance for mankind before the onset of cosmic desolation, should the race war he
envisaged have the wrong outcome.’103 Hitler also became increasingly impatient with the
Judaic roots of Christianity, with its claims to universality and with its emphasis on such
virtues as compassion and forgiveness; these simply did not fit into the needs of Nazism.
Nor did the focus on individual salvation.

To the Christian doctrine of the infinite significance of the human soul . . . I oppose .
. . the saving doctrine of the nothingness and insignificance of the individual human
being, and of his continued existence in the visible immortality of the nation.104

Did Nazi persecution inflict any lasting damage? Kershaw provides several examples of
the resilience of Christianity in Germany. During the 1930s there was no significant decline
in Church membership, while an increase occurred during the war years. Meanwhile, the
clergy managed to maintain a considerable influence over the laity. In the long term, the
impact of the Churches on politics was strengthened, as was shown in the Catholic base of
post-war Germany’s CDU (Christian Democratic Union). Everything, therefore, ‘points to
the conclusion that Nazi policy failed categorically to break down religious allegiances’.105

Support and opposition

A considerable amount of research has now been done into the reactions of the German
people to the Nazi regime. This partly challenges the traditional view that the population
was terrorized into compliance, that support was enforced and that opposition was rare.
Recent interpretation has followed two trends. One has been to question the ability of the
totalitarian state to impose such total domination. The other shows that the population was
far more active in expressing its views than was once thought. The implications of this are,
on the one hand, that the regime must have experienced a considerable degree of willing
support to enable it to function properly, while, on the other, there were substantial numbers
of people who showed varying forms of defiance. Modern studies have put the focus on
the people as much as on the institutions, and have come up with some intriguing results.

Support
Support has a variety of meanings and shades. It can be active, showing direct commitment
through personal conviction. Or it can be tacit – the absence of opposition through either
indifference or fear. Both types existed in Nazi Germany.
Active support existed for several reasons, the most important being the personal
popularity of Hitler himself. This was picked up by a number of external visitors, including
the former British prime minister, Lloyd George, who wrote in the Daily Express in 1936:
‘The old trust him, the young idolise him. It is not the admiration accorded to a popular
leader. It is the worship of a national hero who has saved his country from utter despondency
and degradation.’ He went as far as to say: ‘He is the George Washington of Germany –
the man who won for his country independence from all her oppressors.’ Lloyd George
acknowledged that this description ‘may appear extravagant’. Yet, ‘all the same it is the
bare truth’.106 Hitler benefited from the widespread disillusionment with the institutions,
 Dictatorship in Germany 207

leadership and politics of the Weimar period, offering to each sector of the population a
vision for the future that replaced the divisions of a fractured class structure with the
unifying force of the Volksgemeinschaft. Yet, while offering something new, he confirmed
his legitimacy by projecting his regime in line with those of the past. Like the First Reich,
the Third would last for a thousand years, fulfilling the interrupted destiny of the Kaiserreich,
which Hitler acknowledged as the ‘Second’. By doing this, he could claim to have rescued
Germany from the distortions it had suffered under the Weimar Republic, a travesty that
had come into existence after the defeat in the First World War. In this way he managed
to feed into the former ruling class’s myth of the ‘stab in the back’ and the weakening of
Germany’s military strength by Social Democrats, Communists and, above all, Jews. He
therefore thrived on the situation he found because he seemed to offer hope – and national
salvation.
Indeed, Hitler maintained that ‘we are not a movement. We are a religion’.107 He therefore
demanded absolute and unconditional faith in his leadership, while the regime and its
opportunities for power and publicity provided the basis for the same ‘sacralization of politics’
that was seen in Mussolini’s Italy (see p. 130). Hitler showed a combination of dedication
to his people while, at the same time, being kept apart from them – except when he appeared
before them to dedicate to them his achievements on their behalf. Unlike Mussolini, Hitler
based his life on self-denial, declining to portray himself as the epitome of the masculine
virtues. Whether or not he lacked Mussolini’s machismo, the people interpreted his role as
being above normal human needs. The whole Hitler myth was amply reinforced by Goebbels,
who employed all his talents for propaganda and display on the Führer’s behalf. Goebbels
admired Hitler’s ‘creativity’ as that of a ‘genuine artist, no matter in what field he may be
working’.108 In many ways Goebbels was the better speaker, with a more commanding and
vibrant voice. But he lacked Hitler’s presence and used his own abilities to develop the
aura of the man he worshipped. The extent of Hitler’s perceived ‘divinity’ was made
apparent in German cinemas in the mid-1930s when the opening scene of Riefenstahl’s
documentary, Triumph of the Will, showed Hitler descending, godlike, from the clouds on
his visit by aircraft to the Nuremberg rally.
The reality, of course, could not have been more different. Hitler the man projected an
array of negative images. He had a harsh voice and, in the words of Waite, an ‘unimpressive,
even ludicrous figure’, who looked like an ‘apprentice waiter in a second-class Viennese
cafe’.109 His personality was also prone to childish tempers, humourlessness, inflexibility,
and an obsession with his health that led to his total dependence on the quack ministrations
of his personal doctor, Morel.
Yet he had a second appeal: strangely, he was seen during the 1930s as a moderate, able
and willing to provide reassurance. In the early stages of his power he took care that his
political changes were technically constitutional. He also emphasized that he was upholding
traditional virtues and, until the outbreak of war, he professed to have religious beliefs. The
public had confidence in his ability to control his more unsavoury subordinates. None of
these ever approached the popularity achieved by Hitler. Goebbels was despised for his
extreme views and mocked for his diminutive stature and a deformed foot; Himmler was
seen as the epitome of ordinariness, Heydrich of ruthlessness, Goering of ostentation, Ley
of boorishness and Bormann of remoteness. Some, like Streicher, were actively loathed,
although Hitler himself secretly enjoyed the grotesque lies published about Jews in Der
Stürmer. Yet all were part of a system that many Germans felt that Hitler could control,
whether by the process of government he had instituted or by occasional culls like the
Night of the Long Knives in 1934. Hitler was also careful to allow others to take the lead
208 Dictatorship in Germany

in anti-Semitic denunciations; examples include Röhm and the SA in the anti-Jewish boycotts
in 1933, Goebbels’s organization of Kristallnacht in 1938, and the moves by Himmler and
Heydrich towards extermination programmes. From this it should not be interpreted (as it
has been by a small minority of historians) that Hitler was not involved in the decisions
for the Holocaust, but rather that much of the population mistakenly saw him as a force
against extremism. In fact, the whole process was disguised by the concept of ‘working
towards the Führer’.
Until 1941, at least, Hitler’s popularity was based on a third criterion, the measure of
success. Public support reached regular peaks with the withdrawal from League of Nations
Disarmament Conference (1933) and subsequent rearmament, the Remilitarization of the
Rhineland (1936), the Anschluss, and the incorporation of the Sudetenland (1938) – all of
which contrasted with the seemingly pacific policies of Stresemann and the cautious
obstructiveness of Brüning. The public’s misgivings about the outbreak of war were dispelled
by the rapid conquests of Poland in 1939 and of Denmark, Norway, the Low Countries and
France in 1940. Even those with a vested interest in undermining Hitler’s position admitted
the strength of his appeal. The Social Democratic Party in Exile (SOPADE) drew up a
number of reports. One of these stated that ‘Many people are convinced that Germany’s
foreign-policy demands are justified and cannot be passed over. The last few days have
been marked by big fresh advances in the Führer’s personal reputation’.110
Many Germans were not deceived by the Führer cult or by the projection of Hitler’s
image as a moderate. Yet there was no means of expressing disapproval without crossing
the boundary into illegal dissent or even treason. Constitutional changes in 1933 had
destroyed any possibility of voting for any other parties. In any case, the ‘step-by-step’
approach of the ‘legal revolution’ had made opposition appear not only illegal but also
illogical: why should the system now be challenged when earlier stages within the same
process had not been? Opposition needs above all to be justified; for this there needs to be
at least a foundation of popular support. This was largely lacking: either for the positive
reasons already given or for fear of punitive action from the Gestapo and other security
organs. These did their job well in threatening the minority with dire consequences – and
by enlisting the active support of the majority as informers. Unlike Stalinist Russia, Nazi
Germany did not develop a system of terror that threatened the population at large. Rather,
terror was directed at the minority – either for racial reasons or against active dissent. For
most Germans, therefore, it made sense either to give the Führer their active support or
tacitly to accept his rule for fear of the consequences of doing otherwise.
Looking at the levels of support from different sectors of the population has, in the past,
produced a number of arguments that have been assessed in various ways: some have been
maintained, others modified and a few fundamentally challenged. The attitudes of women
have already been considered (see p. 184). We now turn to the various social classes and
the armed forces.
It was once widely accepted that the upper and middle classes were enthusiastic supporters
of the regime since they had brought Hitler to power in the first place. There is still much
to confirm this. The business sector, for example, had supported Hitler from the outset,
mainly out of fear of communism. During the Third Reich the great industrialists threw in
their lot with Hitler because his policies delivered to them a disciplined workforce deprived
of any means of collective bargaining. Although Marxist historians may have exaggerated
the influence of ‘monopoly capital’ on Nazism (and, indeed, on fascism generally), there
remains little doubt that the industrial barons and the Nazi regime co-operated closely with
each other. The Four-Year Plan and mobilization for the war effort produced an even closer
 Dictatorship in Germany 209

identity, while major industrial enterprises like Krupp and I.G. Farben were eventually
implicated in the worst excesses of Nazi occupation.
The attitudes of the middle classes are, it has now been pointed out, more difficult to
disentangle. Some had voted for Hitler well before 1933 and became key elements in the
support for his regime. Other sections, however, found themselves in a more ambiguous
position. The small landowners, or German peasantry, had always been seen by Hitler as
the basis of any ‘blood and soil’ policy in the future construction of the Volksgemeinschaft.
They had welcomed this elevation of their status by voting heavily for the Nazis in 1928,
1930 and 1933. In practice, however, their position became more marginalized after 1933.
They benefited least from economic recovery and were adversely affected by the Reich
Entailed Law. But any doubts they might have felt was never turned into direct opposition
to the regime: the small farmers may have cooled in their perception of Nazi economic
policy but they continued to support the leadership. Small businesses also had a mixed
experience. Those which were efficient thrived and continued to worship the Führer. Those
that were already struggling by the mid-1930s went under; they were, in effect, ‘proletarian-
ized’ and had to settle for the limited benefits offered by the institutions aimed at the working
class. As for the ‘white-collar’ sector, or the ‘new middle class’, this was attracted less to
the ‘blood and soil’ ethos of Nazism than to the rapid growth of the bureaucratic state,
which offered it opportunities for employment and advancement as officials. This also
guaranteed support for the system into which they were drawn.
It was once argued that the working class were less favourable to Hitler before 1933
and that they remained more resistant to Nazi influence – at least until the parties they had
traditionally supported, the SPD and the KPD, had been crushed by his regime. It is true
that they had some cause for grievance: they benefited less from the economic recovery of
Germany after 1933, their wages were held down while their working hours increased
and their contributions to a rising GDP remained unacknowledged. Yet the vast majority
settled down into tacit support for the regime, increasingly drawn into the activities and
diversions offered by the KDF and SDA. It has now been pointed out that much of the
working class considered itself better off under the Nazis. According to Mason, ‘the Nazi
economic “miracle”’ convinced many workers that ‘things were getting better, especially
as, for most of them, the point of reference was not the best years of the Weimar Republic
but the more recent depths of the Depression’.111 In any case, individual opposition would
have been rendered futile by the extensive use of modern production methods, including
the whole assembly-line process. The whole process was accentuated by war, which meant
that ‘Firm integration into traditional socio-cultural milieux was shaken’.112 This made
possible a growing loyalty to the leadership from the very people who had once been
suspicious of it: contemporary SOPADE reports pointed out that ‘There is no mistaking the
enormous personal gains in credibility and prestige that Hitler has made, mainly perhaps
among workers’.113 Indeed, during the campaigns in eastern Europe, many of the most
enthusiastic soldiers were recruits from the working class.
This brings us to the attitude of the army to Hitler’s regime. It has always been held that
most of the army was systematically Nazified, partly through its oath of personal allegiance
to Hitler and the adoption of the swastika insignia on uniforms. It was also acknowledged
that the army was grateful to Hitler for his action against Röhm and the SA in the Night
of the Long Knives. The Wehrmacht, as the army was renamed in 1938, was therefore
fundamentally loyal to the Nazi regime. For many years, however, the prevailing view was
that it was the SS, not the Wehrmacht, which committed the atrocities in the occupied
territories in eastern Europe. More recent research has since shown that the army played
210 Dictatorship in Germany

an integral part in the shooting of civilians in Poland, Belorussia and the Ukraine, whether
in direct co-operation with the Einsatzgruppen or through the use of its own police battalions.
There was also a surprising degree of complicity among soldiers, even reservists. Bartov,
for example, argues that even members of the working class, once supporters of the left,
could be transformed into ‘brutalized and fanaticized soldiers’.114
Overall, greater emphasis is now placed on the voluntary support shown for the regime
by most of the population and on the extent of complicity at all levels. Three historians
present a particularly disturbing picture. Mallman and Paul argue that the Gestapo relied
on information volunteered by large numbers of people against each other – much of it
unsolicited.115 Goldhagen goes further by insisting that the slaughter of Jews in eastern
Europe was carried out by willing recruits to the German army as well as by the more
experienced SS.116 It is, of course, possible to go too far in this direction and to underestimate
the capacity of the SS and Gestapo to terrorize the population. It is also important not to
underestimate the courage of those who opposed.

Opposition and resistance

Accompanying the growing emphasis on support for the Nazi regime has been the increased
attention given by historians to opposition and resistance. This has been due to detailed
research into Gestapo archives and the development of the argument that Nazi Germany
was less effective as a totalitarian regime than was once thought.
Opposition existed in four main forms. Three of these expressed reservations about certain
aspects of the regime but fell far short of demanding an overall change to it. The first
consisted of minor dissent – nothing more serious than everyday grumbling and complaining;
the second took the form of social ‘deviance’, mainly by youth groups that rebelled against
authority; and the third comprised more carefully targeted opposition to specific policies,
with the purpose of getting these changed. The fourth category was a more fundamental
rejection of what the regime stood for. In part this was provoked by the removal of any
distinction between legal opposition and illegal or treasonable activity; this meant that some
groups challenged the regime as a whole rather than reacting to or aiming to change certain
manifestations of its behaviour. Bearing this in mind, we can identify a political or ideological
resistance and a military resistance which plotted to overthrow the regime and make peace
with Germany’s external enemies. There was, of course, some overlap between these four
categories. Everyday grumbling might grow into social deviance among some groups or
more targeted opposition in others. Under the impact of war, the distinction between the
categories was further compacted as political resistance overlapped with military plotting
as part of a broader resistance that came even to include elements of social deviance.
Minor dissent and grumbling were far more common than other forms of opposition.
According to Kershaw, ‘The extent of disillusionment and discontent in almost all sections
of the population, rooted in socio-economic experience of daily life, is remarkable’.117 Most
grumbling was sparked by problems of everyday life rather than beliefs or political tenets.
These were the result of subordinating the consumer market to the Four-Year Plan’s emphasis
on rearmament and heavy industry, with the consequent increase in working hours, controls
over wage levels and compulsory membership of the KdF. But, widespread as the grumbling
was, it was subject to two main constraints. One was the amount of information gathered
by the Gestapo from voluntary denunciations on all matters, some very trivial. Another was
the personal popularity of Hitler, for reasons already discussed. The targets of most
resentment were either faceless Nazi bureaucracy or individual henchmen, the butt of
 Dictatorship in Germany 211

numerous popular jokes. In any case, there was no clear vision as to what could replace
the Nazi regime which, for all its inconveniences, most Germans still preferred to the Weimar
Republic. According to one SOPADE report, ‘This is especially so among the Mittelstand
and the peasantry. These social strata are least of all ready to fight seriously against the
regime because they knew least of all what they should fight for.’118
Social deviance was apparent mainly amongst a minority of boys and girls between the
ages of fourteen and eighteen who had become disillusioned with the Hitler Youth. The
main drive was rebellion against authority, especially Nazi authority. There were also
cultural influences from Britain and the United States, which gradually inculcated an
acceptance of western values. This was especially apparent during the war, which increased
the alienation of rebel youth through tightened controls by further expectations of labour
and military service and more extreme discipline within the Hitler Youth.
Youth dissidents were of two broad types – gangs, which were predominantly working
class, and the Swing movement, which was drawn from the more affluent middle class.
The largest of the gangs was the Edelweiss Pirates (Edelweisspiraten) which sprang up
from 1938, mainly in the Rhineland. Subdivisions included the Kittelbach Pirates from
Düsseldorf, the Roving Dudes of Essen and the Navajos from Cologne. Most were escapees
from the Hitler Youth, which they now targeted as their prime enemies. Shouting their
slogan (‘Eternal war on the Hitler Youth’) they ambushed and beat up members of that
organization. During the war they also defied official restrictions on movement by going
on long hikes, during which they showed a more relaxed sexuality than the authorities liked.
They also gathered up Allied propaganda leaflets dropped from the air and distributed them
through letterboxes, provided sanctuary for deserters from the Wehrmacht and assisted the
escape of British and American pilots who had been shot down over the Ruhr. Their most
drastic action was the assassination of the head of the Gestapo in Cologne in the autumn
of 1944.119 The Swing movement was more widely spread across the cities of Germany,
from Hamburg to Berlin and from Stettin to Dresden. They were strongly influenced by
American jazz, which was particularly provocative to a regime that regarded jazz as ‘negro’
music and therefore as ‘degenerate’. Among the more affluent members of Swing youth
were the ‘English casuals’ who dressed in the height of English fashion and spoke English
where possible. Needless to say, this did not go down well in wartime Germany.
The Nazi regime was frustrated and embarrassed by both types of youth movement.
According to an official SA report in 1941, ‘The HJ are taking their lives into their hands
when they go out on the streets’,120 while in 1942 the Reich Youth Leadership maintained
that the development of dissident groups was increasing during the war ‘to such a degree
that one must speak of a serious risk of the political, moral and criminal subversion of
youth’.121 The authorities tried a variety of measures to contain the situation.122 Sometimes
they ignored some of their less extreme activities as childish pranks. More commonly the
Gestapo, with the help of the Hitler Youth, rounded up offenders, shaved and branded their
heads, and sent them to youth concentration camps or reform schools. Occasionally the
Gestapo went the whole way – staging public hangings of members of the Edelweiss Pirates,
as in Cologne in November 1944. But part of the difficulty confronting the authorities was
tracking down the leadership. The gangs were not political movements or conspiratorial
organizations with clearly defined structures; they were normally seen as less of a threat
than resistance groups and therefore given less attention by already hard-pressed officials.
A third form of opposition was expressed over specific issues by individuals, groups or
institutions. The main example of this was the reaction of the churches, which criticized
the regime on three occasions before 1942. In 1933 Pastor Niemöller objected to the Nazi
212 Dictatorship in Germany

reorganization of the Protestant churches, while in 1937, there were Catholic protests about
their schools being required to display portraits of Hitler in the place of crucifixes. Clergy
from both denominations later attacked the euthanasia programme; the Bishop of Limburg
wrote in August 1941 that ‘All God-fearing people feel that this extermination of the
helpless is an almighty crime’.123
These developments were to show that opposition from the Catholics was more likely
to succeed than from the Protestants. The latter were more fundamentally divided and had
nothing of the international status held by the Catholic Church. In addition, the Protestants
were trying to resist a fundamental bureaucratic change, whereas the Catholics took on the
government over an initial matter of detail, resulting in compromise whereby Hitler’s
portrait and a crucifix could both be displayed. The outcome of the protests against euthanasia
was somewhat different: although religious objections did bring about changes, these were
mainly based on increased secrecy to remove the policy altogether from public attention.
In some cases, Catholic protests failed outright: these were usually on more general matters
of principle. For example, the regime made no concessions over the 1937 Papal Encyclical
Mit brennender Sorge: ‘With burning anxiety and mounting unease we have observed for
some time the way of suffering of the Church’.124 Cardinal Galen’s 1941 protest against
police powers used in Nazi Germany also fell on deaf ears: ‘Justice is the state’s foundation.
We lament, we regard with great concern, the evidence of how this foundation is being
shaken today’, especially since ‘The regular courts have no say over the jurisdiction by
decree of the Secret Police’.125 The same applied to the Protestant Bishop Würm’s complaint
to the Chancellery in December 1943: ‘I must state that we Christians feel that this policy
of destroying the Jews to be a grave wrong.’126
All denominations had reservations which prevented the mobilization of a more general
Christian opposition to the regime. They feared the threats to Germany from the east,
especially, in Galen’s words, ‘the assaults of godless Bolshevism’.127 On the other hand,
the regime never succeeded in its attempts during wartime to undermine Christianity. The
latter began to contribute to areas of resistance but remained most effective as a residue of
the public conscience. A prime example of this was Dietrich Bonhoeffer who, according
to Hamerow, ‘remained convinced that the struggle against the Third Reich’s religious
policies could not be separated from the struggle against its political, military or racial
policies’.128
The last category can be described as political opposition and conspiratorial military
resistance. These often merged and challenged the whole basis of the regime rather than
seeking redress on a specific issue. The two largest parties in opposition to the Nazis were
the Social Democrats (SPD) and the Communists (KPD). The 1933 ban on all parties other
than the NSDAP meant that any political opposition in the future would automatically
constitute treasonable resistance. The KPD had more organizational cells within Germany
and were more openly revolutionary. Broszat emphasizes the considerable differences
between the two. The Communists tended to be younger and ‘socially disenfranchised’,
whereas the Social Democrats were generally well established skilled workers who ‘who
enjoyed the respect of their non-Socialist neighbours’.129 Tactically, ‘the Communists tended
to support a more radical political creed and the Social Democrats a more pragmatic one’.130
They also looked to different areas for external support. The Social Democrats abroad, known
as SOPADE, were based initially in Prague, then in Paris under the leadership of Ernst
Schumacher, whereas the KPD had direct connections with Moscow. The Social Democrats
concentrated on acquiring accurate information about the state of public opinion about the
regime, in the form of SOPADE reports, although these were usually discouraging and did
 Dictatorship in Germany 213

not lead directly to attempts to dislodge the regime. The Communists were more ambitious
in this respect but were impeded by the tortuous foreign policy of Stalin: during the late
1930s they were constrained by Stalin’s increasingly pro-German feelers, culminating in
the Nazi–Soviet Pact in August 1939. It was not until 1941, when Hitler invaded the Soviet
Union, that the Communists began to make a comeback, largely under the tutelage of Stalin,
who switched his entire emphasis to direct support for the KPD. At the same time, the
Soviet Union had a profound mistrust of the Social Democrats as ‘lackeys of capitalism’.
Smaller groups, meanwhile, also pursued a political agenda. Student organizations like White
Rose (Weisse Rose), led by Hans and Sophie Scholl, distributed leaflets at Munich University
criticizing Hitler’s leadership, especially after the failures at Stalingrad in 1943. Some of
those involved were executed for treason, even though no violence was involved.
Some elements of opposition in the army had existed before the outbreak of war in 1939.
General Beck had secretly tried to get Hitler removed from power in 1938 and at the same
time urged the British government to stand firm in resisting Hitler’s claims over the
Sudetenland. He was joined during the war by a number of other officers who became
convinced that Hitler had to be overthrown. Usually conservative, often Prussian and
sometimes members of the former aristocracy, they included von Tresckow, Schlabrendorff
and von Quirnheim. The most spectacular act of defiance was Stauffenberg’s plot to blow
up Hitler at the Wolf’s Lair in July 1944. This and other conspiracies widened to include
political elements as well; many of the civilians involved were conservatives who had
opposed the Weimar Republic and wanted to avoid any possibility of a return to this.
Nevertheless, like the military resistance, they were convinced that Hitler had to be removed
and the Allies persuaded to agree to an armistice. Among the most influential were von
Koltke, von Wartenburg, former Mayor of Leipzig Goerdeler, and the former German
ambassador to Rome, von Hassell.
Political and military resistance faced enormous problems. The greatest was the loyalty
to Hitler embedded in the German people and reinforced by institutional oaths of allegiance
in the army and government departments that severely restricted recruitment to resistance
groups. It is significant that military plots were aimed specifically at Hitler. This was partly
because, despite the latter’s monstrous aberrations after 1941, his distorted racial policies
and colossal military mistakes, there still existed an almost unadulterated trust in his ability
to deliver eventual German victory. Or perhaps this amounted to an absolute certainty that
it would be impossible to persuade others that his personal judgement was wrong. He
therefore had to be removed from the scene if there was to be any chance of achieving
peace and of saving Germany from total destruction. Beyond that, however, there were
different plans for the future between the various political components of the resistance.
For example, younger conservatives like Count von Moltke and Count von Wartenburg,
who dominated the Kreisau Circle, aimed at establishing a new Germany based on direct
elections at lower, or Kreis, levels, followed by indirect elections for the Länder and
Reichstag. Germany might then be integrated into a federal Europe. Others, like Goerdeler
and von Hassell, preferred a more authoritarian system with the power to govern by decree,
reversible only by a two-thirds majority in the Reichstag. In any case, the Allies proved
highly unwilling to negotiate. All the Allied leaders had come to regard Hitler as greater
liability to Germany than to their own advance in 1944 and 1945. Hence they continued to
insist on unconditional surrender, a demand which cut ground from under German resistance.
It is a measure of the latter’s courage that the less likely a negotiated peace seemed, the
more important it became to show that had been at least some active defiance.
214 Dictatorship in Germany

One type of reaction to Nazi rule is especially difficult to categorize: from the victims of
Nazi persecution, or the outcasts from the Volksgemeinschaft (see pp. 223–4). In many cases,
any form of opposition or resistance was impossible, given the helplessness of the victims.
Those who had any capacity to react would generally try to avoid drawing attention to
themselves. But some did try to follow one or more of the strategies already covered. Everyday
dissent and grumbling would hardly have been a sensible option but membership of dissident
youth groups might well offer some protection. Attempts were also made by bodies like the
National Representative Organization of Jews in Germany (Reichsvertretung der Juden in
Deutschland) to try to defend the status and interests of Jews as recognized during the Weimar
Republic. When these proved ineffectual, attention switched to flight abroad which, contrary
to earlier beliefs, was a course that most German Jews wanted to take.131
Joining resistance movements was more difficult for Jews in Germany than in German-
occupied Europe, for two main reasons. Areas like Poland, Latvia, Lithuania and Belarus
had larger concentrations of Jews. Although these were often subjected to the hatred of
other indigenous groups, they were also able to contribute to partisan movements against
German occupation. This, of course, was impossible in Germany, which lacked any popular
uprising, even if there was a growing acceptance of the need for military-based resistance.
Nevertheless, individual German Jews did contribute to political resistance movements like
the Communists and Social Democrats or fought for the International Brigades in the
Spanish Civil War.
The overall deduction to be drawn from these different strands is a complex one. In
theory, the Nazi state was totalitarian in that it eradicated institutions allowing the formal
expression of dissent and opposition and then proceeded to use the SS and Gestapo to pick
off individual manifestations of anti-Nazi behaviour. By and large, this combined process
was successful: there was, after all, never any real threat to the regime except for the
occasional act of violence. And yet the fact that opposition did develop in such a variety
of forms indicates that totalitarianism was only partly successful. The regime frequently
had to make concessions on specific issues; it faced a general increase in deviant behaviour
and, during the war, it provoked the coalescence of normally incompatible groups. It is
possible to go further. Peukert argues that the Volksgemeinschaft had not been achieved by
1939 and that the internal harmony of the system needed increasingly to be maintained by
diverting public opinion against minority groups whether inside or outside Germany. ‘Terror
accordingly bit ever deeper’ from the ‘margins of society into its heart’.132

The Nazi economy

Hitler’s main ideas

According to Bracher, ‘At no time did National Socialism develop a consistent economic
or social theory’.133 It is true that Hitler was in no sense an economist. Unlike Marxism,
the ideology of Nazism had no underlying economic component: there was no equivalent
to the notion of political change occurring through the dialectical conflict between classes
exerting their economic interest. Nazism was fundamentally racist and völkisch in its
conception and economic factors were always subordinate to this. It would therefore be
inappropriate to seek in it any autonomous economic strategy. Yet Hitler’s policies towards
the economy were influenced by four main priorities. First, he aimed to create an autarkic
system that would enable Germany to establish and sustain a broader hegemony within
Europe. He intended, second, to target the lands to the east. Third, since this would inevitably
 Dictatorship in Germany 215

involve expansion and conflict, the economic infrastructure would have to sustain a large
increase in military expenditure. But, fourth, this would have to be done without severely
depressing living standards and thereby risking the loss of support from the German people.
How did these components fit together? The 1920s saw the emergence of Hitler’s
ambitions for Lebensraum which underlay all his ideas about the ultimate purpose of
economic change. Instead of following a predominantly internal socialist policy, as
championed by Gregor Strasser, he committed himself to expansionist nationalism, based
on the twin pillars of Lebensraum and autarky. These were emphasized in the second volume
of Mein Kampf, published in 1925, and in his Zweites Buch (Second Book), written in 1928.
In the former he argued that Germany should abandon her former pursuit of economic power
through colonies, instead ‘turning our eyes towards the east’. This meant ‘finally putting a
stop to the colonial and trade policy of the pre-war period and passing over to the territorial
policy of the future’.134 New German communities would eventually be settled on land
carved out of Poland and Russia, and Germany would also have self-sufficiency in raw
materials and food, together with guaranteed outlets for her manufactured goods. Such goals
would involve conflict but this was another key ingredient of Hitler’s thinking. He said in
1923 that ‘All of nature is one great struggle between strength and weakness, an eternal
victory of the strong over the weak’.135
These ideas have sometimes been dismissed as the vague fantasies of an immature fringe
politician. This is a mistake, on two counts. First, there were many on the conservative right
who took them seriously in the late 1920s and early 1930s because Lebensraum fitted closely
into the pan-German concepts already apparent before 1914 in Imperial Germany. Hitler
therefore found ready converts among the so-called respectable sectors of big business, the
armaments industry and the military High Command. Many non-Nazis recognized the flow
of the argument and were willing to take it seriously. Second, the eventual shaping of German
hegemony in Europe bears a close resemblance to the original prototype, even if it was to
be implemented by the SS rather than Hitler’s state channels. Mein Kampf need not be
considered the ‘blueprint’ for Hitler’s future projects, as suggested by Trevor-Roper, but it
is surely more than the ‘daydreaming’ attributed to it by A.J.P. Taylor.

The development of Hitler’s economic policy, 1933–45: an outline

There appear to have been four main phases in the emergence of an economic policy, although
these did not follow on logically from each other.
The first, lasting from 1933 until 1936, has been called a period of ‘partial fascism’. The
state moved into a programme of job creation to reduce the levels of unemployment while,
at the same time, seeking to control wages and eliminate trade union powers. In these respects
there is some similarity to Mussolini’s corporativism. But in other respects the government’s
economic policy was highly pragmatic, especially while it was under the direction of
Schacht (President of the Reichsbank from March 1933 and Economics Minister from June
1934). He gave priority to developing a favourable trade balance by means of a series of
bilateral trade agreements with the Balkans and South American states. These underdeveloped
areas provided Germany with essential raw materials in return for German investment and
credits for German industrial products. The complexities of foreign exchange were dealt
with by the New Plan (September 1934), which regulated imports and the allocation of
foreign exchange to key sectors of the German economy. Overall, Schacht was convinced
that it was essential to raise the level of exports if Hitler’s objective of increased military
expenditure were to be realized.
216 Dictatorship in Germany

By 1936 Hitler had begun to show impatience with Schacht’s somewhat cautious approach
and opted openly for ‘military and political rearmament’, to be promoted by ‘economic
rearmament and mobilization’. The second economic phase therefore opened with the
introduction of the ‘Four-Year Plan’. The basic purpose of the Four-Year Plan was to achieve
self-sufficiency or autarky, in both industry and agriculture, through increased productivity
and the development of substitutes for oil and other key items. This became even more
important when, in 1937, Hitler made clear his decision to prepare for war at the meeting
with his chiefs of staff recorded in the Hossbach Memorandum. Goering was placed in
control of the Four-Year Plan Office; this completely undermined Schacht’s position so
that the latter felt compelled to resign his post in November 1937. The Plan resulted in a
steady increase in military expenditure, from 1.9 billion marks in 1936 to 5.8 billion in
1937, 18.4 billion in 1938 and 32.3 billion in 1939. There were, however, deficiencies.
Although some progress was made in the manufacture of substitutes, targets were not met
for the production of rubber and synthetic fuels; synthetic petrol, for example, met only 18
per cent of Germany’s needs and it was still necessary to import one-third of all the raw
materials needed by industry.
Ready or not, the Nazi economy entered its third phase in 1939. The outbreak of war
saw the implementation of a military strategy known as Blitzkrieg, or ‘lightning war’. The
intention was to secure victory as rapidly as possible through preliminary aerial attacks,
followed by the advance of panzer divisions of tanks and armoured vehicles. Blitzkrieg
was, however, also an economic strategy. It was the means whereby Germany could achieve
military victory over its neighbours without mobilizing its economic resources to the full.
This lasted until the end of 1941 and saw the collapse and absorption of the economies of
Poland, Denmark, Norway, the Low Countries and France. The invasion of the Soviet Union,
however, brought the fourth phase – Total War. The German economy was now pushed to
its limit. War production came under the control of Albert Speer and the Central Planning
Board. The result was a more rapid increase in armaments, despite the heavy Allied bombing
of German cities between 1943 and 1944. Yet, even at this point, Germany was massively
outproduced by the two industrial giants – the Soviet Union and the United States. This
was a major factor in the eventual destruction of the Third Reich.

Comments on Hitler’s economic policy 1933–9

Traditional views on Nazi pre-war economic policies showed the following interlinked
arguments. Almost as soon as he came to power Hitler took steps to reverse the later economic
strategies of the Weimar Republic. This, in turn, was made possible by the creation of a
new totalitarian regime that could simplify the process of implementing the new measures
better suited to Germany’s future role of dominance in Europe. By 1939, the Nazi economy
had broadly achieved its key objectives of increasing Germany’s national income, expanding
the military base and reducing unemployment. At the same time, the majority of the
population were probably better off than they had been in 1933.
Although there may well be elements of truth in these statements, they have recently
been challenged and reinterpreted. In the first place, how new were Hitler’s initial economic
measures? During the 1950s it was widely argued that the Nazi regime imposed something
new on Germany which contrasted with the dependence of the Weimar Republic on western
capitalism and loans from the United States. The purpose of Schacht’s New Plan was to
create an alternative to the consumer-based capitalism that had been severely undermined
by the Great Depression, focusing instead on central planning as a means of increasing
 Dictatorship in Germany 217

industrial output and reducing unemployment. But this idea that there was a clean break in
1933 has now been questioned. Tough measures had already been implemented during the
Weimar Republic, especially by Chancellor Brüning between 1930 and 1932.136 Schacht’s
New Plan maintained Brüning’s currency reform, trade restrictions, self-sufficiency and
cuts on government welfare expenditure. It has even been argued that Schacht gained the
credit for the successes achieved as a direct result of the policies of Brüning and his
successors, Chancellors Papen and Schleicher. By 1933 the German economy had reached
its lowest point and its imminent upturn coincided with Hitler’s rise to power. Hence, Frei
maintains, ‘the Nazis benefited from being able to fall back on the investment plans of
preceding governments’ and were able to ‘make a change in economic trends which had
become apparent since 1932’.137 Of course, the Schacht period was followed by a new
departure which did break the economic links with the Weimar Republic. The limited
emphasis of the New Plan was followed by the more ambitious objectives of the Four-Year
Plan, which were that German armed forces were to be ‘operational within four years’ and
the economy ‘must be fit for war within four years’.138 Yet this could not have been
accomplished without the preliminary preparations based on the policies of those who could
not have known where these would lead.
As to the substitution of a simpler and more direct ‘totalitarian’-style economic
management, the effectiveness of this had also been questioned – for very much the same
reasons that Nazi administration is now regarded as an overlapping and confusing ‘polycracy’.
The basis of the criticism is that the multi-layering of agencies and the lack of proper
delineation between them generated conflict and hampered efficiency. There was, for
example, extensive rivalry between the Four-Year Plan Office, the Ministry of Economics,
the War Ministry and the Plenipotentiary for Economics. It is true that a later wave of
interpretation has questioned the extent of ‘polycracy-based’ criticisms of Nazi economic
management; both Tooze and Overy, for example, for example, refer to these as an
‘exaggeration’.139 Even so, the point remains that Hitler used the foundations provided by
the later leaders of the Weimar Republic to establish short-term economic security while,
at the same time, developing an alternative structure to transform long-term economic
priorities. There was, in other words, a greater break between Goering and Schacht than
there had been between Schacht and Brüning.
How successful had the New Plan and the Four-Year Plan been by 1939? Before the
outbreak of the Second World War it was widely argued that Hitler had performed something
of an economic miracle. For example, the Cambridge economist Guillebaud maintained that
Hitler’s achievement of ‘full employment’, with many of the most important industries
‘working to capacity’ and the ‘stabilization of wages and prices’ was ‘unique in economic
history down to the present time’.140 Even after the war, some historians held to the theme
that Hitler had stimulated economic recovery from a previously low base. Jarman wrote in
the 1950s that ‘as each year passed the German factories grew busier’ and that ‘a mighty
nation was at work’.141 Since the 1980s judgements have been more critical. Buccheim, for
example, argued in 2001 that the growth achieved up to 1938/9 ‘deformed the structure of
the German economy’ and ‘carried in itself the seed of eventual decline’. Far from
representing a healthy recovery, Nazi economic policy ‘appears to have been directed
against the development of a normal growth pattern’.142 Others have been less negative
about the state of the German economy after four years of Nazi management. According
to Overy, the economy was ‘certainly not facing a conventional economic crisis in 1938–9’,143
while Klein maintained that Hitler deliberately limited expenditure on rearmament to about
15 per cent of the GDP.144
218 Dictatorship in Germany

What light do statistics throw on these arguments? Some seem to support the more positive
interpretations of Nazi economic policy. Unemployment, for example, fell from 5.6 million
in 1932 to 4.8 million in 1933, 2.7 million in 1934, 2.2 million in 1935, 1.6 million in 1936,
0.9 million in 1937 and 0.4 million in 1938. The figure for 1939 was as low as 119,000,
leading Guillebaud to comment on Germany’s ‘extreme shortage of labour’.145 This was
more rapid than the reduction of unemployment in other major economies like the United
States, France and Britain (which still had 1.8 million on the dole in 1938). During the
same period wages gradually increased from a low in 1933 of 70 per cent of their 1928 to
75 per cent by 1934, 80 per cent by 1936 and 85 per cent by 1938. The national income,
meanwhile, rose from forty-four billion marks in 1933 to eighty billion in 1938; this was
particularly impressive since the 1938 figure was greater than the seventy-two billion of
1928, the peak year of the Weimar economy. There are, however, more negative perspectives.
Buccheim’s argument above rightly emphasizes the distorted nature of Germany’s economic
growth during the 1930s. Unemployment was reduced by a strong element of coercion and
by the construction of major public works such as the autobahn; heavy industry was
developed at the expense of light and consumer industries; and imports were heavily
curtailed, except for raw materials from the Balkans to feed the developing war machine,
thus creating a serious trade imbalance. The ways in which these themes affected the
consumer population are dealt with separately in this book. In any case, the figures were
clouded by the Reich’s territorial expansion between 1938 and March 1939 to add the new
and prosperous areas of Austria, the Sudetenland and Bohemia.
We can, therefore, draw the following conclusions for economic performance between
1933 and 1939. First, unemployment had virtually disappeared – but with a strong element
of compulsion. Second, national income had increased – but had created serious distortions
in the relationship between heavy and consumer industries to the detriment of the latter.
And third, Germany’s imports had been restricted in proportion to its exports – but at the
expense of healthy and diversified trading relations with other countries. Such imbalances
would have been difficult for a democratic state to impose on its population. Nazi Germany,
however, possessed the political means to refashion its economic infrastructure and to create
its own balance for the specific purpose of preparing for war. But what was the most effective
way for totalitarian Germany to accomplish this?

Comments on Hitler’s economic policy 1939–45

The Nazi economy between 1939 and 1945 was dominated by the two strategies of Blitzkrieg
and Total War. Both are perceived to have had roots in the pre-war period but the relationship
between them has been interpreted in two fundamentally different ways.
One argument places the emphasis on a largely pragmatic approach by the Nazi regime.
In 1936 Hitler had reasoned that the relative success of Schacht’s New Plan enabled him
to move towards a more deliberate phase or rearmament in the Four-Year Plan and a decision,
shown in the 1937 Hossbach Memorandum, to prepare for war. Yet, some historians have
argued that Hitler acted under constraints and could not consider total mobilization and
Total War. Klein, for example, maintains that he still depended on the support of the
German consumer and therefore had to settle for a compromise economy which would
proceed with a measured degree of rearmament but also allow a moderate level of consumer
growth.146 According to Sauer, this balance meant the creation of a ‘plunder economy’ since
the only way Germany could expand through limited mobilization was by steadily increasing
the economic base through a series of rapid and specifically targeted conquests. Hence Hitler
 Dictatorship in Germany 219

‘committed himself to starting a war in the near future’.147 The solution was Blitzkrieg, by
which Hitler rapidly conquered Poland in 1939, much of western Europe in 1940 and further
areas in eastern Europe and the Soviet Union in 1941. In each case the emphasis had been
on maximum economic gain from less than total military expenditure. Unfortunately, the
argument continues, this balance was upset by the switch to Total War in 1943. This was
far from a logical step since it undermined the previous delicate balance between consumer
and military needs. The basic reason for the change was the failure to defeat the Soviet
Union, the survival of Great Britain and the entry of the United States into the war. From
engaging in a series of rapid military and economic gains Germany was now in a struggle
for survival against the vastly superior economic power base of the Allies.
The alternative argument is the opposite of this. Total War was not the result of the
failure of the favoured policy of Blitzkrieg; rather, Blitzkrieg was the premature and
incomplete anticipation of the real intention – Total War. From the start Hitler had the more
ambitious aim of equipping Germany with an economic base capable of achieving
Lebensraum and, according to Berghahn, ‘a German-dominated empire conquered by
force’.148 This approach acknowledges the importance of Schacht’s preparations before 1936
in providing trading networks with the Balkans as a first step to German hegemony there,
in the construction of autobahns, and in the controls on wages to develop a disciplined
workforce. Such measures were to be the first step in the long-term preparation for Total
War. But 1935 and 1936 brought an economic crisis in the form of a food shortage that
affected the whole of the German workforce. Hitler therefore took what he considered the
only way out: to impose further constraints on the workforce while, at the same time,
accelerating rearmament to achieve Lebensraum and long-term economic salvation.
According to the Hossbach Memorandum, the Four-Year Plan was therefore a commitment
to Total War by the years 1943–5. Unfortunately for Hitler, the outbreak of war with Britain
and France was premature, which meant that the economy could at this stage support only
Blitzkrieg strategies. Blitzkrieg was therefore an emergency response – or, in the words of
Overy, ‘total war by default’.149 The German economy had not been sufficiently enlarged
to engage in Total War until after 1941, by which time the powers and resources against
Germany were overwhelming. Overy maintains that Germany would have been ‘much better
prepared’ for a war fought at the time originally anticipated, since it would ‘have had rockets,
inter-continental bombers, perhaps even atomic weapons’.150
As with most other general controversies about Hitler, it is very difficult to reconcile
differences over long-term aims and policies. But this can be partially altered by changing
the perspective – or the question – by refocusing the arguments on intention to the question
of how Nazi economic policies contributed to Germany’s eventually defeat. Both
interpretations provide an explanation for the disruption of Germany’s war effort. The first
points to the inability of Germany to adapt as successfully as its enemies to Total War,
after making the most of its limited resources by the use of Blitzkrieg. In moving to Total
War after 1941, Hitler was taking on a commitment that was simply too large for Germany’s
economy to sustain. The emphasis of the second interpretation is that Germany was fighting
Total War before she was ready to do so. Germany lost because she did not have the time
she needed to complete long-term preparations for conflict against the United States as well
as against Britain and the Soviet Union. By the first approach, Hitler was attempting the
impossible, against all the logical constraints that had brought his earlier success; by the
second, Hitler had overreached Germany’s capacity before his preparations were complete.
Why Germany was initially victorious and eventually defeated is therefore easier to
explain than why Hitler took the decisions that placed Germany in the way of victory and
220 Dictatorship in Germany

defeat. Initial victory was due largely to the successful military use of a rearmed but limited
economic base, while eventual defeat resulted from military decisions that distorted the
economic base. In the early years Hitler moved rapidly against limited targets in Eastern
and Western Europe and, although he failed to knock Britain out of the war, the United
States and the Soviet Union were still uninvolved by early 1941. Latterly, he stretched
Germany’s resources in a three-front war: in Eastern Europe, Western and Southern Europe,
and North Africa and the Atlantic. By 1942 he was unable to match the combined resources
and efficiency of his three opponents: Russia, the United States and Britain. It is always
tempting to use ‘what if?’ approaches when considering Hitler’s policies, strategies and
mistakes. But such counterfactual arguments are always inadequate when dealing with actual
outcomes. The German economy was overwhelmed by the task it confronted in the military
situation of 1943–5 and a variety of explanations should be considered, even if these are
apparently contradictory.

The social impact of economic policies 1933–45

1933–9
Although the general economic trend in the pre-war years would appear at first sight to
have had positive implications for the German people, there were in fact several negative
side-effects. The fall in unemployment from 5.6 million in 1932 to 119,000 in 1939, for
example, was accelerated by rearmament and the increased use of conscripted and forced
labour, both of which meant the creation of a workforce which had come increasingly under
direct state control. Although, as we have seen, wages increased from 70 per cent of their
1928 level in 1933 to 85 per cent by 1939, there had been a far greater increase in the cost
of living over the same period – 71 per cent of the 1928 level in 1933 to 90 per cent in
1939. Two deductions can be made from this. Not only was the workforce earning less in
1939 than it had been in 1928; but those in employment had been marginally better off in
1933 than they were in 1939. It is also significant that these wages were earned during a
working week that had been extended over the period 1933–9 by over seven hours.
Much was made by the government of the increased attention being given to the increase
in consumer goods during the period of national economic recovery. It is true that in
Germany the level of production rose by 69 per cent and that Germans became the world’s
largest per-capita owners of radio sets; progress was also made in developing the
comparatively cheap Volkswagen. But the overall production of consumer items was low
by comparison with that of industrial goods, which increased during the same period by
389 per cent. In other words, in return for their lower wages in real terms, workers were
producing far more in terms of heavy industrial goods and armaments than they were
consumables. Nor could this growing difference be offset by imports, since the general flow
of trade was dictated by the search for industrial autarky, not for consumer affluence. Goering
affirmed that guns would make the German people ‘strong’, while luxuries would only
make them ‘fat’. As for those consumables emphasized by the regime, radio sets were of
vital importance in the spread of propaganda, while the Volkswagen was used as a long-
term incentive for hard work and regular saving; in the end, however, very few cars were
actually delivered and there was no equivalent in Germany to the huge increase in vehicle
ownership in the United States, Britain and France.
Different sectors of the German population were affected in different ways by the
performance of the economy between 1933 and 1939. The largest single group – the
 Dictatorship in Germany 221

industrial workers – certainly benefited from the decrease in unemployment from 6 million
in 1932 to 0.4 million in 1938. It has, however, been shown that the trend was already
downwards before Hitler came to power in January 1933. In addition, the collective influence
of working-class organizations was steadily eroded, the trade union movement coming under
a general ban from May 1933. The gap was filled by a pro-Nazi German Labour Front
(DAF) under Robert Ley. Two other organizations were established: Schönheit der Arbeit
(Beauty of Labour) and Kraft durch Freude (Strength through Joy), which had the overall
effect of regulating leisure as well as working hours and increasing the possibilities for
exploitation by employers.
Germany’s rural population comprised three sections, all pro-Nazi at the outset of the
regime. The peasants, or small landowners, were upheld by Nazi ideology as the backbone
of the German race, but there was a tendency to paint an idealized and highly unrealistic
picture. The result was a series of damaging attempts by the government to freeze the
peasantry into an unchanging class. The Reich Entailed Farm Law of 1933 severely limited
the subdivision and sale of peasant plots, which inevitably prevented consolidation,
mechanization and more effective use of fertilizers. The second group, agricultural workers,
made very few substantial gains. Many continued to experience grinding poverty and
migrated in desperation to the towns at a rate of 2.5 per cent per annum (compared with
1.5 per cent per annum before 1933). The third category, the wealthy landlords, were the
only real beneficiaries of Nazi rule. The rapid increase in land values enabled them to retain
their economic prominence, which partially offset the loss of some of their political influence.
The business sector consisted of two main groups. The small businessperson, usually from
the middle class, was attracted at an early stage by Nazi promises to protect the ‘small man’
from the burden of monopolies. This group did benefit initially, mainly from much tighter
control over the labour force. On the whole, however, the NSDAP preferred to cultivate the
support of big business, which increased its ownership of industry from 40 per cent of the
total in 1933 to 70 per cent by 1937; this was accomplished mostly through the absorption
of smaller enterprises. It is true that the state exercised greater influence and control during
the period of the Four-Year Plan. The new Hermann Goering Works, for example, became
a major state-owned steel producer. But some of the great names in private enterprise rapidly
increased their profits by up to 150 per cent between 1938 and 1942. Great industrialists also
collaborated closely with the government over the war effort and worse: several, for example,
supplied Auschwitz with equipment for the gas chambers. This co-operation between the
government and big business has led some historians to see the Nazi regime as a bastion of
capitalism. It would, however, be more appropriate to argue that Hitler decided at the outset
to avoid confrontation with capitalism, even if, in the process, it meant subverting a number
of earlier economic principles.

1939–45
In the early phases of the war, attempts were made to ameliorate the impact on the civilian
population. Measures were taken that seem to provide strong evidence for Blitzkrieg being
an economic as well as a military strategy; what has been called ‘a peacetime economy at
war’ meant that there were several initial compromises to maintain civilian morale. There
was, for example, no immediate and substantial increase in armaments production, since
the peacetime levels of the Four-Year Plan were sufficient for the military Blitzkrieg against
Poland and western Europe, and even the opening attack on the Soviet Union. The plunder
of conquered territories removed the necessity of finding additional revenues from the
222 Dictatorship in Germany

German population, who were spared sudden increases in taxation. It has been estimated
that Reich drew from its occupied neighbours the equivalent of 1,000 per cent of its own
1938 revenues; much of the population also benefited materially from the expropriation of
Jewish assets and property.151 During the first three years of the war, Germans were also
spared increases in compulsory contributions to labour and levels could be maintained as
in peacetime because of the influx of foreign labour from Poland, the Low Countries and
France. Overall, it seemed that the Nazi regime was doing what it could to remove any
economic grounds for social discontent.
Latterly, however, the whole experience of German civilians changed dramatically. At
the Berlin Sportpalast in February 1943 Goebbels demanded, and received, support for a war
‘more total and more radical than we can even imagine it today’.152 The economy was
managed more tightly by Todt and Speer in order to meet the challenge of a reviving Soviet
Union in the east and new Anglo-American offensives in the west. The full horrors of war
brought considerable suffering to a population that had been partially protected from, if not
entirely inured to, hardship during the earlier phase of Blitzkrieg. By 1945 civilian deaths
had reached a total of 3.6 million (compared to 3.25 million military casualties) and almost
all of Germany’s cities had been shattered by Allied bombing, the worst affected being
Hamburg, Dresden and Berlin. Hunger, even starvation, was widespread and there was a
massive displacement of peoples from occupied areas in the east as a result of the redrawing
of boundaries. The population was particularly harshly treated by invaders from the east,
women being raped in their hundreds of thousands. One legacy of all this has been the
controversy over the argument for German ‘victimhood’.153 On the one hand, such a notion
has been weakened by the widespread initial support for Hitler, the benefits that accrued
from his early military successes and the atrocities committed against the peoples of eastern
Europe. On the other, there is acknowledgement of the catastrophe of 1945, the Führer’s
abandonment of the German people to their fate, and a post-war vacuum that makes it difficult
to commemorate many of the German dead with anything resembling pride in their sacrifice.
Where the controversy becomes most direct and confrontational is over any attempt to
compare the German victimhood in total defeat with the Jewish victimhood in the Holocaust.
This is, however, a minority approach, taken largely by the post-war far right.

Rejected by the Volksgemeinschaft

The Nazi purpose for the Volksgemeinschaft was to reconcile what Peukert calls ‘a society
of fractured traditions, social classes and environments’.154 In place of embittered Germans
from competing economic groups, there would be healthy, vigorous and productive Aryans
who would be ready for their ultimate role of Lebensraum, or external expansion, and
conquest. This stereotype proved attractive to most of the population and therefore ensured
their loyalty to a regime that appeared to value them so highly. They were to be prepared
for this by propaganda and indoctrination, carefully targeted social benefits and a new work
ethic implicit in work and leisure organizations like the RAD, SdA and KdF.
But there was another side. Although inclusive to Aryans, the Volksgemeinschaft excluded
‘community aliens’ who threatened its ideal. Some individuals were removed because they
had genetic ‘impairments’ that threatened to ‘contaminate’ Aryan ‘purity’; this was generally
carried out with as little publicity as possible, usually in secret. Others were rejected for
‘endangering’ popular cohesion as criminals, ‘asocials’ or political opponents. These were
processed through the Nazi judicial system; again, this was carried out on an individual
basis, although with sufficient publicity to provide a deterrent for the rest of the population.
 Dictatorship in Germany 223

But by far the largest exclusions were whole groups who did not meet the requirements of
the Volksgemeinschaft for racial reasons. These became targets of obsessive hatred.

Rejected on genetic grounds

Among the earliest exclusions from the Volksgemeinschaft were ‘the physically malformed,
mentally disturbed, and intellectually retarded’.155 Although race was not necessarily involved,
genetic problems affecting individuals were seen as a threat to the race and community as a
whole. In addition to diluting the ‘purity’ of the Aryan race, they used up resources and care
required by the rest of the population. Dr Heilig, a representative of the Nazi Physicians’
League, argued in a 1934 pamphlet that ‘the useless dissipation of costly medications drawn
from the public store cannot be justified’.156 The Nazis also tried to undermine Christian-
based morality by means of constant propaganda against the genetically disabled in key areas
of the school curriculum. One example of this is Problem 95 in an arithmetic book: ‘The
construction of an insane asylum requires 6 million RM. How many thousand housing units
@ 15,000 RM could be built for the amount spent on insane asylums?’157
At the same time, the regime had to balance what it perceived as the interest of the
community with the need to avoid alienating the population. This meant that measures
actually taken were either firmly based on ‘legal’ statutes or conducted in secrecy. The
former included the Law for the Prevention of the Hereditarily Diseased, under which 0.5
per cent of the population was sterilized between 1934 and 1939; the three largest categories
of victims were the ‘feebleminded’, schizophrenics and epileptics. Sometimes sterilization
was combined with abortion and all marriages from 1935 had to have permission from
public health offices. More drastic – and secretive – action was implemented in wartime,
the most notorious of which was the T-4 ‘euthanasia’ programme, named after the centre
of the operation based at 4 Tiergarten Strasse in Berlin. Initially this was targeted at children
who had been diagnosed with mental or physical disabilities attributed to heredity. The
whole process was carried out covertly and medically disguised as death through other
factors rather than as a result of the injections, poison or gas actually administered in special
wards or chambers. The adult euthanasia programme was authorized in the summer of 1939
and began to operate in 1940, under partial cover of the war with Poland. This was done
by the Einsatzgruppen advancing behind the military campaigns in Poland and was extended
to parts of Germany such as Pomerania. Within months six hospitals were being equipped
with gassing installations disguised as showers and crematoria, based on the original model
at Brandenburg hospital. This part of the operation continued until Hitler ordered it to be
stopped in August 1941, by which time up to 80,000 victims had been killed in the gas
chambers. The new system was based on decentralized killing in hospitals through the use
of poisons – more in line with the methods originally used against children.
The emphasis on circumspection was due partly to the fear that the German population
would find the spread of ‘euthanasia’ unacceptable. The lessons drawn from the opposition
shown by the Catholic Church and other organizations were to be applied also to the use
of more controlled and secretive measures of racial genocide in the extermination camps
in Poland.

Rejected as criminal, social and political ‘enemies’

Another category of people rejected by the Volksgemeinschaft were ‘asocials’.158 These
were all considered ‘alien to the community’ (gemeinschaftsfremd) and were subjected to
224 Dictatorship in Germany

more publicized persecution than were those with genetic disabilities. Among ‘asocials’
were alcoholics, prostitutes, ‘idlers’, ‘grumblers’ and vagabonds, all of whom were seen as
a threat to the moral fibre and ‘purity’ of the community. Four other groups were considered
especially dangerous.
One was a category generally described as ‘habitual criminals’, offenders against persons
or property deemed by the law to incorrigible. Repeat offenders were severely dealt with
under the Habitual Criminals Law of November 1933, the worst being sentenced to ‘security
confinement’. During the war, the focus switched from confinement to extermination: Hitler
justified this on the grounds that ‘penitentiaries do not have the function to preserve the
criminals for a possible rebellion’.159 Hence most of those originally sentenced to security
confinement were transferred to camps (such as Mauthausen for men and Ravensbrück or
Auschwitz for women), where many were worked to death. Political opponents were
considered equally dangerous. Usually members of banned left-wing parties, such as the
Communists or Social Democrats, many had been interned as early as 1933 in concentration
camps like Dachau. Before the end of the Nazi period it had become increasingly common
for such ‘offenders’ to be caught by the rise in the number of capital offences (from three
in 1933 to forty-six before the end of the war)160 or to be condemned to the harshest labour
conditions in concentration and extermination camps. There they were identified by red
triangles, to distinguish them from the ‘habitual criminals’ who wore green triangles.
Another major category targeted by the state was homosexuality. The main reasons for
this were a perceived ‘affront’ to masculinity through ‘unnatural behaviour’, the loss of
future children to the Reich, and a threat to ‘public morality’. Active measures against
homosexuals began in May 1933 and were intensified with the involvement of the SS with
the Reich Central Office for the Combating of Homosexuality, set up in 1936. Again, the
war was a catalyst for still more radical action: most identified as homosexuals after 1939
– especially in the army – were sent to camps where they were identified by pink triangles
and suffered fates similar to criminals and political offenders. Lesbians, who had initially
been excluded from active harassment, were increasingly persecuted during the late 1930s,
on the grounds that they threatened the gender role expected by the Nazi regime. Finally,
the regime took increasingly severe measures against religious opponents, although the full
rigour of the courts was reserved for those regarded as a political or security threat. Usually
Protestant and Catholic clergy were protected from the harshest measures by the respect in
which they were held by the population at large. This did not, however, apply to smaller
religious groups, especially the Jehovah’s Witnesses,161 who were less likely than most
Catholics or Protestants to adapt to life in Nazi Germany: they refused, for example, to use
the Hitler salute or serve in the army. They were regarded as exiles from the Volksgemein-
schaft through their own choice and tried in special courts. Where possible the charges
against them were increased by association with delinquency or political activity: many,
for example, were accused of being implicated in Communist conspiracies.

Rejected as race ‘enemies’

For the first few decades after 1945 race was seen by most historians as the rationale for
the internal developments and the external drive of the Third Reich. After a period when
there was increasing questioning as to whether its influence was as important as pragmatism
and naked power, there has been swing back towards emphasizing the impetus of race in
the whole Nazi system. Kershaw, for example, argues that ‘Perhaps the most significant
shift in perspective, compared with the position in the early or mid-1980s, is the seriousness
 Dictatorship in Germany 225

with which Nazi racial ideology is now viewed as a key motivating force for action.’162
Barkai goes so far as to say that ‘Auschwitz was latent in the anti-Semitic obsessions of
Hitler and his Party from the beginning in the way in which the embryo is in the egg or
fruit within the bud’.163
Fundamental to all Hitler’s policies was his absolute belief in the superiority of the ‘Aryan’
race and the need to prepare the German people for its role as the master of Europe. He
categorized humankind into three separate groups: ‘founders’ of culture, ‘bearers’ of culture
and ‘destroyers’ of culture. The Aryans, of course, formed the highest group. According to
the Nazi race theorists, the essential characteristics of the typical Aryan included a tall and
slim build, a narrow face and nose, a prominent chin, fresh complexion, and gold or blond
hair. It is ironical that one of the few Nazi leaders to fit this description – Heydrich – was
obsessed with what he considered to be the ‘taint’ of a Jewish forebear. Hitler aimed
gradually to ‘purify’ the German race so that the majority of people would eventually conform
to this ideal appearance. This would be achieved by eliminating miscegenation and by special
breeding programmes undertaken by the SS. Race therefore became a vital part of all
indoctrination, the purpose being, in von Shirach’s words, to create ‘the perfect and complete
human animal – the superman!’ The main obstacle to this was what Hitler called ‘subman’,
who threatened to ‘pollute’ the Aryan race. The main victims of this mentality were, above
all, Slavs, Gypsies and Jews.
The Slavs, frequently referred to in Mein Kampf, comprised the majority of the peoples
of eastern Europe, including Russians, Poles, Czechs, Slovaks, Ukrainians, Bulgarians, Serbs,
Croats and other smaller groups. The Treaties of Versailles and St. Germain left
comparatively few Slavs within Germany and Austria, which meant that Slavs were seen
as an ‘external’ rather than an ‘internal’ threat. This was partly because their population
growth was more rapid than that of Germany and partly because their territorial possessions
(substantially increased between 1919 and 1920) acted as a bulwark against the future
eastward expansion ‘needed’ by a ‘healthy’ Aryan race. For most of the 1930s there were
few measures within Germany affecting Slavs, while German foreign policy pursued a
cautious and pragmatic approach, especially to Poland and Russia. It was in the climate of
war that the anti-Slav component of Nazi racism was implemented, although not against
all Slavs. Some, especially Poles, Russians and Serbs, received barbaric treatment as
enemies. Others like Bulgarians, Croats and Slovaks were treated, albeit with suspicion,
as allies. Nazi dealings with the Slavs after 1939, whether as invading conquerors or as
controlling partners, also set loose a flood of policies against two racial groups both within
the Reich and in the Slav areas outside. These were the Gypsies and the Jews.
The Nazi case against the Gypsies (more accurately called Sinti and Roma) was that
they had ‘polluted’ blood that had originally been Aryan during the course of their westward
migration from the Punjab, which had involved centuries of contact with the ‘inferior races’
of eastern Europe. They were considered a major threat to the population of Germany because
of their itinerant lifestyle and sexual contacts. To deal with this the Reich Central Office
for the Fight Against the Gypsy Nuisance was set up in 1936, the emphasis being on
containing Gypsies within officially designated sites. This was followed in December 1938
by Himmler’s decree for ‘Fighting the Gypsy Plague’ which imposed systematic registration
and measures to prevent miscegenation. The most extreme changes, however, accompanied
German military expansion into Slavic eastern Europe, especially from 1941. Gypsies were
deported from Germany and Austria into occupied eastern territories and incarcerated in
Chelmo, Treblinka and a new Gypsy enclosure (BIIe) at Auschwitz-Birkenau set up in
September 1942. The process was accelerated by Himmler’s Auschwitz Decree on Gypsies
226 Dictatorship in Germany

(December 1942) and Eichmann’s efforts to bring the Gypsies within the scope of the ‘Final
Solution’ targeted at the Jews. This meant that between 1.25 and 1.5 million Gypsies
perished in the gas chambers, an atrocity that ‘has been largely invisible in current
historiography about Nazi genocide’.164
It was the persecution of the Jews that provided the Nazi regime with its dynamic. In part,
German anti-Semitism was the culmination of centuries of discrimination throughout Europe.
This had reared its head again after 1880 with violence in Vienna and Berlin, blatant
discrimination in the French army and a series of pogroms in Tsarist Russia. H.S. Chamberlain
wrote in 1901 that ‘The entrance of the Jew into European History’ had meant ‘the entrance
of an alien element – alien to that which Europe had already achieved, alien to all it was still
destined to achieve’.165 Anti-Semitism could therefore be seen as a tidal force: its high-water
mark at the end of the nineteenth century brought Hitler in with its flotsam.
Hitler’s own views on Jews were the main driving force behind the whole Nazi movement:
anti-Semitic policies were therefore a sublimation of his personal obsession. Mein Kampf is
full of the most inflammatory references of the Jew as a ‘parasite’ and ‘polluter’, contamin-
ating art and literature and reducing men to his own ‘base nature’. In one of his speeches he
fantasized about hanging the Jews of Munich from lampposts until their ‘bodies rotted’. There
is no doubting the elemental force of his hatred. At the same time, there was also a calculated
use of the techniques of scapegoating; the paradox here was that anti-Semitism as an
irrational force could be used rationally to strengthen the Volksgemeinschaft. There would
be numerous occasions on which the regime called for sacrifice. This would elicit two senti-
ments – a positive effort to meet the demand and negative resentment against those who
made the sacrifice necessary. The former could be used by the regime, while the latter needed
to be deflected away from the regime. It made sense to target a minority group picked out
by the Führer from the taint of many centuries. The methods used to generate hatred were
varied. One was the spread of the vilest misinformation, based on Hitler’s earlier technique
of the ‘big lie’: hence Streicher’s Der Stürmer alleged ritual killing of Christian children by
Jews. Another was Hitler’s oratorical device of blaming Jews for all perceived threats, ranging
from the economic crisis of 1935–6 to the hostility of Britain and France to German designs
on Polish territory in 1939. A third was the carefully orchestrated ‘spontaneity’ of
Kristallnacht, publicized by Goebbels as the ‘righteous indignation of the German people’.
Nazi measures against the Jews unfolded in three main stages, each more radical than
the last. The first, between 1933 and 1938, saw extensive legislation that imposed a series
of limits on the activities of Jews. In April 1933 Jews were excluded from the civil service,
prevented from working in hospitals and removed from the judiciary. Two measures were
introduced in 1935, collectively known as the Nuremberg Laws. The Law for the Protection
of German Blood and Honour banned marriage or sexual relations between Germans and
Jews, while the Reich Citizenship Law stripped Jews of their German citizenship and
removed their civil rights under the law. Between them, these were the most comprehensive
anti-Semitic measures in modern history. Yet, at this stage, there were still some constraints
on Nazi action. President Hindenburg managed to keep civil service jobs for Jews who had
fought or lost relatives in the First World War. In addition, Frick issued a memorandum
from the Ministry of the Interior instructing authorities not to exceed the instructions on
the Jews. In some instances, authorities were embarrassed by the excesses of militants like
Julius Streicher, with his virulent tabloid Der Stürmer. On the occasion of the 1936 Olympic
Games Hitler ordered the removal of all anti-Jewish notices from Berlin: he was clearly
playing safe so as not to alienate the establishment or international opinion, while at the
same time secretly preparing more comprehensive measures for the future.
 Dictatorship in Germany 227

From 1938 anti-Semitism became more violent and all remaining constraints on persecution
were swept aside in the second phase. In July 1938 Jews were banned from participating in
commerce, their last preserve. The authorities also attempted to identify and control the
movement of Jews by decrees on compulsory ‘Jewish’ names, identity cards and passports.
The law no longer offered any protection, as was all too evident on the night of 9–10 November
1938. Kristallnacht, orchestrated by Goebbels, saw the destruction of 7,000 Jewish businesses
and most of Germany’s synagogues. This was led by the SA in retaliation for the assassination
by a Polish Jew of an official in the German embassy in Paris. The violence of the mobs caused
some irritation at the top levels of the administration, which preferred a more systematic and
less messy approach – such as the confiscation of Jewish assets. At Hitler’s instigation several
possibilities were now examined for removing the Jewish population of Germany altogether,
including a scheme for its resettlement on the island of Madagascar.
But Hitler soon came to the conclusion that emigration was not feasible. Between 1941
and 1945 his anti-Jewish obsessions were sublimated in the most extreme measures seen in
the whole of human history. The catalyst for this was war, specifically the conquest of Poland
in 1939 and the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941. Between 1939 and 1941 German Jews
were brought under the same restrictions as those in Poland: they were made to identify
themselves with Star of David armbands (blue and white in Poland and yellow and black in
Germany) and were confined to urban ghettos. This was a crucial stage in the move to
genocide, initiated by mass shootings by the SS Einsatzgruppen and Wehrmacht detachments,
and taken over by the gas chambers in the extermination camps. The official turning point
here was the Wannsee Conference in January 1942, although this merely provided official
sanction for decisions already taken. Goering instructed Heydrich to convene a conference
to find a ‘total solution of the Jewish question in the German sphere of influence in Europe’.
The details were organized by Eichmann and attended by a combination of government and
NSDAP officials and officers from the SS and Gestapo. The latter included General Muller
(head of the Gestapo), and General Hofmann (Race and Settlement Main Office). The meeting
was used to give unanimous approval for the use of gas chambers to ‘evacuate’ (a euphemism
for ‘exterminate’) the whole of European Jewry. It was clear indication that the SS had already
set the pace and were now pulling the government and party with them. Growing conflict
between the three sectors may have been apparent elsewhere but there was no question as
to the supremacy of the SS in implementing the Holocaust, initially through mass shootings
and then through extermination camps at Chelmo, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Belzec, Sobibor,
Treblinka and Maidenek. Exterminations began in earnest from mid-1942 and a total of
between three and four million Jews went to the gas chambers. Organized by Eichmann, the
whole process was conducted with industrial efficiency and leading German firms competed
for contracts to manufacture the equipment for the gas chambers and crematoria. Yet the
Nazis were constantly aware of the need to maintain secrecy for fear of a public backlash.
The details were not brought to light until early in 1945 as the Russians liberated the camps
in Poland and the Allies those in the west.

GERMAN FOREIGN POLICY, 1919–39

The foreign policy of the Weimar Republic, 1919–33

By far the most important influence behind German foreign policy before the rise of Hitler
was the Treaty of Versailles. Since this was fundamental to the mainstream of European
diplomacy, its terms and significance have already been examined (see pp. 12–13).
228 Dictatorship in Germany

The Treaty of Versailles caused great bitterness in Germany. There it was condemned
by the entire range of political opinion, from far left to extreme right. It was seen by Hugo
Preuss, a prominent politician and legal expert, as a severe blow to the new republic; he
referred to the ‘criminal madness of the Versailles Diktat’166 and claimed that the new
constitution ‘was born with this curse upon it’. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the
major objective of the republic’s foreign policy was to lift the burden of Versailles and seek
a revised settlement. The question, of course, was how could this be accomplished?
One of the earliest strategies was that devised by Joseph Wirth, Chancellor for two brief
periods in 1921 and 1922. This was the policy of ‘fulfilment’, a strange approach which,
according to Hiden, was

a necessary expedient based on the premise that to show determined good faith in trying
to carry out the peace terms properly would not only demonstrate how impossible a
task this was, but would therefore also induce the Allied powers to be more lenient in
interpreting the treaty.167

In other words, let the treaty discredit and destroy itself through its very harshness. The
British government was not unsympathetic, but the French were determined that the treaty
should be applied to the letter. Hence, when Germany defaulted on a reparations payment
of a specific number of telegraph poles, French troops entered and occupied the Ruhr in
1923. The policy of ‘fulfilment’ was immediately replaced by one of passive resistance
called for by the Chancellor, Wilhelm Cuno. Relations between Germany and the Western
powers had therefore reached a dangerous low.
Elsewhere, Wirth had been more successful. He opened up diplomatic relations with
Europe’s other isolated power, Bolshevik Russia. Representatives of Germany and Russia
used the international conference at Genoa (1922) as a front for their own Treaty of Rapallo.
This established diplomatic relations between the two states and laid the foundations for
commercial contacts and economic co-operation. Rapallo was a diplomatic triumph for the
Weimar Republic in eastern Europe, but clearly something had to be done to improve
relations with the West.
This was to be the work of Gustav Stresemann. Chancellor in 1923 and Foreign Minister
between 1923 and 1929, he pursued a skilful combination of aims. He intended, on the one
hand, to rebuild cordial relations with other states and to remove the underlying international
tensions which Europe had experienced in the early 1920s. He even saw Germany as ‘the
bridge which would bring East and West together in the development of Europe’. For his
promotion of détente and his condemnation of war, Stresemann has sometimes been called
a ‘good European’. On the other hand, he was also a patriot who was as convinced as
anyone that the Treaty of Versailles must eventually be revised. Much of his diplomacy
was therefore double-edged. He once observed: ‘We must get the stranglehold off our neck.
On that account, German policy, as Metternich said of Austria, no doubt after 1809, will
have to be one of finesse.’168 More specifically, he had three objectives. One was ‘the solution
of the Reparations question in a sense tolerable for Germany’. A second was the ‘protection
of Germans abroad, those 10 to 12 millions of our kindred who now live under a foreign
yoke in foreign lands’. Third, he hoped eventually for ‘the readjustment of our eastern
frontiers’.169 The other face of the ‘good European’ was, therefore, the ‘good German’.
There are three particularly important examples of Stresemann’s policy of reconciliation
between Germany and the rest of Europe. These were Germany’s accession to the Locarno
Pact (1925), her membership of the League of Nations (1926) and her involvement in the
 Dictatorship in Germany 229

Kellogg–Briand Pact of 1928. These all seemed to indicate that Germany was now a
reformed and rehabilitated power. Yet, at the same time, Stresemann was pursuing covert
policies which benefited Germany at the expense of the rest of Europe and which were
clearly revisionist in intention. Gatzke refers to Stresemann’s ‘appeasement abroad’ and
‘rearmament at home’. A good example of the latter was the 1926 Treaty of Berlin between
Germany and Russia. This extended the earlier relationship established by the Treaty of
Rapallo. Both powers now agreed to remain neutral if either were involved in a war with
a third country. Even more significant, however, was Germany’s use of her special
relationship with Russia as a means of evading the rearmament restrictions imposed by the
Treaty of Versailles. The German army (Reichswehr), under von Seeckt, derived a great
deal from secret training and manoeuvres on Russian soil. Stresemann’s attitude to Germany’s
secret rearmament ranged, in the words of Gatzke, ‘from passive acceptance to active
assistance’.170 This was because co-operation needed, in Stresemann’s view, to be
accompanied by an increase in self-confidence and strength. Hence, in Stresemann’s words,
‘The main asset [of a strong foreign policy] is material power – army and navy.’171
What was the extent of Stresemann’s success? Between his death in 1929 and the
accession of Hitler in 1933, Germany experienced several positive developments. The Allied
powers removed in 1930 all the occupying troops still in the Rhineland and, in 1932, the
Lausanne Conference judged it expedient to alter radically the method by which Germany
should pay reparations. It might, therefore, be thought that revisionism had made substantial
inroads into the Versailles Settlement. Yet, during this same period, the Weimar Republic’s
foreign policy experienced a profound crisis. The Great Depression upset the republic’s
political stability and caused a swing to the parties of the right. These had always opposed
Stresemann’s policies of détente and collaboration with the West. Hitler, especially, increased
the intensity of his attacks on the republic, reviving the myth that the German army had
been ‘stabbed in the back’ in 1918 and that the republic had always been dominated by the
‘November Criminals’, the ‘traitors’ of the First World War. The way was therefore open
for the more intensive pursuit of revisionism by a regime which took full advantage of the
head start provided by the Stresemann era but which rejected Stresemann’s moderation.

Hitler’s foreign policy, 1933–9

Hitler assumed responsibility for German foreign policy in January 1933. Although he had
a considerable number of preconceived ideas, he decided that his initial strategy should be
cautious and moderate. The main reason for this was Germany’s still vulnerable position
in Europe. The country was regarded by the Western powers as a defeated state, under the
constraints of the Treaty of Versailles. Furthermore, the German government still had to
contend with the manifest distrust shown by France and with the extensive system of
alliances constructed by France in eastern Europe. Germany had not yet developed a counter-
alliance, unless the pact with Russia, renewed in 1931, is included. Fascist Italy, perhaps
the most likely prospect for an alliance with Germany, was at this stage hostile to Germany’s
designs on Austria, since Mussolini had not yet abandoned the possibility of expanding
Italy’s frontiers into the Alps. Between 1933 and 1935, therefore, Hitler had little option
but to make conciliatory diplomatic gestures and to lull the suspicions of the rest of Europe.
At the same time, he clearly intended to revive Germany’s military power; the problem, he
told his generals, was that this ‘building of the armed forces’ was also ‘the most dangerous
time’.172 He must therefore avoid any possibility of retaliation.
230 Dictatorship in Germany

An example of Hitler’s early diplomacy was his attitude to the Geneva Disarmament
Conference (1932–3) and its immediate follow-up. The politicians of the Weimar Republic,
especially Stresemann, had shown interest in the case for a general reduction of armaments
throughout Europe, since this would help offset the one-sidedness of the Versailles provisions.
Hitler, however, was less interested in this type of approach for, as Craig points out, he
intended to exploit Germany’s grievance over arms, not deprive her of it.173 He certainly
wanted to avoid any future limitations on German rearmament but without being blatantly
provocative. His opportunity came when the British Prime Minister, MacDonald, proposed
a reduction of French troops from 500,000 to 200,000 and an increase in German troops
to parity with the French. This was far below Hitler’s expectations; he knew, however, that
the French would reject the proposal and was therefore able to project a moderate image
in supporting MacDonald. When the French did decline the offer, Hitler withdrew from the
Disarmament Conference and then from the League of Nations. Realizing that this might
provoke some sort of retaliation, he decided to cover his tracks with bilateral agreements
which could later be broken. In 1934, therefore, he drew up a Non-Aggression Pact with
Poland. This was partly to break the French system of alliances in eastern Europe and partly
to allay the suspicions of western Europe that he had long-term designs on Polish territory.
In reality, of course, he had no intention of keeping to the pact. He declared, privately, ‘All
our agreements with Poland have a purely temporary significance.’174 For the time being,
however, he decided to conceal his hand.
Hitler’s pretended moderation encountered a setback in 1934 when the Austrian Nazis
assassinated Chancellor Dollfuss in an abortive attempt to seize power and achieve a political
union with Germany. Hitler was seriously embarrassed by this development which put a
brake on the possibility of closer relations between Germany and Italy. He was therefore
obliged to play down the activities of the Austrian Nazis, since he was not yet strong enough
to use such opportunities to further a more aggressive course. Much would depend on the
success of his rearmament policy. What stage had this reached by 1935?
There had never been any question of Hitler abiding by the disarmament provisions of
the Treaty of Versailles. When he came to power in 1933 he inherited ten divisions; by the
middle of 1934 he had increased the total to 240,000 men, more than twice the number
allowed by Versailles. By 1935 there was no longer any point in pretending. On 11 March
he formally announced the existence of a German airforce. On 16 March he issued a decree
introducing conscription and warning that the military provisions of Versailles would no
longer be observed. The reaction of the other powers posed a major diplomatic problem
which Hitler needed to resolve. The League of Nations formally censured Germany’s
unilateral decision to rearm and, in April 1935, Britain, France and Italy formed the Stresa
Front. In the following month, France responded of her own accord by drawing up a mutual
assistance pact with the Soviet Union. It seemed that Germany had reached the critical
phase of almost total isolation.
The period 1935–7, however, provided Hitler with a series of opportunities. He was able
to end German isolation, put pressure on Britain and France and bring together a formidable
diplomatic combination in central Europe. He was greatly assisted in accomplishing all this
by favourable external trends and events.
The first of these was the reluctance of the British government to become involved in
continental obligations, which meant that it was always receptive to a deal on armaments
levels. In June 1935 Hitler secured an Anglo-German Naval Pact by which he undertook not
to build a German fleet beyond 35 per cent of the total British strength. This was another
example of Hitler’s preference for bilateral agreements and it ruined any chance that the Stresa
Front might be able to put concerted pressure on Germany: France and Italy were both furious
 Dictatorship in Germany 231

with Britain’s co-operation with Hitler. But the real windfall for Hitler was the involvement
of Italy, from 1935 onwards, in Ethiopia (see pp. 152–4). This had several beneficial results
for Germany. Imperial expansion diverted Italian attention away from Austria, Hitler’s target
to the south. It also had considerable diplomatic repercussions as Britain and France
antagonized Italy by applying economic sanctions. Above all, Britain now saw Italy as a
potentially hostile power and became more apprehensive than ever about commitments in
Europe; she needed to be free to deal, if necessary, with Italian threats in the Mediterranean
or Africa. Hitler therefore gambled that Britain would not be prepared to back any military
action by France to prevent any further breaches of the Treaty of Versailles. He decided to
remilitarize the Rhineland ahead of his original target. This he accomplished in March 1936
with only 22,000 troops, against the advice of his generals who feared instant retaliation.
His judgement proved correct. The British government, anxious not to become involved, took
no action and persuaded the French government to do likewise.
From this stage onwards Hitler was able to construct a new network of partners and
satellites. Italy, involved in the Ethiopian adventure and the Spanish Civil War, was no
longer a rival in central Europe and gravitated towards Germany in the ‘Rome–Berlin Axis’
of 1936. At the same time, Hitler extended the scope of his diplomacy to outflank France.
He assisted Franco to replace the Spanish Republic with a far-right regime deeply hostile
to France. Russia, France’s partner since 1935, was the target of the Anti-Comintern Pact,
drawn up in November 1936 between Germany and Japan and eventually including Italy.
Meanwhile, Germany was also implementing the Four-Year Plan and a policy of autarky
which involved the economic penetration of Romania, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and Greece.
By the end of 1937, Hitler’s position was sufficiently secure for him to consider adopting
a more openly aggressive policy.
Therefore, in November 1937, Hitler summoned to a special conference the War Minister
(Blomberg), the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy (Raedar), the Commander-in-Chief of the
Army (Fritsch), the Commander-in-Chief of the Airforce (Goering) and the Foreign Minister
(Neurath). The sixth person present was Colonel Hossbach, whose unofficial record of the
meeting is generally known as the Hossbach Memorandum. According to this document,
Hitler revealed the underlying purpose of his foreign policy and his hopes for the future,
including schemes for the enlargement of Germany. Hitler added that there was some
urgency because his plans would be resisted by Britain and France, and Germany’s military
superiority could not be expected to last beyond the period 1943–5. The Hossbach
Memorandum, therefore, clearly indicates a change in the tempo of Hitler’s diplomacy. It
has been argued that Hitler was now willing to run high risks to attain his objectives and that
he was prepared, if necessary, to launch a series of swift military campaigns. His new
approach came as something of a shock to some of his subordinates, who inevitably tried to
point out the dangers involved. Hitler’s response to this was to reorganize the structure of
the army and to replace Blomberg, Fritsch and Neurath. He was clearly determined to remove
any obstruction to the next phase of his foreign policy.
Two targets were particularly prominent in 1938: Austria and Czechoslovakia. In March
he accomplished the long-intended Anschluss and, in defiance of the Treaty of Versailles,
incorporated Austria directly into the Reich. The result was a radical change in the balance
of power in central and south-eastern Europe. Germany now had a joint border with Italy,
completely outflanked Czechoslovakia and had gained direct access to Hungary and the
Balkans. Hitler had also scored a major personal triumph: once again he had ignored
warnings that his action would provoke foreign intervention and once again he had been
proved right. Indeed, the ease with which the Anschluss had been accomplished led
inexorably to the next undertaking. This was the removal of the German-populated
232 Dictatorship in Germany

Sudetenland from Czechoslovakia and its incorporation into the Reich. Again, this has been
seen as a ‘virtuoso performance’.175 Hitler used a variety of expedients; these included the
use of Henlein’s Sudeten Nazis as an internal pressure group, and the serious differences
between the provinces of Bohemia and Slovakia. According to Noakes and Pridham, ‘Hitler
now proceeded to use the ethnic diversity of the country as a lever with which to break it
up into its ethnic components.’176 Above all, he exploited the unwillingness of Britain and
France to take direct action in support of Czechoslovakia. The result was the Munich
Agreement (29 September 1938) which allowed Hitler to annex the Sudetenland to the
Reich. In return Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister, secured a promise that Britain
and Germany would ‘never go to war with one another again’. The whole episode showed
the bankruptcy of collective security, of Franco-Soviet co-operation and of the British
policy of appeasement. The Munich Agreement, conversely, built up Hitler’s image within
Germany and convinced him absolutely of his ability to accomplish the objectives outlined
in the Hossbach Memorandum.
There is a school of thought that Hitler saw Munich as something of a failure – that he
had allowed himself to be talked into making a diplomatic agreement instead of going ahead
with the military option which he had threatened throughout the crisis. He certainly made
up for this during the course of 1939. Once again working on an internal crisis, he engineered
the break-up of Czechoslovakia and, in March, incorporated Bohemia and Moravia into the
Reich. Having accomplished his objectives in central Europe, Hitler turned his attention
eastwards, gaining Memel from Lithuania. He was now determined to complete the union
of all Germans within the Reich, recover the last vestiges of territory lost at Versailles, and
begin the process of Lebensraum.
This meant that his next victim was Poland. Hitler swiftly stepped up the pressure by
demanding Danzig and the Polish Corridor, only to meet determined resistance from the
Polish Foreign Minister, Józef Beck. By this stage, Poland was bolstered by an Anglo-
French guarantee. This had been delivered in March and was a clear indication that the
Western powers had finally come to recognize the futility of appeasement. Hitler, however,
was utterly confident that he could continue to outwit Britain and France. He was convinced
that the British government was bluffing and that France would not go to war alone against
Germany. In any case, he made his own position more secure by drawing up in May 1939
the Pact of Steel with Italy (see p. 155) and in August the Non-Aggression Pact with the
Soviet Union. The latter was a major diplomatic turnabout which made a nonsense of any
undertaking by the West to protect Poland. Hitler still expected to avoid a conflict with
Britain by seeming to negotiate further with the Polish government and, through a series
of manufactured border incidents, providing evidence of Polish ‘aggression’. But his invasion
of Poland on 1 September 1939 provoked declarations of war from both Britain and France,
much to Hitler’s surprise. He was also let down at the last minute by his most important
ally: Mussolini felt obliged to inform Hitler that Italy was insufficiently equipped at this
stage to undertake direct military action. Despite these unexpected obstacles, Hitler was
supremely confident of success and proceeded to demonstrate the awesome power of the
new German army operating a Blitzkrieg strategy.

Aims of Hitler’s foreign policy

While the statesmen of the Weimar Republic were trying in the 1920s to achieve a revision
of the Versailles Settlement and, at the same time, effect a reconciliation with the other
powers, Hitler was already devising more elaborate schemes, to which he added substantially
 Dictatorship in Germany 233

in the 1930s and early 1940s. There are three major sources for discerning Hitler’s ideas.
The first, of course, is Mein Kampf, written in Landsberg prison, and subsequently published;
it achieved a mass circulation and was read by millions of Germans. The second is Hitler’s
Second Book, which dealt explicitly with foreign policy but remained unpublished in his
lifetime. The third source is a series of spoken remarks made by Hitler and edited by Dr
Henry Picker as Hitler’s Tischgespräche (Table Talk). Because of the undisciplined and
often rambling nature of these works, it is difficult to put together a carefully structured
outline of his policy. The basic aims, however, seem clear enough.
He maintained that all previous governments had been restricted in their foreign policy
by the notion of the ‘fixed frontier’. Even the conservatives and neo-Bismarckians were
wrong to aim at recreating the territorial arrangements of 1914, for ‘the German borders of
the year 1914 were borders which presented something incomplete’. As an alternative to
the ‘border policy’ of the ‘national bourgeois’ world, the Nazis would follow a ‘territorial
one’, the whole purpose of which would be ‘to secure the space necessary to the life of our
people’. The limited policies of Bismarck had, perhaps, been necessary to establish and
build up the ‘power structure’ for the future. But Bismarck’s successors had denied Germany
her natural process of expansion and had pursued an ‘insane’ policy of alliance with
Austria–Hungary and maritime conflict with Britain. Now the mistakes of history should
be rectified, Lebensraum could be achieved, and the ‘inferior races’ could be deprived of
the territory to which their low productivity and potential gave them no natural right.
‘According to an eternal law of Nature, the right to the land belongs to the one who conquers
the land because the old boundaries did not yield sufficient space for the growth of the
population.’ Returning to the theme of struggle which had permeated Mein Kampf, Hitler
affirmed: ‘Every healthy, vigorous people sees nothing sinful in territorial acquisition, but
something quite in keeping with its nature.’ The intended direction of this expansion was
made abundantly clear in Mein Kampf: ‘We put a stop to the eternal movement of the
Germanic people to Europe’s South and West and we turn our eyes to the land in the East.’
More specifically, ‘In speaking of new territory in Europe, we can, above all, have in mind
only Russia and its subjugated border states.’177
Did these ideas gradually evolve into an overall programme, a blueprint which Hitler
intended to follow? This question has produced one of the major historical controversies
within the theme of Nazi foreign policy.
On the one hand, some historians emphasize the fundamental logic of Hitler’s designs
and acknowledge that he did develop a definite programme and set of intentions. These so-
called ‘programmists’ and ‘intentionalists’ owe much to the pioneering work of
Trevor-Roper, who maintained that Mein Kampf was ‘a complete blueprint of his intended
achievements’.178 More recently, it has been argued, by Hillgruber, that Hitler pursued his
aims systematically ‘without, however, forfeiting any of his tactical flexibility’.179 Similar
views are expressed by Jäckel, who claims that Hitler’s ‘programme of foreign policy’ can
be divided into three phases:

During the first phase, Germany had to achieve internal consolidation and rearmament
and to conclude agreements with Britain and Italy. During the second phase Germany
had to defeat France in a preliminary engagement. Then the great war of conquest
against Russia could take place during the third and final phase.180

Jäckel also maintains that there is ‘ample documentary evidence to prove that he always
kept this outline in mind’. There is an alternative ‘programme’, pointed to by other historians
but overlapping that deduced by Jäckel. Hitler’s first priority was to destroy the Versailles
234 Dictatorship in Germany

Settlement and rearm Germany. This would be followed by the creation of an enlarged
Reich which would incorporate all of Europe’s German population. This, in turn, would be
the prelude to the achievement of Lebensraum from conquered territory in Poland and Russia.
Historians of the ‘intentionalist’ school are in broad agreement on Hitler’s formulation
of a programme or series of objectives. There is, however, a sub-debate between what might
be termed the ‘continentalists’ and the ‘globalists’.181 The former maintain that Hitler’s
objective was the conquest of Lebensraum in the east. According to Jäckel, ‘Hitler’s main
aim in foreign policy was a war of conquest against the Soviet Union’.182 But a number of
historians also claim that Hitler had an ambition that transcended the defeat of Russia and
the achievement of Lebensraum: namely, world conquest. During the 1970s and 1980s these
included Hillgruber, Hildebrand, Hauner and Thies. Hillgruber argued that Hitler’s policy
geographically was ‘designed to span the globe; ideologically, too, the doctrines of universal
antisemitism and social Darwinism, fundamental to his programme, were intended to
embrace the whole of mankind’.183 In 1976 Thies put forward a powerful argument that
‘Hitler’s “ultimate goals”, as they were conceived and developed in their global framework,
can be dated as far back as 1919 and 1920. They were thus formed much earlier than the
determination of his “short-term goals” when he was writing Mein Kampf in the years from
1924 to 1926.’184 After that, ‘Hitler never gave up the idea of conquering the world with
Europe’s help’. His ultimate target was the United States. Anticipating a transatlantic war,
he made advance preparation for the introduction of special long range bombers capable
of bombing New York; these were the Messerschmitt 261/4 (actually an Me 261 with four
engines).185 This aircraft was planned and tested but not put into production, although the
project was kept going until September 1944 despite the failure of Hitler’s armies in eastern
Europe. Goering, meanwhile, had been convinced by Hitler as far back as 1938, pointing
to the results of a possible victory over the United States: ‘Then Germany becomes the
biggest world power; then all the global markets belong to Germany.’186
Thies also maintained that ‘the controversy over “New Lebensraum in the East” versus
“Global Supremacy” had not yet been resolved’.187 This is as true now as it ever was: indeed,
the debate has been given a revived impetus, reflected by the translation of Thies’s work
into English in 2012.188 This was largely on the initiative of Berghahn, who argues that ‘the
Nazi ambitions went well beyond the murderous conquest of Lebensraum in the East’.189
There is a school of thought which denies that Hitler pursued a particular programme in
his foreign policy. Rather, he was profoundly influenced by the needs of the moment. This
case has been put most forcefully by A.J.P. Taylor, who argues that Hitler’s projects, as
outlined in the Hossbach Memorandum, were ‘in large part daydreaming, unrelated to what
followed in real life’. In his opinion, ‘Hitler was gambling on some twist of fortune which
would present him with success in foreign affairs, just as a miracle had made him Chancellor
in 1933.’190 There has been qualified support for this line of thought, although for different
reasons. Mommsen, for example, argues that Hitler did little to shape his foreign policy and
that his whole approach was spontaneous – a series of responses to specific developments:
‘in reality the regime’s foreign policy ambitions were many and varied, without any clear
aims and only linked by their ultimate goal: hindsight alone gives them some air of
consistency’.191 Broszat, too, points to the lack of any fundamental design and maintains that
Lebensraum was basically an expression of the need to sustain a dynamic momentum.
Some historians have remained cautious or unconvinced by either scenario, pointing to
Hitler’s aims as too general to constitute ‘planning’. Bullock maintained in 1967 that there
are elements in Hitler’s foreign policy of both planning and disorganized spontaneity. After
all, Hitler had ‘only one programme: power, first his own power in Germany, and then the
 Dictatorship in Germany 235

expansion of German power in Europe’.192 Elsewhere, he argued that ‘he was at once both
fanatical and cynical’.193 Kershaw suggested in 1997 a different perspective. Hitler’s
‘ideological aims’ were important ‘in deciding the contours of German foreign policy’. Yet,
these aims ‘fused’ in the formulation of policy ‘so inseparably with strategic power-political
considerations’ and ‘economic interest’ that ‘it is impossible to distinguish between them
analytically’.194 This makes it fairly clear that Kershaw regards the programmist approach
as inappropriate in Hitler’s case. Most recently, Kitchen’s conclusion in 2008 was that Hitler
was a ‘daring gambler’, driven by ‘certain obsessions’, also a ‘master tactician’. ‘He did
not have a blueprint for foreign policy, but he was driven by a fanatical anti-Communism,
a virulent racism, a determination to carve out Lebensraum in the east and by the conviction
that war was an end in itself.’195
Another major debate on Hitler’s foreign policy is whether there is an underlying
continuity with early periods. The original argument was that there was a fundamental break,
both with the foreign policy of the Weimar Republic and with that of the Kaiser’s Second
Reich. But this earlier consensus was shattered during the late 1960s by Fischer who, in
Germany’s Aims in the First World War,196 claimed that Germany deliberately engineered
the conflict in order to pursue expansionist aims which were really a prelude to those of
Hitler. These aims had included: economic dominance over Belgium, Holland and France;
hegemony over Courland, Livonia, Estonia, Lithuania and Poland, as well as over Bulgaria,
Romania and Turkey; unification with Austria and the creation of a Greater Germany; control
over the eastern Mediterranean; and rule over a dismantled Russia. Clearly, in the light of
such a programme, Hitler’s objectives would appear far from new; they could more
appropriately be called a continuation than a radical departure. In addition, there were
precedents for the völkisch emphasis of Hitler’s expansionist policies in a number of pan-
German and Lebensraum groups in pre-1914 Germany.
Of course, such plans were never implemented. The Second Reich lost the First World
War and was itself replaced by the more moderate Weimar Republic. Here, surely, would
be a case for denying continuity. Yet certain trends can be detected linking the Weimar
Republic and the Third Reich. In the first place, there was considerable continuity of military
and diplomatic personnel which lasted until Hitler’s radical changes in 1938. The Weimar
Republic had contained, within the Foreign Ministry, men like Neurath and Bülow, who
also served Hitler for the first five years of the Third Reich. Much the same applied to
Germany’s ambassadors abroad, drawn as they were largely from the former aristocracy.
This continuity of personnel at first lessened the likelihood of any sudden and dramatic
switch of policy. In any case, it could be argued, Hitler was able to continue with the
objectives of the republic as long as he concentrated on whittling away the Versailles
Settlement. Indeed, by 1938 he had accomplished the targets of the republic’s revisionists:
Germany had regained full sovereignty over all internal territories, including the Saar and
Rhineland; the restrictions on armaments had been ignored since 1935; and the Germans
of Austria and the Sudetenland had been incorporated into the Reich.
In retrospect, however, it is obvious that the continuity between the diplomacy of the
Weimar Republic and the Third Reich can be misleading. The crucial point which showed
that Nazi foreign policy was as revolutionary as its domestic counterpart was that Hitler
saw revisionism merely as a step towards projects which were well beyond the ambitions
of the republic’s statesmen. Although the republic’s politicians had a strong element of
opportunism, even ruthlessness, they did not share Hitler’s social Darwinism and racialist
vision. They also respected the traditions of European diplomacy and, under Stresemann,
contributed much to international co-operation. One of Hitler’s aims was to smash the
236 Dictatorship in Germany

multilateral agreements, like the Locarno Pact, which had been carefully built up during
the 1920s. As for the continuity of personnel, it suited Hitler to retain the appointments
made by the republic, so that he could give his regime a façade of moderation and
respectability during the period of maximum vulnerability. As soon as he had accomplished
safe levels of rearmament he instituted radical changes, in both his policy and his
appointments. The turning-point was clearly the Hossbach Memorandum of 1937 and its
follow-up. The developments of 1939, too, went far beyond any republican revisionism.
According to Noakes and Pridham, ‘It is in the policy pursued in Poland after 1939 and in
Russia after 1941 that the distinction between Nazism and conservative German nationalism
emerges clearly for the first time.’197
Finally, to what extent was Hitler’s foreign policy influenced by events within Germany?
Recent historians have argued strongly that there is a direct correlation between Germany’s
economic problems and performance and the pursuit of an expansionist policy in Europe.
Sauer, for example, maintains that Blitzkrieg was an economic as well as a military strategy.
It enabled Germany to rearm without causing German consumers excessive suffering and
thereby depriving the regime of their support.198 The practical effect was the deliberate
dismantling of neighbouring states in order to strengthen the German economic base.
Kershaw sees the relationship between the economy and militarism as more problematic.
Hitler’s Four-Year Plan and his Hossbach Memorandum were responses to the economic
crisis of 1935–6 and locked Germany into a course of rearmament – and war.199 The process
was less deliberate than Sauer maintains, but no less inexorable. It could also be argued
that Hitler accelerated the pace of his foreign policy in order to divert German public opinion
from domestic problems, especially economic. This was a well-worn device, used both in
the Second Reich and in Mussolini’s Italy.
There is a certain logic to all of the views outlined in this section, but they need to be
carefully integrated into an overall argument consisting of four components. First, Hitler
was not uniquely responsible for creating an entirely personal foreign policy. As Fischer
has shown, he inherited the main hegemonist aims from the Second Reich. Nevertheless,
second, he played an important part in renovating these within the context of a more forceful
ideology based on a racial and völkisch vision, contained in Mein Kampf and the Second
Book. He therefore personalized and amended certain historical concepts, and it would be
quite wrong to suggest that these were not seriously intended. In this respect, there is much
to commend the approach of the ‘intentionalists’, although whether we can go so far as to
accept that Hitler had a ‘programme’ – continental or global – is more doubtful. Third,
Hitler implemented his ideas in his move towards war during the late 1930s partly as a
result of domestic issues, especially the shaping of the German economy: the balance
between guns and butter required a Blitzkrieg approach to conquest. Hence, the Four-Year
Plan stepped up rearmament and the Hossbach Memorandum set an agenda for conflict.
By 1938 these internal forces had locked Germany into a course which was likely to lead
to war. Only at this point can Taylor’s thesis be included. With growing confidence provided
by his military preparations, Hitler became increasingly opportunistic, playing the diplomatic
system with some skill and achieving what he wanted over the Anschluss and the
Sudetenland. Why this course resulted in war has generated another controversy.

Hitler and the outbreak of the Second World War

The Nuremberg Judgement maintained that the Second World War was the outcome of
Nazi policy and of Hitler’s determination ‘not to depart from the course he had set for
himself’.200 This raises the fundamental question: was the conflict really Hitler’s war?
 Dictatorship in Germany 237

The majority opinion is that it was. The previous section provided an outline of the
various arguments about Hitler’s plans for European and world mastery, which are clearly
relevant to the debate on the origins of the Second World War. There has also been much
emphasis on what Hitler himself had to say about struggle and war. Mein Kampf, the Second
Book and Tischgespräche all focus on militarism and unlimited expansion, together with
the notion that struggle and war were fundamental human activities and needs. ‘War is the
most natural, the most ordinary thing. War is a constant; war is everywhere. There is no
beginning, there is no conclusion of peace. War is life. All struggle is war. War is the primal
condition.’ The logical conclusion, therefore, is that Hitler wanted war, not only to achieve
the objectives of his foreign policy, but to purify and strengthen the Aryan race. Hitler’s
responsibility for the outbreak of war is emphasized by a variety of British, German and
American historians. Sontag, for example, argues that Hitler’s policy in 1939 was, ‘like the
annexation of Austria and the Sudeten districts of Czechoslovakia, merely preliminary to
the task of winning “living space”’.201 Trevor-Roper believes that ‘The Second World War
was Hitler’s personal war in many senses. He intended it, he prepared for it, he chose the
moment for launching it.’202 Fest affirmed the orthodoxy that ‘who caused the war is a
question that cannot be seriously raised’.203 Much the same conclusion has been arrived at
by Hillgruber, Hildebrand and Weinberg.
The alternative view, held by A.J.P. Taylor, relates to his argument that Hitler lacked
any specific programme or long-term objectives, as outlined in the previous section. Instead
of pursuing policies which led inevitably to war, Taylor argues, Hitler was, by and large,
continuing those of the Second Reich and the Weimar Republic. He goes further: ‘Hitler
was no more wicked and unscrupulous than many other contemporary statesmen’, although
‘in wicked acts he outdid them all’. Hitler’s diplomacy was based on short-term expedients
and he doubted that a major conflict would be the outcome. Part of the Hossbach
Memorandum made it clear that ‘He was convinced of Britain’s non-participation, and
therefore he did not believe in the probability of belligerent action by France against
Germany.’ According to Taylor, the Hossbach Memorandum contained no plans for war

and would never have been supposed to do so, unless it had been displayed at Nuremberg.
The memorandum tells us, what we know already, that Hitler (like every other German
statesman) intended Germany to become the dominant power in Europe. It also tells
us that he speculated how this might happen. His speculations were mistaken. They
bear hardly any relation to the actual outbreak of war in 1939.204

He also maintains that Germany was not really ready for war in 1939 – the levels of
armaments confirm that Germany had not developed an advantage over Britain and France.
There has been considerable criticism of the Taylor thesis, both from historians convinced
that Hitler did have long-term objectives which included war (for example, Trevor-Roper)
and those who, although less convinced about this, feel that Taylor’s approach is too narrow.
One method of criticism is to remove the debate from the predominantly diplomatic ground
which Taylor preferred to occupy and focus, instead, on the economy. Mason, for example,
argues that Taylor’s view

leads to an overwhelming concentration on the sequence of diplomatic events, [his

judgements] rest very largely upon the diplomatic documents [and that] these documents
were primarily the work of conservative German diplomats, who, in dealing with their
specific problems, were able to cover up or ignore the distinctive language and concepts
238 Dictatorship in Germany

of National Socialism. This helps to nurture the illusion that the foreign policy of the
Third Reich was much the same as that of the Weimar Republic.205

Instead, Mason argues, Hitler deliberately chose war in 1939 as a way out of the
difficulties faced by the German economy.
There is, finally, an approach which would apportion at least part of the responsibility
for the outbreak of war to the other powers. In this case, however, responsibility is associated
less with ‘guilt’ than with ‘misinterpretation’, ‘inconsistency’ and ‘default’. It has been
argued that Hitler’s progress towards war was unintentionally accelerated by Western
leaders, paradoxically, because of their very hatred of war. Daladier and Chamberlain, who
found war morally repugnant, assumed that the rationale of all diplomacy was the pursuit
of peace. Chamberlain, in particular, made the crucial mistake of assuming that even Hitler
had fixed objectives and that if these were conceded to him, the causes of international
tension would be removed. Hitler, of course, was greatly encouraged by the pressure exerted
on the smaller states by the British and French governments and mistook forbearance in
the interests of peace for weakness and diplomatic capitulation. This explains the increasingly
aggressive stance which he adopted during the Sudeten Crisis of 1938. By 1939 Chamberlain
had at last got the true measure of Hitler and decided to extend guarantees to Poland. This
sudden switch appeared to be a desperate turn within a bankrupt policy and clearly failed
to convince Hitler of Chamberlain’s seriousness. Liddell Hart compared the pre-war crises
with allowing someone to stoke up a boiler until the pressure rose to danger level and then
closing the safety valve. It could certainly be said that the Western powers let Hitler
accomplish so many of his objectives before 1939 that they precipitated conflict by eventually
trying to stand firm. On the one hand, according to Henig, one cannot argue

that firmer action before 1939 would have prevented war. It might have precipitated it
earlier. Evidence seems to suggest fairly clearly that Hitler was determined to fight in
October 1938 to gain Sudeten Czech territory. It might have been better, from a military
point of view, for Britain and France to have fought then rather than later. This would
not have prevented war but it might well have localized it.206

GERMANY AT WAR, 1939–45

German involvement in the Second World War is often divided into two distinct phases.
The first was the period of Blitzkrieg or ‘lightning war’. This saw a series of rapid military
victories over Poland, western Europe and the Balkans, as well as initial success against
Russia, bringing most of Europe under German control. The main reasons for the Blitzkrieg
strategy are dealt with on pp. 218–19. The second period was one of Total War (1942–5).
By this time Blitzkrieg had clearly failed to defeat Britain and the Soviet Union and proved
helpless against the United States. During this second phase, Germany was slowly but
inexorably ground down by the overwhelmingly greater industrial capacity of the Allies,
who were much more effectively geared to fight a prolonged war. In retrospect, it is
surprising not that Germany lost the war but that she survived so long.

Blitzkrieg and the expansion of the Third Reich, 1939–41

German armies invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, secured by the Non-Aggression Pact
from possible retaliation by the Soviet Union. Although Britain and France had both declared
 Dictatorship in Germany 239

war on Germany in support of Poland, they were unable to take direct military action; for
them the period 1939–40 was one of inactivity, generally known as the ‘phoney war’. The
German attack on Poland was the last to be planned entirely by the German generals. It
was highly professional and was the first completely mechanized invasion in history,
comprising armoured vehicles, tanks and preliminary air attacks on selected targets. The
Polish cavalry was routed and Warsaw was taken after a converging drive from East Prussia,
Pomerania, Silesia and Slovakia. When Stalin intervened on 17 September to claim the
territory set aside for Russia by the Non-Aggression Pact, Poland’s fate was sealed. She
was partitioned for the fourth time in her history and ceased to exist as an independent
state.
The strategy of Blitzkrieg was applied next to the West, with even more spectacular
success. The first targets were Denmark and Norway, chosen to consolidate Germany’s
position before the major assault on France, long considered by Hitler to be Germany’s
‘natural enemy’. Norway was especially important as it was a major outlet for Swedish
iron-ore supplies and had enormous potential for North Atlantic naval bases. Besides, it
dominated Germany’s submarine route past the Shetlands and could well be used by Britain
unless quickly taken. The task, accomplished in April 1940, demonstrated a new version
of Blitzkrieg: namely, combined land and sea operations. It seemed that the German war
machine was irresistible and there was clear evidence of a sense of defeatism in the Low
Countries and France – Hitler’s next victims. The Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg
all fell to a renewed German onslaught in May 1940. This, however, was only the preliminary
to Hitler’s major objective – the conquest of France. Again, this was accomplished by a
variation of Blitzkrieg. This time von Kleist’s panzer divisions punched a hole through the
Ardennes, supposedly impassable and therefore lightly defended. Guderian’s forces then
overwhelmed the French Ninth Army. In the subsequent race to the Channel ports, the
Germans captured most of Flanders, and the British army was evacuated at Dunkirk. The
German offensive then flowed southwards, culminating by the end of June in the capture
of Paris and the capitulation of France.
Why was France defeated so easily? It used to be thought that the French armies were
overwhelmed by superior numbers. More recent estimates have shown that this was not the
case. Against the 103 German divisions on the western front, France mustered 99 which
were also supported by British contingents. The Allies had a definite superiority in tanks
(3,000 against 2,700), in warships (107 against 13) and in artillery pieces (11,200 against
7,710). The only real deficiency of the Allies was in air power, where the Luftwaffe had
the advantage. The real reason for Germany’s success has to be sought, therefore, in vastly
superior strategic thinking. Hitler’s campaign was based on the ‘Sichelschnitt’ (sickle cut)
through the northern plains of France via the Ardennes, as explained above. According to
Noakes and Pridham, ‘It was perhaps the most brilliant military plan of modern times.’207
The French, by contrast, were stuck in the mould of their First World War strategy. They
assumed that any conflict with Germany would again be defensive and slow moving, a
belief which was symbolized by the vast and ultimately useless Maginot Line, constructed
at enormous expense between the wars.
By June 1940 Hitler had achieved in the West all his objectives but one – a satisfactory
settlement with Britain. Hitler did not intend, at this stage, to undertake a fight to the finish
with Britain: his first priority was the quest for Lebensraum in eastern Europe. In any case
it might be possible to produce honourable peace terms. His interpretation of recent history
was that Britain had always distanced itself from Europe unless it could rely upon a particular
power to act as its ‘continental sword’. The collapse of France had now removed this sword.
240 Dictatorship in Germany

It would make sense, therefore, for Britain to resume its traditional position of neutrality
and isolation. Hitler did everything possible to encourage this. He made a series of statements
that he had no hostile intentions against Britain and that he certainly never intended to seek
to destroy the British Empire.208 When his peace approaches were contemptuously rejected
by Churchill, the new British Prime Minister, Hitler considered that he had no option but
to give the directive for the invasion of Britain. This would be the most ambitious Blitzkrieg
to date, starting with an all-out preliminary air offensive, followed by a massive landing
operation which would be codenamed ‘Operation Sealion’.
The events of 1940–1 were to prove the first setback in Hitler’s war. This was due in
part to a lack of total commitment to the task which he had undertaken. He overestimated
the possibility of reconciliation with Britain on the one hand while, on the other,
underestimating the British capacity for resistance. The result was that Hitler seriously
misused Germany’s resources and undermined the whole purpose of Blitzkrieg. In the first
place, he mismanaged the invasion plan. According to Craig, Goering’s direction of the
preliminary campaign to knock out resistance from the RAF was amateurish: he frittered
away Germany’s strength in the air by hitting too wide a variety of targets and not
concentrating on British airfields.209 Hitler’s decision to go for British cities also contributed
to the survival of the RAF in the early and crucial stage, making possible its eventual victory
in the Battle of Britain. The RAF also had the advantage of more effective aircraft in the
Spitfire and Hurricane, more experienced pilots, and a better warning system. Once the
RAF had confirmed its superiority in the air by 1941, Hitler was forced to postpone
Operation Sealion.
But, despite the failure of Hitler’s plans, Britain posed no direct threat to Germany in
1941. It did not possess sufficient resources to engage in a major continental war and, in
1941, suffered a number of reverses which built Hitler’s confidence to a new peak. The
opportunity was, in a sense, unsought. Mussolini had made a series of disastrous mistakes
in North Africa, Greece and Yugoslavia, resulting in temporary incursions by British troops.
In order to consolidate Germany’s southern flank and to rescue Mussolini from defeat, Hitler
despatched Rommel to North Africa and German panzer divisions to the Balkans in 1941.
Within weeks the British were forced back into Egypt and had to evacuate Greece and the
Greek islands in the Mediterranean.
These reverses did not, however, make the defeat of Britain any more imminent. Hitler
had already decided to approach the problem from a different angle and to unleash another
Blitzkrieg, this time against Russia. In retrospect, this decision seems to be the ultimate in
folly. Yet, at the time, it must have had a certain compelling logic. Ideologically, of course,
Hitler had a long-standing urge to smash what he regarded as the centre of international
Bolshevism and world Jewry – in his eyes synonymous evils. At the same time, Germany
would at last achieve Lebensraum in eastern Europe, a design frequently mentioned in Mein
Kampf and the Second Book. The defeat of Russia would also enable him to dominate the
Eurasian land mass and accumulate sufficient strength to accomplish the next stage in his
quest for world supremacy. Operation Barbarossa was therefore the culmination of all his
previous policies – indeed, their logical fulfilment – even though it was introduced against
the advice of his High Command.
One question is frequently asked about this decision. Why did Hitler open up a second
front, thereby bringing into action a new enemy, before disposing of Britain? This could
be seen as a monumental blunder, one which eventually cost Hitler the war. After all, he
had once argued in 1939 that ‘we can oppose Russia only when we are free in the West’.210
On the other hand, it has been argued that he took the decision to invade Russia precisely
 Dictatorship in Germany 241

because he had not managed to defeat Britain. According to Weinberg, this was ‘Hitler’s
answer to the challenge of England – as it had been Napoleon’s’.211 By means of another
swift and decisive campaign Hitler was certain that he could deprive Britain of any lingering
hope that she might in future be able to use a ‘continental sword’. There would also be
wider advantages. As early as 31 July 1940 Hitler told his army chiefs: ‘If Britain’s hope
in Russia is destroyed, her hope in America will disappear also, because the elimination of
Russia will enormously increase Japan’s power in the Far East.’212
But there is another possibility: that Operation Barbarossa was a pre-emptive strike against
the Soviet Union which was becoming a looming military threat. Stalin had taken the decision
during the 1930s to prepare for an offensive war at a time of his choosing and had accordingly
stockpiled huge quantities of weapons. If this was the case, and recent historical research
suggests that it was a major factor in Stalin’s Five-Year Plans, then Hitler must have
deduced Stalin’s intention, or even picked up some of the details through German intelligence.
It must have seemed to Hitler that by 1941 the gap was growing rapidly between the military
strength of the two powers. Stalin would clearly attack eventually and the best chance
Germany had of taking on the Soviet Union was by getting in first, especially since Stalin
was prepared to go to great lengths to avoid a war until he was ready. Besides, Hitler’s
hands were free at the time: France had been smashed and Britain, although undefeated,
was unable to bring the war to the continent. The most appropriate time for another major
campaign was therefore 1941.
On 18 December 1940, Hitler therefore issued Directive no. 21 for Operation Barbarossa
and ordered that ‘The German armed forces must be prepared to crush Soviet Russia in a
quick campaign even before the end of the war against England.’ The invasion was delayed
until June 1941 to enable Hitler to rescue Mussolini in the Balkans and North Africa. When
it came it was to be a Blitzkrieg on an unprecedented scale, consisting of 4 million men,
3,300 tanks and 5,000 aircraft. At first the Germans encountered little resistance and
advanced more rapidly than had any previous invasion force in history. Russian resistance
folded and, by September 1941, the Germans held a line extending from the outskirts of
Leningrad to the Black Sea. Hitler now intended to capture the rest of European Russia at
least as far as the Urals.
By the end of 1941 Hitler had reached the peak of his power in Europe. Blitzkrieg had
been applied in a succession of waves, each more extensive than the last. Poland had been
crushed in the initial assault of 1939, followed in 1940 by western Europe. His attempt to
apply it to Britain had failed, but the second Blitzkrieg in the east produced even more
stunning results than the first. There was, however, one major shortcoming, which was
ultimately to prove fatal to the Third Reich. Operation Barbarossa had not fulfilled the
objective of finishing off the Soviet Union by the end of 1941, a serious failure since
Blitzkrieg depended on instant victory. Thus, although Hitler’s mastery over Europe seemed
formidable, the tide was about to turn against Germany. From 1942 onwards Hitler’s
lightning wars were transformed into a more prolonged and destructive war of attrition –
Total War.

Europe under Nazi rule, 1939–45

After his conquests, Hitler constructed a Reich which was intended to last a thousand years.
To ensure this, he considered it essential to build a ‘New Order’ by which Germany would
effectively dominate Europe. The two main elements of Hitler’s scheme were, according
to Rich, the purification of the Germanic race and the extension of Germany’s frontiers in
242 Dictatorship in Germany

search of Lebensraum in the east.213 Taken together, these brought about the greatest
upheaval in Europe since the collapse of the Roman Empire.
Map 5 shows the extent of Hitler’s domination of Europe by 1942 (see p. 250). The
details of this are dealt with, country by country, in Chapters 6 and 7, but it would be useful
here to draw the various threads together. The first area to be incorporated was Austria, by
the Anschluss of 1938 (see p. 318). This was followed by the dismantling of Czechoslovakia,
with the absorption of the Sudetenland in 1938 and Bohemia in 1939, the latter as a German
protectorate under Heydrich. Slovakia was allowed to become a puppet state under the
leadership of Tiso (see pp. 372–4) until direct military occupation by the Germans after the
1944 rebellion.
The situation in south-eastern Europe was highly complex, involving a combination of
Italian rule, German ‘rescue missions’, puppet regimes and outright conquest. On the whole,
Hitler was content initially to allow Italian domination of the Balkans and the eastern
Mediterranean. Albania, for example, came under Mussolini’s rule in 1939. His attempt to
subdue Greece, however, failed and in 1941 the Germans had to take over and partition the
country. Yugoslavia was also crushed and divided, the southern part being allocated to Italy,
Serbia coming under German military occupation and Croatia establishing another puppet
government, this time under Pavelic. The other states of the area were more careful or
fortunate. Hungary allied herself to Germany until 1944, when Horthy was replaced by
Szálasi’s pro-Nazi Arrow Cross regime (see p. 32). Bulgaria’s alliance with Germany was
transformed into almost total Nazi control over Prince Cyril in 1943. Romania’s connection
with the Reich was similarly strengthened by Antonescu (see pp. 349–51). The greatest
single problem for Hitler in southern Europe was the collapse of Italy in 1943 and the need
to pour German troops into the north to prop up Mussolini’s new Salò Republic. Between
1943 and 1945 Axis co-operation and alliances throughout the region were therefore replaced
by total German domination.
Western Europe came under Nazi rule in 1940. Denmark experienced least upheaval;
she retained her parliamentary monarchy until 1943, although under German ‘protection’.
Norway was jointly administered by a German commissioner, Terboven, and a Norwegian
collaborator, Quisling (see pp. 377–8). The Netherlands were ruled by Reichs Commissioner
Seyss-Inquart, who had previously been Governor of Austria, and Belgium by General von
Falkenhausen. Luxembourg was, by 1942, incorporated directly into the Reich, along with
the Belgian districts of Eupen and Malmédy and the French provinces of Alsace and
Lorraine. Finally, France herself was divided after being conquered in 1940. Two-thirds,
including Paris and the Atlantic coast, were placed under General von Stülpnagel. The
rest was allowed to establish a puppet state under Pétain and Laval, based in Vichy (see
pp. 385–6).
The greatest changes came in eastern Europe. Poland was conquered, plundered and
destroyed in 1939. This was followed by an attack on the Baltic states (see pp. 336–7) and
on Russia. Part of Poland – West Prussia, Southern Silesia and Posen – was incorporated
directly into the Reich. The rest formed the General Government of Occupied Polish
Territories under the brutal administration of Hans Frank. The second wave of German
conquests (1941–2) brought further reorganization, this time in Russia. Two vast new
territories were set up, under Rosenberg. The first was Ostland, comprising the Baltic states
and White Russia, the second the Ukraine. There were plans for two more, Muscovy and
the Caucasus, which would have accounted for Russia up to the Urals. The whole of eastern
Europe, therefore, was set aside for future German expansion in accordance with Hitler’s
designs in Mein Kampf and the Second Book.
 Dictatorship in Germany 243

All areas under Nazi rule were intended for maximum exploitation by the Third Reich.
The basic justification for Lebensraum in eastern Europe was that the low productivity and
cultural achievements of the ‘inferior races’ deprived them of a right to separate statehood
and territory. Hitler considered that the Slavs possessed far more land than their history
warranted; Frank observed that the Poles ‘have no historical mission whatever in this part
of the world’.214 Russia was to be set aside for the resettlement of up to 100 million Germans
once the rapid population increase, projected by Hitler, had begun. Meanwhile, the peoples
of the occupied countries of both eastern and western Europe would be used to enhance
Germany’s war effort. A severe shortage of labour had by 1942 become apparent within
the Reich. Albert Speer, Minister for Armaments and War Production from 1942, managed
to increase economic growth and the production of war matériel by deliberately promoting
foreign labour, both voluntary and forced. By 1944 there were at least 7.5 million foreign
civilians working in Germany. A constant supply of labour was ensured by mass deportations.
In some cases slave workers were provided by the Plenipotentiary for Labour, Sauckel, for
use by the Reich’s industrial and armaments firms. According to evidence produced at the
Nuremberg Trial in 1945, eastern workers like the Tartars and Kirghiz ‘collapsed like flies
from bad housing, the poor quality and insufficient quantity of food, overwork and
insufficient rest’. Western workers were also badly treated. Krupp of Essen kept its French
workers ‘in dog kennels, urinals and in old baking houses. The dog kennels were three feet
high, nine feet long, six feet wide. Five men slept in each of them.’215 While people were
exploited, the national wealth of the occupied states was systematically plundered. Gold
and foreign holdings were removed from all the banks, and industrial produce was
requisitioned on a massive scale. It has been estimated that France provided Germany with
60 billion marks and 74 per cent of her steel, while Belgium and the Netherlands lost two-
thirds of their national incomes.216
The Nazi occupation of Europe was carried out with an unprecedented contempt for the
subject peoples. This was due primarily to the racial emphasis of Hitler’s rule. There were
two distinct aspects here. One was a search for racial purity for the German people. This
was entrusted to the SS; Himmler was made head of the RKFDV (the Reich Commissariat
for the Strengthening of German Nationhood). One of the results was the large-scale
kidnapping of foreign children who fitted the Aryan stereotype. At the other end of the
scale were Europe’s ‘lower orders’, including Poles and Russians, considered to be fit only
for forced labour. According to Bormann, in 1942, ‘The Slavs are to work for us. In so far
as we don’t need them, they may die. Therefore compulsory vaccination and German health
services are superfluous.’217 At the bottom of Hitler’s descending racial scheme came the
Jews.
Contempt for the subject peoples bred an unimaginable brutality, evidence of which came
to light in 1945 and 1946. Terror was made systematic through the extension of the SS and
the SD and through basic legislation. Two examples of the latter, both in 1941, were the
‘Commissar and Jurisdiction Decrees’ for Russia, and the ‘Night and Fog Decree’ for the
West. The authorities were provided with unlimited powers to uphold security, including
the use of torture, arbitrary arrest and summary execution. Large-scale atrocities against the
subject peoples were all too common. Three examples will suffice. In 1941, 100,000 civilians
in Kharkov were forced to work all day digging a huge pit and were then machine-gunned
into it. The reason was that the German authorities felt that they were a threat to the levels
of available foodstocks. In 1942 all the men of the town of Lidice, in Bohemia, were executed
and the children and women sent to concentration camps. This was in retaliation for the
assassination of Heydrich, the Governor of Bohemia. A similar event occurred in 1944
244 Dictatorship in Germany

when the inhabitants of Oradour-sur-Glâne, in southern France, were herded into the local
church and barns and burned alive as a punishment for resistance activity. It was later
discovered to be the wrong village. Vast numbers of people died in various camps, including
over four million Soviet prisoners-of-war. Many camps, especially in Poland, became
extermination factories as part of Hitler’s scheme for altering the racial composition of
Europe. Auschwitz, for example, killed over one million Jews, Treblinka 700,000, Belzec
600,000, Sobibor 250,000, Maidenek 200,000 and Kulmhof 152,000. Among the most
horrific of all the Nazi activities were the appalling medical experiments carried out without
anaesthetic by the likes of Josef Mengele at Auschwitz. As Foot writes, these ‘did not advance
human knowledge in any useful way whatever; unless it is useful to know how nasty man
can be to man’.218
The very awfulness of Nazi occupation implies a high degree of efficiency. In one respect
this is true; the regime took human extermination to unprecedented levels. There were,
however, severe administrative problems which prevented Hitler from coming even close
to establishing uniform control over Europe. There was no overall plan, merely a series of
local ad hoc expedients, usually lacking any central co-ordination or control. The basic
problem was Hitler’s own withdrawal from active administration to involve himself in the
conduct of the war from the remoteness of Wolfsschanze in East Prussia. As in Germany
itself numerous administrative conflicts developed from the chaos of the conquered areas.
Four examples can be cited. The first was France where there was an increasingly complex
overlap of authority. The second was Norway, which saw a major conflict between Terboven
and Quisling. Third, Poland was the scene of a bitter clash between the new Governor,
Hans Frank, and Reich officials like Goering and Himmler, both of whom tried to interfere
with policy decisions and administrative detail. Finally, Rosenberg had much the same
problem in his attempt to run the Ukraine. As he did with all political disputes, Hitler tended
to ignore complaints and allow his subordinates to settle things among themselves. Overall,
Hitler’s policy towards the east was applied haphazardly and with an almost total lack of
underlying discipline. At a conference held in July 1941, Hitler argued for initial caution
and for concealing the true intention of Nazism in Russia for as long as possible in order
to ease and hasten the conquest: ‘we do not want to make any people into enemies
prematurely and unnecessarily’. Germany’s conduct towards the conquered area, he
continued, should be ‘first to dominate it, second to administer it, and third, to exploit it’.
As events turned out in Russia and elsewhere in Europe, the occupying forces, while
ruthless, frequently lacked discipline and purpose, therefore going directly against Hitler’s
own instructions. The result was administrative confusion and the alienation of huge sections
of the population. In Russia the Great Patriotic War was in part provoked by unnecessary
German excesses, while in other countries the occupying authorities had to deal with an
ever increasing problem of resistance movements.

Total war and the contraction of the Third Reich, 1942–5

From the beginning of 1942 there were indications that the character of Hitler’s war was
changing. In declaring war on the United States he involved Germany against the world’s
greatest industrial power, while military reverses in Russia and North Africa severely tested
the German economy for the first time.
The initiative for involving Germany in a conflict against the United States came from
Berlin, the reverse of Washington’s decision to enter the First World War. This is generally
seen as one of the most irrational of Hitler’s acts, and was taken without consultation with
 Dictatorship in Germany 245

his military staff. Hitler displayed total ignorance of the United States, believing the whole
nation to be deeply corrupted by its ethnic mixture and ‘permanently on the brink of
revolution’. But why provoke a new conflict? Why not dispose of Britain and Russia first?
There is a case for saying that Hitler extended the war in order to redress the failure of the
previous stage, just as the attack on Russia had been supposed to hasten the end of Britain’s
involvement. It is possible that Hitler’s reasoning was that the United States could be expected
to enter the struggle eventually – clearly this would be another major problem for Germany.
On the other hand, this would also upgrade the alliance between Germany and Japan since
the latter would attack British and American interests in the Far East and the Pacific. This
would be of vital importance, for it would divert US attention from Europe for long enough
to enable Hitler to complete the destruction of Russia and to force a settlement on Britain.
There would therefore be no repetition of 1918, when US troops had broken the deadlock
on the western front and tipped the balance in favour of the Allies. It was crucial to ensure
that Japan did not withdraw from the war prematurely. Hence, according to Jäckel, ‘Japan
had to do more than enter the war. It had to be kept from pulling out before victory had
been won in Europe.’219 This was a serious miscalculation by Hitler. President Roosevelt
made the decision to concentrate as much on the war in Europe as on Japan, for fear that
Russia and Britain might be defeated, leaving the USA to face Germany alone. All Hitler
had succeeded in doing, therefore, was to strengthen the war effort against him on the
periphery – at sea and in North Africa – at the same time as his life and death struggle in
Russia.
During the course of 1942 and 1943 the Wehrmacht suffered a series of reverses which
turned the tide of the Second World War. The worst disasters occurred in Russia, with the
surrender of Paulus at Stalingrad in one of the most crucial battles in modern history. But
there were also crises in North Africa, with the defeat of Rommel at El Alamein. Indeed,
the commitment in North Africa had a crucial effect on the campaign in Russia since it
prevented Hitler from pouring in sufficient reinforcements to counter the Russian recovery.
It also gave the Western Allies a change to attack Hitler’s ‘fortress of Europe’ via its most
vulnerable point of access. The result was to be the collapse of Mussolini’s regime, the
withdrawal of most of Italy from the war and the need for Hitler to deploy, in support of
Mussolini’s Salò Republic, divisions which were desperately needed in Russia.
Meanwhile, Germany was also failing to win control over the sea and air. At first, Hitler’s
emphasis was on creating a large surface fleet to challenge Britain’s world naval supremacy.
Eventually, however, he was converted by his naval commanders to a more specialized form
of warfare based on U-boat attacks on merchant shipping in the Atlantic. But, despite heavy
losses inflicted on Allied ships, Hitler had, in effect, lost the battle for the Atlantic by late
1943. This was of vital importance since Hitler was unable to prevent a massive influx of
supplies from the United States to Britain under Lend–Lease. He also failed to disrupt the
supply route via Murmansk through which the Western Allies made a significant contribution
to the Russian war effort.
Aerial warfare affected Germany more directly. The failure of Operation Sealion was
due largely to the victory of the RAF in the Battle of Britain and to a rapid increase in
British aircraft production. With the entry of the United States into the war came heavier
saturated bombing of German targets. This was conducted round the clock, by the United
States Air Force during the day and the RAF at night. A deliberate attempt was made to
destroy German cities, and hence German morale, and also to knock out key industrial
centres. The former included Hamburg, Cologne, Essen, Dortmund, Berlin and Dresden.
The main industrial targets were ballbearing plants, armaments factories and communications
246 Dictatorship in Germany

networks. Two arguments have been advanced as to whether this bombing made a significant
difference to the outcome of the war. One is that the Armaments Minister, Albert Speer,
pulled together the German economy in 1944 for a final effort; this counteracted the effect
of Allied bombing, as German armaments production increased during the period of heaviest
destruction. Thus, criticism is often levelled against Bomber Command for, in effect,
conducting a war on civilians. On the other hand, it could be argued that, although the
attacks of 1944 may not have led to a dramatic decrease in production, they did, nevertheless,
prevent the sort of increase which might otherwise have occurred. In addition, catastrophic
damage was inflicted by the Allies on Germany’s transport and communications network;
this was far more important than the destruction of cities in breaking the Nazi war effort.
By 1944 Hitler’s ‘Fortress of Europe’, won by Blitzkrieg, was being breached from three
main directions. The first battering ram was applied by the Red Army, which conquered
eastern Europe during the second half of 1944 and the early months of 1945. Meanwhile,
the Western Allies were hammering at Mussolini’s Salò Republic and, in June 1944, opened
up a third front with the invasion of France. Hitler now became increasingly irrational,
living on false hopes and drawing comfort from the example of Frederick the Great, the
eighteenth-century Prussian king who had held off, in the Seven Years War, a combination
of Russia, Austria and France. Hitler firmly believed that sooner or later Russia and the
Western Allies could be induced to attack each other. ‘All of the coalitions in history have
disintegrated sooner or later. The only thing is to wait for the right moment.’220
He did manage two last-minute successes. He defeated, in September 1944, a British
airborne invasion at Arnhem which attempted to capture the bridgeheads of the lower Rhine.
He also came close in December 1944 to breaking through the Allied lines at the Ardennes
in what is usually called the Battle of the Bulge. But these did no more than slow down
the Anglo-American advance. The Western Allies now conformed to Eisenhower’s strategy
of a slow and methodical thrust on Germany across the whole front rather than the British
preference for a quick advance on Berlin. The result was that the Russians reached Berlin
first. Hitler committed suicide on 30 April 1945 after entrusting the succession to
Commander-in-Chief Admiral von Dönitz. On 7 May the German High Command
surrendered: ‘The Third Reich had outlasted its founder by just one week.’221

Hitler as a war leader

How effective was Hitler as a military leader? We have seen that there were occasions on
which Hitler had considerable success, usually in pushing the High Command in a direction
where it was reluctant to move. He was especially adept at the use of Blitzkrieg tactics
against Poland in 1939 and against the Low Countries and France in 1940. On the other
hand, Hitler also made major blunders in military organization and strategy. Perhaps the
best evidence for this is provided by four men who served under him and were directly
involved in the war effort: all were highly critical. One was Hitler’s official war diarist,
Percy Ernst Schramm, who subsequently published a detailed account of Hitler’s personal
life and military leadership, based on first-hand observation. The other three were generals
in the High Command: Manstein, Halder and Jodl. Halder, who replaced Beck as Chief of
General Staff in 1938, wrote a totally condemnatory tract in 1949 entitled Hitler as War
Lord. Jodl produced a memorandum in 1946, shortly before being executed at Nuremberg
for war crimes. Even allowing for the fact that each of these men had reason to distance
himself from Hitler, the combined weight of criticism is formidable.
 Dictatorship in Germany 247

On the question of Hitler’s direction of the war, Halder observed that the Führer destroyed
the High Command as the apex of military organization. ‘He may have had a gift for mass
political leadership. He had none for the leadership of a military staff.’222 Indeed, his divide-
and-rule policy ‘destroyed a well organized system of military command which no true
leader would ever have given up’. According to Jodl, Hitler allowed little influence and
‘resented any form of counsel regarding the major decisions of the war. He did not care to
hear any other points of view.’ Instead, he had ‘an almost mystical conviction of his own
infallibility as a leader of the nation and of the nation and of the war’. Schramm maintained
that Hitler constantly interfered in military operations. He ‘violated the tried and proven
principle that subordinate commanders must be allowed a certain limited freedom because
they are in a better position to evaluate the prevailing circumstances in their sector of the
front and might be able, through swift action, to deal with a sudden crisis’. Overall, Schramm
added, ‘Hitler had already made himself dictator of state and society during peacetime. The
war consolidated his dictatorship over the military.’223
Consequently, Hitler can be blamed personally for all the main strategic blunders.
Schramm argued that Hitler’s early success was based on huge risks which, even in retrospect,
could be considered irresponsible. As the situation deteriorated he was incapable of taking
a balanced decision and never saw the need for organized military retreat; he was ‘unable
to bring himself to make militarily necessary decisions such as the evacuation of untenable
outposts’.224 This can be supported by reference to a range of decisions in the latter phase
of the war, from his refusal to let Paulus pull out of Stalingrad to his determination to hold
all German outposts in France against enveloping Allied attacks. Hitler found the defensive
role utterly distasteful. Instead of an orderly contraction of all his front lines, he adopted
what Schramm called a ‘wave break doctrine’, whereby positions had to be held even after
the enemy had swept past and isolated
them; they could always be used as advance
posts during the German recovery which
Hitler hoped would occur as a result of his
determination and willpower. Eventually
he lost all sense of perspective. According
to Halder, ‘The delicate interplay between
yielding pliancy and iron determination
which is the essence of the art of gen-
eralship was impossible to this man, who
could be termed the very incarnation of
brute will.’225 Almost exactly the same
conclusion was arrived at by Manstein:
‘Ultimately, to the concept of the art of
war, he opposed that of crude force, and
the full effectiveness of this force was
supposed to be guaranteed by the strength
of will behind it.’226 Halder drew com-
parisons between Hitler and men of greater
reason and more limited and practical
objectives in what he regarded as the true

7 Adolf Hitler, c.1940 (© Popperfoto/Getty)

248 Dictatorship in Germany

German military tradition: he cited, especially, von Moltke and Bismarck. He concluded
of Hitler, ‘this demoniac man was no soldier leader in the German sense. And above all he
was not a great General.’227

THE HOLOCAUST
It has taken nearly over half a century for the Holocaust to be given its true perspective.
Major changes have now occurred in its interpretation, which this book aims to reflect. The
growth of interest has been phenomenal: more books are now published each year on the
Holocaust than on any other historical subject: about 300 in English alone, compared with
approximately fifty on another stalwart, the Third Reich.228
There are several reasons for the limitations of earlier perceptions. They were probably
heavily influenced by priorities during and immediately after the war. It is now known that
the Allies knew a great deal about what was happening in the extermination camps – but
they did not divulge it since this would have endangered their code-breaking operations.229
It has also been shown that the methods used by the International Military Tribunal at
Nuremberg hindered a full understanding of the scope of the Holocaust through its use of
‘illustrative minimum’ evidence to secure safe convictions.230 Then, over a longer period,
knowledge about the Holocaust was limited by the impact of the Cold War and the need
for West Germany’s co-operation in defence agreements against the Soviet Union. Similarly,
the Soviet emphasis was on the brutality of capitalism generally rather than the targeting
of a minority for which it had little sympathy itself. The late 1980s, however, saw the end
of the Communist regimes in eastern Europe, with their perceived threat to the West and
their suppression of information about the war years. As a result, more details have emerged
on the Holocaust as a European as well as a German problem. Although Germany has fully
accepted primary responsibility, there has also been more emphasis on the collaborative
nature of the Holocaust, possibly encouraged by the search for reconciliation within the
context of an expanding European Union.231 For the first time, Europe has tried to grasp
the enormity of an event which stands out even in that continent’s proclivity for violence
and barbarism. In the words of Diner: ‘Today the Holocaust stands at the negative core of
European self-understanding.’232

Outline 1939–45
Indeed, the Holocaust was the climax of a long history of anti-Semitism in most European
countries, refined to its very essence in Nazi Germany after 1933. But it was in the period
from 1939 onwards that anti-Semitism entered the phase of genocide. During the course of
that year there were three indicators for the future. The first was a threat made by Hitler in
a speech to the Reichstag on 30 January in which declared that a world war would bring
the ‘annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe’.233
Second, his regime took the first step towards achieving this by invading Poland on
1 September. Then, three months later, authorization was given for the gassing of mental
patients within Germany.
Although there was, as yet, no immediate acceleration of actual killing, several
intermediate measures were taken to make this possible when the time came. Decrees were
issued in November 1939 making the wearing of the Star of David compulsory for all Jews
in the Generalgouvernement. This was accompanied by the establishment of ghettos in
Poland: the first, in October 1939, was soon to be followed by Lodz in the following February
 Dictatorship in Germany 249

and Warsaw in October. 1940 also saw the development of plans to construct new types
of camps in German-occupied Poland. Auschwitz was authorized by Himmler in April 1940
and this, in turn, provided the model for others which followed from 1941.
But the real accelerator of genocidal policy was the German invasion of the Soviet Union
in June 1941. As the Wehrmacht and Waffen SS penetrated the Baltic states, Belorussia,
the Ukraine and Russia itself, mass shootings of Jewish civilians were carried out by
Einsatzgruppen of the SS and police units of the Wehrmacht. But this approach soon ran
into difficulties. It diverted personnel and resources from the task of finishing off the Red
Army and it adversely affected the morale of German troops. It was also difficult to keep
the killings secret from the German population, a condition to which Himmler attached
some importance. Hence the Reich now moved to another method – the use of gas chambers
and high-temperature crematoria.
A key development in the transition was the Wannsee Conference; held on 20 January
1942, this was organized by Eichmann, presided over by Heydrich, and attended by five
high-ranking SS officials, along with representatives of seven ministries of state and party
offices. There had been a six-month delay since Goering’s original order to Heydrich to
prepare a ‘Final Solution’ to the ‘Jewish question’ and problems experienced in the meantime
had raised questions about the effectiveness of the Einsatzgruppen. The Wannsee Conference
therefore confirmed a process which had already started – the move to industrialized rather
than military genocide.
Between 1941 and 1942 new extermination camps were opened at Birkenau (attached to
Auschwitz), Belzec, Sobibor, Treblinka and Maidanek, all fitted with gas chambers; similar
facilities were provided to some of the concentration camps in Germany itself. The mass
deportation of German Jews began in October 1941, followed by the clearing of all Polish
ghettos between 1942 and 1943. Developments in central and eastern Europe had a direct
impact on German-occupied western Europe, as Jews were transported to the camps from
occupied France, Belgium and the Netherlands. The Nazi regime also applied pressure to
Germany’s allies – Slovakia, Hungary, Romania and Italy – to co-operate with extermination
programme; Northern Italy was occupied in 1943 and Hungary in March 1944. Figure 7
provides a summary of the numbers of Jews killed in the Holocaust.234 The totals include lowest
and highest figures, recent estimates for the Soviet Union having been revised upwards.
What is generally considered to have been the most horrific series of events in human
history has inevitably generated controversy, particularly on the issues of why it occurred
and who was involved.

Origins and development of the Holocaust

One particular issue periodically raises its head: denial either that the Holocaust took place
at all or that it took a particular form. The vast majority of historians accept that the evidence
for the Holocaust is overwhelming. But a small minority has questioned the whole basics
of the Holocaust, including the extensive use of gas chambers. Their views have come under
counter-attacks from historians like Lipstadt,235 who seek to ‘expose falsehood and hate’.236
A more genuine historical debate is whether the Holocaust was the logical fulfilment of
the Nazi policy of anti-Semitism or the result not of careful planning but rather of the failure
of alternative strategies. In considering whether the extermination of the Jews was always
intended, or whether it emerged institutionally, few historians have seriously attempted to
deny the ultimate responsibility of Hitler. The disagreement between them has arisen over
the means by which his anti-Semitism was converted into the ‘Final Solution’.
250 Dictatorship in Germany

FINLAND
NORWAY

RE
SWEDEN

IC OF
HS O
UNITED USSR

KO ST
KINGDOM

M LAN
M
IS D
DENMARK

SA
RI
AT
IRELAND

RE
NETHER-

IC OF
LANDS

HS U
GERMANY ND

KO KR
BELGIUM LA GEN. GOVT.
PO

M AIN
M
OF POLAND

IS E
LUX

SA
OCCUP
BOHEMIA SLOVAKIA

RI
IED FR

AT
ANCE
AUSTRIA HUNGARY
SWITZ

ITALY SE ROMANIA
VICHY FRANCE R
CROATIA BI
A
AL
UG
RT

SPAIN
PO

TURKEY
GREECE

Extent of Third Reich Germany’s allies

States under German occupation

At war with Germany and her allies
or administration

Puppet regimes under German

Neutral states
influence

Map 5 Europe under Nazi influence by 1942

Some historians, collectively described as ‘intentionalists’, maintain that the Holocaust

can be attributed to Hitler’s Führer state as one of the functions of a personalized totalitarian
regime. Fleming, Jäckel, Hillgruber and others argue that Hitler implemented the decision
in the summer of 1941. The reason was that the collapse of Russia in the wake of the
German invasion seemed inevitable and this was the perfect chance to achieve a long-held
ambition. Goering therefore ordered Heydrich to bring about ‘a complete solution of the
Jewish question within the German sphere of influence in Europe’. Although no document
has ever been found linking this order directly to Hitler, it makes no logical sense to deny
his ultimate authorship. Dawidowicz places this in a more general context, arguing that
there was a gradual escalation of persecution from the nineteenth century, through to Hitler’s
ideas in the 1920s, then to implementation in the 1930s, and ultimately to extermination.
 Dictatorship in Germany 251

Most recently – and forcefully – Goldhagen has argued that there are four clear precursors
in Hitler’s thought and speeches for the Holocaust. First, ‘Hitler expressed his obsessive
eliminationist racist antisemitism from his earliest days in public life’: this can be seen
explicitly in Mein Kampf. Second, on coming to power, Hitler ‘turned the eliminationist
antisemitism into unprecedented radical measures’. Third, in 1939 he ‘repeated many times
his prophecy, indeed his promise: the war would provide him with the opportunity to
exterminate European Jewry’. This, finally, he proceeded to do ‘when the moment was
ripe’. Hence, Goldhagen concludes, ‘The genocide was the outgrowth not of Hitler’s moods,
not of local initiative, not of the impersonal hand of structural obstacles, but of Hitler’s
ideal to eliminate all Jewish power.’237
Some historians have given the Holocaust a more ‘structuralist’ or ‘functionalist’ approach,
attributing it to a sequence of administrative actions rather than to an overall design by the
Führer. Originally put by Hilberg in the early 1960s,238 this has since been taken further by
Mommsen and Broszat. The structuralist case is that mass extermination was not the
‘solution’ originally intended: rather, it was adopted after the failure of plans to resettle
Jews in Madagascar and Siberia. The latter was actually started after the invasion of Russia
in 1941 but was then blocked by the growing Russian resistance to the German advance.
Since Poland and the western areas of the Soviet Union contained the largest concentrations
of Jewish people in the world, the Nazi conquest was being impeded. The regime therefore
sought a new and swifter solution, which was also to become the ‘Final Solution’, first
through the mass killings by the Einsatzgruppen, then in the newly constructed extermination
camps. According to Broszat, therefore, ‘the liquidation of the Jews began not solely as the
result of an ostensible will for extermination but also as a “way out” of a blind alley into
which the Nazis had manoeuvred themselves’.239 As for ‘the widespread assumption’ that
genocide ‘rested on a clear directive from Hitler’, Mommsen argues that this is based on
‘a misunderstanding of the decision-making process in the Führer’s headquarters’ and that
‘the idea that Hitler set the genocide policy in motion by means of a direct instruction can
be completely rejected’.240
The intentionalist–structuralist debate on the Holocaust is part of the broader one on
the nature of the Nazi state, already covered earlier in this book. It is no coincidence that
the intentionalists also argue that the structure of dictatorship in Germany depended on the
personality of Hitler himself and that he deliberately exploited any weaknesses and
contradictions within it to his own advantage. He would therefore have chosen the time,
the method and the institutions for the implementation of a scheme of extermination which
had always existed in his mind. The structuralists, by contrast, see consistency in the
weakness of Hitler’s response to institutional chaos and the disorganized way in which the
Holocaust was finally implemented. This makes it possible to conclude that the Holocaust
was the administrative response to the failure of earlier policies.
Perhaps the gap between the two arguments is greater than it need be: both can
be employed in a substantial overlap. Out of power, Hitler initially thought in terms of
genocide – but, once in power, moderated this in order to broaden his support. This explains
why he limited early measures to the Nuremberg Laws and even ordered the removal of
discriminatory public notices at the time of the 1936 Berlin Olympics.
It is true that there was a violent acceleration in Kristallnacht (1938). Nevertheless, there
was no inexorable move towards extermination. Furthermore, during the first two years of
the war, Hitler hoped for a possible peace with Britain and did not at this stage wish to
antagonize the United States. Even for the period of mass killing there is scope for a ‘moderate
functionalist’ approach. Bartov, for example, sees the ‘mechanics of decision-making and
252 Dictatorship in Germany

organization’ as functionalist, while intentionalism can be applied to the involvement of the

higher Nazi echelons – including the ‘legitimizing’ role of Hitler himself.241 Browning agrees
that Hitler ‘signalled his expectations’ and that subsequent implementation was by a form
of ‘consensus’ politics. At the same time, he reasserts the central importance of Himmler,
as the main interpreter of Hitler’s wishes.242 This would fit other interpretations as to the
growing importance of the SS in the Nazi system – at least until late 1944 and 1945 when
Himmler’s fall from favour coincided with the declining importance of the SS. Overall,
Browning considers that there is now a greater consensus on the main themes of the
Holocaust’s origins. There is, for example, less support for any ‘big bang theory’ and more
for ‘prolonged’ and ‘incremental’ stages; at the same time, some stages were more ‘pivotal’
or ‘decisive’ than others.
Of particular importance in the development of the Holocaust was the Second World
War. Although it may not, as the intentionalist argument implies, have provided the original
motive for the killing of millions of Jews, it certainly intensified and accelerated the process;
almost all recent studies of the Holocaust have emphasized the role of the war in this way.
Bartov applies the connection more broadly: ‘we now recognize that most cases of genocide
and “ethnic cleansing” in the twentieth century were carried out within the context of
destructive and bitter wars’.243 Of course, the Holocaust would still have been inconceivable
without an underlying intent: it would have been a step too far as a progression from nothing.
The Nazi regime at peace had already given anti-Semitism a ‘legal’ structure, imposing a
range of restrictions on the Jewish population of the Reich. There had also been an
undercurrent of extreme violence in both attitudes and public outbursts, exemplified by the
propaganda promoted by Streicher and the organized ‘spontaneity’ of Kristallnacht. At war,
however, the same regime was able to bring to bear all the forces which had previously
been under at least some form of constraint.
In ideological terms, war provided the opportunity to give literal meaning to Hitler’s
concept of ‘struggle’, so that overcoming ‘race enemies’ eventually became more important
than defeating the Allies. The military dimension brought conquest and the exposure of
populations to the SS and Wehrmacht, while the invasion of Russia had implications also
for countries already conquered in the West; according to Diner, ‘From the eastern killing
fields in 1941, the disposition for genocide moved westward, paradoxically reversing the
direction of German expansion.’244 The military impetus was followed up by organizational
changes which gave new direction to genocidal policies. Within the Reich the war increased
the power of the SS at the expense of the Nazi state; externally, this became increasingly
influential in the network of satellite states carved out of Germany’s conquests between
1939 and 1941. Under the auspices of the SS, the processes of Lebensraum and genocide
became ever more closely linked. Reorganization also affected Germany’s allies, as pressure
was brought to bear from 1943 onwards for the settlement of Jewish ‘questions’ in a manner
devised by the SS structure. This was made possible by technological factors. Victory in
war had brought German control over the railway network over central, western and – above
all – eastern Europe. The extermination camps established in Poland were linked by rail to
all parts of Nazi-occupied Europe, while the actual methods of destruction involved firms,
like IG Farben, which had long been part of Germany’s industrial infrastructure.

Compliance and complicity

An issue which has attracted increasing interest – and controversy – is the extent to which
the measures of Holocaust were imposed by the Nazi regime on populations which had no
 Dictatorship in Germany 253

say in the matter and, in most cases, very little knowledge of what was actually happening.
This can be subdivided into the reactions of the German people within the Third Reich,
and the reactions of peoples and regimes conquered by – or allied to – the Reich. In each
case it needs to be asked whether people were compliant, in the sense of being obedient to
a higher authority without necessarily co-operating with it, or complicit – in other words
playing a more direct and active role within a structure provided by that authority or, in
some cases, even by themselves. Again, we will find that the prevailing conditions of war
were of paramount importance.

The German people?

German responsibility for the Holocaust has rarely been questioned, except by a small
minority of historians and far-right activists who challenge its very existence. For most
observers, the key issue is the precise meaning of ‘German responsibility’. Was it the Nazi
regime pursuing its objectives largely in isolation of the people it ruled? Or was there a
broader responsibility through the participation of those people? As with debates on other
aspects of Nazi Germany, there have been considerable swings of interpretation during the
post-war period.
Traditional views certainly emphasize support for Hitler as a populist leader, which was
strongly associated with an unconditional German surrender to authority. But the very strength
of that authority meant that limits could be placed on popular participation in the regime’s
most extreme policies – and certainly on any opposition to them. Although support for racism
and anti-Semitism may have been widespread, widespread acceptance of extermination did
not necessarily follow. The Nazi regime had extensive control over policy and information
relating to the Holocaust, which it chose to withhold from the majority of the population.
Himmler, for example, gave explicit instructions for secrecy: he said of the extermination
policy to an assembly of SS officials in 1943: ‘Among ourselves, we can talk openly about
it, though we can never speak a word of it in public . . . That is a page of glory in our history
that never has been and never can be written’.245 From this, it seems, knowledge of the
exterminations, especially of the gas chambers, was withheld from the general public and
confined, on a strictly need-to-know basis, to those who were actually involved. Although
some rumours – even evidence – may have emerged in the process, would they have been
widely believed? And if they had, how many would have been brave enough to defy the
repressive organs of the SS and Gestapo? In these circumstances how could the majority of
German people have been held directly responsible for the exterminations?
More recent views have, however, spread the extent of involvement and responsibility.
But the question remains as to how far this should go. Dülffer endorses the view that the
Holocaust was above all due to Hitler. ‘But to recognize this is not to exculpate the hundreds
of thousands of others who were involved in carrying out the Final Solution.’246 All the
German functionaries involved in the process should, therefore, also be held responsible.
Goldhagen goes well beyond this. Hitler’s ideal, he maintains, ‘was broadly shared in
Germany’.247 The bureaucracy was heavily implicated and there was widespread collaboration
with the SS from the civil service, business corporations and the army. This deprived Jews
of their basic rights and assets, isolated them and eventually killed them. The whole process
was made possible by the underlying strength of German anti-Semitism; this is dealt with
further on p. 226. Such views have certainly had their impact. Although the true extent of
knowledge about popular acceptance of the Holocaust will probably now never be known,
it is now accepted that it was more extensive than was originally believed.
254 Dictatorship in Germany

Nevertheless, the pendulum has partially returned. Goldhagen has come under some
criticism for providing a monocausal explanation based on the especially deep-rooted nature
of anti-Semitism in Germany. Other countries had experienced similar hatreds at the turn of
the nineteenth century, including France, Austria and, above all, Tsarist Russia – which had
produced the most brutal and destructive pogroms in Europe at the time. Germany, by contrast,
had shown some progress in assimilating its Jews during the nineteenth century and especially
under the Weimar Republic between 1918 and 1933. Why, therefore, should Germans have
been overwhelmingly susceptible to eliminationist fanaticism? One point is particularly
significant here. Rosenfeld argues that Goldhagen underestimates the importance of gas
chambers by maintaining that the Holocaust would have continued even without them.
Rosenfeld adds that, ‘as a means of killing that minimised contact between victim and
perpetrator’, gas chambers ‘should not have been necessary for a people thirsting to kill Jews
en masse’.248 Bearing in mind both the revelations of Goldhagen, and the strictures of his
critics, a combined approach is preferable. On the one hand, the knowledge that the German
population had of the Holocaust was wider than previously thought, especially through the
complicity of the army and central or local administration. On the other hand, such knowledge
and compliance were within the structures imposed upon the German people by the Nazi
regime, not fired by a uniquely anti-Semitic German population.

Other regimes and peoples?

As we have already seen, there was considerable variation in the overall pattern of Germany’s
wartime control. Austria and the Czech lands had already been integrated into the Reich
before the outbreak of war in 1939. Subsequent conquests between 1940 and 1941 had
included Denmark, Norway, Belgium, Netherlands and France in the west; Poland, the Baltic
States, Ukraine and part of Russia in the east; and Yugoslavia and Greece to the south.
There were also collaborationist regimes and allies in Italy, Vichy France, Hungary, Romania,
Slovakia and Croatia. Italy’s involvement in the Holocaust is dealt with in Chapter 4 and
the impact on the Soviet Union in Chapter 3.
The traditional view is that the Nazi regime imposed the Holocaust on other countries
in Europe through its wartime control over them. In many cases the non-Jewish population
suffered from appalling mistreatment as well, particularly in Poland. In this sense, the pre-
war regimes were forced to radicalize their policies against the Jews under the impact of
their own occupation. There have, however, been some changes in emphasis, with more
evidence of popular involvement in the killing of Jews in some of these areas. This applies
especially to eastern Europe, where political changes since 1989 have facilitated the growth
of free research.
An overall perspective might now be as follows. Many countries had their own inter-
war experience of anti-Semitism, particularly those which had experienced authoritarian
dictatorship. When these countries came under German control or influence there was more
local involvement than previously thought, leading to the possible extension of the epithet
‘willing executioners’ beyond Germany. On the other hand, it was the Nazi regime which
provided both the opportunity and the structure for the killing of the Jews of these countries,
under the powerful influence of wartime conditions. Most of Germany’s occupied states or
allies came somewhere between these two influences. There was, however, no uniform
balance: each of the following specific examples was different.
Austria had been integrated into the Reich from 1938 and had therefore come under all
the Nazi controls. Its people suffered as much as other parts of Germany from the impact
of war and the SS were particularly active there. Yet Austria had a long-standing background
 Dictatorship in Germany 255

of anti-Semitism, especially at the turn of the century. Karl Lueger, Georg von Schönerer
and the Archduke Franz Ferdinand had all pursued a strong anti-Jewish agenda which had
been among the earlier influences on the young Hitler; in this respect, therefore, Nazism
had roots within Austria as well as Germany.
The other areas incorporated directly into the Reich were Bohemia and Moravia. Here
there was far less evidence of earlier anti-Semitism. Jews had been assimilated in the Czech
lands during and after the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, especially in Prague. During
the period of the Czechoslovak Republic (1918–39) Jews had played an important part in
the country’s politics, culture and economy. Where anti-Semitism did appear, it was as a
response to the Sudeten crisis of 1938, in which Sudeten Germans and some Czechs turned
on the Jews as the instigators of their conflict with each other. Even so, the vast majority
of the population of the Czech lands deplored what they regarded as imported anti-Semitic
influences. From March 1939, however, they had no choice. With the German takeover,
Bohemia and Moravia came to be seen as a prototype for the Nazi treatment of Jewish
issues. There was some collaboration from the protectorate’s state president, Hácha, but the
more circumspect approach of Prime Minister Eliáš delayed the introduction of Nuremberg
Laws in Bohemia for as long as possible.249 Eventually they had to be enforced by full
Nazification under Reichsprotektor von Neurath. This was intensified in 1941, with the
arrival of Heydrich, who promptly ordered the execution of Eliáš for treason. Heydrich’s
assassination by members of the Czech resistance brought a reign of terror to the area which
made the identification and deportation of Jews a priority. Meanwhile, Slovakia, the eastern
portion of the former democracy, had been allowed to set up an autonomous state under
the leadership of Cardinal Tiso. At first this co-operated with the Nazi regime, starting the
deportation of its Jews early in 1942. Then, after the German defeat at Stalingrad, followed
by the growing threat of Soviet advance, these initiatives were suspended and more direct
measures were implemented by the Reich. Even so, Slovakia had a much weaker case than
either Bohemia or Moravia for denying complicity in the Holocaust.
Poland, the first country to be conquered by the Nazi regime, has been the subject of greater
controversy. On the one hand, Poland was one of the main victims of Nazi brutality. Its
statehood was obliterated and, unlike Romania and Hungary, there was no continuity with
the regime of the 1930s. Some historians, like Chodakiewicz, point to equality of victimhood
between Poles and Jews, both of whom were despised by the Nazis as ‘inferior races’.250
This approach is part of a broader case frequently put for Polish non-collaboration with the
Nazi regime. Against this there is at least some evidence of Polish co-operation with the
Nazi system against the Jews. A pogrom was conducted at Jedwabne in 1941 by Polish
civilians; according to J.T. Gross, the killings were not organized by the Germans, who had
just taken over from Soviet occupation. Instead of showing resistance or non-collaboration,
Polish society ‘did not stand up particularly well’ to either totalitarian regime.251 There were
twenty other similar incidents in north-eastern Poland, including Radzitów; the population
accepted the harshest measures against Jews, regarding them as complicit in the former
occupation by the Soviet regime. The Polish Police (or Blue Police) collaborated with the
Nazi authorities, as did the Baudienst units who assisted Germans in clearing ghettos and
performed other duties. Recent Polish historiography has revealed a willingness to come to
terms with the possibility that Poles were both ‘victimizers and victims’.252 Yet, allowing
for these two perspectives, the overall balance is tilted nearer to forced – or non-compliance
than it is to complicity. There was less actual co-operation with Nazi measures against the
Jews than in most other areas under German occupation and certainly less than in Germany’s
allies: Hungary, Romania and Slovakia.
256 Dictatorship in Germany

Did Hungarian anti-Semitism have indigenous roots? Or was it imposed on a reluctant

population under German influence? Probably a combination of both applies. During the
period of the Dual Monarchy, Hungary had experienced less politicized anti-Semitism than
Austria. But when the Treaty of Trianon had shorn away all the Slav territories, leaving
Hungary as a bleeding Magyar rump, the Jewish minority suddenly became more obvious
– and targetable. The first moves towards anti-Semitic legislation came in 1938, intensified
in 1939 and 1941. Although their Nuremberg style was clearly influenced by Nazi Germany,
the regime which introduced them was still independent; it therefore allowed itself to be
influenced. Whether this applies also to the Holocaust in Hungary is more controversial.
On the one hand, Braham maintains that the momentum for the killing of Hungary’s Jews
came inexorably from Germany. There is certainly evidence to support this. The Luther
Memorandum from the German Foreign Ministry (October 1942) demanded more speed in
the elimination of Jews from public life and their evacuation to the east, while Goebbels
recorded in his diary in April 1943 that ‘The Jewish question is being solved least
satisfactorily by the Hungarians.’253 The most important changes in the plight of the Jews
occurred after German occupation of Hungary in March 1944 when, according to Braham,
Eichmann ‘finally had a chance to test his well-oiled death apparatus on a massive and
grandiose scale in a lightning operation’.254 Ránki, however, adopts a different approach.
She maintains that ‘Hungarian institutions participated fully in the deportation of the Jews’
and that ‘Hungarian society accommodated the “Final Solution” because they were immersed
in decades of state-sponsored and social antisemitism’; this, together with ‘antisemitic and
extreme right-wing government policies inevitably led to the Holocaust in Hungary’.255 There
was also willing bottom-up complicity with the top-down directives. According to Ránki,
‘the German occupational regime could clearly function only if it could rely absolutely
upon the Hungarian civil service’.256 It is not difficult to see why such contrasting views
are possible. As will be seen in Chapter 7, Hungary herself oscillated between periods of
sturdy autonomy, when there was some reluctance to follow German orders, and more direct
co-operation with the Nazi regime. Prime ministers favouring an independent line were
Teleki (1939–41), Kállay (1942–4) and Lakatos (August to October 1944), while those who
co-operated actively with Germany were Imrédy (1938–9), Bárdossy (1941–2) and Sztójay
(March to August 1944). President Horthy, who had also exercised some constraint, was
replaced in October by the more fanatical Szálasi, who presided over the most destructive
period of the Hungarian Holocaust.
Romania experienced a similar combination of internal and imported influences although,
unlike Hungary, it was never subject to Nazi occupation. Anti-Semitism was ingrained in
Romania’s past: Jews had been denied full statehood in the 1866 Constitution and there had
been a strong reluctance to grant basic rights to the Jewish minority in the new territories
acquired in 1919. Anti-Semitic policies accelerated after 1929, with the growing influence
of fascist elements on the regime of King Carol II (1930–40). Yet Romania’s wartime
experience was complex – resulting in the most instinctively anti-Semitic of the non-Nazi
dictatorships doing less than some of its neighbours (certainly Hungary) to implement the
Holocaust along Nazi lines. On the one hand, Romania was under less pressure than some
of the other regimes and therefore had more room for manoeuvre. Under Antonescu Romania
was, according to Ioanid, ‘a fascist dictatorship and a totalitarian state’.257 There was an
enthusiastic application of anti-Jewish measures, involving deportations, summary executions,
forced labour and starvation. But, after the defeat of Romanian armies on the Russian front
in 1943, there was a growing gap between Romania and Germany and less co-operation with
German officials than in Hungary. Yet, given the huge overall figure of Romanian Jews,
Romania’s involvement in the Holocaust was extensive – whatever form it took.
 Dictatorship in Germany 257

The Jewish response to persecution

Most studies in racism and anti-Semitism focus on the motivation of the persecutors.
Attention is now being given to the reaction of the persecuted. One view is that there was
little resistance – and for a reason. According to Hilberg, the Jews tried to avoid provoking
the Nazis into still more radical measures: ‘They hoped that somehow the German drive
would spend itself.’ Furthermore,

This hope was founded on a two-thousand-year-old experience. In exile the Jews had
always been a minority; they had always been in danger; but they had learned that they
could avert danger and survive destruction by placating and appeasing their enemies.258

Other explanations have also been put forward.259 It was, for example, more difficult for
most Jews to resist than it was for other sectors of the population. Unlike partisans, they
tended to be concentrated in ghettos and had no access to wooded areas for concealment.
They also lived among a largely hostile population in most countries in central and eastern
Europe. Internally there were tactical and ideological differences among those who wanted
to resist, some being Zionist, others pro-communist.
Yet we should not conclude from this that there was no attempt to contest Nazi
measures; on the contrary, there were several. There were, for example, numerous self-help
organizations. Comprising lawyers, doctors and artists, these were intended to evade the
discriminatory legislation where possible and to minimize its effects. These were also linked
to the Reich Association of German Jews which tried periodic public appeals: in 1935, for
example, it complained to the Minister of War about the exclusion of Jewish servicemen
from the German armed forces. Jewish lawyers also complained to the League of Nations
about discrimination in Upper Silesia, still officially under League supervision as a plebiscite
area. In this instance the government backed down and withdrew some of its measures
(although it reinstated them when the League’s supervision ended in 1937). More radical
opponents were prominent in the illegal groups organized by the Communists and Social
Democrats. These, according to confidential Gestapo reports, contained disproportionately
large numbers of Jews. It is unlikely that such reports would have distorted this point, since
they were intended to collate information, not to spread propaganda.
In a sense such Jewish activities were counterproductive. Winterfelt argues that the various
organizations impeded the full realization of the extent of anti-Semitism. The only real
alternative was emigration, which the response actually discouraged. ‘Instead of trying to
make life for Jews under Nazi tyranny as pleasant as possible, everything, and every possible
Pfennig, should have been invested in attempting to get Jews out of the country.’260 There
is some support for this: the United States allowed an immigration quota of 25,000 per
annum, which was never filled before 1939.261 On the other hand, different figures show
that there was a major concerted effort to leave Germany: 130,000, or 20 per cent of the
Jewish population, emigrated between 1933 and 1937, while a further 118,000 followed
them after Kristallnacht, leaving something like 164,000. This occurred despite the upheaval
and dislocation, and the loss of up to 96 per cent of emigrants’ financial assets. Housden
therefore puts a different case to that of Winterfelt: ‘If emigration amounted to opposition
through escape, the vast majority of the Jews did oppose the Third Reich.’262
Perhaps not surprisingly, historical controversy intensifies over the period of the Holocaust
between 1941 and 1945. One debate concerns the extent of the Jewish administrative co-
operation with the authorities. As the Germans occupied eastern Europe they established
Jewish authorities, or Judenräte, in areas of heavy Jewish population. In the Ghetto of Lodz,
258 Dictatorship in Germany

Jewish Number of % of Jewish

population Jews killed population
(million) (million) killed

* Poland 3.300 2.350–2.900 Latvia 89

* Soviet Union 2.1–4.7 0.700–2.200 Poland 88
+ Romania 0.85 0.200–0.420 Lithuania 87
R Bohemia ⎫ Yugoslavia 87
* Moravia ⎬ 0.360 0.233–0.300 Germany 83
+ Slovakia ⎭ Bohemia ⎫
R Germany 0.240 0.160–0.200 Moravia ⎬ 83
+* Hungary 0.403 0.180–0.200 Slovakia ⎭
* Lithuania 0.155 0.135 Netherlands 80
* France 0.300 0.060–0.130 Greece 80
* Netherlands 0.150 0.104–0.120 Austria 67
* Latvia 0.095 0.085 Hungary 50
* Yugoslavia 0.075 0.055–0.065 Romania 49
* Greece 0.075 0.057–0.060 Soviet Union 48
R Austria 0.060 0.040 Belgium 48
* Belgium 0.100 0.025–0.040 France 43
+* Italy 0.075 0.009–0.015 Italy 26
+ Bulgaria 0.050 0.007 Bulgaria 14

R Reich before September 1939

* Conquered and under German occupation
+ Allied to Germany
+* Allies eventually occupied

Table 1 Numbers of Jews killed in the Holocaust

Source: Nazism 1919–1945, Volume Three: Foreign Policy, War and Racial Extermination: A Documentary Reader,
Edited by J. Noakes and G. Pridham, new edition, 2001, ISBN 978 8 85989 602 1, p. 629. Used by kind
permission of University of Exeter Press.

for example, the Judenräte organized labour rotas, enforced discipline and prepared people
for the resettlement ordered by the Nazis. Hilberg argues that the Judenräte aimed to avoid
provoking the German authorities by making themselves indispensable to the German war
economy and they certainly did a great deal to help the German administration, the resources
of which were heavily stretched. ‘The Jewish and German policies, at first glance opposites,
were in reality pointed in the same direction.’263 In some cases, Jewish officials even
knew the secret of the exterminations but decided to remain silent. While accepting the
humanitarian motive behind this, some historians, like Robinson, see it nevertheless as
‘collaboration.’264 Against this, it is strongly arguable that without such co-operation the plight
of the victims would have been even worse. The same applies to those Judenräte in Upper
Silesia which tried to stamp out opposition to the Nazis and sometimes handed offenders
over to the Gestapo. But, according to Trunk, ‘Under the system of collective responsibility,
any act of a single person could lead to collective punishment of the whole ghetto community,
whose doom would then be sealed.’265 What the Judenräte were doing, therefore, was
governing humanely. The fact that their authority was delegated to them by an inhumane
system does not make them complicit.
 Dictatorship in Germany 259

Much has also been written about compliance within the death camps, especially over
the apparent docility with which millions of Jews went to the gas chambers. One argument
is the sheer extent of the deception applied by the Nazi authorities. Deportees were led to
believe that they were being taken to the camps to be resettled. The next, and cruellest,
deception was that those selected for the gas chambers were told that they were to be
showered and deloused before taking on new trades allocated to them: they would therefore
have been preparing themselves for a revival of the type of existence they had experienced
in the ghettos. In these instances the SS and the German administration became expert at
avoiding any trouble by building up hopes.
Even in such terrible circumstances, however, there were examples of Jewish resistance.
In 1942 Jewish inmates in Sachsenhausen rioted in protest against a decision to move them
to the east. This was the only instance in Germany but there were also examples in 1943
at Treblinka, with 750 escapes, and at Sobibor, with 300 breakouts. Meanwhile, in Berlin,
the Herbert Baum Group co-ordinated Jewish opposition, distributed anti-Nazi propaganda
and made common cause with the Communists. There were twenty-four examples of armed
uprisings in ghettos in Poland and Lithuania. In addition to Warsaw, there were, for example,
uprisings in Cracow, Czestochowa, Lvov, Tuczyn, Vilnius and Bialystok. Cox also points
out that ‘Jews served in disproportionately high numbers in the partisan armies’, including
30,000 with Soviet partisans, 1,600 in Slovakia, 7,000 with Tito, and, in Belorussia, a host
led by the Bielski brothers; in France, meanwhile about one in six Maquis was Jewish.266
Even this contribution is probably an underestimate, since the identity of Jews was often
subsumed into larger groups (Russian, Polish, Lithuanian, Yugoslav or French) keen to
emphasize a national identity.

Personality and evil

Finally, there is the disturbing question of how so many people could allow themselves to
be involved in acts of evil. There can be no question that the participants were unaware of
the real nature of what they were doing, whether in the Einsatzgruppen or in the camps.
Even Rudolf Hoess, the commandant of Auschwitz, maintained that ‘Our system is so terrible
that no-one in the world will believe it to be possible’.267 But how could this ‘terrible system’
have had so many practitioners? One possibility is that a minority of sadists enforced a
system which others knowingly followed through fear of retribution if they disobeyed
orders. The impetus here is evil as a positive force, released by psychopathic behaviour.
The main example would be the influence of Streicher, who derived sexual gratification
from the persecution and torture of helpless people. There is no doubt that thousands of
similar characters were attracted to membership of the SS by similar prospects. But it is
equally certain that they were a small minority among all those involved in the Holocaust.
There must be a better explanation.
The alternative, according to Hannah Arendt, is that the process of extermination
was dealt with ‘neither by fanatics nor by natural murderers nor by sadists. It was manned
solely and exclusively by normal human beings of the type of Heinrich Himmler.’268
Far from being sadistic, Himmler was squeamish about the details of mass murder and
issued official instructions that SS officials were not to torment the inmates of the camps.
In 1943 an SS Untersturmführer was sentenced to death for succumbing to the temptation
to ‘commit atrocities unworthy of a German or an SS commander’.269 Rudolf Hoess always
maintained that he was doing to the best of his ability the job allocated to him and that, at
260 Dictatorship in Germany

the same time, he remained ‘completely normal’: ‘Even while I was carrying out the task
of extermination I led a normal family life. I never grew indifferent to human suffering.’270
By this route we arrive at a preposterous conclusion. Among the sadists handling the
extermination programme were ‘normal’ family men, who presided over them and tried to
do their duty like decent German citizens. The extermination programme was seen as an
arduous duty to be carried out. It involved the denial of the preferences of the participant,
not their sublimation. But this was the clue. Denial of preference was initially directed by
external discipline. External discipline led to internal self-discipline as the participant
adapted to a new routine. Routine brought familiarity with the task which, in turn, reduced
the chance of rejecting it. Yet in all this some absolute values could remain. These were
parallel to and yet entirely cut off from the genocidal tasks being carried out. Hence, men
like Hoess, who remained a practising Catholic while commandant at Auschwitz, literally
led double lives, neither of which intruded on the other. We are left with the image of evil,
in the words of Arendt, as being essentially ‘banal’. In its ordinariness it can affect any
group of people at any time. This is a far more frightening concept than a system dominated
by psychopaths.
Yet, for all that, evil can operate as banality only in the most extraordinary situations.
The context was provided both by modern technology and a bureaucratic mentality: according
to Baumann, modernization ‘contains all the technical elements which proved necessary in
the execution of genocidal tasks’,271 while Mommsen maintains that modernity produced
‘a purely technocratic and bureaucratic mentality’ as well as a ‘pseudo-moral justification’
for genocide.272 This, however, has been questioned by Housden. Taking the specific
example of Hans Frank, Housden believes that this Nazi official did not conceive of himself
‘as a cog in a much wider machine’. It was quite the reverse. ‘He was seduced and thrilled
into expecting much more than this for himself. He wanted more in terms of intellectual
prestige, national respect, financial wealth, historical importance, even sexual delight.’
Hence Housden departs from the Arendt explanation; Hans Frank, at least, was more an
example of the ‘vanity of evil’ than of the ‘banality of evil’.

REFLECTIONS ON HITLER’S DICTATORSHIP

This chapter has examined a variety of theories and standpoints about Hitler and the Nazi
regime. These have included a number of debates involving ‘intentionalism’ versus
‘functionalism’; paradoxes such as ‘chaos’ and ‘consent’; and political, social, economic
and racial perspectives in the contexts of Gleichschaltung, Volksgemeinschaft, Lebensraum,
Blitzkrieg and Total War. It is now time for a considered overall conclusion. Of all the
questions which have been asked about Hitler and Nazi Germany, one always returns. How
could it have happened that Hitler was able to take control over Germany and in due course
of Europe?
Three broad approaches have been advanced by way of an answer. First, Germany was
part of a collective experience of upheaval affecting much of Europe after the First World
War, the roots of which went back beyond the turn of the century. Second, Germany
followed her own special path, or Sonderweg, which led uniquely to the Nazi era. Third,
Hitler’s individual leadership shaped Germany’s experience between 1933 and 1945 in the
way that nothing else could have done. All three of these clearly have a part to play and
have already been considered at various points in this chapter. But, in the final analysis,
what weight should they be given against each other?
 Dictatorship in Germany 261

Nazi Germany as part of a collective experience?

Chapter 1 provided a background to the problems experienced by many European societies
after 1918 – Germany included. One of these was the dislocation caused by the First World
War on all states, especially those which had been defeated or deprived of territory and
resources in the peace settlement. Another was the effect of economic crisis, whether
inflation or depression, and the concomitant impact on social structures. This, in turn, put
severe pressures on the functioning of democratic institutions and alienated large sections
of the population from their previous party loyalties. Meanwhile, Germany – like other
countries – was affected by modernist influences,273 contained in end-of-the-century theories
of biological engineering, or demographic studies of population trends in eastern Europe.
Social engineering was another facet which was widely influential, as far afield as the Soviet
Union and the United States.
More negatively, anti-Semitism had been widespread at the turn of the century, especially
in Austria (where Hitler had been influenced by Schönerer and Lueger) and Russia, which
experienced the greatest levels of violence against Jews. Racial theories were also broad
currency, advanced by works such as Gobineau’s Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines,
published as far back as 1855. Add to this the revolution in communications and there was
huge potential for radical change at all levels – and in many parts of Europe.
All of these developments are, of course, crucial to understanding the broad setting in
which Germany found herself. But some interpretations remain predominantly at this level,
focusing on Hitler’s Germany as part of a broader phenomenon or as a reaction to
developments elsewhere; such a perspective is too limited.
The most obvious example is the Marxist interpretation of the Nazi period which was
prevalent in the German Democratic Republic until its demise in 1989. This saw Hitler and
the Nazi regime as the logical consequence of a capitalist process. He was merely the pawn
of the most extreme forms of finance capital within Germany. Their political infrastructure
had manipulated him into power in 1933 and then used him to destroy labour organizations
and the working class. Far from losing control over Hitler, capitalism continued along an
increasingly aggressive course in pursuit of financial hegemony in Europe, then the world.
By this analysis, therefore, Hitler had no independent input: he was part of a larger process.
The analysis itself is doubly flawed: it is based on a preconceived formula of historical
change which, in turn, provided ideological justification for the political system which
replaced Nazism in East Germany.
Another approach may be less heavily structured or influenced by ideology – but it does
have an underlying motivation. Some historians have attempted to place Nazi Germany in
a more collective balance of culpability. Although their studies are detailed and often
complex, their aim is to draw equivalence between what happened in Nazi Germany and
developments elsewhere, especially in the Soviet Union. This has been done at two levels.
The first can be considered a serious academic approach. During the Historical
Controversy (Historikerstreit), which took place in Germany in 1986–7 about the possible
rehabilitation of Hitler and the regime, both Nolte and Hillgruber sought to draw comparisons
with the Soviet system of Stalin to avoid singling out Germany for special historical blame.
Nazism itself was a reaction to Bolshevism and the Soviet Gulag system both preceded and
led to Auschwitz.274 According to Hillgruber, the murder of Jews in Nazi Germany ‘cannot
qualitatively be judged different’ to Stalin’s murder of Ukrainian peasants.275 It has also
been argued that a persistently condemnatory approach to the German experience serves
only to demonize the subject and to obfuscate the search for really meaningful explanations.
262 Dictatorship in Germany

The problem here is that the most extreme development of the entire period, the Holocaust,
becomes reactive to something else. Certainly it can be compared with the Soviet gulag but
should not lose its uniqueness in the process. It is, after all, the most extreme and – arguably
– the most logical outcome of the Third Reich.
The other level seeks more obvious exoneration of Hitler and Nazism. Some historians
have sought to absolve Hitler from responsibility for the outbreak of war or from association
with the Holocaust. Irving, for example, showed ‘a gradual progression from partial
exoneration, through rehabilitation, to the virtual elevation of Hitler to a level of historical
and moral greatness’.276 His work also led to eventual denial of the gas chambers, and to
placing the killing of Jews on a par with other events of the war such as the Allied bombing
of Dresden.
Some forms of analysis are by their very nature generic – and are valid within certain
limitations. One such is the ‘totalitarian’ approach, which emphasizes that Hitler, Stalin and
Mussolini were all part of the phenomenon of the totalitarian state associated with Fascism
and Communism; these were identifiable by certain common characteristics. This does a
great deal to explain the category and characteristics of the Hitler dictatorship (see Chapter
2) and in providing comparisons with Stalin (Chapter 9). But it is primarily a starting point
to explain terminology, to establish criteria and to introduce a structure for analysis. It is
not a device for explaining the origins of any specific regime. This also applies to the generic
explanations of Fascism; we can surmise what Fascism was, where it came from, who
supported it and what it stood for – but not why Nazism took hold so completely in
Germany.

Germany’s ‘special path’?

In some respects Nazism grew from uniquely German roots as well as from more widespread
influences. Many of Hitler’s ideas on race came from the writings of racially orientated
German scientists or hygienists such as Haeckel, Schallmayer and Ploetz. Although less
violent than in Russia and less politicized than in Austria-Hungary, anti-Semitism had its
most extreme theoretical justification in Germany, expressed in the numerous tracts produced
by the likes of Hentschel, Lanz and Dinter.277 These were to have a direct influence on
Hitler’s more extreme description of the Jews in Mein Kampf. Hence, according to Burleigh
and Wippermann, ‘Hitler’s racism was neither original nor without contradictions, either
in parts or as a whole.’278
Germany also experienced a particular form of social fracturing which someone like
Hitler was able to exploit. Unification had been carried through in 1866 and 1870–1 by
force of arms and the subsequent Kaiserreich (1871–1918) had been a distinctive mixture
of autocratic rule and democratic participation. The ruling classes – the Junkers and the
new industrialists – felt threatened by the ever-increasing numbers of urban workers, while
the middle classes were increasingly destabilized. This goes some way towards explaining
the emergence of support for extreme parties like the Communists and Nazis during the
declining years of the Weimar Republic. As for the Third Reich’s expansionism, this had
to some extent been anticipated by Germany’s policy before 1914 and during the First World
War. Recent social studies have also shown the huge personal popularity of Hitler among
the German people, in contrast to the more manufactured cult of Stalin in the Soviet Union.
Part of this was a feeling that Hitler was able to provide tradition with a new direction.
All of these are crucial to explain how Hitler was able to attach his ideas and appeal to
various levels of the German experience. But just how far should we take the connection
 Dictatorship in Germany 263

between Nazism and the uniqueness of the German past? Here are three examples of the
‘special path’ or Sonderweg approach. To be fair, these are taken from much more extensive
arguments which do not necessarily represent the entire book. But they do stand out in their
particular context as following the Sonderweg.
The first is the ‘surrender of Germans to authority’ argument, advanced by A.J.P. Taylor
in a survey of German history from Luther to Hitler, first published in 1945. He maintains
that the National Socialist dictatorship had a ‘deeper foundation’ and that

During the preceding eighty years the Germans had sacrificed to the Reich all their
liberties; they demanded as reward the enslavement of others. No German recognized
the Czechs and Poles as equals. Therefore every German desired the achievement which
only total war could give.279

Others, too, have argued that the failure of the 1848 revolutions was of crucial importance
in depriving Germany of a liberal base.
Second, ‘the straight line of German history’ is presented by Shirer, who argues that the
subjection of Germany to Prussia was the crucial factor and was to have ‘disastrous’
consequences.

From 1871 to 1933 and even to Hitler’s end in 1945, the course of German history as
a consequence was to run, with the exception of the interim of the Weimar Republic,
in a straight line and with utter logic.280

Similarly, there was a direct cultural line.

German culture which became dominant in the nineteenth century and which coincided
with the rise of Prussian Germany, continuing with Bismarck through Hitler, rests
primarily on Fichte and Hegel, to begin with, and then on Treitschke, Nietzsche,
Richard Wagner, and a host of lesser lights . . . They succeeded in establishing a
spiritual break with the West.281

As for Mein Kampf, ‘It offered, though few saw this at the time, a continuation of German
history.’282
The third example is much more recent and forms only a small part of a widely respected
work. It has, nevertheless, been contentious. In 1996 Goldhagen maintained that German
racism was endemic – to the extent that it defined the Holocaust. He pointed to ‘the
development in Germany well before the Nazis came to power of a virulent and violent
“eliminationist” variant of antisemitism’. Indeed, ‘When the Nazis did assume power, they
found themselves the masters of a society already imbued with notions about the Jews that
were ready to be mobilized for the most extreme form of “elimination” imaginable.’283
All of these imply that Germany was a ready arena for someone like Hitler to make a
special impact, and that in various ways the German people had surrendered to something
which had made them particularly vulnerable to him – whether this surrender was to
‘authority’ or to ‘Prussia’ or to ‘virulent anti-Semitism’. While not denying that there were
powerful elements of authoritarianism, Prussianization and anti-Semitism in Germany, can
we really say that these were so powerful as to prepare the German people to be ‘Hitlerized’?
After all, the democratic Weimar constitution was based very much on the institutions of
the Kaiserreich and, although these were badly flawed, neither could be described as a
264 Dictatorship in Germany

‘surrender’ to authoritarianism. Similarly Prussia’s domination of Germany should not

consequentially be associated with authoritarian control. The Weimar Republic did little to
change Prussia’s status yet it should not be forgotten that the state government of Prussia
remained democratic (based on a coalition between the Centre Party and the SPD) for some
time after the Republic government had lurched to the right. If anywhere set a bad example
for the rest of Germany between 1919 and 1933, it was Bavaria not Prussia. Finally, to give
a generic description to virulent anti-Semitism is to overlook the advances made in reducing
constraints on the Jews in Germany, both in the nineteenth century and in Weimar Germany.
We should also remember that the increase in the popular vote for the Nazis between 1930
and 1932 was due to factors other than anti-Semitism. The most intense racist feelings
therefore followed rather than preceded the rise of Nazism.

The uniqueness of Hitler’s impact?

It makes most sense to acknowledge the supreme importance of Hitler within the context
of Germany’s experience in a radicalized and embattled Europe. It is impossible to conceive
of Nazi Germany without Hitler, whereas a more traditionally authoritarian regime could
well have occurred: indeed, the assumption of the conservative right in Germany is that
that was where it was heading under Hindenburg. Yet what actually happened was that a
peripheral extreme was suddenly thrust into the centre by a previously marginalized man
who was released by the fracturing of constraints. Hitler took full advantage of the situation
in which he found himself in order to effect a total change. For this reason, he should be
considered revolutionary; Lukacs calls him ‘the greatest revolutionary of the twentieth
century’, although he adds that this is not intended to be ‘approbatory’.284 It was Hitler who
developed Nazism, whereas neither Lenin nor Stalin can be given the full credit for
Communism, nor even Mussolini for Italian Fascism. One of the important effects of
Goldhagen’s work is to revive the centrality of ideology in the Nazi system after its earlier
dilution by the ‘intentionalist’–‘functionalist’ debate. Hitler’s aims, as expressed in Mein
Kampf, are now taken much more seriously than the ‘daydreaming’ once attributed to them
by A.J.P. Taylor. The whole process of Nazification, the ‘Reconstituting society as the
Volksgemeinschaft was’, according to Eley, ‘an ineluctably ideological process’.285 Similarly,
a new style of foreign policy, based on ignoring established frontiers in the pursuit of
Lebensraum, revolutionized international relations in a way which entirely transcended the
more limited Weltpolitik of the Kaiserreich. As for anti-Semitism, Hitler extended its earlier
punitive role into something intended to be redemptive and eliminationist, thereby
revolutionizing Germany’s internal priorities. He was impatient with the limited ‘pogrom’
approach to anti-Semitism and wanted to convert prejudice and hatred into extermination.
This was unique even in German history. How, it might be asked, could the Holocaust have
happened without Hitler? Or the paraphernalia and race mystique of the SS?
Also of decisive importance were Hitler’s opportunism and strategy. He it was who moved
the Nazi Party away from an earlier course and more into line with the needs of the moment
– until it was safe to resume its revolutionary impetus. His emphasis on a strategy of ‘legality’
and of winning over the upper and middle classes brought him into conflict with the Strasser
in the late 1920s, while in 1934 he found it necessary to cull the radical activists under
Röhm. In both cases his judgement proved correct and consolidation provided a basis for
revolution at a later date. Above all, his charismatic leadership held both the nation and his
subordinates. There was never an alternative. His cult may have been orchestrated by
Goebbels – but the latter remained devoted to him to the end, without aspirations of his
 Dictatorship in Germany 265

own to the leadership. The details of the racial mystique and much of the organization
behind eliminationist anti-Semitism may have been provided by Himmler – but, until April
1945, the Reichsführer SS was never anything but a loyal subordinate to the Führer.
Of course the whole system was at times chaotic and the case has been strongly made
for its endemic inefficiency. The particular strength of the functionalist argument has been
to correct the automatic connection between ruthlessness and efficiency. But this does not
necessarily weaken the personal nature of Hitler’s dictatorship. The regime may have been
operated by others, whether at central or at local levels. But all actions were justified in
terms of the ‘Will of the Führer’ and ‘Working towards the Führer’. It was still the state
Hitler wanted, even if he was not always fully in control of the methods it used. Functionalism
therefore presents a case for how it worked, rather than for what it wanted. This is where
intentionalism prevails – because it recognized the overriding influence of Hitler’s ideas as
the drive behind the regime.
So far the argument has been put for the overriding importance of Hitler’s particular
influence in Germany. Yet it is possible to go too far in this direction and to overstate the
case. We should not go to the other extreme and place the entire explanation for the Nazi
experience on the person of Hitler. For in that direction lies the abnegation of all other
reasons in the impression that the German people were deluded by promises, then intimidated
by terror and finally left in ignorance of the eliminationist nature of his rule. This will not
do – for three reasons. First, as the intentionalists show, Hitler’s ideas were plain for all to
see. Second, historians emphasizing social factors in the Third Reich have demonstrated
the widespread nature of personal support for Hitler. Third, there were occasions on which
Hitler could have been removed from the scene: with a more severe sentence after the Munich
Putsch, by President Hindenburg, and through intervention by the army. That none of these
happened was a reflection on what Germany had become in its acceptance of Hitler’s regime.
But if any of these had happened could Germany have experienced the same Third Reich
– or an alternative one? And would the outcome have been the same?
The approach which makes the most sense is to combine the three perspectives
considered – but in the reverse order of their importance. This means placing Hitler firmly
as the key factor into the background of a Germany in crisis within a more generally volatile
Europe. Burleigh’s laconic description is relevant here: he describes his recent biography
of Hitler as

an account of the longer-term, and more subtle moral breakdown and transformation
of an advanced industrial society, whose consequences astute observers, with an instinct
for these things, could predict someways before they happened. But encouraged by
irresponsible and self-interested sections of the elite . . . the mass propelled itself against
charity, reason and scepticism, investing its faith in the otherwise farcical figure of
Hitler, whose own miserable existence gained meaning as he discovered that his rage
against the world was capable of indefinite generalisation.286

This contrasts with Shirer’s ‘line’, which is perhaps more relevant to modern Russian
history. Lukacs, for example, argues that Hitler’s place in German history is ‘more
extraordinary’ than that of ‘Stalin’s in the history of Russia’. After all, ‘There was no Ivan
the Terrible (whose rule, in many ways, resembled Stalin’s) in the history of Germany.
Stalin fits more into the pattern of Russian history than Hitler fits into that of Germany.’287
Chapter 6

Dictatorship in Spain

On paper, Spain had certain assets which could well have equipped her for democracy rather
than the dictatorship to which she twice succumbed between the world wars. For example,
the 1867 constitution had given her a parliament with two chambers, one of which was
elected from 1890 by universal male suffrage. In practice, however, the political and social
fabric faced desperate problems which eventually resulted in the collapse of the parliamentary
system in 1923.
One problem was a series of external disasters. Spain became the first power to lose her
imperial role, suffering in the process humiliating naval and military defeats. Cuba had risen
in revolt in 1895 and Spain had been defeated by the United States in the War of 1898. More
serious still was a crisis in northern Morocco, which Spain had been trying to conquer since
1909. Spanish troops were pinned down by indigenous resistance movements and General
Silvestre was defeated by the Riffians in 1921 at Anual, losing 12,000 of his contingent of
20,000. Military disasters were accompanied by internal instability which involved the growth
of powerful opposition to central government from the left and from the regions. The former
consisted of a strong trade-union movement, as well as anarchist organizations influenced
by the nineteenth-century philosopher Bakunin. Left-wing radicalism frequently overlapped
with demands for the independence of regions such as Catalonia. Although the central
government succeeded in suppressing this rebellion, it was unable to restore full confidence
in its rule and resorted increasingly to graft and corruption. In the view of Thomas, ‘By 1923
the Spanish parliamentary system was bruised almost to death.’1

DICTATORSHIP TO REPUBLIC, 1923–31

Primo de Rivera, 1923–30

The result was that the Spanish king, Alfonso XIII, acquiesced in a military coup in 1923
by Miguel Primo de Rivera, a general who, according to Payne, was neither an intellectual
nor a politician but who had become ‘impatient with constitutions’, preferring ‘order and
simplicity’.2 He was well-meaning but unsophisticated; depending on intuition rather than
reason, he convinced himself that he was most in touch with the needs and aspirations of
the Spanish people. ‘Your president is vigilant’, he proclaimed, ‘while you are asleep’. He
liked to be portrayed as an Atlas who, ‘with his stout shoulders unshakeably avoided the
collapse of the lofty roof of our beloved fatherland’.3 He also saw himself as strengthening
the Christian base of society and as a sentinel against the threat of communism. The best
means of serving Spain, in his view, was to dispense with party politics. He was much
influenced by political developments in Italy and was once introduced by Alfonso XIII on
 Dictatorship in Spain 267

8 General Miguel Primo de Rivera, photo

taken in 1928 (© Universal History
Archive/Getty)

a trip abroad as ‘my Mussolini’. His regime

was not, however, based on ideology.
Instead, it was largely pragmatic. He tried
at first to manage with a cabinet of military
officers but came to the conclusion by 1926
that a broader-based and more systematic
government was necessary. He therefore
introduced a ‘National Assembly’, a cor-
porative chamber intended to represent dif-
ferent classes and interest groups. He also
developed a new party, the Unión Patrió-
tica, to mobilize popular support for the
authoritarian system. ‘This’, he claimed ‘is
a national movement which signifies, above
all, faith in the destinies of Spain and in
the grandeur and virtues of our race’.4 As
it turned out, the whole political system
was too diffuse: it was neither one thing
nor the other. It was not sufficiently democratic to heed the demands for alternative policies,
nor was it sufficiently authoritarian to prevent these demands being made. During the six
years he was in power, Rivera pursued bold policies, sometimes with notable success. He
avoided the humiliation experienced by previous governments in dealing with Morocco and
managed to subdue the protectorate by 1926. Internal problems were more complex. He
considered that Spain’s most urgent need was stability, to be achieved partly by reviving
traditional virtues and partly through a process of modernization. He therefore strengthened
Spain’s infrastructure through the extension of public works. Unfortunately, his policies
were handicapped by inadequate financing. One possible means of raising the necessary
revenue was a complete overhaul of the taxation system, but this was fiercely resisted by
the upper classes and the bankers. He resorted then to the alternative expedient of borrowing
and, in his later years, made extensive use of the ‘extraordinary budget’. He aimed also at
more direct government intervention in economic activity, hoping to create new industries
and bring about protection through higher tariffs. There were signs of economic improvement
during the 1920s. According to Rial, however, his economic policies ‘produced only a short-
lived, unevenly distributed spurt’.5 In any case, Carr maintains, whatever prosperity there
was ‘was to a large extent the result of favourable outside circumstances for which the
regime could take no credit’.6 It has also been pointed out that any economic reform was
not accompanied by much needed social changes. There was, for example, no improvement
in the conditions of either industrial or agricultural workers. Rivera was not blind to the
need for social reform but he was too heavily committed to the wealthier classes, upon
whom he depended for support.
Rivera’s dictatorship ended in January 1930, the result of overwhelming economic and
political difficulties. Spain experienced a slump in share prices in the stock markets and an
erosion of the currency. The whole basis of economic growth was threatened so that Rivera
had to stop using the extraordinary budget and batten down the hatches. This signalled the
268 Dictatorship in Spain

end of prosperity, but the regime was not strong enough to withstand the backlash. Rivera
had been unable to provide a permanent legitimacy for his government and he fell as a
result of an attack from the left and the withdrawal of support from the right. The offensive
was launched by Spanish republicans, the press, universities and the socialists, while the
conservatives saw nothing to gain by prolonging Rivera’s regime. The upper classes, fearing
the impact of economic decline, hoped that a change of government would regenerate
confidence. Above all, the army was alienated by Rivera’s attempts to reform the promotion
system and eliminate some of the more blatant privileges. Disturbed by this overall lack of
confidence, the King requested and received Rivera’s resignation in January 1930. The
dictator was in poor health in any case and died only two months later.

Interpretations of Primo de Rivera’s regime

Most historians now agree about the type of regime introduced by Primo de Rivera. Despite
the misleading impression created by the titles of some of their books,7 they do not consider
it as fascist. According to Blinkhorn, Primo de Rivera’s rule did not rest on a mass movement;
‘it lacked a totalitarian vision’ and the regime ‘was not a fascist one’.8 Like Salazar, Rivera
was hostile to the whole concept of the totalitarian state, for its paganism and hostility to
Christian-based civilization. Instead, as Ben-Ami states, there were closer parallels with the
contemporary authoritarian systems of Poland under Piłsudski and Portugal under Salazar,
and with the later system of Metaxas in Greece. Rivera’s Unión Patriótica was an official
party of national unity but with measured mobilization of support rather than a mass
movement like those created by the totalitarian right; in this respect, it was similar to Salazar’s
União Nacional. Both leaders were suspicious of indigenous fascist organisations, regarding
them as agents of instability and internal chaos. Ultimately, Rivera’s power base was
paradoxical. On the one hand, it depended on the official support of the monarchy and the
goodwill of the political, social and military elites. On the other, it transcended the narrowness
of the more traditional caudillo form of dictatorship by its claim to a wider base of popular
support and a single national party. The problem was that the regime could last only as
long as it was tolerated by monarchy and aristocracy and became vulnerable as soon as
these expressed disillusionment with Rivera’s more radical experiments. The essential
difference between Rivera and the fascist leaders was that the former had to work within
an existing system, even if he was trying to redefine it. Fascism, by contrast, frequently
worked outside traditional institutions even where, as in Italy it acknowledged a role for
the monarchy, earlier political organs and the Catholic Church. Withdrawal of royal support
therefore brought about the collapse of Rivera in Spain, whereas it followed the collapse
of the mainstream of Mussolini’s Fascism in Italy.
Where, therefore, does Rivera’s dictatorship stand in twentieth-century Spain? Two very
different approaches are possible here.
One is that the regime was an isolated phenomenon, a break in the more complex
developments of the 1920s and 1930s. Before 1923 the monarchy had become imperilled
by the crisis in Morocco and by the growing instability brought by political and social
antagonism, exacerbated by economic instability. Between 1923 and 1930 Rivera managed
to avoid the collapse of the monarchy by urgently needed reforms and a settlement in
Morocco. Yet, as we have seen, these achievements were flawed and their eventual limitations
meant that the Rivera period was an interlude between two periods of crisis. This meant
that the revolution that had been building up before 1923 was merely postponed until after
1930. Rivera’s place in Spanish history was therefore strictly limited in that he had
comparatively little impact on the future.
 Dictatorship in Spain 269

A contrasting interpretation is that Rivera’s dictatorship played an integral role in the

overall development of Spain in the twentieth century. Ben-Ami, for example, sees his regime
as ‘a most significant turning point in modern Spanish history’,9 a view endorsed by
Blinkhorn10 and Rial.11 This could produce two logical, but different – approaches to
Rivera’s importance. One is that Rivera had a direct impact on the future through his
modernizing policies – limited though these were in practice. But it required the greater
determination and ruthlessness of the new right of Francisco Franco to push Spain into the
next phase of development; in this sense, Rivera prepared the way for Franco, although the
latter went much further than the former would have wanted. The other approach – and the
one now most favoured by recent historians – is that Rivera’s influence was one by default.12
Ben-Ami argues that that Rivera ‘had shattered the foundations of the old regime without
enthroning a new state, thus leaving behind him a dangerous vacuum of power’.13 Rial
similarly maintains that ‘the dictatorship was no mere “parenthesis” in political evolution,
but a revolutionary break in continuity well beyond the country’s subsequent ability to
accommodate’.14 Certainly, Rivera’s military reforms had fundamentally destabilized the
army, which, in turn, set in motion a series of unintended changes. In the short term the
backlash against Rivera brought down the Spanish monarchy as well. Rivera’s successor,
General Berenguer, tried to promote a new system of authoritarian reform. But the republicans
who had been so successful against Rivera in 1929 and 1930 were not likely now to be
satisfied with a few compromises and promises. Instead they took full advantage of the
restoration of parliament and party politics, winning a majority in the municipalities in
elections of 1931. This was taken as a vote of no-confidence in the monarchy. Fearing
revolution if he tried to keep himself in power, Alfonso XIII voluntarily left Spain, expecting,
no doubt, no doubt, to be recalled when the political scene had quietened down. He was
replaced immediately by the Second Spanish Republic.
The demise of the Rivera regime not only pulled down the monarchy; in the longer term
it helped prepare the way for a more radical right-wing dictatorship. When the Second
Republic, in turn, faced crisis and collapse, it was to be replaced not, as Alfonso had hoped,
by a restored monarchy, but by a right-wing dictatorship which was more radical and ruthless
than anything Rivera had anticipated. But this could be installed only by overcoming a
newly empowered – but divided – republic. This meant a prolonged and bitter civil war.

REPUBLIC TO DICTATORSHIP, 1931–9

The Second Republic lasted eight years: from 1931 to 1939. From 1936 onwards it was
confronted by an all-out assault from General Franco, who eventually installed himself as
caudillo.

The Second Republic to 1936

The opening years of the republic (1931–3) were dominated by the left, first under Zamora
and then Azaña. The early governments introduced a series of major reforms, intended to
alter the political and social structure of Spain. Early measures included the introduction
of an eight-hour working day, together with benefits (covering maternity, retirement and
accident insurance) and paid holidays. These were followed by military changes which sought
to control the power of the army by requiring officers to swear loyalty to the republic. There
were also attempts to reduce the top-heavy officer corps in the army through early retirement.
The momentum increased as the 1931 Constitution introduced universal suffrage at the age
270 Dictatorship in Spain

of twenty-three and a single-chamber parliament, or Cortes, abolished the nobility and, in

Article 26, took extensive measures against the Church. The republicans regarded the
Church as a reactionary force which had become resistant to any progressive ideas and
which therefore needed drastic change. The main measures introduced by Article 26 were
the right of the state to dissolve religious orders (which now had to register officially), the
secularization of education and the forcible introduction of the type of social reform like
the legalization of divorce, which had been resisted by the Church. The Associations Law
(May 1932) completed the measures against the Church, preventing members of religious
orders from engaging in trade or industry, abolishing Church schools and nationalizing
Church property. Meanwhile the 1932 statute granted a degree of autonomy to Catalonia,
which now had its own parliament, president and government, as well as control over such
functions as education, taxation and police. Finally, the Law of Agrarian Reform (1932)
tried to narrow the gap between the landless peasantry and the enormously wealthy landlords,
allowing the state to purchase unworked lands of over fifty-six acres in certain parts of
Castile, Andalusia and Extremadura. Overall, this was the most extensive package of reforms
Spain had ever experienced.
Unfortunately, everything went wrong; nearly all the changes aroused bitter opposition
from Spain’s various vested interests. In part, this was a throwback to the end of the
monarchy. Salvadó has argued that the ‘pillars of the old regime’, who had deserted the
King ‘out of sheer expediency’, were now able to ‘act as a constraint upon change’.15 A
portion of the army resented the pruning of its ranks. The Church went on to the defensive,
finding a champion in Gill Robles, who set up in February 1933 a coalition of right-wing
Catholic groups (the Spanish Confederation of Right-Wing Autonomous Groups, or CEDA).
The landlords did everything in their power to resist the legislation on land, which was
never applied effectively anyway. Azaña therefore failed to benefit Spain’s lower orders
and succeeded only in terrifying the privileged. Azaña’s government fell after being defeated
in a general election on 19 November 1933. This meant a swing to the right with a series
of coalition governments. These proceeded to dismantle the previous reforms, or at least
did everything possible to render them unworkable. This policy, in turn, provoked action
from the left in industrial areas – such as the Asturias revolt of 1934, which was bloodily
suppressed. The government also removed from circulation any left-wing leaders, irrespective
of whether they had been responsible for the violence. Even so, chronic instability
characterized the whole period. By the time that the Assembly was dissolved in January
1936 the republic had experienced twenty-six governmental crises, where seventy-two
ministers had served during a period of four and a half years.16
There followed one of the most famous elections in modern history, as much of Spain
polarized into two political camps. The left-wing parties (Communists, Socialists, Liberals,
Republicans and Anarchists) combined to form the Popular Front – later known as the
Republicans. This was countered on the right by the National Front – or Nationalists, who
consisted of monarchists (especially the Carlists of Navarre), conservatives and the CEDA.
Outside these blocs were the centre, the Basques and a new far-right organization known
as the Falange, under Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera. The result of the election was close,
with a victory for the Popular Front (with 4.2 million votes) over the National Front (3.8
million). The Popular Front secured 258 of the 473 seats in the Cortes.
As Azaña formed a new government, the Nationalists looked on sullenly and awaited
an opportunity to seize power. Azaña proceeded to reintroduce the earlier reforms. He also
removed Franco, whom he regarded as the major threat in the army, by posting him to the
Canary Islands as military governor. Unfortunately, the second Azaña administration did
 Dictatorship in Spain 271

9 General Francisco Franco, 1892–1975

(David King Collection)

nothing to allay the fears of the right that he was

drifting towards communism. Indeed, all his
policies were interpreted as openly provocative.
The right therefore opted for action and the army
hatched a plot to overthrow the republic. General
Franco, who had returned from the Canaries,
led seasoned Spanish contingents from Morocco
into the south of Spain, while General Mola ad-
vanced from the north with support from Navarre.
The republic was to be snuffed out by the two
converging forces.

Outline of the Spanish Civil War

1936–9
The purpose of this section is to give a brief
survey of the overall context and main events
of the Spanish Civil War. Further details are
provided in the separate sections indicated.
The two sides now confronting each other are usually called the Republicans (or Republic,
or Loyalists) and the Nationalists (or Insurgents, or Right). These labels cover a range of
adherents which, in the case of the Republicans, was especially wide; they comprised members
of the Popular Front – republicans, socialists, liberals, communists (pro- and anti-Moscow),
anarchists and regional minorities. The Nationalists included disillusioned military officers,
monarchists (especially Carlists), conservatives, pro-Catholic parties and, finally, the Falange.
The leaders, especially Franco and Azaña, are dealt with in separate sections. The areas and
groups in Spain who supported each side – including classes, army, clergy and others are
analysed on pp. 274–84. The issues involved in the war – both general and specific, are covered
on pp. 271–2 and the reasons for Franco’s eventual victory – and the Republic’s defeat on
pp. 285–9.
At first the Nationalist offensive moved slowly. General Emilio Mola gradually established
a grip on northern Spain, except some of the Basque lands, and made Burgos the capital
of the new Nationalist government – the Junta of National Defence – in direct defiance of
Republican Madrid. Meanwhile, Franco invaded from Morocco. In August 1936 the two
Nationalist zones linked up along the Portuguese frontier with the capture of Badajoz. The
Republicans, however, still controlled the far north, part of the south, almost all of the east
and, of course, Madrid in the centre. Franco made an unsuccessful attempt to grab Madrid
and then laid siege to the city from November 1936; the Republicans held out but transferred
their capital to Valencia on the east coast. The Nationalists failed to cut the road between
the two cities.
Meanwhile, foreign interest in the war was growing rapidly. Germany and Italy stepped
up their supplies to Franco. France was at first openly sympathetic to the Republicans but
was manoeuvred by Britain into a more neutral stance through the establishment of the Non-
Intervention Committee, which tried to end the war by denying arms to both sides. All the
major powers initially paid lip service to the principle of the Committee, but Germany and
272 Dictatorship in Spain

Italy eventually defied its provisions by openly increasing the flow of war matériel to the
Nationalists. Although the Soviet Union provided some assistance to the Republicans, the
disparity between the two sides was considerable. This showed in 1937 when Franco was
able to mop up Republican territory in the south, including Malaga. In the far north, meanwhile,
occurred an event that provoked an international outcry – the German bombing of the Basque
town of Guernica. By October 1937 the Nationalist domination of northern Spain was
completed by the conquest of the Asturias.
The Republicans were not finished, however; they had major – if temporary – successes
at Guadalajara (March 1937) and Teruel (December 1937). But Franco doggedly persevered,
assisted by further Italian and German reinforcements. By 1938 the Nationalists had split
the Republic into two areas, isolating Catalonia in the north-east from what was left of
Republican Castile. They now concentrated on the region along the Ebro River before
launching an assault on Catalonia in December 1938. It was now only a matter of time
before the Republic was completely destroyed, especially since the international situation
had become even more unfavourable to it. Britain and France, prepared to appease Hitler
over Czechoslovakia, were clearly in no mood to confront him over his assistance to Franco.
Russia, meanwhile, ended her commitment to the Republic, which was therefore deprived
of all foreign help. The Nationalists were free to bomb and starve into submission the three
key Republican cities – Barcelona (which fell in January 1939), Valencia and Madrid
(March 1939). By 1 April 1939 Franco’s government had been recognized by much of
Europe, by democracies as well as dictatorships. The regime now controlled a country that
had experienced appalling destruction and hardship but Franco retained his position by
keeping Spain neutral during the Second World War. His grip on Spain tightened during
the post-war period and was ended only by his death in 1975.

SIDES AND ISSUES IN THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR

The sides
The Spanish Civil War is often seen as a fundamental divide between right and left – the
first major struggle between fascism and communism. This view is now generally seen as
an oversimplification and the result of the propaganda used by each side about the other.
The recent tendency is to examine all the complex issues behind the confrontation. Hence,
according to Preston, ‘the Spanish Civil War was not one but many wars’.17 The basic
argument of this section is that, on the one hand, there were fundamental differences
between the two sides, often expressed in powerful ideological terms. On the other hand,
there were also many cross-currents in Spain which tended to complicate the major issues.
The Civil War was, in fact, fought between broad coalitions – of the right (Nationalists)
and left (Republicans).

The Nationalists
The Nationalist aims were the more coherent, largely because of the overwhelming influence
of Franco. He projected the whole war as a fight against the godless left which he thought
was trying to subvert the whole of Spanish society. In this respect, Franco emphasized the
defensive nature of the uprising. He also caught the imagination of the Church by his talk
of a crusade, and was careful to associate his army closely with the Catholic religion, even
 Dictatorship in Spain 273

to the extent of making the receiving of communion compulsory among his troops. In place
of the corrupt ‘communist republic’, with its malfunctioning and bickering parties, its
declining moral standards and growing secularization, Franco promised to revive Spain’s
glorious traditions. These included military power, firm personal leadership and overriding
religious zeal.
The factions of the right all shared Franco’s repugnance of the far left, but they disagreed
on long-term objectives. The Carlists (officially the Comunión Tradicionalista), for example,
hoped that Franco’s appeal to tradition would include the eventual return of the monarchy.
Heavily based in Navarre with a preference for increased clerical state powers, the Carlists
were also strongly linked with the Catholic Church. Their military contributions were
particularly important in the opening phases of the war, up to 100,000 Carlist troops fighting
in Mola’s campaigns in northern Spain. The more moderate right wished to retain at least
part of the constitutional structure, while the more radical right – the Falange – aimed to
create a classless and corporatist system influenced by the Italian model. The Falange
experienced a rapid increase in support in 1936 – benefiting from its skills in propaganda
and the appeal of its uniforms, especially the blue shirts. Originally under the leadership
of José Antonio Primo de Rivera (until his execution by the Republicans in November
1936) the Falange retained a powerful activist influence over the other groups throughout
the Civil War.
Franco steered carefully between these various positions and was able to represent them
all. In April 1937 he introduced a decree to unify the different groups of the right into a
loose party known as the FET-JONS. Although this has often been described as ‘fascist’,
some historians, including Preston, Eisenwein and Shubert, have argued that, while fascism
did provide the ‘structural foundation of the new state system’ it does not follow ‘that Franco
himself can be regarded as a fascist dictator’.18 He was not himself inclined to fascism,
although he admired the organization of the fascist regimes. He aimed to combine the fascist,
traditionalist and conservative elements of the Spanish right without allowing any of them
to disrupt the overall balance that his personal leadership imposed. This is one of the key
reasons for the Nationalists being a more homogeneous political and military coalition than
the Republicans. It also, perhaps, explains why and how Franco was able to distance himself
from fascism after the eventual failure of the fascist regimes elsewhere in the Second World
War. To him it was simply a matter of adjusting the overall balance of the coalition under
his rule.

The Republicans
The Republicans were more complex than the Nationalists, with a greater range of
organizations, aims and methods. They also had a number of leaders associated with the
struggle against the right: moderate Republicans like Zamora (president of the republic to
1936) and Azaña (president 1936–9), together with leftists like Prieto and Caballero, regarded
with equal abhorrence an enemy that would impose terror by means of a permanent military
junta. Depending on the ideological views of the Republicans concerned, the result of a
Nationalist victory would be the end of liberal democracy or the total exploitation of labour
in the interests of the capitalist classes. The immediate task was therefore to defend the
republic and what it had so far achieved. Azaña said in 1937: ‘We are waging war because
it is being waged on us.’19 The Republicans were, however, at a major disadvantage in that
they were by no means agreed about what was worth preserving.
274 Dictatorship in Spain

The moderate Republicans hoped to keep the existing institutions and to move closer
towards the western democratic system once Franco’s military threat had been removed. It
has been argued that had the Republican war effort been led by moderates there would have
been a much stronger likelihood of sympathy from the democracies. The radical left,
however, wanted more fundamental radical changes, including the establishment of a
workers’ state. At this point there was a serious division within the Republican camp, as
the radical left were unable to agree on a strategy for further change. One section, comprising
the CNT (Confederación Nacional del Trabajo or anarchosyndicalists), left-wing socialists
and Anti-Stalinist communists – the POUM (Partido Obrero de Unificación Marxista) –
all felt that the real effort should go into extending the scope of the revolution through rapid
collectivization and the creation of workers’ militias. This would strengthen the republic to
defeat the right. Hence, according to the anarchist Berneri, ‘we shall not win the war by
confining the problem to the strictly military conditions of victory but by associating these
with its political and social conditions’. There was therefore a strong emphasis on social
reforms such as the collectivization of industry and agriculture; most of the changes here
were in Catalonia. Against this was the view of the Spanish Communist Party (Partido
Comunista de España, PCE), on orders from Moscow, that absolute priority must be given
to the defeat of Franco. According to the Party Secretary, ‘we cannot achieve the revolution
unless we win the war; the first thing is to win the war’.20 To give priority to the revolution
would only alienate the rest of the left and risk destroying the Popular Front altogether.
Ironically, the mass mobilization of support which this needed was never fully realized, as
the Republic eventually lost the propaganda war. The PCE had gained the upper hand from
1937, largely under the influence of Soviet involvement on the side of the Republic.

Internal support for the sides

How did the various groups within Spain respond to the two sides? Examples particularly
worth examining are the institutions (particularly the Church and army), the regions and
the social classes.

Institutions
By far the most influential of these was the Catholic Church. Only a small minority supported
the Republic. This included some of the lower clergy, partly to preserve democracy and
partly for social reasons. A number of individual Catholics opposed the Nationalists, for
which they were executed. Others, however, suffered at the hands of anti-clerical mobs in
Republican zones, which killed about 7,000 members of the clergy and holy orders. This
influenced many who had not initially been fully persuaded to support the Nationalists.
Much of the Church establishment threw in its lot with the Nationalists, including
archbishops, bishops, most priests, and holy orders, especially the Dominicans and Jesuits.
There were several main reasons for this. One was the opportunity to win back the position
of the Church generally and reverse the long-term decline of church attendance and the
secularization of what had once been Europe’s most Catholic country. Both had been
apparent in industrial cities and among agricultural workers in southern areas. More
specifically, the Church leadership hoped to reverse the Republic’s anti-clerical legislation
of 1931. The Catholic opposition to the Republic was further strengthened as result of the
massacre of clergy and members of religious orders in Republican areas in the opening
months of the war in 1936. The Church increasingly looked to Franco for a way out of its
current crisis and as the best protection against what was seen as the atheistic left.
 Dictatorship in Spain 275

ASTURIAS
FRANCE

NA
VA
R

RE

IA
Burgos ON

N
B a rc
AL el o n a
CAT

ARAGO
TILE
D CAS
O L

Madrid
GAL

Valencia
PORTU

ESTREMADURA
E
IL
ST

IA
A
NEW C

NC
LE
VA
ANDALUSIA

Nationalist gains by September 1936

Further Nationalist gains by March 1937

Further Nationalist gains by October 1937

Further Nationalist gains by July 1938

Further Nationalist gains by February 1939

Map 6 The Spanish Civil War 1936–9

The initiative was taken by the Pope Pius XI, who maintained that it was the left, not
the far right, that posed the main threat to religion in Europe. ‘The first, the greatest and
now the general peril is certainly communism in all its forms and degrees.’ He considered
Spain to be especially at risk. ‘Satanic preparation has relighted . . . in neighbouring Spain
that hatred and savage persecution.’ Hence ‘our benediction, above any mundane and
political consideration, goes in a special manner to all those who assume the difficult and
dangerous task of defending and restoring the rights to honour God and religion’. As for
Franco himself, ‘We send from our hearts the apostolic blessing, propitiator of divine
favours’.21 The Spanish bishops, meanwhile, fully justified Franco’s rebellion on the grounds
276 Dictatorship in Spain

that it was reasonable in the defence of Christianity. They even quoted the Catholic Church’s
leading medieval theologian, St. Thomas Aquinas. This powerful ideological undertone
would seem to justify Gallo’s view that this was ‘the last of the European religious wars’.
Given the status of the Church, its long-term decline, and the anticlerical legislation of the
Republic, it is hardly surprising that the Church supported the Nationalists. According to
Lannon, ‘The Church could not be anything but anti-Republican in real terms’, while the
popular front ‘could not easily regard the Church as anything but an enemy’.22 A variety
of actions indicated the extent of the Church’s commitment. Pastoral and collective letters
were sent to clergy in Spain and the outside world justifying support for Nationalists;
blessings were given to Nationalist troops and for their campaigns; and there was a steady
increase of propaganda against Republic and its supporters, especially the Soviet Union.
There was even justification for Franco’s purges at the end of the war and massacres during
its course.
The other main institution was the Spanish army which, it is sometimes supposed, rose
as one against the Republic. If this had been so the Republic would have collapsed within
weeks. The reality was more complex, as the army contained a mixture of liberal and
reactionary influences. Most of the senior officers remained loyal to the Republic, as they
had been appointed in the first place partly because of their political support for the regime.
The vast majority of the middle-ranking officers, by contrast, took part in the 1936 uprising.
They opposed the reforms of Azaña, especially the effort to reduce the size of the officer
corps through early retirement. They also came to believe that Azaña was a ‘pervert who
nourished hatred for the virile virtues of the army, which he intended to destroy, leaving
Spain helpless and prey to freemasonry and Marxism’.23 The role of the army was therefore
to save the state, whose government, according to General Kindelan, was ‘in the gutter’,
and act as ‘the guardian of the values and historical constants of the nation’.24 The army
also intended to prevent decentralization and the growth of regionalism, for this would
eventually lead to the disintegration of Spain as a military power.

The regions
Map 6 on p. 275 shows the areas under Nationalist and Republican control during the various
phases of the Spanish Civil War. In 1936 the Nationalists claimed the allegiance of Galicia,
León and Navarre (all in northern Spain), large areas of Extremadura and Old Castile, much
of Andalusia, the Balearics in the Mediterranean and the Canaries in the Atlantic. The original
areas under Republican control were the Asturias, much of Aragon (in the north), parts of
Extremadura and New Castile (including Madrid), Valencia, Murcia and parts of Andalusia.
The overall trend of the war was the Nationalist north–south offensive, which gradually
overcame the Republican east–west defensive.
Two regions need special explanation – Catalonia and the Basque country. Both supported
the Republic against the Nationalists, but for pragmatic rather than ideological reasons.
There was also a limit to their support – which was never unconditional. Their main concern
was to prevent the establishment of a right-wing dictatorship, but they had no desire, either,
to see the revival of a strengthened centralized system of the left base on Madrid. Catalonia’s
commitment was not to the Republic as such. Rather, it saw the Republic as the only means
of preserving the autonomy granted in the 1932 Catalan Statute. Franco, it was well known,
intended to reimpose a unitary state, while Catalonia aimed at independence. Although it
was never in a position to secede from Spain, it formed its own Generalitat and army.
Increasingly it was seen by the Republican government in Madrid as an ally rather than a
 Dictatorship in Spain 277

province, particularly in view of the complex state of its internal affairs. During the course
of the Civil War Catalonia resisted bravely; Barcelona was bombed by the Nationalists and
eventually conquered in 1939. Like Catalonia, the Basques also felt that the Republic would
be more likely to uphold the autonomy granted in the statute of October 1933. Despite a
considerable range of political viewpoints there was an internal alliance between PNV
(Basque National Party) and other parties, including socialists and communists. The Basque
government managed to prevent the extreme anticlericalism seen in other areas and also
prepared their own defences rather than become fully integrated into the Republic.
Independence remained the key Basque objective – although through co-operation with
Republicans. But, like the Catalans, they suffered at the hands of Franco. At the outset the
Basque country was surrounded by Nationalist-held territory. The Nationalists therefore
considered it an enemy and launched a major offensive in 1937: this included the bombing
of Guernica – which became a great symbol of ‘fascist’ brutality – and the capture of Bilbao.

Social classes
To what extent did the sides in the Civil War reflect class divisions? The general trend is
obvious. According to Carr, ‘Where they were free to choose, the working classes chose
the Republic and the upper classes were, with few exceptions, fanatic Nationalists’.25 The
middle classes are more difficult to assess but it seems that the young intellectuals and
members of the professions were inclined to the Republic, their elder peers to Franco. Preston
argues that the greatest divide was in the rural areas between the landlords and the exploited
peasants; this applied especially in Andalusia and Extremadura. The wealthy landlords did
whatever possible to destroy the reforming legislation of 1931 and showed a callous
indifference to the plight of the poorest peasantry. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that
where they could the peasantry and estate owners aligned themselves respectively with the
Republicans and Nationalists.
Despite the self-evident political allegiance on the basis of class differences, there were
some less predictable cross-currents. One was the generational divide, which affected many
families in a tragic way: younger members were more likely to commit themselves to the
Republic, their elders to Franco. Another cross-current was loyalty to regional patriotism
or to the Catholic Church, both which might displace the priority of class loyalty. Finally,
the accident of where they lived decided for many people which side they supported. As
in any civil war, it was taken for granted that the population of occupied zones would act
as cannon fodder for the victors.

Issues between the sides

The sides in any war – and especially civil war – simplify opposing positions and press
ideas to extremes. To do otherwise would be considered an incomplete war effort and an
obstacle to the pursuit of ultimate victory. Two generalizations are often made about the
two sides in the Spanish Civil War.

A struggle between ‘fascism’ and ‘communism’?

The Nationalist case was that the Republic was an alien intrusion, subjecting traditional
Spain to the full threat of communism. This had first become apparent through the measures
278 Dictatorship in Spain

taken by the Second Republic from 1931 onwards; the dangers had then intensified with
the assistance given to the Republicans by Stalin and the Soviet Union from the end of
1936. According to the rebels, the shadow of communism covered everything in the
Republican sphere. This was also the perspective of the right wing outside Spain. In Britain,
the author Florence Farmborough spoke for many in 1938 when she idealised Franco’s
‘National Crusade against the Red Ministers of the corrupt Spanish Government who, dupes
of Soviet Russia, were undermining the foundations of his country’s well-being’.26 Franco,
she said, was to be admired for his devotion to ‘the Reconquest of Spain from the Red
Infidel’.27
The Republicans, by contrast, saw the Nationalist uprising as a military threat to the
progress already made by the Second Republic. What made it particularly dangerous was
its identification with the foreign ideologies and structures of Italy and Germany and their
imposition on conquered areas with external military support. It was therefore an easy step
to describe the new right as ‘fascist’ and as a departure from earlier Spanish dictatorships
like that of Miguel Primo de Rivera.
These were obvious oversimplifications, produced as defensive propaganda. There may
have been elements of truth in both cases. A substantial part of the support for the Republic
did come from communist activists (whether from the PCE or POUM) and the influence
of the Soviet Union did grow as the western democracies made it clear that the Republic
could not rely on their support. Similarly, organizations within the Nationalists (like the
Falange) were influenced by Mussolini, and Franco’s movement as a whole was directly
aligned with fascism externally. Yet, in both cases, the elements of fascism and communism
were only partial. Neither side adopted the overall label – nor liked it being used by its
opponents. We have already seen that Franco kept fascist influences under control within
the broader context of the FET-JONS. The Republicans, perhaps, were more under
communist control than the Nationalists were under fascism. But even here communist
policies and organization were far from uniformly accepted by the rest. Disagreements over
strategy and priorities suggest that communism was no more the overriding defining character
for the Republic than fascism was for the Nationalists.
There was also a strong international perspective. The 1930s were a decade in which
extremes were seen to be developing on both right and left, as democracy shrivelled in
some parts of Europe and withdrew into a defensive mode in others. The Spanish Civil War
came to be seen, in E.H. Carr’s description, as a European war fought in Spain, and
politicians were quick to add the labels of ‘fascism’ and ‘communism’ to the two extremes.
In Britain, especially, these were used freely and indiscriminately. Baldwin, for example,
referred to the ‘mumps and measles’ of fascism and communism. He saw what was happening
in Spain as a clear example of such polarization and as full of warnings for the future. ‘We
English hate fascism, but we loathe bolshevism as much. So if there is somewhere where
fascists and Bolsheviks can kill each other, so much the better.’28

A struggle between ‘Christianity’ and ‘atheism’?

This was another issue that attracted extreme interpretations at the time. The original military
revolt was not undertaken as a religious cause. But the Nationalists found it useful to claim
to be defending Spanish Christianity against the forces of atheism since this appeared to
legitimize their actions during the course of the war. For their part, the Republicans made
no claim to be supporting any atheist offensive – or even to be acting in its defence. Instead,
 Dictatorship in Spain 279

their aim was to make Spain a secular state and to control what they saw as the excessive
power of the Catholic Church. Atheism, it is true, was an influence, especially from the
communist left, but it was never official Republican policy.
In a radio broadcast in August 1936, Mola announced that one of the objectives of the
Nationalist offensive in the north was to ‘build a great, strong, powerful State that is set to
be crowned by a Cross’.29 Franco also made an early announcement that he would defend
the Church, along with ‘Patria, religion and the family’.30 He was supported by the papacy,
which associated what was happening in Republican Spain – especially the perceived
domination by communism – with atheism. The case was also put by Spanish Church leaders:
the Bishop of Salamanca referred to the Nationalist effort as ‘a crusade against communism
to save religion, the fatherland and the family’.31 The same theme was taken up in Britain
and elsewhere by the Tablet, which declared that Franco was ‘saving Europe from the New
Barbarism’.32 In its justification for foreign support for Franco, the Daily Mail painted a
lurid picture: ‘Like Lucifer before the Fall, Stalin may mobilise the powers of Darkness,
but the German Michael is also fast preparing to take the field.’33
The Republicans rejected any accusation that they were trying to eliminate Christianity.
Rather, their aim was to bring the Church into line with a society that had already become
more secular. Why, for example, should the Church continue to have so much control over
education, or over the official ban on divorce, when the vast majority of Catholics in Spain
never attended church services other than for baptisms, weddings or funerals? The left-wing
press in Britain welcomed the promise of ‘an absolute freedom of religious thought’,34
reflecting Azaña’s response to criticism of the 1931 reforms: ‘Do not tell me that this is
contrary to freedom. It is a matter of public health.’ The Republic was therefore trying
to remove not the Church itself – less still Christianity – but an embedded obstacle to
modernizing reform.
The Republic’s measures against the Church were, however, open to considerable
criticism. The treatment of the Catholic Church was more radical than anywhere else in
Europe except the Soviet Union. Its status was more secure in Italy under the 1929 Lateran
Treaty; in Germany under the 1933 Concordat; in authoritarian dictatorships like Austria,
Poland and Portugal; and in western democracies like the United Kingdom, France and the
United States. There was also an outcry throughout Europe at the massacre of clergy and
members of religious orders in Republican areas during the opening months of the war in
1936. The victims included 13 bishops, 4,184 priests, 2,365 members of male religious
orders and 283 nuns.35 Yet criticism by the Nationalists and their supporters was overstated
in several ways. Any balanced assessment shows that reforms of 1931 were at least partially
needed, even if these were taken too far. The Nationalist case was, in part at least, opportunist
propaganda, supported by an institution with an embedded aversion to growing secular
influences in Spain. Generalizations about the influence of communism on the Republicans
(largely true) were extended automatically to the threat of atheism against the Church and
Christianity (largely untrue). There is no evidence that the Republican half of Spain was
anti-Christian to the point of fighting for atheism. It was more a case of wanting to control
the clerical influence on a society that the Republican half had accepted as secular. It is
therefore vital to distinguish between secularism and atheism, especially if the latter was
associated with other ideological connotations. The Nationalists and their supporters
automatically connected atheism with communism and the Soviet Union. But such influences
did not represent the majority of Republican supporters’ viewpoints: as we have seen,
communism was more an organizational than an ideological influence.
280 Dictatorship in Spain

THE OUTSIDE WORLD AND THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR

Outline
The European powers reacted quickly to the outbreak of civil war in the wake of Franco’s
uprising. Baldwin’s government in Britain chose neutrality and put pressure on Blum, the
French prime minister, to do the same; Roosevelt’s administration in the United States
supported Britain’s line. At first, the Soviet Union made no definite decision, but Stalin soon
changed his mind, opting to back the beleaguered Republic, as did the Latin American republic
of Mexico. Hitler’s Germany, Mussolini’s Italy and Salazar’s Portugal expressed early support
for the Nationalists. Many other regimes in Europe and Latin America tried to keep clear of
the conflict, although there was, among them, a greater volume of sympathy for the Nationalists
than for the Republic.
By the end of 1936 there was a flow of weapons and advisers to the Nationalists from
Italy and Germany, which was sustained throughout the war. Portugal co-operated fully with
Franco, allowing transit facilities and handing back Republican refugees, while avoiding any
direct military involvement in the war. The Soviet Union, meanwhile, had started arms
deliveries to the Republic. Although substantial, these were to prove more precarious and
the provision had virtually stopped by 1938. The western democracies, led by Britain, set
up the Non-Intervention Committee (NIC) almost as soon as the war had started, with the
aim of trying to prevent the supply of arms and war matériel to either side. At first all the
powers subscribed to this, although Germany, Italy and the Soviet Union proceeded to ignore
and bypass its provisions. Britain, France and the United States, however, continued to abide
by them.
The Spanish Civil War had a huge impact on peoples as well as on governments. Most
democracies were divided over whether their citizens supported the Nationalists or the
Republicans. The former tended to gain the sympathy of the political right, of spokesmen
for the Catholic Church and of business interests, especially oil corporations. The Republic,
on the other hand was more likely to attract the support of the political left, particularly in
Britain and France. Many individuals ignored their governments’ official policy of non-
intervention to volunteer for service in the International Brigades (p. 282). The Brigades
even contained men and women prepared to defy their government’s open backing for the
Nationalists. It is, therefore, hardly surprising that Europe was influenced by unprecedented
amounts of propaganda.

The powers and the Republicans

The Republic hoped at the outset for sympathy, even assistance, from its fellow democracies
in Europe – especially France – to enable it to face up to the impending threat of another
military dictatorship. This was not forthcoming.
In Britain, for example, there was extensive sympathy for the Nationalists from the ruling
classes, who expected Franco to impose a pro-British dictatorship – somewhat like Salazar’s
in Portugal. In ideological terms, the real enemy was considered to be communism, not
fascism, and therefore Stalin, not Franco. The British government still hoped to come to
terms with Germany and also to revive Anglo-Italian friendship. There was no question of
direct support for the Nationalists but, equally, there appeared to be a strong case against
risking a general war for the sake of bolstering up a Republic that was inclining increasingly
to the left. On 26 July 1936, therefore, Prime Minister Baldwin instructed Foreign Secretary
Eden that: ‘On no account, French or other, must you bring us into the fight on the side of
 Dictatorship in Spain 281

the Russians.’36 France, however, was reluctant to become involved, even though Blum’s
Popular Front government was more sympathetic than Baldwin to the Republic. Blum and
Daladier feared the impact of any French involvement on France internally: it would alienate
important groups like the Catholic Church and would stir up extremes greater than those
in Britain. There was also growing concern that the large number of strikes, exacerbated
by France’s delayed recovery from the Depression, might turn political, even revolutionary.
Above all, the French government feared the prospect of diplomatic isolation in Europe if
it supported the Spanish Republic unilaterally. Therefore Blum and Daladier were susceptible
to British pressure on them to ban all arms sales to the Republic and to persuade other
countries to keep out of the conflict.
This was to be the purpose of the Non-Intervention Committee, an initiative led by Britain
and – because of Blum’s dilemma – followed by France. By the end of August 1936 the
idea of non-intervention had gained the support of twenty-seven European states, including
Germany, Italy and the Soviet Union. The Committee itself was set up in September 1936
in London, presided over by the Earl of Plymouth. Its self-proclaimed purpose was to ‘abstain
from all interference, either direct or indirect, in the internal affairs’ of Spain and to prevent
‘the exporting, re-exporting and delivery to Spain, Spanish possessions or the Spanish zone
in Morocco, of all types of arms, munitions and war materiel’.37 It quickly became apparent
that the NIC could not enforce these provisions, as Germany and Italy had no intention of
carrying out principles. The Spanish Republic, increasingly disillusioned by failures to deal
with the large arms supplies to the Nationalists, did what it could to undermine the NIC by
seeking Soviet help and recruiting the International Brigades. The British and French
governments were fully aware of the problems, although Eden argued that ‘even a leaking
ship serves its purpose’. By the time it had been disbanded in April 1939 its reputation lay
in tatters and little has been done to revive it since. Eisenwein and Shubert, for example,
argue that ‘the NIC fell short in almost every other respect of fulfilling its original mandate.
Not only did it fail to halt foreign intervention in Spain, but its existence fatally undermined
the hope that international conflicts could be effectively resolved through collective
negotiation.’38 Salvadó goes even further: ‘The NIC’s blatant inefficiency was largely the
consequence of being, in reality, a piece of humbug, an instrument of British diplomacy.’39
The Republic’s main ally was Stalin, although at first he prevaricated. His initial concern
was that the rise of Hitler in Germany necessitated improved relations between the Soviet
Union, Britain and France. Soviet assistance to Spain along the lines proposed by Comintern
policy could well undermine the Treaty of Mutual Assistance between the Soviet Union
and France in 1936 and destroy the policy of collective security to which Stalin still held.
But, for several reasons, Stalin soon changed his policy. He was alarmed by the growing
evidence of German and Italian support for Franco – and encouraged by the willingness of
the Republic to hand over its gold reserves to Gosbank in October 1936. He developed new
objectives, which Payne describes as geostrategic and internal.40 Strategically he intended
to reduce the German threat in Europe by developing closer connections with Britain and
France; this meant trying to persuade the latter to reverse their policies towards Spain and
to be more open to a popular-front approach. Internally, Stalin hoped to develop, under
Soviet influence and Spanish Communist Party control, a more effective Spanish resistance
to the Nationalists. This would involve reducing the influence of the POUM and Anarcho-
Syndicalists and enforcing a more disciplined approach. Stalin might, of course, have had
a more opportunist and pragmatic motive: by supporting the Republic he would strengthen
its resistance, thereby prolonging German involvement and diverting Hitler’s attention from
eastern Europe.
282 Dictatorship in Spain

The Soviet Union sent the first arms shipments to the Republic in October 1936. Total
contributions to the Republican war effort amounted to 627 aircraft, 331 tanks, 60 armoured
cars, 1,170 artillery pieces, small arms and ammunition, along with Soviet advisers, engineers
and pilots. Officers from the NKVD increased Soviet influence over the Republic’s political
organization and military strategy. But Soviet assistance ceased well before the end of the
war. Stalin had always been unwilling to commit Russia too heavily in case he should leave
Russia vulnerable to invasion by Germany. In any case, his involvement in Spain was partly
intended to stiffen the West against fascism but, once it became clear that appeasement was
the order of the day, he lost interest. Munich finally convinced Stalin that he should withdraw
altogether, leaving the Republic vulnerable to the final Nationalist offensive in 1939.
The greatest initial advantage of the Republic was that it had the world’s fourth largest
gold reserve – sufficient, it might be thought, to finance military operations against Franco.
Added to this was government control over the main cities and industrial areas. But the
Republic soon met serious difficulties in paying through normal banking channels for arms
shipments. The main reason for this was the reluctance of bankers to defy government orders
on neutrality. Eventually the Soviet Union agreed to make necessary provision. The price,
however, was to transfer Spain’s gold reserves to Moscow; Stalin refused point-blank to
provide the Republic with the credit being made available to Franco by Hitler and Mussolini.
In September 1936 707 tonnes of ingots and coins were moved from Madrid to Cartagena
to prevent them from being captured by the Nationalists who were besieging the capital;
the consignments, worth a total of $805 million, were then transferred by sea to Odessa,
before eventually arriving in Moscow in November. Most of it was used up in financing
Soviet equipment to Republic, although a portion found its way to France, where it was
impounded.
The Republicans also received military help from the International Brigades. Organized
by Comintern, these provided a total of between 35,000 and 40,000 volunteers from France
(which provided the largest number), Britain, Canada, Yugoslavia, Hungary, Czechoslovakia,
Sweden, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Italy and fifty-three other countries.41 The greatest
concentrations took part in the battles for Teruel and Aragón (December 1937 to April
1938). They also served in the defence of Madrid – although their exploits may have been
exaggerated by Francoists and anti-Republicans abroad to give the impression that only
outside help was keeping the Republic afloat. In September 1938 the Republic’s Prime
Minister, Negrin, announced at the League of Nations General Assembly the withdrawal
of all foreign troops, hoping that the Nationalists would do the same. After the departure
of the Brigades in October, Mussolini responded by pulling out 10,000 Italians. But the
vast majority remained, seeing the Nationalists through to victory in 1939.

The powers and the Nationalists

As we have seen, some of the powers, including Britain, France and the United States, were
ambivalent about the Nationalists. But three states specifically supported their rebellion and
campaign against the Republic: Portugal, Germany and Italy.
Salazar supported Franco for ideological and strategic reasons. There were strong
connections between what the Nationalists stood for and the beliefs of Salazar himself –
social conservatism, the role of the Catholic Church and, above all, anti-Communism.
Indeed, the future of the Salazar regime was at stake, for a Communist victory in Spain
would then lead to pressure for intervention in Portugal. At the same time, Salazar was
unwilling to commit to a full military alliance, since this would put a strain on the Portuguese
 Dictatorship in Spain 283

economy and would threaten Portugal’s connection with Britain, thereby endangering the
security of Portugal’s Atlantic islands. He therefore made a limited but significant contri-
bution to Franco’s enterprise. 10,000 Viriatos (volunteers paid by Portuguese government)
fought alongside the Nationalists and the Portuguese authorities were instructed to return
Republican refugees from Andalusia and Extremadura. Portugal was one of the main
offenders in evading the restrictions of the NIC, although Foreign Minister Monteiro did
much to reassure the British government that Franco’s victory ‘would not necessarily mean
an Italian- or German-type military victory’.42 Portugal was also of crucial strategic import-
ance, especially in the earlier period, allowing the Nationalists to link the northern and
southern offensives, secure in the knowledge that they had a friendly neighbour to their
west. Access to Portugal’s roads, railways and, above all, ports, compensated for the
Nationalist restrictions in the Republican-dominated east of Spain. According to Salvadó,
Portugal was ‘the perfect conduit through which foreign aid could be delivered’.43
Mussolini also had good reason to support the Nationalists. Strongly in favour of the
dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, he deplored Spain’s swing to the left in 1931 with the
formation of the Second Republic. He became involved in some nefarious dealings with
anti-Republic rightists in 1934, although not at that stage as part of a deliberate plot to
overthrow the Republic. But when an opportunity came in July 1936 to assist Franco’s
crossing from Morocco and Mola’s advance in northern Spain, Mussolini despatched the
first consignment of aircraft. He formalized the connection with Franco in the Secret Pact
of Friendship in November 1936. Mussolini’s intervention seemed to make sense, after
Italy’s imperial expansion in Libya and Ethiopia, as part of his new ambition to make the
Mediterranean an Italian sea and to threaten Britain’s sea routes. Meanwhile, Mussolini
could depend on establishing closer relations with Germany even, perhaps, to the extent of
being able to claim the role of ‘senior fascist’. Finally, his propaganda against Republican
Spain and communism would be sure to weaken the Anglo-French position in Europe and
undermine their attempt to maintain sanctions on Italy over the invasion of Ethiopia. To
fulfil these extensive ambitions Mussolini was prepared to provide Franco with considerable
assistance. He sent 78,000 ground troops, most in the CTV (Corpo di Truppe Voluntarie),
half of whom were actually members of the Italian regular army, while equipment included44
950 tanks, 763 aircraft, 1,672 tons of bombs and 1,930 cannon.
Hitler had initially shown indifference to Spain as all his expansionist ambitions lay in
the east. The only real significance of the west was the traditional enmity with France; there
had been no significant mention in Mein Kampf of any ambitions involving Spain. Everything,
however, changed with Franco’s uprising. Hitler provided 16,000 military advisers, the latest
aircraft and the services of the Condor Legion, 140 aircraft (Heinkel 51s and Junkers 52s),
48 tanks and 60 anti-aircraft guns.45 Total contributions in manpower amounted to about
19,000 – usually 5,500 at a time but rotated to ensure that their training and experience
were spread as widely as possible. Hitler’s response was more pragmatic, opportunist – and
cautious – than Mussolini’s. His aims were to cause problems within France by splitting
the left bloc, while establishing a pro-German Nationalist regime in Spain would ensure
that France would be confronted from three directions by hostile right-wing regimes. He
intended to use the connections between the Spanish Republic and the Soviet Union to
exploit the fear of communism and to prevent the tightening of any connection between
France and Russia. There were also advantages in encouraging Italy to become more fully
involved in Spain, since this made it easier for Hitler to carry out the Anschluss with Austria
in 1938 and to encourage Italy to join the Anti-Comintern Pact and the Pact of Steel. In
addition, Hitler was persuaded by the economic reasons put to him by the Four Year Plan
284 Dictatorship in Spain

Office for supporting the Nationalists: Germany would be provided with direct access to
Spain’s minerals as these came under Nationalist control, especially iron-ore, copper, pyrites,
mercury, lead, zinc and wolfram (tungsten). Previously on a par with Britain as an importer
of strategic materials, Germany was now able to establish a commanding lead, adversely
affecting the rate of Britain’s rearmament. Finally, Hitler was influenced by the arguments
of Goering that involvement in the Spanish Civil War would provide an opportunity to ‘try
out my young air force’ and to establish whether the ‘materiel’ was ‘fit for purpose’.46
In terms of manpower, the total contributions to the Nationalist war effort were therefore
10,000 Portuguese, 78,000 Italians and 19,000 Germans. In addition there was support from
volunteers from other countries. These included up to 1,500 Irish Catholics under O’Duffy,
300 French volunteers from the Croix de Feu, White Russians who had fought against the
Bolsheviks in the Russian Civil War, and right-wing volunteers from eastern Europe. At
first the Nationalists faced a massive problem in financing all this aid, as all of Spain’s
gold reserves were in Republican hands, but Italy and Germany soon offset this in a series
of financial agreements. According to Vinas, these were ‘the principal way in which the
Burgos [Nationalist] government could manage to make the international payments necessary
to strengthen the war sector of its economy’.47 Italy provided aid worth a total of $263
million, while Germany contributed arms worth $215 million. Altogether Franco may well
have received as much as $570 million from abroad. A significant amount of business was
also done by multinational companies in the western democracies. Whealey cites as examples
the Texas Oil Company, Texaco, Shell, Standard of New Jersey and the Atlantic Refining
Company. Clearly the expectation and hope of major financiers was for a Nationalist victory.

A prelude to the Second World War?

A common generalization is that the Spanish Civil War was directly related to the Second
World War. This has, however, been challenged by an alternative view – that its connection
was more with the First.
Two quotations exemplify the first approach. Liddell Hart maintained that the second
Great War of the twentieth century began in Spain in July 1936,48 and, according to Whealey,
the Spanish Civil War was ‘an opening round of the great power struggle now called World
War II’.49 There is extensive support for this argument. The Spanish Civil War helped bring
on general war by providing opportunities for both Hitler and Mussolini. Their further
pressure was encouraged by the absence of any resistance from the western powers.
Eisenwein and Shubert argue that by ‘turning a blind eye’ to the political implications of
foreign intervention in Spain, the non-intervention policy of Britain and France ‘contributed
to the uninterrupted rise of fascism elsewhere in Europe’.50 Germany benefited most directly:
‘Hitler welcomed the Duce’s imperialist concentration on the southwest, because that meant
Austria by 1938 was free for the Führer’s taking.’ The Spanish war also ‘helped divert
France, Britain and the USSR in the fall of 1938 from uniting to defend Czechoslovakia
against German territorial demands’.51
There are, however, some inconsistencies in trying to establish a direct connection
between the Spanish Civil War and the Second World War. One is the way in which the
latter actually broke out. The immediate reason was Hitler’s refusal to heed the Anglo-
French Guarantee to Poland (March 1939), which was actually a reversal of the appeasement
they had followed during the civil war. Another was the reversal of Stalin’s foreign policy:
his Non-Aggression Pact with Germany was a total abandonment of the Comintern ‘popular
front’ against fascism that had prevailed in Spain. And, of course, the economic impact of
 Dictatorship in Spain 285

the Spanish conflict on Italy actually delayed Mussolini’s entry into the Second World War
– despite the apparently bellicose Pact of Steel with Germany in 1939. Finally, there were
mixed lessons learned from the Spanish war in terms of strategy and weaponry: for every
successful application of military experience gained between 1936 and 1939, there were
several mistakes or missed opportunities when it came to a broader conflict.
Some historians have therefore reset the context of the Spanish Civil War and the Second
World War. A.J.P. Taylor maintained as early as 1961 that the Spanish Civil War had no
significant effect on the European powers. In 2004, Payne argued that ‘The Spanish war
was a clear-cut revolutionary/counterrevolutionary contest between left and right, with the
fascist totalitarian powers supporting the right and the Soviet totalitarian power supporting
the left’. But, he continued, this was not the way in which the Second World War broke
out. This followed the Nazi–Soviet Pact (August 1939) which allowed the Soviet Union
‘to conquer a sizable swath of Eastern Europe while Germany was left free to conquer as
much of the rest of the continent as it could’.52 If anything, the Spanish situation resembled
more ‘a post-World War I crisis than a crisis of the era of World War II’.53 This view
certainly deals with the inconsistencies mentioned in the actual outbreak of the war: the
change of Soviet and western policy which, between them, brought about the situation in
which war occurred. It also provides more continuity between the Spanish conflict and the
past, an area ignored by some international perspectives. Payne’s argument that the
‘revolutionary breakdown of institutions’ and the development of full-scale civil wars was
characteristic of the period after the First World War is exemplified by the situations in
Germany, Hungary and Finland, while there were no other equivalents in the 1930s.
It could, however, be argued that there was an alternative connection between the Spanish
Civil War and the Second World War – one that was indirect, even paradoxical. The latter
conflict was accelerated by the inconsistent nature of western and Soviet policies arising
in part out of lessons deduced from the situation in Spain. The Anglo-French switch from
appeasement to guarantees in March 1939 was due directly to failure of the Munich
Agreement, but also to the indirect and cumulative impact of Spanish Civil War. Similarly,
the sudden change in Stalin’s policy in August 1939 related to his distrust of western resolve
which, he felt, had been amply demonstrated over the Anglo-French attitude to the Spanish
Republic. But both Stalin and Hitler made the same mistake – wrongly deducing from the
Spanish Civil War that appeasement had become irreversible. While it would be an
oversimplification to see the Spanish Civil War as the prologue to the Second World War,
to cut the connection altogether would be to underestimate the volatility caused by lessons
wrongly learned from the period 1936–9.

THE OUTCOME AND IMPACT OF THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR

Why did the Nationalists win – and the Republic lose – the war?
The outcome of the Spanish Civil War was decisive in many ways. Like the Russian Civil
War, it produced major changes: in this case, it swept away the Second Republic, along
with the reforms introduced from 1931 onwards, and substituted a Nationalist dictatorship
with a starkly different set of beliefs and objectives. This section offers explanations as to
why the Nationalists won and the Republic lost. Although the answers have already been
inferred, a more integrated comparison is now needed, connecting the propositions that the
Nationalists won because the Republicans lost while the Republican defeat was the result
of Nationalist victory.
286 Dictatorship in Spain

As we have seen, both sides were coalitions of different groups. Neither coalition was
naturally cohesive and both had a range of views and objectives. But there were certain
obvious differences. The Nationalists covered a narrower political spectrum – from the
moderate right to the far right, whereas the Republicans had support from the centre to the
far left (which was itself fragmented). The Nationalist coalition depended more on attack
and rebellion, favouring a more disciplined form of structure and leadership. The Republic
already had an official government and therefore the more complex task of defending what
had so far been achieved. It also had to live with numerous existing rivalries and, in the
interest of getting external help from somewhere – anywhere – it took on new ones. There
was therefore a clear contrast between the more centralized and structured system of
Nationalist control and the fractured command of the Republicans.
One of Franco’s main priorities was to create unity among his supporters. He managed
to overcome internal disputes and to balance the different Nationalist groups. He satisfied
the Carlists by leaving open the question of the monarchy and by catering for their demand
for legislation that favoured the Catholic Church. These moves, admittedly, were not to the
liking of the more radical Falangists, but they were pacified by being allowed to direct
propaganda and to influence those characteristics of a mass movement that Franco was
prepared to allow; they were also pleased by his close relations with Italy and Germany.
The army, bereft of any real ideas of its own, depended completely on Franco to maintain
its position and influence. He was able to impose a more uniform approach on the Carlists,
Falange and conservative factions within a new political party, the FET-JONS, established
in 1937, which linked the Falange with the earlier Juntas de Ofensiva Nacional Sindicalista.
At the same time, he prevented any of the constituents from becoming predominant. He
also maintained military control: some Carlists, for example, wanted to establish a distinct-
ively corporatist regime along traditional lines with clerical influences – and also a separate
military academy. Franco reacted by exiling the faction’s leader, Fal, who subsequently left
for Portugal.
The Republic suffered from more permanent divisions which undermined its war effort
and military capacity; indeed, it has been argued that it experienced ‘a civil war within the
civil war’. There was, for example, a three-sided conflict between liberal constitutionalists;
authoritarian socialists or communists (PCE); and far-left anarchists (CNT) and Anti-Stalinist
communists (POUM). The ideological range was considerable, the two extremes being
western democratic theories on the one hand and the revolutionary left on the other. The
latter, in turn, was divided over the primary objective of the war, in complete contrast with
the unity of the Nationalist strategy. One Republican approach was to maintain the Popular
Front and put all the effort into the defeat of Franco; this was backed by most socialists,
Marxists and pro-Stalin communists. The alternative emphasis was that of the CNT and the
POUM; these wanted to progress with the ‘revolution’ in the belief that compromising on
this would weaken the war effort. The disagreements were sometimes violently expressed:
fighting, for example, broke out in Barcelona in 1937 between anarchists, socialists and
communists. Republican Spain was also affected by disunity caused by importing conflicts
from the Soviet Union which had resulted from the Stalin–Trotsky rivalry and the terror of
the show trials. Overall, the Soviet Union interfered far more in Republican politics than
did Italy and Germany in Nationalist Spain.
All this had implications for the way in which the war was won – and lost – amongst
the wider population. The Republic increasingly lost support in both urban and rural areas.
This was partly a matter of the difficulty of challenging the spread of Nationalist control
and partly popular disillusionment with Republican disagreements over how to implement
 Dictatorship in Spain 287

collectivization. In the Nationalist zones, therefore, former Republican supporters focused

on survival, realizing that they had more to lose from Nationalist brutality than they could
gain from supporting dwindling Republican aspirations.
As in any war, leadership was crucial. For the Nationalists, Franco combined the main
forms in his person, becoming Generalísimo of the army in September 1936 and ‘Head of
Government of the Spanish State’ in October 1936. Throughout the period of the war, Franco
also took the title of Caudillo – indicating a perceived connection with the warrior-leaders
of medieval times. In Casanova’s words, his was ‘a single military command and a centralised
political apparatus’.54 Jackson describes Franco as ‘an authoritarian leader of immense
contradictory forces within his camp’, who made ‘good use of the diplomatic and admin-
istrative talent at his disposal’,55 while Gallo sees him as ‘competent and determined’.56
Although Franco had shortcomings, he showed remarkable determination and commitment
to his principles; these, according to Crozier, were ‘Duty, Discipline and Order’.57 His basic
programme was single-minded and simplistic, assuming the nature of a crusade which was
fired by bigoted passion. The Republicans had no equivalent, their leadership being more
fragmented and regionalized. The Republic’s democratic system had been retained sufficiently
to separate out the offices of president and prime minister, which were filled by different
persons, as were the regional governments of Catalonia and the Basque country. There was
no overall figure remotely comparable to Franco. Instead, different leaders represented
divergent groups and interests. Azaña, a Republican, was Prime Minister (1931–3 and 1936),
before becoming President in 1936. Largo Caballero, leader of the Partido Socialista Obrero
Español and of the trade union organization UGT, was President of Republic between 1936
and 1937. Martínez Barrio, formerly Prime Minister in 1933, was the speaker of the Cortes
throughout the war. Negrín, a socialist leader, succeeded Caballero as President from 1937
to 1939; he, especially, felt obliged to strengthen his alliance with the PCE communists
because of their deep involvement in the military and the dependence of the Republic on
Soviet aid. The Republic therefore had an overall lack of united control; furthermore, none
of these politicians were military leaders and had to involve themselves in difficult
negotiations with the various split commands of the Republican militias.
Another significant reason for the victory of the Nationalists was their superior military
structure and organization. The Nationalists inherited an army, which they geared up for
revolt, whereas the Republicans had to build one to defend the status quo. Not surprisingly,
the Nationalists had a professional corps (including seasoned Moroccans), whereas the
Republicans initially had to depend on militias. The main difficulty was that the Republican
militias had to be converted into a People’s Army through ‘militarization’, even though the
militia system was actually preferred by Anarchists, POUM and left socialists. Militarization
involved a unified command, which Anarchists and POUM disliked, fearing overall
communist control. The Nationalists had no such problems, as Franco imposed rigorous
military discipline on all his forces. He also developed a far more efficient military admin-
istration. Carr maintains that ‘Its notable achievements notwithstanding, the Popular Army,
as a military machine that could be deployed by a unified command, was inferior to the
Nationalist Army’.58
The Republic had its fair share of loyal generals but a severe shortage of middle-ranking
officers, which meant that it was necessary to promote numerous inexperienced NCOs to
this vitally important level. Beevor points out that ‘The new breed of republican commander
emerging at this time was young, aggressive, ruthless and personally brave, but as utterly
conventional and unimaginative as the old officers of the metropolitan army’.59 Examples
include Modesto, Lister and Tagüeña. The Nationalist army was trained or re-trained from
288 Dictatorship in Spain

the outset, important contributions to this being provided by the Germans, especially the
Condor Legion. The Nationalists also had a more systematic method, their twenty-eight
military academies turning out a total of 30,000 trained officers. A serious disadvantage of
the Republican militia system – and its successors – was that all strategy was discussed at
length, which reduced efficiency and encouraged insubordination. In fact the failings of the
Republican high command has been seen by Beevor as the single most important factor in
the outcome of the war.60 Their offensives against the Nationalists were too conventional
and overdependence on their propaganda value seriously undermined their flexibility. This
was largely the result of reliance on obsolete tactics directly imported from Russia, where
the more flexible Marshal Tukhachevsky had already been purged. Hence, during the late
1930s, ‘The exhortation of the new republican brigades may have been revolutionary
in language, but the manoeuvring was Tsarist’.61 As for Nationalist battle strategy, Franco
was imaginative but solid. His great strength was his cautious and thorough preparation.
He would never start an offensive unless he was certain he could see it through to the end.
He was often criticized by his allies abroad for his slowness but, in the end, he got results.
As we have already seen, the Spanish Civil War involved an international dimension.
This worked very much in favour of the Nationalists and against the Republic. The
involvement of the powers in the Nationalist struggle was generally constructive whereas
the Republic experienced, on balance, a more obstructive intervention. The Republic was
up against an international climate which had the unfortunate combination of non-intervention
and appeasement. Non-intervention was applied against the Republic, but was rendered
ineffectual against the Nationalists because of the pursuit of appeasement to avoid any
possibility of a drift to war with Germany. Admittedly, Soviet intervention provided some
considerable help to the Republic at a time when the latter was deprived of the assistance
it had hoped to receive from the western democracies. But the quality was well below that
of the Germans and Italians to the Nationalists, in both quantity and quality. The Nationalists
benefited at three main stages of the war, managing as a direct result of external contributions
to overcome Republican defences or attempted offensives. The first was the transporting
of Spanish troops from Morocco into southern Spain in Italian and German aircraft, enabling
Franco to conquer Andalusia in 1936. The second was the boost given to Nationalist morale,
after a series of Republican victories in 1937, by a sudden increase in Italian equipment.
And the third was another massive flow of armaments in 1939 which made it possible for
Franco to crush Catalonia, now starved of Soviet aid. The Nationalists could also depend
on also had regular supplies through south-western Spain and Morocco or, more particularly,
through Portugal. The Republic, on the other hand, suffered disruption to deliveries to the
west coast of Spain (which it controlled) because of the threat of Italian submarines in the
Mediterranean to Soviet supply ships. This meant that Soviet deliveries to the Republic had
to be made by northern routes. But, since the northern ports of Spain were soon closed by
the Nationalists, the arms consignments had to be smuggled through French ports and across
the French frontier. This became increasingly difficult as the Nationalists increased their
stranglehold on northern Spain in 1938–9 – so that eventually the Soviet Union gave up
the attempt.
Financial arrangements also benefited the Nationalists. Any initial advantage the Republic
may have had through its control of Spain’s gold reserves was dissipated when these were
shipped off to the Soviet Union. There they disappeared, some used to secure arms on the
international markets, some appropriated to boost Soviet foreign exchange for its own
purposes. At all events, the gold reserves were all used up and the Soviet Union provided
no further aid beyond 1938. The Nationalists were treated more leniently. Both Germany
 Dictatorship in Spain 289

and Italy advanced war material on the basis of longer-term loans and concessions, usually
based on the supply of strategic minerals (like tungsten) from the areas under Nationalist
control. Ultimately, of course, Franco was relieved of the necessity of paying back Italy
and Germany for their contributions since he managed to avoid defeat in the Second World
War while they did not. A significant amount of business was also done by multinational
companies in the western democracies. Whealey cites as examples the Texas Oil Company,
Texaco, Shell, Standard of New Jersey and the Atlantic Refining Company. Their role was
vital: according to Whealey, ‘without oil, the Generalissimo’s machines would have ground
to a halt’. They also deprived the Republic of its last chance of survival: ‘Multinational
corporations in the sterling dollar countries . . . helped to crush the Spanish Republicans’
hopes.’62
The relative length of foreign involvement in the war was crucial. Franco benefited from
Italian and German help from beginning to end, mainly because both of his suppliers
continued to see the advantage of assisting him. For Mussolini it was a matter of maintaining
his prestige in Europe and in relation to Germany. To Hitler the advantage was in reminding
the western democracies of what might happen should the conflict in Spain become more
generalized: this meant playing on the Anglo-French policy of appeasement. The Republic,
by contrast, was starved of Soviet assistance during the last year of the conflict because of
a change in Stalin’s foreign policy. Abandoning any hope of reviving collective security
with Britain and France, he reversed the popular front policy of Comintern and, instead,
sought an accommodation with Germany that eventually resulted in the Nazi-Soviet Non-
Aggression Pact in August 1939.
Overall, the Nationalists succeeded in their rebellion and military action against the
Republic. The key factors were their greater cohesion, the unitary leadership provided by
Franco, the momentum provided by a more effective military strategy, and the higher levels
of assistance from outside Spain. The Republic lost its struggle for the reverse reasons,
suffering from internal divisions, inappropriate and obsolete military strategies, a divided
leadership and command, and generally hostile attitudes in Europe. Above all, the momentum
continued to run in favour of the Nationalists, ensuring by 1938 that there was no hope for
the Republic’s survival.

What impact did the war have on the Spanish people?

It is a truism that civil war is the most vicious form of conflict, especially in its impact on
civilians. The Spanish war was widely known for the suffering it caused, partly because
the attention of Europe was upon it. For substantial parts of the population it meant exposure
to extreme terror and a struggle for survival.
Terror occurred in both camps: the ‘Red Terror’ applied by the Republic and the ‘White
Terror’ by the Nationalists. The Red Terror looked back to some of the actions of the Cheka
and NKVD in Soviet Russia, while the more extensive White Terror anticipated some of
the worst examples in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. In Spain the two forms confronted
each other for the first time, involving civilians and captives of war in purges, summary
executions, torture and massacres. Estimates of the total number of victims vary: Beevor
puts the casualties of the Red Terror at 38,000 and those of the White Terror at between
80,000 and 200,000.63
The Republican wave of terror took place mainly in 1936, targeted at suspected rebels
or sympathizers with the rebel cause. Revolutionary tribunals presided over the summary
shooting of ‘fascists’ and Russian-style checas were set up to deal with suspected Nationalist
290 Dictatorship in Spain

spies. Part of the ‘Red Terror’ also meant mobs running riot in the streets or the countryside,
killing members of the clergy and religious orders. This was defended at the time as the
inevitable result of accumulated historic resentments and fears of an imminent return of
clerical oppression. The anarchists, especially, saw the Catholic Church as ‘the psychological
operations branch of the [Nationalist] state’.64 The result was extreme brutality as feelings
ran completely out of control and 13 bishops, 4,184 priests, 2,365 members of male orders
and 283 nuns were slaughtered in dreadful circumstances – mostly in 1936. On the whole,
the extent of the Red Terror diminished as the war progressed. This was partly the result
of a more deliberate focus on propaganda against the activities of the Nationalists and, more
bluntly, because the area under the Republic’s control shrank steadily. Towards the end of
the war there were as many instances of summary killings through Republican in-fighting
as there were executions of Nationalist supporters.
Nationalist terror, by contrast, intensified throughout the Civil War. In all areas conquered
by Franco’s forces, civilians suspected of left-wing leanings, especially trade unionists and
middle-class professionals (including lawyers and journalists) were taken before committees
that included a landowner, a civil-guard commander, a Falangist, and sometimes a priest.65
Especially targeted were known communists or anarchists – or anyone who might become
involved in future resistance to the Nationalist takeover. There were new waves of killings
in recent acquisitions and a second wave to establish permanent rule within established
Nationalist areas. The process involved summary executions and massacres all over
Nationalist Spain, including cities like Seville, Pamplona, Burgos, Córdoba, Málaga and
Valladolid. Particularly notorious was the massacre of hundreds of prisoners in the bull ring
at Badajoz. The execution of captured Republicans was often upheld by the Church as a
‘purge’ of ‘atheist influences’.
If the momentum of killing differed between the two sides, there was also a contrast in
official attitudes. The Republican leadership was generally less tolerant of mass killings.
Azaña, for example, threatened to resign in protest against the mob killing of Nationalist
prisoners in Madrid in 1936 and there is no evidence that systematic purges were supported
by the likes of Largo Caballero. With the Nationalists, the reverse was the case. Franco
exhorted his squads to greater efforts against the left (often sanctioned by the authorities
of the Church) as a necessary part of a crusade. This culture seeped down from the top.
Eisenwein and Shubert identify one particularly significant difference. ‘Repression on the
right was above all distinguished by the fact that the greater part of it was systematically
carried out under the ubiquitous gaze of the recognized authorities.’66 While the Republic
either disowned or tried to excuse the atrocities committed in its name, the Nationalists
justified theirs as a cleansing process. In this respect Franco was certainly as brutal as
Mussolini and, some have argued, comparable to Hitler. The question arises as to why the
Republic was not more affected by the waves of terror in the Soviet Union. After all, the
purges carried out under Lenin and Stalin were the real Red Terror in Europe, arguably
exceeding in sheer quantity anything carried out by the far right – with the single exception
of the Holocaust. The answer has to be that the Republic never gave itself up to Stalin’s
diktats and despite the growing extent of Soviet military influence, retained at least some
democratic control over its political system. If anything rivalled the Red Terror of Stalin,
it was the White Terror of Franco.
The everyday life of most Spaniards was more directly affected by Nationalist activities
than by the Republic. Here Franco was able to use the initiative and momentum of the
White Terror to enforce compliance and to influence civilian behaviour into accepting
the inevitability of permanent Nationalist rule as each area was conquered. To most people
 Dictatorship in Spain 291

the priorities were to avoid the attention of officials and to get on with the business of
survival. In most cases this was a habit which continued well into Franco’s post-war regime,
so that the population’s response to being terrorized was to become brutalized and accept
the situation. Unlike the countries that later experienced German occupation, resistance in
Spain never achieved the support of anything but a small and brave minority.
There are two reasons for this. First, patriotism – a key concept in any war – can be
more easily redefined in a civil conflict than after an external invasion. Franco applied the
full force of the Spanish past in a propaganda offensive against the stereotyped enemy within,
who was atheistic, communistic and effete. The ideas of the Republic were more complex
and open to interpretation. What, after all, was the ‘freedom’ that many Republican victims
extolled with their last breath before the execution squads? Was it the type that promoted
social equality or freedom of expression? In which case, how could the differing approaches
of the communists, socialists, anarchists and liberals be reconciled? While they lived in the
Republican zone people could accept – and even defend – these different approaches. But,
once the Nationalists took over, their subjects lost the libertarian logic of resistance. Instead
the Nationalists could impose the more compelling logic of the nation state. How could the
Republic hope to oppose this? The second reason was that the Nationalists were able to
stifle libertarian opposition through the reinstatement of traditional Catholic power. Franco
ensured that the Church resumed control over all ceremonies involving the population. The
open profession of Catholic faith was also necessary for any appointment to public office
and education was returned to the influence of the Church with the permanent abolition of
all anticlerical legislation introduced by the Republic in 1931. How could the population
defy Franco’s systematic penetration of its consciousness with supposedly Spanish virtues?
Franco even attached to his government an influential Catholic group, Opus Dei, which, in
the longer term, became an influence for reform. It is difficult to quantify the extent to
which Spaniards were won over to Catholic revival. Some civilians may well have seen the
restoration of Catholic influence as the forgiving side of coercion; failure to accept, or at
least to go through the motions of accepting, this might expose them to the alternative of
terror.
The Nationalists had another carrot (at least until 1939) to convince the Spanish people
not to defy the stick of terror. Most of the areas under their rule experienced higher standards
of living. According to Eisenwein and Shubert, ‘Material comforts . . . made life in the
Nationalist zone considerably more palatable than it was in Republican Spain’.67 There were
fewer food shortages and considerably less rationing than in the Republican areas, especially
in besieged Madrid. The continual expansion of Nationalist control ensured ever greater
access to agricultural production. Of particular importance was the credit obtained for war
material from Germany, Italy and multinational companies. This meant that Franco could
separate the financing of the war from his domestic policies, which resulted in a greater
material security for the population in the Nationalist zone. But this advantage ended with
the arrival of peace in 1939. In Spain’s ‘Hunger Years’, which overlapped the first half of
the Second World War, some 200,000 people starved to death. This was largely the result
of Franco’s new economic policy of autarky, a direct imitation of the Nazi approach. The
worst of the civilian suffering therefore occurred after the end of the Republic. According
to Sánchez, ‘It was social revenge at its crudest, and the result was that even employed
adults went hungry and their children starved’.68
To summarize, the Nationalists had the momentum in the war, which meant that more
and more areas of Spain came under their control. This had two main implications. First,
the Nationalists were more systematic in their elimination of ‘enemies’ of all kinds. Hence
292 Dictatorship in Spain

there were far greater numbers of Republican victims than there were targets of the
Republicans. The terrorized population in the conquered areas were therefore forced into
acceptance of the new Nationalist regime. Second, life in the conquered areas improved for
the population who made this transition. Most civilians did comply, especially in the absence
of any stigma of collaboration with an external enemy. A new wave of terror after the war
ensured the destruction of any remaining political democracy or social reform and, instead,
an unqualified commitment to a rigidly defined traditionalism.

FRANCO’S REGIME, 1939–75

Franco owed an enormous debt to the fascist states who put him in power. It might therefore
be thought that his future should inevitably have been linked with theirs and that their fate
should also have been his. Yet, by 1945 both Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy lay in ruins
and their leaders were dead. Franco, by contrast, was still firmly in control and managed
to impose his will on Spain until his death thirty years later.
Franco’s regime after 1939 began with a period of consolidation and revenge, together
with inward-looking economic policies based on autarky. This overlapped a difficult decision
made by Franco to maintain Spanish neutrality during the Second World War – which ensured
that he was not overthrown in 1945 by western intervention. For the remainder of the 1940s,
however, Franco failed to bring Spain out of international isolation and pressed on with his
measures of domestic control. During the 1950s, there was some relaxation in both areas,
while the period 1959–73 saw a number of extensive social and economic changes – part
of what has been identified as ‘late Francoism’ (Tardofranquismo).

The Second World War and Franco’s foreign policy to 1975

1939–45: Franco’s ‘neutrality’

Spain never became totally involved in the Second World War, thereby avoiding the
catastrophic military defeat suffered by Italy and Germany. There was never any doubt
about Franco’s sympathies for the Axis cause. General Aranda said on 5 June 1939 that
‘Franco is deeply and firmly convinced that his path lies by the side of Italy and Germany.
He openly detests the French and does not love the British’. In August 1940 Franco assured
Mussolini of his intention ‘to hasten our preparations with a view to entering the war at a
propitious moment’.69 But when, in 1940, Hitler met Franco at Hendaye in the Pyrenees
he found the Caudillo evasive and uncooperative. Why?
One possibility was that Franco followed a stalling policy, which some historians have
seen as ‘masterly inaction’. The purpose of this was to play for time and, if necessary, to
avoid committing Spain to support for the Axis alliance. Another was that Franco was
motivated entirely by necessity. He had no option but to remain neutral. The Spanish
economy had been ruined by the Civil War and the disruption of international commerce
caused by the Second World War was sufficient to make immediate recovery impossible.
The army was run-down and war-weary and there was a strong possibility that Britain and
the United States would seize Spain’s Atlantic islands the moment an alliance was made
with either Italy or Germany. Franco was therefore grateful when his neighbour and fellow-
dictator, Salazar, urged him to remain neutral.
More recently, a third reason has emerged for Franco’s neutrality; bearing in mind
Franco’s enthusiasm for the Axis powers and their cause, this seems more likely than the
 Dictatorship in Spain 293

other two. The argument is that Franco did not enter the war because he could not get what
he wanted as a price for his participation. He needed two things: sufficient gains to make
it worth his while to join the Axis, along with assistance from both Germany and Italy to
make his participation possible and realistic. Franco sought territory in north Africa at the
expense of France, which would be the fulfilment of his pre-Civil War objectives and career.
But he would need German co-operation and assistance for this, not least because he was
restricted by the exhaustion of the Spanish army in 1939. The question that arises here was
who made the decision that determined Spain’s neutrality: Franco – or Hitler? Franco
subsequently took refuge behind the ‘masterly inactivity’ explanation, but it seems more
likely that Hitler was simply not prepared to pay Franco’s price. Franco had assumed that
Hitler was desperate for Spain’s co-operation in seizing Gibraltar, which would effectively
close the Mediterranean to the British navy. However, he overestimated the importance of
this to Hitler, given that Germany would have to support a second ally suffering from post-
war weakness – the first of course being Mussolini’s Italy. In any case, Hitler had his own
aims in north Africa, which did not involve handing over former French territory to Spain.
The outcome, therefore, was that Spain remained officially neutral. Until, that is, June 1941,
when Franco changed his policy from ‘non-belligerence’ to one of ‘moral belligerence’. This
meant that Spain kept out of the war against the western powers (Britain and the United States)
while accepting involvement in the ‘crusade against communism’ and the Soviet Union.
Franco’s Foreign Minister, Suñer, maintained that ‘Russia is to blame for our civil war’ and
that ‘the extermination of Russia is a demand of history’.70 Hence Franco sent 18,000
volunteers in the Blue Division to assist the German invasion. By 1943, however, it had become
evident that Hitler was bogged down at Stalingrad; Franco cut his losses and withdrew his
remaining troops from the Russian front. He was therefore the one European dictator who
managed to pull out of the Russian flame without burning his fingers. In fact, he was able to
extricate himself from all hostilities so that the western Allies, much as they disliked Franco’s
regime, had no reason to overthrow it during their onslaught on the Axis powers.

1945–75: from isolation to acceptance?

All the same, Spain was isolated in the late 1940s, which meant that Franco’s foreign policy
was based on the search for diplomatic recognition. At first this was provided only by
Salazar’s Portugal and Peron’s Argentina, the latter agreeing to provide grain and meat on
special terms. The rest of the world was hostile. The ‘Big Three’ at Potsdam opposed any
possible bid by Franco’s Spain to join the United Nations since his government did not ‘in
view of its origins, its nature, its record and its close association with the aggressor states,
possess the qualifications necessary to justify such membership’.71 A United Nations
communiqué endorsed this view in December 1946, referring to Spain as a ‘Fascist regime
patterned on and established largely as a result of aid from Hitler’s Nazi Germany and
Mussolini’s Fascist Italy’.72 Nor were individual European countries likely to be receptive,
most of them having recently elected left-wing governments. For a while Franco shrugged
off this ostracism as a deliberate conspiracy that showed just how necessary his authoritarian
regime was. ‘Spaniards know what they can expect from abroad, and as history teaches
them, ill-will against Spain is not something which began today or yesterday.’73
Gradually the situation began to improve as Spain became less obnoxious in the eyes of
the western states. The main reason was the escalation of the Cold War with the perceived
threat of world communism sponsored by the Soviet Union and China. The Berlin blockade
(1948–9) and the Korean War (1950–3) both gave Franco an opportunity to end Spain’s
294 Dictatorship in Spain

isolation and he played his diplomatic role with some skill. The result was the 1953 Madrid
Pact between Spain and the United States. This provided Spain with $600 million in military
aid and $500 million in economic assistance, in return for the American use of three air
bases, naval facilities, pipelines and communications.74 According to Gallo, this agreement
was ‘a triumph for the regime’; while Grugel and Rees go so far as to say that the regime’s
‘alliance with the US’ was ‘to be its salvation’.75 Although the United States would have
preferred to see Spain as a member of NATO, this was prevented by opposition from Norway,
Denmark, the Netherlands, Belgium and Britain, even though these had agreed to the
admission of Salazar’s Portugal as a founding member. Nevertheless, President Eisenhower’s
visit to Madrid in 1959 symbolized the end of Spanish isolation in fact, even if it took
longer for the rest of world to come to terms with this.
Meanwhile, another important development took place during the mid-1950s. At the very
time that Salazar had announced his intention to stand firm against proposals from Britain
and France for a new wave of decolonization – and to maintain Portugal’s ‘historic mission’
of empire – Franco did the opposite for Spain. During his earlier years Franco had served
in Morocco and had condemned Primo de Rivera’s plans for withdrawal in the 1920s. It
might be thought that he would now use the remaining Spanish empire as a rallying cry to
unite public opinion behind him, perhaps as a more pragmatic version of Salazar’s vision
for Portugal. But he did not. With surprising haste he conferred independence on Spanish
Morocco and the Spanish Sahara, although not on the Canary Islands which were an integral
part of Spain. To a large extent this decision was based on a realistic assessment of Spain’s
position in the world: it could no longer aspire to be one of the major powers and needed,
instead, to come to terms with the west.
Further progress was made during the 1960s, although this was slower than in the
domestic sphere. Again, the main development was in relations with the United States. The
Madrid Pact was renewed in 1963, when it stated that any threat to Spain would be a ‘common
concern’ to the United States. Although preoccupied with the war in Vietnam, President
Johnson (1963–9) maintained positive relations with Spain, while President Nixon (1969–74)
drew up a new five-year agreement with Franco. Relations also improved with West
Germany and the new French Fifth Republic. Even so, Spain was still not regarded as a
desirable partner in international organizations. She was not admitted to NATO or the EEC
until, in the decade after Franco’s death, she had proved herself capable of sustaining basic
democracy. A different perspective to this is offered by Buchanan. Spain, he argues, was
able to ‘sit comfortably’ in southern Europe between 1970 and 1974, along with Salazar’s
Portugal and the Colonels’ junta in Greece. Besides, ‘It is easy to forget that . . . “democratic”
Europe was still small, constricted and in many respects under threat’.76 Democracy was
limited to comparatively few countries (the six members of the EEC plus Scandinavia, Britain,
Austria and Switzerland), most of which had experienced some form of political instability.
Hence ‘for much of the later Franco period the benefits and resilience of West European
democracy were much less evident than hindsight might allow’.77 The real difference came
at the end of the Franco period, when the gap suddenly widened and Spain was threatened
with renewed isolation by the collapse of fellow right-wing regimes in Portugal and Greece.

Franco’s domestic policies 1939–75

The domestic sphere saw a period of repression and tight controls during the 1940s, followed
by some easing in the 1950s and the ‘transformation’ brought by Tardofranquismo during
the 1960s and early 1970s.
 Dictatorship in Spain 295

1939–59: Francoist repression and its easing

Immediately after the Civil War Franco introduced the most appalling repression, intensifying
in peace the absolute power he had established in war. By the Law of 8 August 1939 he
gave himself total control over state policy and administration, including supreme power
of legislation without ratification by any legislative or judicial procedures. Franco was further
strengthened by rivalries among his supporters, which allowed his systematic manoeuvring
between different groups. Comparison has been made with Hitler who also promoted discord
between individual officials. But in the case of Franco, it was the various organizations
that differed; he preferred heterogeneity and conservatism to homogeneity based on
radicalism. He imposed his own uniformity, using methods that were violent and at times
as summary and horrific as those employed in the three major dictatorships. The continuation
of wartime terror involved the army since ‘The defence of internal peace and order constitutes
the sacred mission of a nation’s armed forces and this is the mission we have carried out’.78
He therefore authorized the use of military tribunals until 1943, which employed three-
minute trials and imposed mass executions. There was an increase in the number of
concentration camps and in the incidence of confessions under torture. According to Carr,
‘the firing squad and prison replaced the dungeons and fires of the Inquisition’.79 There
was also a systematic network of informers among the civilian population and the capture
of documents during the war made possible the identification of ‘enemies’, like trade union
members, for reprisals.
Given time, most regimes, however repulsive, begin to relax their grip. By the late 1940s
Franco had begun to reduce the degree of terror and try to make Spain less abhorrent to
western states. By the Law of Succession (1947), he defined Spain as a ‘Catholic, social
and representative state’.80 The economy, however, remained a major problem. After the
Civil War the method chosen for reconstruction was autarky, or self-sufficiency, involving
heavy government intervention in wage levels, import quotas and the regulation of industry
– the main priority. The predictable consequence was terrible hardship, which included
poverty, widespread starvation and the spread of accompanying diseases such as tuberculosis.
Franco used tough words to justify his policy: ‘We do not want an easy, comfortable life
. . . we want a hard life, the difficult life of a virile people.’81 A gradual economic growth
followed, averaging 4.35 per cent per annum between 1951 and 1959. This was, however,
beset with serious problems which revealed the utter inadequacy of autarky. According to
Carr, ‘Autarky had ceased to be a stimulus; it had become a straitjacket’.82 Industrial growth,
for example, led to an increased demand for imports, which in turn put a strain on Spain’s
balance of trade.
By the end of the decade Spain faced an economic crisis and a need for urgent change.
There had also been a tentative emergence of opposition; this was no longer related to Civil
War confrontation but to the problems of Franco’s post-war regime. Reformist in their aims,
these included intellectual and artistic dissent, working-class movements and strikes, and
student revolts. Even the establishment realized the need for administrative reform and the
Catholic-dominated organization Opus Dei introduced proposals for economic change.
Much was now at stake.

1959–73: ‘Tardofranquismo’
Considerable importance has recently been attached to the period 1960–74 in Spanish
history. According to Townson, it has hitherto been ‘unjustifiably neglected’. He argues
that ‘Over the last 15 years of the Franco dictatorship, between 1960 and 1975, Spain
296 Dictatorship in Spain

underwent the greatest period of economic upheaval in its history, while experiencing vast
social and cultural changes’. There were also political developments despite the ‘ossified
nature of the political system’.83
Certainly, the government recognized the necessity of creating a more balanced economy
by reducing controls and depending more openly on market forces. In 1959 it introduced a
Stabilization Plan to bring the economy into line with others in the West. Despite its name
its intention was to move away from the previous policy of Autarky, as was the purpose of
its successors, the Development Plans (1964–73). The measures included deflation,
restrictions of the money supply, reductions in budgetary expenditure, wage controls, the
promotion of foreign investment and the reduction of trade restrictions.84 Initial hardship was
followed between 1961 and 1966 by a so-called ‘economic miracle’. Between 1959 and 1974
the Spanish economy grew by 6.9 per cent per annum, after Japan, the second highest rate
in the developed world. Industry during the same period averaged an annual growth of 10
per cent.85 Abandoning autarky promoted two vitally important foreign-exchange earners
which helped stimulate growth. One of these was tourism: the total number of foreign visitors
to Spain increased from six million in 1959 to twenty-one million in 1969 and thirty-four
million in 1972. The other boost was a Spanish workforce abroad of 1.5 million which sent
its earnings back to the mother country – sufficient to cover half of Spain’s foreign debt.86
The government, of course, ascribed all the new-found prosperity to the Stabilization Plan
and its successors. This is an oversimplification since Spain was one of many European
countries experiencing a sudden economic surge. Yet it could be argued that the economic
plans ended the isolation on which autarky had previously been predicated and made possible
the flow of more benign influences into Spain.
The same applied to social, cultural and religious developments during the 1960s. Tourism
had a particularly important impact on Spain. Pack argues that it ‘provided compelling
evidence of its acceptance by democratic Europe’87 while encouraging ‘a tolerance and even
an embrace of foreign attitudes and behaviours’.88 Overall, ‘Tourism became a central turbine
driving Europeanization’.89 Meanwhile, sectors of the population were learning how to be
critical of the regime without bringing down upon themselves the full wrath of a still tightly-
controlled political system. Cultural changes included a substantial increase in the numbers
of students at university, while the expenditure on education as a whole for the first time
exceeded that on the military. The political structure, however, was still largely unaffected
by the changes sweeping through the economy and society: while he was willing to reform
inefficient and corrupt administrative structures, Franco stopped short of any move towards
a representative democracy. It remained his view that progress had to be disciplined, not
unleashed. Still, his basic aim was no longer to terrorize the population but rather, to
neutralize and depoliticize it, encouraging it to make the most of the economic boom that
Spain was experiencing during the 1960s.
Extensive changes were therefore made during the period of Tardofranquismo. There
were, however, remaining shortcomings. The existence of such a large Spanish workforce
abroad was an indication of one of the main shortcomings of the economy – the lack of
full employment. Other persistent problems were the depressed condition of agriculture and
the iniquitous system of taxation that prevented the state from extracting sufficient revenue
from the sectors of society that benefited most from the boom. The result was that the gap
between rich and poor increased as the new-found wealth was inadequately distributed. Nor
had the political structure been properly addressed. Although still illegal, opposition welled
up through the system in form of working-class activism and student unrest. A more radical
form was Basque separatism, the violent tactics of ETA provoking the government into
 Dictatorship in Spain 297

issuing the 1975 Anti-Terrorist Law. Even the Church, once a loyal ally, now distanced
itself from the regime. By the 1970s part of the upper clergy finally withdrew support from
Franco, leaving his regime with a weakened religious sanction. To make matters worse,
Spain was experiencing the economic problems common to other parts of Europe in the
wake of the 1973 oil crisis. This threatened to cut away one of Franco’s main boasts – that
he had presided over unprecedented economic growth.
Would the regime, after all, abandon reform and return to its old practices? This was
always a possibility, considering that, politically, it was still a dictatorship – and one beset
with the growing problems symptomatic of what Carr has called the ‘Agony of Francoism’
between 1969 and 1975. Could it continue to evolve? Or would it end suddenly in revolution
– or counter-revolution? Franco’s own solution was to ease the way for the return of the
monarchy by grooming Prince Juan Carlos for future authority. Others in the Francoist
regime wanted to push more specifically towards a constitutionalist system. The counterpart
to these proposals ‘from above’ was increasing pressure for the return of full democracy
‘from below’. Franco himself held the balance – but he did not have the time to complete
the transition to his own satisfaction.

The end of Franco

On 17 October 1975 Franco collapsed during a cabinet meeting. Doctors were summoned
to the palace and performed a tracheotomy to enable him to breathe. Rumours soon circulated
that Franco was dying, but these were officially denied. Indeed, the surgeons made every
effort to prolong Franco’s life. They succeeded until 20 November, by which time he was
permanently on a respirator and kidney machine, and his stomach had been removed. It
was almost as if the establishment dared not let him die for fear of the uncertainty that
would follow. His end was in distinct contrast to the exhibition of Mussolini’s corpse slung
up from a petrol station in Milan in 1945, to Hitler’s suicide in his Berlin bunker a few
months later, and the discovery of Stalin lying on the floor after a stroke in 1953.
Spain’s transition to a post-Francoist state was far more rapid and extensive than anything
Franco had envisaged. But his nominee to lead this transition was all too conscious of the
collapse of right-wing regimes elsewhere in southern Europe and he had no desire to repeat
the destabilizing experiment with the left-wing politics in neighbouring Portugal. Juan
Carlos aimed for a democracy based on constitutional monarchy rather than another
authoritarian regime with a hereditary dictator. With the co-operation of most political groups,
he presided over the 1977 Law of Political Reform, which prepared for the legalizing of
political parties and a general election based on universal suffrage. This took place in June
1977, less than two years after Franco’s death but forty-one years since the previous election.

REFLECTIONS ON FRANCO’S WAR AND REGIME

A summary of Franco’s career

Franco’s career falls into three main phases.
First, all his experience before 1936 was gained in the Spanish Foreign Legion and the
Spanish army. Serving in both Morocco and Spain, he achieved the rank of general in 1926
and, in 1928, director of the military academy of Zaragoza. He was treated somewhat
inconsistently during the Second Republic, alternating between demotion and being given
specific commands; he was, for example, in charge of suppressing the revolt of the Asturias
298 Dictatorship in Spain

in 1934. He was not a politician and possessed few political skills, although hostility to the
Second Republic forced him into establishing connections with political leaders of the right.
Hence his instinct and training were for military action, while his experience in diplomacy
and political leadership were acquired through necessity. This was in complete contrast to
the other main dictators of the period – Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini – none of whom were
military leaders, although all had pretensions to be military strategists. The main parallel
might be professional soldiers like Piłsudski of Poland and Metaxas of Greece, although
even they were unusual in the list of dictators.
Second, Franco’s rise to power between 1936 and 1939 came from a military rebellion
and victory in a bloody civil war. He was unique, among all the European dictators covered
by this book, in achieving this precise combination. Other patterns varied. Piłsudski came
to power through a bloodless military coup and without a subsequent civil war. Lenin
established himself by a coup but the civil war that followed was partly in defence of the
new regime and partly to enforce Bolshevik control; throughout the process, he remained a
political not a military leader. Metaxas was a military man, but was appointed to power; his
subsequent dictatorship did not involve civil war. Others differed even more from Franco.
In Mussolini’s case the threat of rebellion was sufficient to coerce the existing government
into concede power and ended with Mussolini accepting the premiership in formal court dress.
The civil war in Italy followed the overthrow of Mussolini in 1943. Stalin manoeuvred himself
into a position to inherit a regime after eliminating the candidacy of others. He consolidated
his power through purges, not by civil war. Finally, Hitler was elected to power by a mal-
functioning democratic system which he subsequently converted into a personalized regime
that launched wars on others. Franco’s seizure of power was therefore most directly connected
with civil war, enabling him to use his main strengths – the mobilization and leadership of
military forces and the control of competing groups within the Nationalists.
Third, Franco’s dictatorship, which lasted between 1939 and 1975, had a unique
combination of features. The regime was never party-based in any populist sense: its
emphasis was on control rather than mass mobilization. The party (FET-JONS) was used
to contain the different elements supporting Franco, and to curb the mobilizing tendencies
of the Falange. Whether or not Franco was fascist has already been considered. It seems
that he saw the organizational and expansionist ‘advantages’ of fascism but was dubious
about its radicalism. He was, of course, closely involved with Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany
but, after their defeat, distanced himself from their ideology. More controversial is whether
Franco’s regime could be called ‘totalitarian’. It could certainly be argued that Franco was
the closest of all the authoritarian dictators, as defined on pp. 24–5, to being totalitarian.
The brutality of his regime and the effectiveness of its control over the population is, for
some, sufficient reason to use the term. And yet the dynamic of Franco’s system was
traditionalist rather than radical or revolutionary, which prevents the description of
‘totalitarian’ from being convincing. We have already seen the problems that can exist in
the distinction between ‘totalitarian’ and ‘authoritarian’ (pp. 24–5). This applies especially
at the borderlines between the two, as exemplified by Franco’s Spain and Mussolini’s Italy.
Franco’s regime was unquestionably more ruthless internally than Mussolini’s. Yet Mussolini
produced a new ideology and generated populist support. Franco’s control and authority
remained intact until 1975, whereas Mussolini’s evaporated in 1943. On the other hand,
Italy was invaded externally, which meant that fascism within could be eliminated in a late
civil war; Spain was not invaded and the influence of fascism there faded of its own accord.
Comparing the borderlines suggests that Franco’s dictatorship was a ‘strong author-
itarianism’, while Mussolini’s was a ‘weak totalitarianism’. Alternatively, Franco could be
 Dictatorship in Spain 299

adjudged as ‘militarily authoritarian’ between 1936 and 1939, ‘functionally – but not
ideologically – totalitarian’ between 1939 and 1949; ‘defensively post-totalitarian-
authoritarian’ during the 1950s, ‘flexibly authoritarian’ between 1959 and 1969, and aware
of the need to find a ‘post-authoritarian’ settlement from 1969.

Interpretations of Franco’s war and regime

Previous sections in this chapter have already suggested interpretations for specific areas
of Franco’s involvement in the overthrow of the Spanish Republic and in establishing a
dictatorship to replace it. More general conclusions can now be drawn.

An overview of Franco’s place in modern Spanish history

Early twentieth-century Spain was liable to periodic crisis resulting from a conflict between
change and reaction, between modernizing and traditionalist influences. The extent of this
conflict varied. Sometimes it was intense, as with the sudden reversal of the policies of
Primo de Rivera by the radical reforms of the Second Republic, followed by the appearance
of an extreme authoritarianism under Franco. Alternatively, the confrontation could become
less intense as one side gradually succeeded in imposing its will; this was shown by the
gradual easing of the intensity of Franco’s dictatorship from 1949 and, again during the
1960s; the process ended with the peaceful re-emergence of liberal democracy and the death
of Francoism.
Franco’s role in this overall pattern has been interpreted in two different ways. On the
one hand, his involvement in modern Spain has been seen as positive, a necessary counter
to the negative and destructive side-effects of modernization. Authoritarianism was therefore
necessary to control these until such time as its grip could be gradually relaxed. The other
interpretation reverses the emphasis. Modernization and reform were an inevitable
manifestation of progress. In trying to disrupt these Franco was imposing an arbitrary
system to uphold – at all costs – traditional obstacles to change.

A ‘positive’ view of Franco’s role

Sympathetic explanations of Franco’s aims and methods are based on the necessity of meeting
the threats to Spain in the 1930s. Franco identified three in particular. One was the swing
to the left in Republican Spain through the acceleration of liberal democracy. The difficulty
of adjusting to this had already been recognized by Primo de Rivera, who had deliberately
restricted the role of parliamentary institutions and the ‘corrupting’ influence of party
politics. Any swing to the left also meant a greater exposure to the negative influences of
socialism, anarchism and, above all, communism. The second major threat was the
undermining of the Catholic Church by the Republic’s campaign for secularization, which
seemed to overlap an attack on Christianity itself. And third, in addition to the threats to
Spain’s traditional forms of authority and belief, there was also an assault on its unitary
nationhood by the devolution of powers to two of its regions.
The extent of Spain’s peril has been used to explain Franco’s intervention. To some, it
provided full justification for the various stages involved. Franco compensated for the
failure of Primo de Rivera’s earlier dictatorship through a successful military uprising and
the single-minded and ruthless pursuit of victory. The fall of Primo de Rivera showed that
no other approach was now possible. The new regime of Franco, established in 1939, saw
300 Dictatorship in Spain

further measures to eradicate any remaining threats. To Francoist supporters these were a
necessity to complete the task undertaken during the Civil War; to his less convinced
apologists the measures were excessive – but did not destroy the legitimacy of what Franco
had achieved. Externally, Franco did exactly the right thing in outwitting the Axis to keep
Spain neutral during the Second World War: he was praised for looking beyond any prospect
of winning prestige, or fulfilling any obligations to repay Italy and Germany for their support.
Instead, he maintained the primacy of Spain’s interests. After 1945 he managed Spain’s
diplomatic isolation with some skill, persuading some of the members of NATO that his
anti-communist stance was relevant to them in the Cold War; in particular, he increased
Spain’s credibility by enlisting the support of the United States. He also had the wisdom
gradually to relax the tightness of his control on Spain, which led to a burst of reform and
prosperity in the era of Tardofranquismo. As for the succession, he had always had a return
to monarchy in mind, ultimately seeing himself, in addition to all his other titles, as interim
regent. In this respect, Franco’s dictatorship was seen as custodial.
How has Franco’s regime been evaluated by historians? Some opt for a mixed judgement
which is neither unfavourable nor entirely favourable.90 Others, while strongly critical of
the extremes of Franco’s measures, focus as much on the responsibility of the Second
Republic’s defective policies for its own demise. But more explicitly sympathetic to Franco
is Crozier,91 whose biography of Franco was published in 1967, when the late Francoist
period had eight more years to run. Crozier lacked the benefit of hindsight from the
perspective of the rapid changes after 1975. Nevertheless, while reserving judgement over
the future, he had plenty to say about Franco’s role in the past, insisting that it was important
to place him within the context of Spanish history. Crozier argues that ‘No amount of criticism
on philosophical or doctrinal grounds can obscure the central fact of Franco’s achievement
in giving Spain more than a quarter of a century of stability and material progress.’92 He
also stressed the Communist danger in Spain before the Civil War, which greatly increased
after it had started. ‘Franco’s victory removed it.’93 Franco also prevented a permanent
threat from the far right: he ‘broke the fascists when they had outlived their usefulness’ and
also ‘gradually liberalized his regime’.94 Finally, Crozier’s biography makes generalizations
about the Spanish character in Franco’s favour. If ‘Franco’s attitude towards his enemies
was ruthless and vindictive’ it was ‘a typically Spanish attitude’. This was because ‘The
Spaniards are a deeply Manichean people, singularly unqualified for democracy.’95 More
recently, controversy was caused by the 2011 entry on Franco in the Dictionary of Spanish
Biography (Diccionario biográfico español). Its author, Suárez, was criticized for being too
favourable to Franco96 – as much for what Suárez underplays as for any direct partiality;
for example, he fails to mention the many thousands of people killed during the Francoist
era and considers the use of terms such as ‘totalitarian’ and ‘dictatorship’ inappropriate.
The former charge is particularly serious, especially in the context of increasing awareness
of Francoist atrocities. The refusal of Suarez to use certain descriptions is more
understandable, given the debate that now exists over terminology. Even so, Casanova
considers that the entry ‘is simply recreating the old propaganda in favour of Franco’.

A ‘negative’ view of Franco’s role

Critics of Franco focus on his deliberate stifling of reform and liberty – and the extreme
brutality by which he forced Spain back into the traditional mould from which she was seeking
to break free. The changes made in Spain after 1931 meant, above all, modernization and
progress. One example was the growth of liberal democracy after the overthrow of the
 Dictatorship in Spain 301

dictatorship of Primo de Rivera and of the monarchy itself. Furthermore, this seemed to be
happening at the time when other states were falling to dictatorship. Constitutional changes
were accompanied by improved conditions of labour, which were not inevitably connected
to the far left – the influence of communism came with the impact of the Nationalist rebellion
and civil war. Meanwhile, secularization was part of a long-term process in Spain – as it was
elsewhere. Admittedly there were major difficulties in maintaining political stability, social
equity and secular control. There were also pressures between right and left (and, of course,
within the left itself), as well as traumatic reactions such as the Asturias revolt and anticlerical
riots. But Franco oversimplified the threats arising from this instability and arrogated to
himself the right to destroy the whole process, in a crusade against modernization in any
form. He offered no innovative alternative, only a negative and immobilizing regime which
he reinforced by a systematic terror more intense and prolonged than the Red Terror of his
opponents. His supporters also fell for his dishonest approach to Spain’s involvement in the
Second World War. Far from deliberately keeping Spain neutral, he failed to convince Hitler
that Spain as an ally was worth Germany’s effort. Franco’s demands were simply too high,
and out of proportion with what he could deliver in turn. After the end of the Civil War,
Franco showed the true extent of his ruthlessness by channelling his White Terror into a
Spanish gulag system, while his economic policy of autarky created deprivation and
starvation. There were, it is true, some concessions after 1959, but these were in response
to internal and external pressures. Increased prosperity was also part of a more general
economic improvement from which much of Europe, including Portugal, also benefited.
Most historical assessments are unequivocally hostile to Franco. Almost all historians
argue, or strongly imply, that he distorted the trend of Spain’s development. Trevor-Roper
gave a particular example of this as early as 1972 when he maintained that Franco caused
a Communist threat. This provides an effective response to arguments like Crozier’s that
Franco rescued Spain from communism. In fact, Franco aimed to save Spain not from
communism but from liberal democracy. ‘It is true that in the course of the struggle the
Spanish Communists gradually rose to power on the republican side, just as the “Fascist”
Falange rose to power on Franco’s side. But that was the consequence, not the cause of the
struggle.’ Had the Republic been successful in the war, it ‘might have emancipated itself
from such temporary Communist allies as skilfully as General Franco emancipated himself
from his temporary Fascist allies’.97 The utter brutality of the regime is dwelt on at length
by Franco’s critics, who see little – if any – justification for this. It did not bring genuine
peace because, according to Sánchez: ‘peace was nothing but the regime’s manipulation of
Spaniards’ fear of more violence’.98 Preston, too, denounces any attempt to defend Franco.
He argues that it is a basic misconception that Franco provided social peace, for this ignores
his labour camps and executions, indications of his ‘brutal efficiency’. In this respect, Preston
insists, ‘Franco stands comparison with the cruellest dictators of the century’.99 Finally,
Franco is condemned for his complete reversal of progressive change. In Casanova’s words,
the ‘peace of Franco’ meant that ‘The reformist project of the Republic and all that this
type of government meant was swept away . . . and the workers’ movement and its ideas
were systematically wiped out, in a progress that was more violent and long-lasting than
that suffered by any of the other European movements opposed to Fascism’.

Conclusions?
There is no question as to the utter brutality of Franco’s conduct of the war and imposition
of his regime; nor of the sterility of his approach by contrast with the progressive aims of
302 Dictatorship in Spain

an admittedly flawed Republic. Previously this has been wholly or partially justified by the
threat of Communism or the threat to Christianity and historic Spain. In its extreme form
this was crude propaganda. But even Franco’s apologists used these as at least a partial
defence, along with observations on the nature of the Spanish people. Franco was brutal,
but brutality was excusable, or at least understandable, as a part of the environment which
produced it and as a defence against a worse evil. Such attitudes no longer make much
sense. It is becoming as difficult to put a favourable side to Franco as it is to Hitler and
Mussolini. This is because Spain and Europe have changed dramatically since Franco’s
death, sweeping away much of the basic approach on which Franco’s apologists operated
before 1975 – that there were two sides to the regime, with the future still to provide evidence
for Franco’s long-term success.
Any connection between Franco and post-1975 Spain is highly tenuous. The rapidity of
Spain’s adjustment to democracy was not the result of any long-term and steady control
that was, if not benevolent, at least ultimately beneficial. It was due to decisions taken to
depart from Franco, first in the policy of the new monarch, Juan Carlos, to pursue democracy
and then by the failure of the new electorate to support the remnant of Franco’s splintered
party. Nor are there any special Spanish characteristics preventing Spain from full access
to Europe. The period after 1975 proved that Spain is as suited to democracy as any other
European state – given stability and favourable circumstances. Nor was there an inherent
threat of communism in Spain. This was exaggerated by Franco, who then had the excuse
to crush it. Any credit he gained for doing the west a ‘service’ was almost entirely the result
of the Cold War climate; this, of course, was eventually weakened by détente, the end of
the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union. Finally, general changes in international
perceptions further discredited Franco. These included the growing emphasis on human
rights, increased social awareness within the Catholic Church and a greater worldwide
intolerance towards dictatorship.
Franco’s regime was therefore a brutal episode in modern Spanish history which has
proved to be no more logical or necessary than Mussolini’s to Italy, Hitler’s to Germany
or Stalin’s to Russia. Yet Franco’s excesses have not been subjected to any Spanish
equivalent of destalinization or denazification. Instead, the governments of the early post-
Franco years shied away from any policies that might revive any fundamental splits within
Spain. The ultimate irony – and revenge on Franco – was that he lapsed into irrelevance.
This happened so rapidly that initiatives have been taken in the new century to ‘unearth
Franco’s legacy’.

‘Unearthing’ Franco’s war and regime

There is a considerable contrast between the official monuments of the Franco regime in
the Valley of the Fallen (which contains a mausoleum for both Franco and José Antonio
Primo de Rivera) and the makeshift graves all over Spain for the hundreds of thousands of
executed Republicans. For the last quarter of the twentieth century these resting places were
left largely intact. Then, shortly after 2000, work was started on unearthing the Francoist
past.100 In this context, ‘unearthing’ has a double meaning. In one way it is a means of
revealing Spain’s recent past through a new type of research, based on archaeological
exhumations and interviews to establish oral evidence. In turn, these build up to a second
purpose – to ensure that there is a permanent reminder of the world of Franco that goes
beyond the regime’s own constructs and artefacts. But the whole process has revealed two
conflicting strategies for handling the Francoist past.
 Dictatorship in Spain 303

During the transition to democracy form 1975 the whole Franco era, including the Civil
War, was not heavily stressed in Spain. For a while there was, in effect, a ‘pact of oblivion’
which was observed by politicians from most political parties, including the PSOE (Socialist
Party) and the PP (Partido Popular). Its purpose was to give the transition a chance by not
reigniting old tensions and passions but rather by breaking the cycle of conflict between
left and right. Moving away from Franco meant not taking action against his former
supporters; there was more of an emphasis on ‘forgiveness’ than on ‘justice’. As Jerez-
Farrán and Amago point out, ‘In Germany, France and Italy Fascist collaborators were
publicly named, brought to justice, or censured, or they openly confessed or expressed regret,
but this same auto-critical process did not and has not occurred in Spain’.101 Perhaps this
overstates the parallel. ‘Collaborators’ in Spain were not being unpatriotic, as in France, or
supporting an occupying power; nor were they easily recognizable as ‘fascist’, as in Germany
and Italy. Would Spanish ‘fascists’ be former members of the Falange – or would they be
main upholders of Franco’s regime? In Spain the past was seen as too intricate to disentangle
in the way that happened with denazification in Germany or destalinization in Russia. There
was the additional complication that many Spaniards considered that Tardofranquismo had
at least been moving in the right direction and parallels have even been drawn with the
loosening of previously rigid regimes by Gorbachev in the Soviet Union and de Klerk in
South Africa. It was widely accepted that a calmer environment than Spain would allow
the image of Franco to fade, thereby guaranteeing the permanence of Spain’s new democracy.
But the amnesty has also had its critics, especially of the political influence behind its
implementation: it has, for example, been described not so much as ‘amnesty’ as ‘amnesia’
– and by ‘decree’. The ‘pact of oblivion’ certainly had deficiencies. For a while it seemed
completely one-sided. All the war memorials were those of the victors. Did these celebrate
the outcome of a ‘righteous’ war? And what of the defeated? Should they be forgotten?
Such anomalies made it difficult to escape from the past. Instead, Spain began to show a
revived consciousness of the Franco period – and a willingness to work through it in order
to move on. There were several strong influences behind this trend. One was the revival of
German self-examination, after reunification, to compensate for the secrecy and repression
of the former East Germany. Another was the removal of the threat of a new conflict between
left and right. The far right had become marginalized and its attempts at the occasional
coup had been overcome. It was, therefore, no longer necessary to stress the potential dangers
of opening up the Francoist past. Above all, the last two decades of the twentieth century
experienced an exponential growth of historical research, throughout the western world,
into Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany, the Holocaust and other key areas. The Spanish Civil
War and the Franco era were bound to be affected. This has happened through a rapid
increase in the number of monographs and more general works by Spanish, English and
American historians – some of which have been used in rewriting this chapter. But the
range of historical investigation has broadened to involve the wider public. In addition to
the publication of memoirs and autobiographies written by men and women who lived
through the Franco era, a great deal of oral evidence has been collected, based on recent
interviews; these have established what Labanyi calls the ‘politics of feeling’.102 In
‘denouncing an injustice’, such testimony has ‘a particular urgency’. Documentary films,
too, provide ‘a flashpoint in the memory war, arising from varying views on how the Spanish
past should be remembered’.103 Most widely publicized of all investigations were the
exhumations of bodies from mass-burial sites since 2000, many reported on television;104
by 2008 these amounted to over 4,000 bodies from 171 sites. Attention was therefore focused
on dead as well as living victims of the Franco era.
Chapter 7

Dictatorship elsewhere

DICTATORSHIP IN SOUTH-WESTERN EUROPE

Introduction
During the twentieth century, the two countries of the Iberian Peninsula followed broadly
parallel histories, although with some significant individual variations.
Spain, which has already been covered in Chapter 6, was a monarchy until 1931. Between
1923 and 1929 actual power was exercised by the dictatorship of General Primo de Rivera;
when this ended in Rivera’s fall, King Alfonso XIII followed soon afterwards. Spain became
a republic until 1936, which was subsequently challenged and overthrown by a military
rebellion which expanded into a full-scale Spanish Civil War. Between 1939 and 1975
Franco’s dictatorship neither confirmed Spain as a republic nor restored the monarchy: his
preference was for the latter and he always considered himself as a long-term regent.
Towards the end of his regime he planned for his own powers to pass – undiluted – to a
new king, but the 1975 incumbent, Juan Carlos, took his own decision that Spain should
evolve into a permanent constitutional monarchy; this was subsequently accepted by a
referendum. Portugal started the century as a monarchy before becoming a republic in 1910.
During the 1920s power moved increasingly into the hands of Dr Antonio Salazar, who
eventually became prime minister in 1928. He remained in this office until his retirement
in 1968 after a stroke. His successor, Caetano, was overthrown during the 1974 revolution,
after which the republic eventually became a westernized democracy. Both Spain and
Portugal were subsequently able to strengthen the political and economic foundations of
their new systems through their membership of the European Community, later the European
Union.
Franco and Salazar had a considerable chronological overlap. Franco’s regime was
installed by 1939 and survived until his death in 1975; Salazar was fully in control between
1928 and 1968. This meant that while part of their incumbency was within the main period
of the dictatorships considered in this book, most of it was outside – by between twenty-
three and thirty-one years. In both cases the policies pursued after 1945 had their origins
in the 1930s and early 1940s, although there was some late modification during the 1960s.
Their styles of dictatorship raise comparisons over similar questions: were they radical or
traditionalist, brutal or preventive, uniform or changing?
The role of war was particularly important in the development of both states. The pattern
in Spain was neutrality in the First World War, colonial war in Morocco, Civil War (1936–9)
and official neutrality in the Second World War. Portugal entered the First World War on
the side of the Allies, experienced no equivalent to the Spanish Civil War, remained neutral
 Dictatorship elsewhere 305

in the Second World War, and became embroiled in colonial wars in defence of its colonies
in Africa during the 1960s. The issue of colonies was also significant to Spain, although
in different ways. Franco gained much of his military experience in the campaigns in
Morocco, which he subsequently applied to establishing and maintaining his dictatorship;
then, later in his career, he decided that Spain should join the process of decolonization.
Salazar, by contrast, had no military experience but remained convinced that the African
colonies were integral to Portugal’s future. For this reason he resisted decolonization to the
point where the whole dictatorship was threatened with collapse. Finally, their attitudes to
the other powers had both similarities and differences. Germany and Italy developed military
ties with Spain, and Franco depended on their assistance in the Spanish Civil War. Salazar
maintained a close diplomatic relationship with the Axis powers, making it possible for
their aid to reach the Nationalists. Both dictators feared and despised the Soviet Union and
from 1941 contributed volunteers to Hitler’s invasion. But their attitudes to Britain differed:
Franco always saw her as a potential threat, while Salazar did what he could to maintain
Portugal’s reputation as Britain’s ‘oldest ally’. After 1945 neither Franco nor Salazar had
a comfortable time in Europe, although Spain was the more ostracized and isolated – at
least until the United States realized Spain’s usefulness within the context of the Cold War.

Portugal
At the beginning of the twentieth century Portugal was ruled by an authoritarian monarchy.
This was, however, overthrown in 1910, to be replaced by a republic which, in 1911,
introduced a democratic constitution with a two-chamber parliament, direct suffrage, and an
executive with limited powers. Overall, the new regime was by far the most progressive in
Portugal’s history. Unfortunately, it was also inherently unstable. The sophisticated political
system proved inappropriate to a society which was one of the most backward in Europe
and in which 70 per cent of the people were illiterate. As in many other parts of Europe
democracy foundered on political instability. During the sixteen years of the republic’s
existence there were nine presidents, forty-four governments, twenty-five uprisings and three
temporary dictatorships.1 This catalogue makes Portugal, in the words of Payne, ‘the most
politically chaotic of any single European . . . state in the twentieth century’.2
Political crisis was intensified by economic disaster caused by a series of incompetent
budgets, an increase in inflation and a deterioration in Portugal’s balance of payments. By
the mid-1920s all the influential sectors of society – the professional middle class, the army
and the Church – had come to the conclusion that the republic would have to be replaced
by a more stable regime. On 17 June 1926 it was therefore destroyed by General Gomes
da Costa, who installed a dictadura (or dictatorship) in its place.

The Estado Novo

The new military rulers, however, proved equally unable to tackle Portugal’s economic
problems, as the cost of living soared to a level thirty times that of 1914. By 1928 the head
of state, President Carmona, handed over complete responsibility for the Portuguese finances
to a professor of economics at the University of Coimbra, Dr Antonio de Oliveira Salazar.
In 1932 Salazar became Prime Minister, a position he held until incapacitated by a stroke
thirty-six years later.
Throughout this lengthy period he remained in complete control, seeing himself as the
only person who could reconcile the conflicting trends in Portuguese society or provide an
306 Dictatorship elsewhere

alternative to Portugal’s inefficient democracy. His power base was a formidable array of
groups disillusioned by the anarchy of the republic. These included army officers who felt
that the forces had been neglected, the Church who hated the republic’s anticlerical policies,
the upper bourgeoisie and banking interests who wanted economic stability, and, finally,
right-wing intellectuals and monarchists. All trusted this remote academic far more than
Portugal’s more flashy military leaders.
What sort of person was Salazar? Bruce describes him as a ‘devout and Right-wing
Catholic, a quiet and an austere man, dressed usually in a rather ill-fitting dark suit’.3 He
had little personal charisma and avoided any hint of a personality cult; in this respect he
was the very reverse of Mussolini. He did, however, have a strong character, and as early
as 1928 affirmed: ‘I know quite well what I want and where I am going . . . When the time
comes for me to give orders I shall expect it [the country] to obey.’4 His ideas were clearly
and forcefully stated. He profoundly distrusted parliamentary democracy, for it had ‘resulted
in instability and disorder, or, what is worse, it has become a despotic domination of the
nation by political parties’.5 He therefore saw his role as establishing a paternalist regime,
a government without parties. The individual should submit to this government without
seeking to limit its powers. ‘Let us place our liberty in the hands of authority; only authority
knows how to administer and protect it.’6 Salazar also sought to revive traditional virtues
and loyalties and to develop a national pride based on the glorification of Portugal’s history;
for this reason his cult of empire assumed major importance. Overall, he tried to develop
a state which, although based on tradition and in some ways an escape from the realities
of the twentieth century, was nevertheless new in its organic development. Hence, he called
his model the Estado Novo, the New State.
The basis of the Estado Novo was the 1933 constitution which replaced the multi-party
system with a ‘unitary and corporative republic’.7 The new lower house – the National
Assembly – was elected on a list system through a restricted franchise. It also had few powers
over the government and could not initiate financial legislation. A one-party system was
confirmed, with the National Union (UN)
acting as ‘a pressure group intended to bind
all sections of the community in a corpor-
ative movement’.8 This was the means
whereby Salazar hoped to achieve harmony
and discipline and to break the long-
standing strife between labour and capital.
It operated through the upper house of
parliament – a corporative chamber – which
was selected from various sections of the
community, including industry, commerce,
agriculture, the army and the Church.
Industrial relations were regulated by the
National Labour Statute of 1933 which
forbade workers’ strikes and employers’
lockouts. The whole point of corporativism
was to present a viable alternative to the

10 Antonio Salazar, 1889–1970, photo taken

in 1964 (© Popperfoto/Getty)
 Dictatorship elsewhere 307

liberal idea, which Salazar distrusted, without adopting the collective principle as embodied
in communism, which he hated.
Salazar’s Estado Novo had a mixed record in the period up to 1945. On the positive
side, it undoubtedly provided greater political stability; the solid support from the wealthier
sections of society brought to an end the pendulum of revolution alternating with counter-
revolution. Above all, Salazar achieved a considerable amount in the financial sector. He
produced a series of balanced budgets, stabilized the currency, reduced corruption and
improved the process of tax collection. According to Gallagher, his methods ‘were those
of a careful accountant’.9 On the other hand, the Estado Novo attempted few progressive
reforms. Salazar was ‘not an economic innovator’ and balanced budgets became an obsession
which served only to discourage foreign investment and loans. Industrial growth was
minimal; the proportion of the workforce in industry increased hardly at all between 1920
and 1940. Agriculture, too, experienced neither fundamental changes in methods nor
sustained efforts to improve irrigation. Above all, a real barrier to change was exerted by
the social elite which upheld the regime. Social reform was held back by a rigid class system,
something which concerned Salazar not at all. After all, he had once said quite openly:
‘I consider more urgent the creation of élites than the necessity to teach people to read.’10
In his foreign policy Salazar had several priorities, which were sometimes difficult to
harmonize. One was to retain the friendship of Britain, based on the Alliance of 1386 as
renewed in 1643, 1654, 1660, 1661, 1703, 1815 and 1899. This carried no military
commitments but it offered at least some protection for the Portuguese empire by making
it unlikely that Britain would co-operate with powers that had designs on Portuguese
territory. Salazar certainly preferred existing connections with Britain to any new obligations
to Germany or Italy. He was also strongly averse to the Soviet Union, which he saw as an
ideological threat to the Catholic Church and as an inveterate enemy to right-wing regimes;
he therefore welcomed attempts by other European leaders to isolate Stalin while, at the
same time, he avoided involving Portugal in the Anti-Comintern Pact.
Above all, Salazar was determined to remove any possible threat from Portugal’s more
powerful neighbour, Spain. He was particularly concerned that the Republicans should not
win the Civil War, for this might tempt a future left-wing regime to intervene against the
Estado Novo, perhaps even to the extent of incorporating Portugal into a federation with
Spain. Hence Salazar depended on Franco’s victory to maintain ‘the immutable principle
of the duality of the [Iberian] Peninsula’.11 Portugal’s involvement was limited – but
significant nonetheless. Salazar gave moral support to the rebel forces under Franco; Portugal
provided transit facilities for German arms bound for Nationalist-held areas in Spain; 18,000
Portuguese joined the Viriatos, a volunteer force; and Republican refugees seeking asylum
in Portugal were handed over to Nationalist forces – and death. In March 1939 Salazar
cemented relations with the new Nationalist regime in the Iberian Pact (or Treaty of
Friendship and Non-Aggression). At the same time, Salazar avoided the temptation of an
alliance with Italy or Germany, believing that ‘in accordance with the true interests of the
Portuguese nation its foreign policy is always to avoid, if possible, any entanglements in
Europe’.12 Nevertheless, he had to be careful not to antagonize either regime.
Salazar therefore had to resolve the problem of a vicious circle: he had to prevent friction
with Britain over his backing for Franco – and with Nationalist Spain over his continued
‘alliance’ with Britain. Fortunately for Salazar, Franco was equally determined to play his
own themes in foreign policy: to Salazar’s relief, Franco proved quite capable of fending
off the influence of the fascist powers and, although more ruthless than Salazar, Franco had
a similarly traditionalist approach to ideology. Salazar therefore had to exert less pressure
308 Dictatorship elsewhere

on Franco than he had thought. In turn, Britain relaxed when she saw that Salazar was
keeping his distance from the ‘fascist’ powers on the continent and developing an ‘Atlantic
triangle’ between Portugal, Britain and Brazil (which had introduced her own ‘New State’
under President Vargas in 1937). With his bilateral friendship with Franco, it seemed that,
by 1939, Salazar had managed to ‘square’ the vicious circle and establish a form of
diplomatic stability.

The Second World War

Everything now depended on whether Salazar could keep Portugal out of a major conflict
which, from 1938 onwards, threatened Europe. He had no intention of ending the Anglo-
Portuguese alliance but, at the same time, was determined that it should not interfere with
Portuguese neutrality in mainland Europe. As in the 1930s, he had to steer a balance
between any threat from Germany, British reactions and Spanish unpredictability. In many
ways, Salazar disliked what Nazi Germany stood for and criticized the invasion of Poland
in September 1939. In 1940 he told the Italian minister in Portugal: ‘My main worry is that
Germany may obtain a crushing military victory over the Allies.’ If this happened, Hitler
would ‘Germanise Europe’, carrying ‘a neo-paganism of mystic and racist origin that is
contrary to our Roman and Catholic traditions’.13 He was particularly concerned about
Hitler’s conquest of France in June 1940 since this might encourage Franco’s Spain to join
the Axis powers to make swift and easy territorial gain – as Mussolini’s Italy had done. It
could also force Britain to retreat into peripheral defence and encourage her to annex
Portugal’s islands (the Azores, Madeira and Cape Verde) to maintain control over the
Atlantic. If either – or both – of these scenarios were to happen, mainland Portugal might
well be invaded and brought under Axis and Spanish control. Salazar therefore had to
maintain his balancing act. He did so with some skill but also benefited from changing
circumstances and events beyond his immediate influence.
The German threat was a real one. In 1940 Hitler and Grand Admiral Raeder developed
a contingency plan to occupy Portugal’s islands in the Atlantic and invade Portugal herself;
this has been seen as a significant part of a more general scheme for German world
dominance. But it was never actually implemented. Portugal was saved from German action
by Hitler’s growing preoccupation with bolstering up Mussolini in the Balkans and north
Africa and with the faltering German campaign in the Soviet Union. Britain’s reactions
were also problematic: in May 1943 Churchill advocated British annexation of Portugal’s
Atlantic islands without any preliminary warning, until he was dissuaded from such a course
by the rest of the war cabinet. Instead, he requested permission from Salazar to build a
naval base in the Azores. As it became increasingly clear that the Axis would lose the war,
Salazar agreed to Allied use of the Azores to defend the north Atlantic and later to defend
the route taken by troops from North America for the invasion of France. This made
Portugal more co-operative than any of the other neutrals in the war. Spain, meanwhile,
posed less of a threat. Franco was determined not to involve Spain on the side of Italy and
Germany, realizing that the danger that external war could well reverse his victory in a
particularly gruelling civil war. Salazar encouraged Franco to keep to his resolution. In July
1940 a Protocol was signed to the 1939 Treaty, providing for joint consultation in the event
of a threat to either Spain or Portugal. This removed the possibility of Franco considering
Portugal a threat and therefore of unprovoked Spanish action against Portugal. According
to Robinson, this agreement ‘went some way to cementing a Peninsular Bloc, and therefore
Iberian neutrality, provided no attack came from outside’.14
 Dictatorship elsewhere 309

The war had a limited impact of on Portugal herself. The population never experienced
direct rationing, and the hardship caused by the Allies’ economic blockade on Europe was
no worse in Portugal than in other neutral states. Salazar’s refusal to enter the war meant
the complete absence of bombing, although there were periodic German threats and attacks
on Portuguese shipping – mainly as an inducement to keep open normal channels of trade.
This was something that Salazar was determined to do, although to both sides in the war.
Trade with Germany accounted for 19 per cent of Portugal’s exports in 1941, increasing
to 25 per cent in 1942.15 There was, however, pressure from Britain to reduce trade with
Germany in food and, more importantly, in strategic materials. Again, Salazar had to
maintain a balance between meeting German demands for one of Portugal’s main raw
materials, wolfram (for tungsten), used in the armaments industry, and recognizing British
counter-demands for its limitation. This was not dissimilar to Sweden’s predicament over
her continued trade with Germany in iron ore and ball-bearings, and proved increasingly
uncomfortable. Salazar was eventually reprieved by the inevitability of Hitler’s defeat and
agreed to a total embargo on wolfram to Germany.

After the Second World War

Salazar felt isolated and vulnerable in the immediate post-war period. His formula for survival
was, on the one hand, to insulate his dictatorship internally from Western ideas and influences
while, on the other, contributing as much as possible on the international scene to make
Portugal an indispensable link in Western security.
Salazar’s domestic policies continued to be deeply conservative; Bruneau maintains that
he ‘intentionally isolated Portugal from the outside world’.16 Salazar remained committed
to old-fashioned budgetary financing, restricting the use of the foreign credit and investment
that did so much to rebuild the shattered economies of the other states of western Europe.
He continued to believe that rapid industrialization would weaken the social elites that
underpinned his regime and would therefore destroy the cohesion of the Estado Novo.
Although Salazar claimed that the Estado Novo had become politically more democratic,
with elections ‘as free as they are in the free land of England’,17 the number of voters rose
only slowly as a proportion of the population as a whole. 14.6 per cent voted in the 1949
election and 14.8 per cent in 1965, compared with 10.6 per cent in 1938.18 But since the
opportunities for legitimate party politics were still strictly limited, any opposition that
developed to the regime after the War tended to be conspiratorial or resistance-based. The
Communist Party (PCP) was one of the strongest, although it went through periods of strength
alternating with internal crisis. Salazar continued to emphasize the ever-growing danger of
internal ‘subversion’. The secret police, renamed the Policia Internacional e Defensa do
Estado (PIDE), was expanded, while detention without trial and the use of torture became
routine. One of its victims, Mário Soares (later to be Portugal’s premier between 1976 and
1978), wrote that ‘In Portugal the police cannot be wrong and therefore anyone held on a
political charge is by definition guilty. Police enquiries actually suffice as proof, and
defending lawyers may not interfere while they are being made.’19
In his foreign policy Salazar was, at first, greatly assisted by the climate of the Cold
War, in which the United States and Britain were more concerned with what they perceived
as the new left-wing dictatorships in Soviet-influenced eastern Europe than with the residual
right-wing dictatorships of the Iberian Peninsula. Even so, there was a distinction in Western
policy towards Portugal and Spain. Franco remained a pariah and, although left alone, was
kept in isolation. Salazar, on the other hand, was included in the West’s plans for future
310 Dictatorship elsewhere

security, whatever reservations it might have about Salazar’s continuing dictatorship. In

1949, therefore, Portugal was invited to join NATO as a founder member, while in 1951
her significance as an ‘Atlantic’ power was recognized in the Defence Agreement which
formalized to right of the United States to continue to use the Lajes Base in the Azores. In
1955 Salazar managed to gain wider credibility for Portugal by the latter’s inclusion in the
United Nations Organization. He also improved relations with other European states by
agreeing with de Gaulle’s ‘third force’ policy and by supporting the principle of German
reunification; in both cases his stance was rewarded during the 1960s with aid and arms.20
It looked, therefore, as if Salazar had achieved some recognition and rehabilitation by the
time his leadership ended in 1968.
Or had he? Another trend during the 1950s and 1960s was the growth of international
criticism of Portugal. This was due less to internal or domestic factors (after all, Portugal
was one of many dictatorships in the post-war era) than to her colonial policies, now
perceived by most of the world as anachronistic. This antipathy increased with the eruption
of resistance to Portuguese rule in Africa, while the cost of dealing with the rebellions had
a profound effect on the Estado Novo itself. To this we now turn.

The empire and the Estado Novo, 1926–74

Throughout its entire existence, the Estado Novo had one particular source of strength –
and weakness. This was Portugal’s overseas empire which comprised: the Atlantic islands
of Azores and Madeira; the African colonies of Guinea Bissau, the Cape Verde Islands,
Principé, São Tomé, Cabinda, Angola and Mozambique; Goa, Damao and Diu in India;
Macau in China; and East Timor in Indonesia. Some of these possessions were historic, the
remnants of a larger empire that had been partially destroyed by the Dutch in the seventeenth
century or lost through the independence of Brazil in the early nineteenth. Other areas –
the hinterlands of the African colonies – were added in the late nineteenth century, the
result of grudging agreements with Britain and Germany. The early twentieth century,
however, saw a change in Portugal’s basic colonial policy. The Portuguese republic, which
replaced the monarchy in 1910, envisaged the movement of the African colonies towards
autonomy and ultimate independence, as had happened with Brazil.
This long-term vision was, however, changed by Salazar, who switched the emphasis to
Portugal’s ‘historic responsibilities’ and the permanence of empire.21 Before becoming
Prime Minister, Salazar had, from 1930, served as Overseas Minister and had introduced
the Colonial Act (1930), and, with his successor, Armindo Monteiro, the Organic Charter
(1933). The Colonial Act simplified the overall administration by bringing the colonies
under the direct control of Lisbon, while a new imperial mystique was also developed.
According to Monteiro, Portugal was, through her empire, ‘entitled to invoke the past, not
as a remembrance of dead things, but as a source of inspiration for the future’. It also
guaranteed Portugal a world role. Jorge Ameal emphasized that ‘our sovereignty as a small
European state spreads prodigiously over three continents and is summed up in the
magnificent certainty that we are the third colonial power’ [after Britain and France].
Portugal also had an historic obligation to ‘civilize’ and convert the peoples of Africa: ‘in
this heroic element is contained the most noble sentiment of our mission as a chosen people,
since the task of civilizing must have, above all else, a spiritual content’.22 The overseas
empire, like any other, was also of economic importance, supplying Portugal with raw
materials, providing markets for manufactures and opportunities for Portuguese emigrants.
As far as the regime was concerned, the underlying rationale for empire would never need
 Dictatorship elsewhere 311

to be changed. There were, of course, possible threats to Portuguese colonies during the
Second World War – but these seemed to have been settled by agreements made with Britain
and the United States over the Azores and by the admission of Portugal to NATO as a
founding member.
Salazar’s problem came with the decision made by the other powers to decolonize. The
process started with the British acknowledgement of Indian independence in 1947 and the
Dutch and French retreat, in the face of military defeat, from Indonesia and Indochina
respectively. During the next phase Britain, France and Belgium voluntarily decolonized
in Africa in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Salazar’s commitment to empire was so deep
that that he resisted, with all his strength, pressures to follow suit in Angola, Mozambique
and Guinea-Bissau. The government argued that the Portuguese public overwhelmingly
valued the colonies, and that Angola and Mozambique were as much a part of Portugal as
Minho or Alentejo. In any case, the Portuguese empire had always been an important
counterweight to Spanish influence, while any Portuguese operations against ‘terrorism’
were an invaluable contribution to defending Africa and the free world from the influence
of Communist China and the Soviet Union.23
When it came, the colonial conflict was therefore a shock to Portugal. The first disaster
was the Indian capture of Goa, Damao and Diu, in 1961, a decision taken after Salazar’s
refusal in 1954 to enter discussions with Nehru with a view to voluntary decolonization,
and now made possible by Britain’s refusal to put pressure on a Commonwealth partner to
exercise restraint. The situation then deteriorated in the African colonies as revolts erupted
in Angola in 1961, Guinea Bissau and the Cape Verde Islands (1963) and Mozambique
(1964). A series of guerrilla movements emerged; they were all committed to ejecting
Portuguese rule and they received assistance from neighbouring recently-independent Black
African states (like Guinea-Conakry, Congo-Brazzaville, Zambia and Tanzania), and
Communist regimes in China and Cuba. Motions of support for the movements were
regularly passed in the United Nations General Assembly.
It was no foregone conclusion that the Estado Novo had lost the colonial war by the
time of its own fall in 1974. Bruce argues that ‘there was no evident sign of any weakening
in Portugal’s determination to remain in her overseas provinces’.24 According to Gallagher,
the ‘guerrillas were not in a position to inflict a military defeat, with the possible exception
of those operating in the smallest mainland African territory’.25 Certainly, the guerrillas
faced limitations. Most of their activities were well away from the urban centres and were
concentrated on the border areas with neighbours which were assisting their cause. In some
cases the guerrillas themselves were divided between different organisations. In Angola the
MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) contested power with the UPA
(Union of the Peoples of Angola) and UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence
of Angola). In Mozambique the main organization, FRELIMO (Front for the Liberation of
Mozambique), competed with COREMO (Revolutionary Committee for Mozambique).26
To some extent, these divisions were due to tribal rivalries, cutting across national resistance
within territories which had had artificial colonial frontiers imposed upon them. The
Portuguese also had support from white regimes such as Rhodesia and South Africa and
received weapons from some of their allies in NATO (especially the United States) which
circumvented the embargo on providing equipment for use in Africa.27 As a result, there
were few signs of shortages in matériel during the course of the war down to 1974. There
were even some signs of lessons being learned. Salazar’s successor, Caetano, decided to
introduce reforms within the colonies as well as in Portugal herself and, in particular, to
develop the infrastructures of Angola and Mozambique. Yet it is equally clear that time
312 Dictatorship elsewhere

PORTUGAL

AZO
RES
MADEIRA
PAC I F I C
MACAU OCEAN
DIU
DAMÃO
CAP GUINEA BISSAU GOA
VE R E
ISLA DE
NDS
PRINCIPÉ I.
SÃO TOMÉ I. CABINDA

MOZAMBIQUE
EAST TIMOR
ANGOLA

INDIAN
AT LAN T I C OCEAN
OCEAN

Map 7 The Portuguese overseas empire in the twentieth century

was on the side of those pursuing the ‘liberation struggles’. Portugal may not have been
facing imminent defeat in 1973 or 1974, but she had neither the resources nor the moral
argument to win in the longer term. A small state with a dated, self-imposed mission could
hardly expect to hold out indefinitely against the condemnation of most of the world.
Even so the withdrawal from empire or, as Gallagher puts it, the extrication of Portugal
‘from the colonial morass she had got herself into’,28 came as a direct result of developments
within Portugal rather than through military crisis overseas. The two were, of course,
interconnected. The pressures of war accelerated a crisis in Portugal which was also the
outcome of a series of changes developing for ten years or more. Most historians agree that
the colonial war was the main catalyst in transforming Portugal: Birmingham, for example,
argues that it ‘brought more dramatic changes to Portugal’s social culture than the world
war had brought in 1943’.29 Caetano’s increase in military expenditure to over 45 per cent
of Portugal’s annual budget – to maintain 142,000 troops in Africa – accelerated the collapse
of a temporary boom in the late 1960s and the slide into recession. This, in turn, caused an
increase in unemployment and intensified opposition from trade unions and the political
left.
The most direct impact of the colonial war was the destabilization of the Portuguese
army which had not, after all, been directly involved in any other military conflict since
the First World War. Even before 1960 Salazar had made the training academies more
accessible to entrants outside the traditional elites from the upper levels of society; this
dilution of the military elite increased during the 1960s. The prospect of prolonged and
 Dictatorship elsewhere 313

dangerous service overseas deterred many potential recruits so that, compared with the levels
of 1958, admissions to the academies fell to 50 per cent and, by 1973, to 25 per cent. In
an attempt to fill the gap, the government recruited university graduates who had completed
their military service, allowing them more rapid promotion than officers who had come up
through the academies.30 Both segments of the officer corps became disillusioned with the
regime: the traditional elite because it was threatened by what it saw as rising parvenus,
and the new elements by a questioning of the very values of Salazar and Caetano. Both
groups – and others, who were influenced by the Marxist texts they had studied in the
academies’ counter-revolutionary classes – began to question Portugal’s inflexible strategies
in Africa. They took their cue from General Spínola, who was convinced of the need for
negotiation with the rebels and a policy to win ‘hearts and minds’ among the people.31 In
1974 Spínola published his arguments for an alternative to continuing the conflict – a looser
commonwealth instead of an integrated empire. On 25 April 1974 the government was
overthrown as a result of a military coup planned by junior army officers with the support
of Spínola.
By 1974, therefore, the Estado Novo had outlived its original purpose of stabilizing
Portugal and, with its die-hard economic and colonial policies, now threatened whatever
limited harmony it had achieved. Its founder had been incapacitated by a stroke in 1968.
His successor, Caetano, had not been able to exert Salazar’s unique blend of authority and
reassurance and, although more inclined to reform, had attracted less support. Events in
Africa had convinced a large part of the population that it was time for Portugal to distance
herself from her tradition and past achievements and to accept modernization. This
fundamental change of attitude enabled Portugal to progress, via the coup and revolution
of 1974 – and subsequent political manoeuvring – from dictatorship and overseas empire
to democracy and integration with Europe.

A ‘fascist’ regime?
Before – and after – its end in 1974 there was a debate as to whether the Estado Novo was
a ‘fascist’ regime. Some historians have placed the emphasis on the system as a whole,
considering the extent to which ‘fascism’ helped shape or colour Salazar’s rule. Anderson,
for example, maintains that the entire regime was ‘inspired by fascism’, and that Salazar
‘made his corporate state totalitarian’.32 In a detailed study of the opposition to Salazar,
Raby argues that the regime undoubtedly exhibited several fundamental characteristics of
fascism’, albeit ‘a weak, semi-peripheral fascism, appropriate to the position of a weak,
semi-peripheral country’. Nevertheless, ‘its origins, functions and structures’ were ‘similar
to those of other fascist regimes’.33 Mario Soares tended to use ‘fascism’ in a general sense
as the worst manifestations of the regime as a whole. In his 1975 edition he wrote: ‘In the
time of Salazar and Caetano, Portugal was a refuge for the agents and survivors of
international Fascism, a sort of paradise where they could settle all kinds of plots and plans
without interference . . . In the world-wide organisations of reaction, the Portuguese
dictatorship is sadly missed.’34 He added: ‘Fascism in Portugal was an insult to the world’s
conscience.’35
To some authorities, ‘fascism’ is not an appropriate term. Birmingham criticizes ‘loose
usage of the term “fascist”’ since it ‘fails to illuminate the specific nature of Portuguese
government in the 1930s’ and its ‘contrasts of substance and style’ with Spain and Italy.36
Others acknowledge ‘fascism’ as a more specific part of the right-wing nature of the regime.
Although it may have exerted some influence, it never succeeded in subverting the
314 Dictatorship elsewhere

predominantly traditionalist nature of the power base. Pinto, for example, argues that ‘The
fascist were divided and merely junior partners in the large coalition that brought down
Portuguese liberalism’.37 Manifestations of fascism were confined to organizations like
Preto’s PNF and the Blue Shirts. But these did not flourish; ‘pacts between the military
élite and Salazar’ joined ‘conservative groups within the UN’ to take often violent and
repressive action against ‘fascist groups’.38 Indeed, the military dictatorship set up in 1926
saw gradual ‘constitutionalisation’ and ‘civilianisation’ which effectively blocked the
influence of the fascists. Instead, the real influence lay with the authoritarian right, ‘supported
by powerful institutions such as the Church, most military officers, as well as landowning
and industrial groups’.39 Overall, ‘The New State meant the hegemony of a traditionalist,
catholic and anti-democratic right’.40
With this debate in mind, how should we identify the main features of Salazar’s regime
and what comparisons might be made with other European dictatorships?

PORTUGAL COMPARED WITH OTHER DICTATORSHIPS

Salazar’s regime was certainly authoritarian and had many features in common with other
dictatorships in Europe, including Austria under Dollfuss, Piłsudski’s Poland, Horthy’s
Hungary, Franco’s Spain, and the Baltic states; there were even some influences from Fascist
Italy and Nazi Germany. All the distinguishing features of the Estado Novo were from the
right of the political spectrum. It was based on the supreme power of Salazar himself; an
American diplomat reported in 1936 that Salazar could ‘make any decision without necessity
for consultation with any other individual in Portugal’.41 His dictatorship was ensured, like
those of most other regimes of the right, by a reduction in the powers of the legislature so
that no legal enactments could occur without his personal approval. His position was further
underpinned by the establishment of a one-party state and a ban on all forms of political
opposition. This was ensured by a secret police force, initially the Policia de Vigilancia e
Defesa do Estado (PVDE), later the Policia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado (PIDE).
The nation was associated with the glories of imperialism, in defence of which military
expenditure was given priority. All of these were characteristic of authoritarian regimes
elsewhere. His introduction of corporative institutions also owed much to right-wing ideas
before 1914, possibly to the same stream which influenced Mussolini. Griffin considers it
to be one of the ‘para-fascist regimes’ which learned to adapt to ‘the era of the masses’
and sought a ‘façade of legitimation’.42 Above all, Salazar, in common with almost all inter-
war dictators, had a deep and profound hatred of communism.
Yet we should not deduce from this that Portugal was one of the regimes of the extreme
right between the wars. On the whole, Salazar was much more conservative and less radical
than the so-called totalitarian regimes of Germany and Italy. According to Gallagher,

Although Salazar, like Mussolini and Hitler, set about creating a strong state to fulfil
his goals, it was not required to be as drastic as theirs in its regulatory or coercive
methods; the aim was merely to strengthen existing social values and modes of behaviour
rather than pioneer a radically new social order.43

In part, this was due to Portugal’s internal instability; according to De Meneses, this
meant that ‘the Portuguese dictator had to make continuous concessions to those who
supported his rule’, which meant that any ideology had to reflect ‘the virtues of stability
and order’ rather than those of change.44 This contrast between Portugal, on the one hand,
 Dictatorship elsewhere 315

and Germany and Italy, on the other, was apparent in a number of ways. There was, for
example, a clear ideological difference. Salazar said in 1934 that he feared that totalitarianism
might ‘bring about an absolutism worse than that which preceded the liberal regimes’. In
particular, ‘Such a state would be essentially pagan, incompatible by its nature with the
character of our Christian civilization and leading sooner or later to revolution.’45 His
ideological base was traditional and Catholic – more in line with Franco than with Hitler
or Mussolini. His personal power was also more discreet and less ostentatious than that of
most of his contemporaries. Salazar had no wish to develop a personality cult – he even
ended the official use of the term dictadura. The one-party state in Portugal was based on
a different premise to those in Germany and Italy. The Uniao Nacional (UN) was not intended
as a radical means of reshaping political views and of mobilizing political opinion. Rather,
it was a device to create consensus, or to demobilize politics altogether. It is true that
opponents of the regime were firmly dealt with: repression was effective, but the PIDE
made less use of terror than any other secret police system in Europe and Portugal had no
death penalty. Minorities were not persecuted as they were elsewhere. Anti-Semitism did
not become a feature of Salazar’s regime, despite attempts of the Blueshirts to make it so,
and Portugal even provided sanctuary for some of the Jewish exiles from Germany. As for
expansionism, Salazar always emphasized that Portugal had ‘no need of wars, usurpations
or conquests’.46 Unlike the vast majority of right-wing regimes, Portugal was already a
satiated power and wanted nothing more than to preserve those territories won in the past.
This made the whole notion of empire a traditionalist and conservative one. In the economic
sphere, the corporate state meant far less state involvement than in Italy. There was also
no drive for industrial expansion, since this did not suit the traditional nature of the
Portuguese economy. The purpose of social policy was to conserve existing values; education
was therefore not intended to radicalize, which explains why not a great deal was done to
extend its range.
Portugal was therefore one of the milder dictatorships of the inter-war period. This, and
the cautious foreign policy of Salazar, enabled it to outlive the others on the right, with the
single exception of Spain. Its successful longevity served, however, to delay the movement
to democracy and to open it to charges that Portugal, along with Spain, provided Europe’s
last gasp of fascism.

DICTATORSHIP IN CENTRAL AND EASTERN EUROPE

Introduction
At the beginning of the twentieth century over three-quarters of the total area of Europe
was ruled by three empires: Turkey, Austria-Hungary and Russia. By 1914 the Balkan
provinces of Turkey had splintered into six independent states; their treatment after the First
World War and subsequent problems are dealt with on p. 361. Central and eastern Europe
underwent a similar transformation in 1918 as a result of the defeat of Tsarist Russia and
the disintegration of Austria-Hungary. From the territory of these two empires no fewer
than eight ‘successor states’ were established as a result of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk and
the Paris Settlement. The former (dealt with in Chapter 2) destroyed Russian sovereignty
over Finland, Poland and the three Baltic states of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. The Paris
Settlement, comprising the Treaties of St Germain (1919) and Trianon (1920), acknowledged
the collapse of the Habsburg monarchy and the establishment of Austria, Hungary and
Czechoslovakia.
316 Dictatorship elsewhere

The Paris Settlement ensured that Austria and Hungary were now merely the German
and Magyar rumps of the old empire. The provinces of Bohemia, Moravia and Slovakia
were converted into the state of Czechoslovakia. Galicia was ceded to Poland, Transylvania
to Romania, Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina to Yugoslavia, and South Tyrol and Trentino
to Italy. These provisions have been the subject of vigorous debate ever since and three
arguments seem to represent the full range of opinion. At one extreme, the new Czech
leader, Masaryk, welcomed the changes which had ‘shorn nationalism of its negative
character by setting oppressed peoples on their feet’. At the other extreme, some observers
looked nostalgically back to the days of the multinational empire of the Habsburgs. One of
these was Eyck, the German historian, who saw the ‘dismemberment of the Austro-Hungarian
state’ as ‘a basic error’.47 More recently, A.J.P. Taylor pointed to the transitory nature of
the empire, but also to the difficulty of managing without it: ‘The dynastic Empire sustained
central Europe, as a plaster cast sustains a broken limb; though it had to be destroyed before
movement was possible, its removal did not make movement successful or even easy.’48
An analysis of the problems confronting the ‘successor states’ should enable the reader
to weigh the relative merits of these views. It should also explain why this part of Europe
should have become the scene of a series of domestic crises, which promoted dictatorship,
and of international confrontations, which precipitated general war.
The first of these problems was the ethnic composition of the ‘successor states’. In theory,
the Paris Settlement was eminently reasonable; President Wilson’s principle of ‘national
self-determination’ ensured that the Slav peoples all received their own homelands, whether
in Czechoslovakia, Poland or Yugoslavia. In practice, however, the settlement discriminated
against both Austria and Hungary by so drawing the new boundaries that large minorities
of Germans and Magyars were separated from their respective homelands. Hence 3.1 million
Sudeten Germans came under Czech rule, as did the Hungarian population of Slovakia. The
justification was that the Sudetenland was an industrial area which was indispensable to
the economic viability of Czechoslovakia. In any case, to have left the province with Austria
would have created a geographic impossibility and the Allies could hardly transfer it to
Germany. There was therefore a tendency among the peacemakers to shrug off such
anomalies; King Albert of the Belgians asked, ‘What would you have? They did what they
could.’49 Unfortunately, the policy of favouring the Slavs at the expense of non-Slavs did
not always work, for there was serious friction between the various subgroups who were
brought together as co-nationals. Slovaks, for example, accused Czechs of monopolizing
power, and some historians consider that the nationalist tensions which existed in the
Danube area were worse after the dissolution of the empire than they had ever been before.
Ethnic conflicts were compounded by economic difficulties resulting initially from the
manner in which the resources of the empire were carved up. The ‘successor states’ received
disproportionate shares of the industries and agricultural land of Austria-Hungary.
Czechoslovakia, for example, inherited only 27 per cent of the empire’s population but
nearly 80 per cent of its heavy industry, sufficient to enable it to compete successfully with
many Western industrial states. Hungary was less fortunate. Although it received between
80 and 90 per cent of the specialized engineering and wood-processing plants, these had
access to 89 per cent less iron ore and 85 per cent less timber. There was also a serious
disruption in what had been a free-trade area of some 55 million inhabitants in which certain
areas had specialized. In the textile industry, for example, most of the spinning was
concentrated in Austria and the weaving in Bohemia. From 1919, however, each of the
newly independent states was forced to build up those areas of its economy which had
previously been undeveloped, the purpose being to create a more balanced agricultural and
 Dictatorship elsewhere 317

industrial base. Therefore, Austria had to build up her weaving and Bohemia her spinning.
This, in turn, precipitated a round of tariff increases in order to protect infant industries
from competition from neighbours; in their struggle for survival, many of the ‘successor
states’ had to accept the principle of self-sufficiency even if it meant tariff wars and reduced
exports. For a short period, in the second half of the 1920s, most governments managed a
respectable rate of economic growth. This, however, was reversed, from 1929 onwards, by
the onset of the Great Depression.
Political instability was due, in part, to economic crisis, in part to institutional defects.
A great deal of thought had gone into the preparation of the constitutions of the ‘successor
states’ in 1918 and 1919 and all the most advanced features of Western democratic thought
had been enshrined in the new regimes, including universal suffrage, proportional
representation and strict legislative control over the executive. One of the great disappoint-
ments of the inter-war period was that these constitutions failed to work properly in any
country in central and eastern Europe, with the single exception of Czechoslovakia. In most
cases there was a steady slide towards authoritarian regimes. In 1926 Piłsudski installed
himself as Polish leader after a military coup, as did Smetona in Lithuania in the same year.
By 1934 Austria had moved to the right under Dollfuss, while Estonia had succumbed to
Päts and Latvia to Ulmanis. Hungary experienced more drastic changes, which resembled
violent swings of the pendulum: within the space of twenty-six years it was ruled by a
radical left-wing ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ under Béla Kun, a conservative–authoritarian
regime under Horthy, and a far-right, pro-Nazi dictatorship under Szálasi. None of these
states had experience of the subtleties of a constitutional democracy, since they had previously
experienced only the autocracy of Tsarist Russia or the milder but authoritarian monarchy
of the Habsburgs. It was, therefore, unduly optimistic to expect a country like Poland or
Austria to operate the type of constitution which baffled even the experienced politicians
of the French Third Republic.
The fourth problem was even more serious than the ethnic conflicts, economic difficulties
and institutional defects. Feuds developed between the ‘successor states’ which soon
interacted with the rivalries between the major powers in the area. The motives varied.
Hungary followed a revisionist course, spurred on by an irredentist policy which aimed to
reclaim her lost Magyar territories from Slav neighbours. Austria, deprived of her role as
a major power, sought an Anschluss, or union, with Germany, while Poland aimed to expand
her frontiers to those of 1772, at the expense of the Soviet Union and Lithuania. The Baltic
states had to focus their attention on basic survival. After 1920 these policies resulted in
the emergence of two blocs. One, which consisted of Austria and Hungary, sought to revise
the Paris Settlement, and gravitated rapidly towards Italy and Germany. This trend was
completed by the Anschluss and Hungary’s membership of Hitler’s Anti-Comintern Pact.
The second bloc comprised Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and Romania. These states
formed close diplomatic links with each other and, during the 1920s, could depend on French
guarantees against the aggression of other powers. During the 1930s, however, French
influence collapsed in central and eastern Europe. As a result, this ‘Little Entente’ was
undermined as various states hastened to make their own additional arrangements with
Germany. Czechoslovakia tried to hold out against German influence, but she was set upon
in 1938 by Germany, Hungary and Poland, all intent on claiming their fellow-nationals in
the Sudetenland and Southern Slovakia. The failure of the West to support Czechoslovakia
was a catalyst for Soviet aggression. In August 1939 Stalin sought to wipe out the memory
of Brest-Litovsk by agreeing with Hitler the partition of Poland and the division of eastern
Europe into German and Soviet spheres of influence. This pact enabled Hitler to launch his
Blitzkrieg on Poland and, in so doing, to complete the destruction of the Paris Settlement.
318 Dictatorship elsewhere

Austria
In 1919 Austria was the German remnant of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. It contained
a population of a mere eight million people, of whom over one-third lived in Vienna. This
transition from a major power to a state not much larger than Switzerland was so sudden
that it caused ‘a terrifying array of problems’,50 both internal and external. By 1933 the
search for solutions in a democratic context had clearly failed and Austria drifted into a
period of authoritarian government under Dollfuss (1932–4) and Schuschnigg (1934–8),
which was ended by the absorption of Austria into Germany and the imposition of the Nazi
dictatorship.
Austria’s political problems were intensified by a loss of identity; Austrians had never
wanted to be a separate entity, preferring instead Anschluss, or union with Germany.
According to Bauer, one of the leaders of the Austrian Social Democrats, ‘If we stay
independent, then . . . we shall live the life of a dwarf-state.’51 In the event, Austrians had
no choice, for Anschluss was explicitly forbidden by the Treaties of Versailles and St
Germain. But they developed no real commitment to the separate identity thus forced upon
them. The 1920s saw the steady decline of democracy; although the 1920 constitution
provided for a federal republic and a strong legislature, it was rendered unworkable by the
constant rivalry between the left-wing Social Democrats, under Bauer and Renner, and the
conservative Christian Socialists under Bishop Seipel. Initially in coalition until 1922, the
two had drifted apart and the Christian Socialists dominated most of the governments of
the 1920s and 1930s. Unable to achieve a majority in parliament, the Christian Socialists
were constantly looking over their shoulders at the Social Democrats, whom they accused
of trying to introduce a programme of ‘Austro-Marxism’. Indeed, fear of the socialist left
eventually induced the Christian Socialists to rely on a paramilitary force called the
Heimwehr, the activities of which became increasingly sinister.
The main catalyst for the change from democracy to dictatorship was economic crisis
which, according to Stadler, prevented ‘a reasonably intelligent, civilized and industrious
nation from settling down and making a success of their new state’.52 Much of the blame
has been placed on the terms of the 1919 Treaty of St Germain; according to the Austrian
delegation, ‘what remains of Austria could not live’.53 Austria was now able to produce
only one-quarter of her food and was obliged to import most of her coal and raw materials.
By 1922 the situation had deteriorated badly, with rampant inflation and hunger riots.
Chancellor Seipel offered a series of solutions in the form of international loans and careful
budgetary controls and, for a while, Austria experienced a small boom. This did not,
however, reverse the permanent trade deficit and was, in any case, wiped out by the Great
Depression. In 1931 the entire Austrian banking system, Kredit Anstalt, collapsed under
the strain which, in turn, resulted in the withdrawal of all foreign investment. Industrial
production declined in 1932 to 61 per cent of its 1929 level, while the unemployment rate
rose, in the same period, from 9.9 per cent to 21.4 per cent.54
Austria now entered an authoritarian phase as her leaders, unable to do much about the
financial and economic crisis, sought to minimize the symptoms of political instability. The
Christian Socialist leader, Dollfuss, became Minister of Agriculture in 1931 and Chancellor
in 1932. This ‘physically tiny and excessively vain man’55 was a devout Catholic and
implacable opponent of the left, determined to rid the country of ‘godless Marxism’. Highly
critical of ‘so-called democracy’, he aimed to establish a ‘Social Christian German state of
Austria, on a corporative basis, under strong authoritarian leadership’.56 His subsequent
measures certainly showed the seriousness of his intentions. In 1933 he severely weakened
 Dictatorship elsewhere 319

the Austrian parliament and made it possible to rule by executive decree. He then turned
on the parties and movements, apart from the Christian Socialists. His measures against the
Social Democrats (to ‘remove the rubbish accumulated under the Republic’57) precipitated
the 1934 civil war, from which Dollfuss emerged victorious. Meanwhile, under the influence
of Mussolini, he had set up a mass party, the Fatherland Front, and went on in 1934 to
introduce a corporative system similar to that in Italy. His own power increased dramatically
as, in imitation of Mussolini, he accumulated for himself no fewer than five cabinet posts.
His personal rule was abruptly terminated by his assassination in 1934, but the system was
maintained in its essentials by his successor, Schuschnigg, until the latter’s replacement by
Nazi rule in 1938.
The main issue from 1935 onwards was the future of Austria in relation to Germany.
To some extent, the obstacle to voluntary Anschluss was the Austrian leadership itself. Both
Dollfuss and Schuschnigg were fully in favour of union with Germany, but within the
traditional model of Austro-German dualism rather than under the more recent Prussian
domination. Schuschnigg, especially, distrusted German militarism, the influence of Hitler
and, of course, the intentions of the Austrian Nazis whom he saw as an enemy in the midst.
He therefore pursued a policy of maintaining Austrian independence for the moment by
manoeuvring diplomatically between Hitler and Mussolini and avoiding direct dependence
on either Italy or Germany. Italy, however, soon lost the will to counter German influence
in Austria as her own attention was diverted to the campaign in Ethiopia and the war in
Spain. There was little, therefore, to prevent German ascendancy in Austria. The 1936 Austro-
German Treaty tightened the link and, in 1938, Hitler summoned Schuschnigg to Germany,
charging him with having broken this pact. Convinced that Hitler was trying to find an
excuse to take over Austria, Schuschnigg announced a national plebiscite for a ‘free’,
independent and united Austria. Hitler, however, moved too quickly for Schuschnigg. The
Austrian Nazis caused so much internal unrest that Schuschnigg was forced to resign before
the plebiscite could be held. He was succeeded as Chancellor by the Nazi leader, Seyss-
Inquart, who promptly requested German intervention. There was no resistance to the
German invasion and Hitler was given a rousing welcome in Vienna. The plebiscite held
on 10 April 1938 returned a vote of 99.75 per cent in favour of the Anschluss as carried
out by Seyss-Inquart and the German government.
Under the supervision of Bürckel, Reich Commissioner for the ‘reunification of Austria
and the German Reich’, the whole face of Austria was now changed. The name itself
disappeared: Österreich became Ostmark, eliminating any suggestion that Austria had ever
been an empire in its own right. In May 1939 Ostmark was subdivided into seven Gaue,
each under a Gauleiter; unlike Germany itself, Ostmark had party officials who doubled up
as Reich governors, thereby avoiding the administrative conflict between party and state
officials elsewhere. By 1942 even the appellation Ostmark was removed, to be replaced by
the ‘Alps and Danube Reich Regions’. Any opposition was purged by the Gestapo and the
SS, and special courts were set up to deal with political cases. The entire economy was
subordinated to the German war effort and the gold reserves were appropriated. The Austrian
army was fully integrated into the Wehrmacht and all officers and soldiers were obliged to
take the oath of personal allegiance to the Führer. Although substantial parts of the population
played an active role in the institutions of the Reich there was, nevertheless an increase in
disillusionment and opposition, especially after 1943. Resistance was attempted by a variety
of groups, including communists, socialists, Catholics, factory workers and intellectuals;
three movements of particular importance were the Austrian Freedom Movement, the
Austrian Freedom Front and the Anti-Fascist Freedom Movement for Austria. When the
320 Dictatorship elsewhere

Anschluss ended in 1945 Austria accepted a future as a small non-aligned state and not part
of a German monolith.

Was there an ‘Austro-Fascist’ regime?

Throughout the period Austria experienced a complex pattern of right-wing influences
which calls for some explanation. The first major movement was the Heimwehr, a radical
mass movement which was, however, increasingly used by the political right, the Christian
Socialists. As the regime became, under Dollfuss, more rigidly authoritarian, it developed,
in the Fatherland Front, its own mass base, which overlapped many of the activities of the
Heimwehr. The relationship between these components in the governments of Dollfuss and
Schuschnigg have been the subject of two very different interpretations.
On the one hand, Lewis maintains that the Christian Social Party destroyed the democratic
republic and established, from 1934 onwards, an ‘Austro-fascist’ regime. The whole purpose
of the dictatorship of Dollfuss was to eradicate the left in Austria, rather than to establish
control over all parts of the political spectrum. ‘Parliamentary democracy in Austria was
destroyed in order to wipe out the Social Democratic movement, not to protect the country
against fascism. The result was a form of fascism itself: Austro-fascism.’58 The regime, or
Ständestaat, had many of the hallmarks of fascism: the Christian Socialists had a strong
populist tradition which ‘fostered a distinct form of fascist thought which contributed to
the creation of the Ständestaat’;59 the parliamentary system was replaced by a series of
councils, a typical example of corporatism; and the Heimwehr played an integral part in
the Christian Socialists’ control rather than being a competitor. In other words, fascism was
operating at the centre of the Austrian state rather than on its fringes.
The reverse is usually asserted. Payne and others maintain that the dictatorship of Dollfuss
and Schuschnigg was traditional rather than fascist. Indeed, part of their motive was to prevent
more radical groups like the Heimwehr from seizing the initiative. Hence, in Payne’s view,
‘the non-fascist forces of the right were able to organize a pre-emptive authoritarian
government of their own’.60 The main inspirations for Dollfuss were the authoritarian regimes
and styles of leadership shown by Primo de Rivera in Spain and Piłsudski in Poland. The
corporatist constitution of 1934 was similar
to that introduced in Portugal in 1933 and
had very little to do with Italian influences.
Similarly, the emphasis of Dollfuss was
always Catholic and Western, and he fre-
quently criticized the racist values of
Nazi Germany. It is true that some fascist
trappings were introduced, such as the
Sturmkorps set up in 1937; although this
has been likened to the SS, it was closer to
Assault Guards formed in pre-Franco Spain.
Any youth movements were rooted firmly
in Catholicism and there was no reference
to militarism, expansion or ‘new man’.

11 Dr Engelbert Dollfuss (left), 1892–1934

(© Popperfoto/Getty)
 Dictatorship elsewhere 321

There is, of course, a third possibility, best described by Kitchen: ‘Dollfuss’s state was
semi-fascist, clearly modelled on the example of Italy, but he had no mass support and his
regime was only superficially similar to full fascism.’61 Features similar to fascism were
the regime’s ‘outright rejection of the liberal democratic tradition’62 as well as its ‘militant
anti-Marxism’ which involved measures against Communist Party and Social Democrats
and the reorganization of the workforce. Nevertheless, Austria fell short of Italy and
Germany. There were, for example, no revolutionary leanings, and those groups aimed at
achieving mass appeal were largely a failure. Above all, neither militarism nor imperialist
expansion was ever part of the programme of Dollfuss or Schuschnigg and neither leader
introduced rearmament or compulsory conscription along Italian lines. Kitchen concludes:
‘Austro-fascism was thus not the fully-fledged fascism of Italy or Germany’;63 Austria did
not become ‘fully fascist’ until the imposition of German control after the Anschluss of
1938.

Austria: victim or perpetrator?

When they occupied and zoned Germany in 1945 the Allies did the same to Austria. But
their attitude to Austria’s involvement was not entirely clear-cut. On the one hand, they
declared that Austria was ‘the first free country to fall victim to Hitlerite aggression’.64 On
the other hand, their Moscow Declaration (November 1943) reminded Austria that ‘she has
a responsibility which she cannot evade for participation in the war on the side of Hitlerite
Germany’.65 There was also considerable emphasis on denazification, which created so much
resentment in the early post-war years that the Austrian government ‘reinforced the myth
of collective suffering’ by selecting documents ‘designed to convince the Allies of patriotic
hostility to the Anschluss regime’.66 Overall, it has been asserted, post-war public opinion
in Austria showed residual support for at least some of the elements of Nazi rule, as well
as remnants of anti-Semitism. There was, according to Bukey, ‘little incentive for ordinary
Austrians . . . to reexamine their prejudices, especially after blame for their own suffering
and for the Holocaust had been projected onto the shoulders of the Germans’.67 The question
has, therefore, been raised as to whether Austria was a ‘victim’ of Nazi Germany or a ‘co-
perpetrator’ with it.
The case for Austria’s victimhood is based on several propositions. Kindermann, for
example, argues that there was a fundamental difference between Germany, where Nazism
had risen ‘from within’, and Austria, where it had been imposed ‘from without’. Hitler,
who had a long-standing hatred of Austria, did what he could to destabilize the regime in
the 1930s, accusing it of drifting away from Germany towards ‘Switzerlandization’ and
falling increasingly under the influence of ‘the Vatican, Habsburg monarchists and Jews’.
Hence he exhorted the Austrian Nazis into ‘terror campaigns unprecedented in Austrian
history’. These provoked the Austrian authorities into taking counter-measures, which were
the ‘beginning of Europe’s first state-organised resistance to Nazi imperialism’. In the
process, ‘Austria’s leaders developed a new concept of the Austria state which rejected
Anschluss’. But, although other parts of Europe praised this successful stand against German
aggression in 1934, ‘no effective international measures were introduced to protect Austria’s
long-term independence’, eventually allowing Hitler’s military occupation in 1938. Before
that happened, Austria had shown more determination to resist than other potential victims
of Nazi aggression. Even after the occupation ‘there was no Austrian Vichy-type
government’; rather, the previous state was expunged, which meant that ‘there was in those
years no Austria as such capable of forming a collective will or of cooperating with
322 Dictatorship elsewhere

anybody’. From this arises the argument that collusion with the Nazi regime can only have
been on an ‘individual basis’ and not from the ‘state and people of Austria after that state
had been destroyed’.68 Even individuals were never committed to Germany: only a minority
of those who had enthusiastically welcomed Hitler were Nazis.
There is no questioning the antipathy felt by the pre-Anschluss regime to Nazi Germany.
Dollfuss and Schuschnigg were both strongly committed to avoiding Anschluss, Dollfuss
actually forfeiting his life. But this does not automatically negate the impact of Austrian
public opinion. Two elements are significant here: the spontaneity and extent of Austrians’
support for the Reich and actions taken by them to demonstrate that support. It is not enough
just to attribute to electoral manipulation the overwhelming Austrian approval of the
Anschluss in 1938. Enthusiasm was widespread and genuine. The Catholic Church urged
a ‘yes’ vote on the grounds that Nazism had repulsed ‘the danger of godless Bolshevism
that destroys all’. Even Renner, the Austrian Republic’s first Chancellor, was in favour:
‘As a Social Democrat and therefore as a proponent of nations’ right to self-determination
. . . I will vote yes.’69 As Steininger argues, ‘Who among the Catholics and socialists would
still vote “no” in the face of such “recommendations”?’70
This, along with subsequent developments, opens up an alternative perspective – that in
addition to collective victimhood, there was something rather more than individual co-
operation. The enormous popularity of Hitler had entirely evaded both Dollfuss and
Schuschnigg. The overwhelming plebiscite result confirmed the enthusiasm of the cheering
crowds welcoming the German invasion in April 1938, something quite unique in the
history of the Nazi occupations. Nor were the radical steps subsequently taken to integrate
Austria into the Reich entirely German-controlled. Native-born Austrians were assigned the
major positions in the new Ostmark administration. They were also disproportionately
represented in the SS and Wehrmacht, operating both inside and outside Austria (14 per
cent from only 8 per cent of the Reich’s population). So too were the most notorious of the
commandants of the extermination camps in Poland, including Erbel at Treblinka and Stangl
at Sobibor. Other Austrians heavily involved in the deportation and extermination of the
Jews included Seyss-Inquart and Kaltenbrunner, while ‘80 percent of Adolf Eichmann’s
men were from Austria’. Even the Einsatzgruppen contained ‘a conspicuously large number
of Austrians’.71 According to calculations eventually made by Wiesenthal, Austrians were
directly responsible for the deaths of no fewer than three million Jews.72 Much the same
applied to spontaneous outbreaks of anti-Semitism. According to Steininger, ‘In no city of
the Reich were pogroms so spontaneous, so general and so brutal as in Vienna or Innsbruck.’73
Writing in 2008, Steininger added that Austrians ‘were not only victims but also
perpetrators’.74 Historians are now more ready to pursue this line than in earlier decades,
as are politicians – Austria’s Chancellor, Vranitzky, had made a very similar statement in
1991.

Hungary
Between the wars Hungary experienced a more complete range of regimes than any of the
other ‘successor states’. The collapse of the Habsburg monarchy in 1918 was followed by
the establishment of a democratic republic under Károlyi. This, in turn, was replaced in
1919 by the Soviet Republic of Béla Kun, one of the very few communist dictatorships
established outside Russia between the wars. This, however, soon succumbed to a counter-
revolution which was based on reactionary terror. This was stabilized by Admiral Horthy,
who established a more permanent right-wing regime between 1920 and 1944; although
 Dictatorship elsewhere 323

there was some alternation between moderate and radical governments, there was little
evidence of direct fascist influence. Then, in 1944, Horthy was overthrown by the Germans
and a Nazi-style dictatorship under Szálasi was installed; during this period the whole regime
was radicalized and became particularly brutal. With the defeat of Germany in 1945 Hungary
came under a second and, this time, more durable communist administration.
Hungary’s political experience was therefore similar to the swing of a pendulum: it moved
from the centre violently to the left, through the conservative right to the extreme right,
before returning to the far left. In the process, it experienced dictatorship under communism,
traditional conservatism and radical Nazism. More than any other country in Europe, it
provided a microcosm of the different movements and regimes experienced by inter-war
Europe.

The different styles of dictatorship

Hungary seceded from the Austro-Hungarian Empire once it had become clear that the
defeat of the Central powers was inevitable. In October 1918, a new Hungarian National
Council was set up under Károlyi, which was intended as a progressive and democratic
parliamentary system based on universal suffrage, secret ballot, freedom of the press and
land reform. This experiment was never given a chance to work. Hungary was invaded by
Czech and Romanian detachments seeking to extend the boundaries of states, and the
Western Allies denounced Károlyi for his refusal to allow his territory to be used as a base
for operations against Soviet Russia. Károlyi was even denounced as a Bolshevik; this was
a major blunder which served only to bring about the very communist regime which the
Allies had hoped to avoid.
For Károlyi, under severe external pressure, now felt impelled to bring the communists
into collaboration with his own Social Democrats and even thought in terms of seeking
assistance from Russia to support the new regime against its numerous enemies. In March
1919 he resigned in desperation and a new, far-left coalition was set up, dominated by Béla
Kun, who, according to Molnár, behaved like a less ambitious Lenin.75 A new Revolutionary
Governing Council heralded the formation of a Soviet Republic and introduced a string of
new institutions and policies, including a ‘Red Army’, revolutionary tribunals, a network
of councils and extensive nationalization. Béla Kun made no secret of the narrow base of
his power. He had, he said, set up ‘a dictatorship of an active minority on behalf of the by
and large passive proletariat’. He also considered it necessary to ‘act in a strong and
merciless fashion . . . at least until such time that the revolution spreads to the [other]
European countries’.76
Despite the fears of some of the western states, the Kun regime was not a mere ‘lunatic
fringe’. It had the strong support of progressive intellectuals and the new government
included the composer Bartók, the film director Korda and the physicist von Kármán.77 It
did, however, pursue a radical-left programme. The state took over the larger landed estates
for redistribution to the peasantry; nationalized industrial concerns with over twenty workers;
requisitioned essential items; and prepared the way for the establishment of councils for
workers, peasants and soldiers. The ultimate aim was a close connection and alliance with
Soviet Russia.78 But the regime collapsed after only 133 days for a combination of internal
and external reasons. Internally, the government lacked extensive popular support. According
to Ignotus, ‘by any reliable estimate, Kun’s brand of nation-redeeming only appealed to a
minute fraction of the working classes’.79 It also failed to win over the peasantry by refusing
to redistribute, to their private ownership, the land confiscated from the nobility; the
324 Dictatorship elsewhere

unpopular agricultural reforms concentrated, instead, on trying to create over-large collective

farms. In many ways the regime was too doctrinaire and neglected to exploit national
sentiment: in some areas, statues of national heroes were actually removed. Instead, there
was popular resentment of the Jewish influence within the regime, adding to an already
strong presence of anti-Semitism in Hungary. All this meant that Kun struggled increasingly
to maintain his authority, especially since he had no centralized party machine with which
to enforce his new measures.80 Internal instability turned into a crisis as a result of external
threats. The invading Romanians broke through the Hungarian lines and half-hearted attempts
by the Allies to mediate failed to prevent them from reaching Budapest. In any case, the
end of Kun’s regime came as a relief to those who feared the spread of Communism through
central Europe. Kun was forced into exile, eventually in the Soviet Union where, ironically,
he perished during Stalin’s purges.
The swing to the left was now followed by a lurch to the right. The ‘Red Terror’ was
replaced by an infinitely more savage ‘White Terror’ as ‘officers’ detachments’ prowled those
parts of the country not occupied by the Romanians, slaughtering workers and Jews and
torturing to death any suspected members of the Béla Kun regime. This appalling phase of
Hungarian history was ended in 1920 with the emergence of Admiral Horthy as the head of
state, or Regent. A convinced anti-communist, Horthy constructed an authoritarian system
which rested on the traditional power bases: the landed gentry, the industrial capitalists and
the government bureaucrats. It was not, however, totalitarian; he retained the Hungarian
constitution and allowed most of the parties to function, although with carefully restricted
powers. Of all the ‘dictatorships’ covered in this book, the Horthy regime was probably the
most borderline; indeed, it might be possible, for the 1920s, to dispense with the term
altogether.
The lengthy period of Horthy’s rule is usually divided into two distinct phases: the
moderate conservatism of the 1920s and the more complex zigzags between caution and
radicalism which characterized the 1930s.
After the bloodbath of the ‘White Terror’, Horthy concentrated on providing the new
regime with an aura of legitimacy. He chose as his Prime Minister Count Bethlen, a leading
aristocrat who had the confidence of the capitalists and landowners. Bethlen was suspicious
of democracy as applied in those countries which had not, as yet, acquired political maturity
and sophistication, and hoped to reach a position halfway between ‘unbridled freedom and
unrestrained dictatorship’.81 He considered it safest to return to the limited democracy of
pre-war Hungary and was willing to allow many components of a constitutional system.
But his concessions were cosmetic rather than functional; his franchise, for example,
drastically reduced the size of the electorate. He should, nevertheless, receive some credit
for a period of relative political stability and economic progress. By 1929 industry had
recovered from its dreadful performance of the early 1920s and had exceeded the production
figures of 1913.
The Bethlen era was ended by the Great Depression which hit Hungary as seriously as
any country in Europe. The industrial growth of the late 1920s had depended heavily on
foreign capital investment which was withdrawn following the collapse of the banking system
in central Europe. To make matters worse, Hungary’s agriculture suffered disastrously
under the strain of low prices and foreign tariffs against food exports. The overall result
was large-scale poverty and, in some areas, people starved to death. Bethlen, unable to cope
with the inevitable outbursts of discontent, resigned in 1930. Horthy was now faced with
a dilemma about the style of rule which he should adopt. He ultimately opted for an
increased personal role. But he experienced difficulties with his choice of prime ministers.
 Dictatorship elsewhere 325

Basically, there were two types of premier: those who were in the conservative tradition of
Bethlen, and those who had radical, even fascist, leanings. Horthy manoeuvred uncertainly
between the two styles. Between 1932 and 1936 Hungary was governed by Gömbös, a
radical and, according to Pamlényi, ‘an uncompromising advocate of arbitrary, totalitarian
forms of government’. His real aim was the ‘realization of a less concealed, total form of
fascist rule free of parliamentary trappings’.82 His death in 1936 was followed by a zigzag
sequence of conservatives like Daranyi (1936–8) and Teleki (1939–41) and radicals such
as Imrédy. It seemed that Horthy was unable to decide which style of right-wing rule was
more appropriate to Hungary’s needs.
Much the same could be said of his foreign policy. The basic influence behind Hungarian
diplomacy was a powerful revisionist urge resulting from the Treaty of Trianon (1920).
This had deprived Hungary of two-thirds of its territory and consigned 3.3 million Hungarians
to Yugoslavia, Romania and Czechoslovakia. According to Sinor, Hungary was a ‘mutilated,
dismembered, disarmed country, surrounded by strong and hostile neighbours’.83 The
immediate priority was to emerge from isolation. The first major development was the 1927
Treaty of Friendship with Italy, and it seemed that Mussolini was the obvious ally for the
future. Then, after 1933, Hitler emerged as a real alternative. The Horthy regime oscillated
between distancing itself from Germany (because of its fear of German expansionism) and
collaborating with Hitler in the hope of smashing the Trianon settlement. After much
dithering, Prime Minister Imrédy settled for the latter course and, by the First Vienna Award
(1938), Hungary benefited territorially from Hitler’s destruction of Czechoslovakia.
At the same time, a succession of premiers thought that they could prevent Hungary
from being sucked into Germany’s European war. Teleki went so far as to refuse German
troops access via Hungary to Poland’s southern frontier, and he even provided asylum for
Polish refugees from Hitler’s Blitzkrieg. But again irredentism or perhaps territorial greed
prevailed. With German support, Hungary acquired, in the Second Vienna Award, some
17,000 square miles of Romania, together with 2.5 million people. Inevitably, Hitler expected
in return a commitment from Hungary and this was fulfilled when, in 1941, Premier
Bardossy provided Hungarian troops for the invasion of Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union.
At first it seemed that Hungary would have no cause to regret her deeper involvement, for
the Axis powers appeared invincible in 1941. By 1943, however, all illusions had been
destroyed in the shattering defeat inflicted on the Hungarians by the Soviet army at Voronezh,
to the north of Stalingrad. Horthy tried to extricate Hungary from the war by opening
negotiations with the Allies. Hitler’s response, in March 1944, was the occupation of
Hungary and the enforcement of the full rigours of Nazi policies, including the deportation
of Hungarian Jews to the extermination camps in Poland, with the full co-operation of the
new prime minister, Sztójay. Horthy, in desperation, signed an armistice with the Soviet
Union in October 1944. He was immediately arrested by the Germans and confined to Dachau
and Buchenwald. After the end of the war he found refuge in Portugal where he lived for
the rest of his life. He escaped extradition and trial for ‘war crimes’ largely through Stalin’s
intervention: ‘Leave him alone; after all, he did ask for an armistice.’84
Horthy was succeeded by one of the most fanatical regimes of the whole period – a
fascist dictatorship under Szálasi. The latter became prime minister in October 1944 and
also replaced Horthy as head of state, with the new title of Nation Leader. His authority
was based on Nazi support and his power exercised through his Arrow Cross party, a blatantly
Nazi-style movement. He formulated a programme of ‘Hungarism’ or the construction of
a Greater Hungary which would cover the entire Danube basin. He was also committed to
the introduction of a corporate state, the nationalization of industry and the mechanization
326 Dictatorship elsewhere

of agriculture. But Szálasi achieved none of his. He lost control over the Arrow Cross which
created chaos, torturing and murdering tens of thousands of people, including workers,
intellectuals, civil servants, workers and, above all, Jews. A large proportion of the Jewish
population had already been deported to Germany under the general organization and
surveillance of Eichmann. The extreme anti-Semitism of the Arrow Cross meant that the
Nazi occupiers received total co-operation in completing the extermination programme
through forced marches to camps, extermination in the provinces and massacres of helpless
people massed in the Budapest ghetto. But, faced with the steady advance of the Soviet
forces, the regime could not survive beyond the winter of 1944–5. Szálasi eventually met
the fate which Horthy escaped. Like his contemporaries, Bárdossy, Imrédy and Sztójay, he
was put on trial in Hungary, condemned to death and executed.
Resistance to the regime, which developed only after the end of Horthy’s rule, had little
time to develop and therefore showed less consistent defiance to the German occupation
than in some of the other states in eastern Europe and the Balkans. The crucial factor in
the defeat of the Nazis and the overthrow of the post-Horthy regime was the arrival of the
Red Army, which also played an important part in the development of a new system. By
1945 Hungary had established, as in 1919, a coalition government dominated by the
Communists. This time, however, the regime did not collapse, as it had behind it the full
support of the Soviet Union. The Communists had also learned, from the failure of Béla
Kun’s ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’, and realized the importance of patriotism and
organizational efficiency as well as ideology. Gradually, however, the other parties were
undermined and then eliminated so that, by 1948, Hungary was a one-party state. This
remained the case until liberalization occurred in 1989.

Reasons for Hungary’s instability

The most important catalyst behind this experience of so many different styles of dictatorship
was the break-up of the traditional Hungarian state. Many Western politicians and
intellectuals warned of the effects of depriving Hungary of so much territory by the Treaty
of Trianon – and they were proved right. The overall impact was massive dislocation and
a huge sense of collective grievance. This was the more unbearable since Hungary had
achieved autonomy and nationhood by the Ausgleich of 1867. In accommodating the
minority Slav populations, the powers reduced pre-war Hungary by almost two-thirds. Over
eighty years after Trianon, a modern Hungarian historian can still write:

The sheer magnitude of the losses, which cannot be compared to anything but those
occasioned by the Ottoman conquest in the sixteenth century, combined with the
dubious arguments that were supposed to justify them, are sufficient to explain the
bitterness they engendered.85

Like Austria, Hungary became a ‘dwarf state’. Unlike Austria, it had no large ethnic
neighbour with which it could now identify: there was never any possibility of a Hungarian
Anschluss.
All parts of the population were affected. The working classes faced the prospect of
mass unemployment through the loss of key industries to Hungary’s newly emergent
or enlarged neighbours. This meant that they were susceptible to radicalization, initially
by the communist left, later by the fascist right, especially by the Arrow Cross. The latter
process was accelerated by the severe impact of the Great Depression on an economy which
 Dictatorship elsewhere 327

12 Admiral Miklós Horthy, 1868–1957

(© Popperfoto/Getty)

was already struggling to come to terms

with its dislocation. The middle classes
were doubly damaged. They were hit by
the decline of industry and commerce and
also by the impact on the machinery of
government. The pre-1914 civil service
in Budapest had been among the largest in
Europe. Although it was no longer strictly
necessary, every effort was made after 1919
to maintain it at its existing size. The result
was that employment was bought at the
cost of lower salaries and the creeping
impoverishment of state employees. The
upper levels of society faced a further crisis.
They too resented the settlement which
deprived many of them of their estates
and reduced their landed wealth. But there
was also a deep fear of the way in which
the settlement threatened to radicalize the
working and middle classes. There was therefore a powerful reason to pursue conservative
policies in an attempt to preserve what was left of traditional Hungary; the extent of the
threat meant that Horthy’s conservatism merged with reaction and, as measures became
more extreme under Gömbös, some of the methods associated with fascism began to appear.
This explains the zigzag between moderate and radical governments in the 1930s.
The tragedy of Hungary was that it was impossible to pursue consistent political
moderation. Even the intelligentsia suffered a sense of cultural alienation by a process which
seemed to cut Hungary off from its past. A form of cultural irredentism helped make the
Hungarian equivalent to German völkisch influences not only influential but respectable.
These were adapted by extremists within Hungary’s 101 far-right parties and eventually
converted into the equivalent of German Lebensraum in the form of Szálasi’s ‘Hungarism’.
Hungarian irredentism was diluted only by the savage experience of Nazi domination, war
and post-war communist rule. Modern Hungary has resumed its democratic course within
its restricted frontiers. It is, however, ironical that two of the three states given Hungarian
territory in 1919 have since broken up.

Poland
The First World War proved to be the turning-point in modern Polish history. It smashed
the three empires which held it captive (Russia, Germany and Austria-Hungary) and created
a power vacuum which a new state in eastern Europe could fill. The core of independent
Poland was the former province removed from Russia by the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk (1918).
To this was added territory from Germany by the Treaty of Versailles (1919) and from
Austria and Hungary by the Treaties of St Germain and Trianon (1919 and 1920). The
Polish government, however, considered the eastern frontier to be too restrictive; hence, in
328 Dictatorship elsewhere

1919, Poland launched an attack on the Soviet Union and captured much of the Ukraine,
including Kiev. The Soviet army soon recovered and drove the invaders back to Warsaw,
which was subsequently besieged. Poland now appeared to be in dire peril but, with French
assistance, managed to rout the Russians and reoccupy western Ukraine, possession of which
was confirmed by the Treaty of Riga (1921). To this substantial slice of territory was added
Vilna, seized from Lithuania, and parts of Upper Silesia. Overall, Poland, with an area of
150,000 square miles and a population of twenty-seven million, was one of Europe’s more
important states.
Unfortunately, the new Second Republic was confronted by a series of desperate problems.
The first was the mixed composition of its population. Poles comprised only two-thirds of
the total; the rest included four million Ukrainians, three million Jews, one million Germans,
one million Belorussians, and small numbers of Russians, Lithuanians and Tartars.86 The
second problem was political instability. The constitution proved inappropriate to the ethnic
structure since it provided for a centralized rather than a federal state. In theory, Poland
was an advanced democracy, with guarantees of individual freedoms. Unfortunately,
proportional representation encouraged the growth of small parties and prevented the
formation of stable governments; altogether, there were fifteen cabinets between November
1918 and May 1926, an average lifespan of only five months. The whole situation was
aggravated by a major economic crisis in which inflation led to the Polish mark sinking to
a level of fifteen million to the dollar. This inevitably hindered the task of reconstruction,
promoting shortages and unemployment. This unstable period came to a dramatic end when,
in May 1926, General Piłsudski led several regiments of the Polish army into Warsaw. He
replaced the democratic government with an authoritarian regime which lasted, beyond his
own death in 1935, until the eventual liquidation of Poland in 1939.
Piłsudski was already something of a national hero. He had organized the Polish legions
which had fought for the country’s independence in the First World War. He had then
become head of state between 1919 and 1922, leading the Polish offensive against Russia
and organizing the defence of Warsaw in 1920. He had voluntarily stepped aside in 1922
into semi-retirement. Between 1922 and 1926, however, he watched with disgust the
deteriorating political scene. At first he was not disposed to take drastic action because ‘If
I were to break the law I would be opening the door to all sorts of adventurers to make
coups and putsches.’87 Eventually, however, he became convinced that direct action was
unavoidable. His solution was a call for national unity and a common moral sense, to be
promoted by a grouping called Sanacja.
Piłsudski’s achievements related mainly to the restoration of the Polish state after a century
and a half of foreign rule. He strengthened the executive through his changes of 1926 and
the constitution of 1935 (which he did not live to see), and made the administration more
professional and efficient. He revived the morale of the army and, through a skilful foreign
policy, strengthened Poland’s standing in Europe. On the other hand, his regime witnessed
serious financial and economic problems. The Great Depression had a particularly devastating
effect on Polish agriculture and, as elsewhere, caused a sudden spurt in industrial
unemployment. Piłsudski resorted to an unimaginative policy of financial constraints and
drastic deflation. But this only aggravated the problem, and even by 1939 Poland’s per
capita output was 15 per cent below that of 1913. ‘Thus,’ observes Aldcroft, ‘Poland had
little to show economically for 20 years of independent statehood.’88
Piłsudski also showed serious flaws in his character. His rule became increasingly
irksome as he himself became increasingly petty. Rothschild argues that Piłsudski’s best
years were behind him and that he had become ‘prematurely cantankerous, embittered and
 Dictatorship elsewhere 329

rigid’.89 Overall, it could be said, he completely lost the will to temper discipline and
constraint with progressive reform; his emphasis on continuity therefore precluded any
possibility of meaningful change. Piłsudski was one of the few dictators to die before the
general upheaval of 1939–40. The authoritarian regime which he had established continued
for the next four years, but it became less personal and more ideological. The reason for
this was that, cantankerous though he had been, Piłsudski proved irreplaceable; the likes
of Slawek, Rydz Śmigły and Beck lacked his popularity and charisma. Faced with ever
growing pressure from the right, the Sanacja after Piłsudski was forced to collaborate with
Poland’s semi-fascist movements, since it lacked Piłsudski’s confidence to defy them.90
Whether Poland would eventually have become a fascist state is open to speculation, but
it is interesting to note that its movement in that direction was due to the lack of leadership
rather than to any personality cult. Polish ‘fascism’ therefore served to conceal mediocrity
rather than to project personal power.
Piłsudski and his successors were faced with the problem of upholding the security of
the new Polish state. This was given some urgency by the resentment of all her neighbours
against Poland’s territorial gains. At first Piłsudski sought safety in an alliance with France
and Romania in 1921. Gradually, however, the will of France to assist Poland grew weaker.
In 1925 France signed the Locarno Pact which, alongside Britain, Italy, Belgium and
Germany, guaranteed the 1919 frontiers in western Europe but not in the east. By the early
1930s Piłsudski felt that he could no longer depend upon France and therefore sought
accommodation with the powers which threatened Poland; he formed non-aggression pacts
with Russia in 1932 and Germany in 1934. After Piłsudski’s death, however, Poland slid
towards destruction. There was a dreadful inevitability about the whole process: given Hitler’s
policy of Lebensraum and Stalin’s determination to wipe out the memory of Brest-Litovsk,
Poland did not stand a chance. According to Syrop, ‘It is clear now that once Hitler and
Stalin had jointly decided to wipe Poland off the map, no Polish policy and no power on
earth could avert disaster.’91
Foreign Minister Beck showed courage in defying Hitler’s demands for a Polish corridor
and was bolstered by the Anglo-French Guarantee of March 1939. He clearly felt that Poland
stood a chance of holding off Germany, as Piłsudski had fended off Russia in 1920. This
time, however, Poland was crushed by Hitler’s Blitzkrieg. The Polish cavalry, which had
triumphed over Soviet infantry, was now shot to pieces by German tanks and aircraft. By
mid-September the western half of Poland had been conquered by the Nazi war machine.
The Polish government transferred to the east, only to be trapped by Soviet troops who
were moving into position to take up the territory agreed in the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression
Pact. Poland was therefore at the mercy of her two historic enemies. Stalin proceeded to
impose communist institutions in the east, while the German zone was divided in two. The
north-west and Silesia were absorbed directly into the Third Reich and were immediately
Germanized; Gauleiter Forster said that his intention was ‘to remove every manifestation
of Polonism within the next few years’.92 The rest was placed under Governor-General
Hans Frank, who stated that no Polish state would ever be revived. The German occupation
of Poland was to prove more destructive and horrifying than that in any other conquered
territory, especially after the annexation of the Soviet sphere from 1941. Six million people
died out of a total population of thirty-five million. Many of these were Jews, who perished
in extermination camps set up at Auschwitz-Birkenau, Maidenek, Sobibor, Belzec and
Treblinka. In retaliation against the uprisings, German demolition squads systematically
pulled Warsaw apart, the only occupied capital where this happened.
330 Dictatorship elsewhere

The devastation did not destroy the Polish national spirit and three resistance organizations
had come into existence by mid-1941. The first was a government in exile under Sikorski
which established an army abroad and integrated Polish servicemen into the American and
British forces. The second was the underground Home Army (AK), the third the Polish
Workers’ Movement (PPR), a communist organization led by Gomułka. At first there was
co-operation between Sikorski and the Soviet Union but, as the Soviet victory over Germany
became increasingly likely, Stalin did everything possible to weaken Sikorski and the AK.
His task was made easier by the Yalta and Potsdam conferences of 1945. The Western
Allies were, of course, unhappy about Poland falling under Soviet influence, but they were
unable to prevent it. Hence, when recreated, Poland eventually became one of Stalin’s satellite
states, with a regime which was far more systematically pervasive than Piłsudski’s had ever
been. It was not until 1989 that the monopoly of the Communist Party was broken.

Problems limiting achievements or achievements despite problems?

‘Problems’ and ‘achievements’ form the two poles attracting two different types of historical
interpretation. Broadly, one of these stresses that Poland’s achievements were limited by
her problems and deficiencies, while the other emphasizes the importance of Poland’s
achievements in the face of these problems.
Most historians have placed heavy emphasis on Poland’s difficulties, some of which
were inherited, others self-imposed. Both were sufficiently severe to impose serious
limitations on what the Second Republic was able to achieve between 1918 and 1939.
Polonsky’s view is typical: ‘Independence . . . presented the Poles with daunting and, in
the end, insuperable problems’.93 Political instability affected the opening years and
Piłsudski’s takeover in 1926 provided only a temporary respite. The 1935 Constitution was
intended to provide a more permanent solution but, according to Roos, it ‘rendered poor
service to the Polish nation in the years from 1935 to 1939’. This was because Piłsudski
died before he could take on the presidency ‘meant for him’ which, instead, fell into the
hands of less talented incumbents.94 Meanwhile, the Republic struggled to come to terms
with Poland’s considerable economic problems. Prażmowska maintains that proposals for
industrialization ‘proved too difficult to realise’ as ‘successive governments were not able
to build a strong industrial infrastructure’.95 Land reform was ‘disappointing’ as too little
was released and Ukrainians were excluded from the redistribution scheme. This ‘exacerbated
relations’ between them and the Poles.96 Indeed, ethnic tensions aggravated all other
problems. Minorities comprised over a third of Poland’s population. Jews had been largely
unassimilated and remained targets for far-right Polish groups like the Falanga, while four
million Ukrainians deeply resented their inclusion as a result of the Russo-Polish War
(1920–1). There has also been widespread criticism by historians of the Second Republic’s
deliberate Polonization which ignored provisions in the Treaty of Riga and the constitutions
of 1921 and 1935.97 Security and defence were compromised by the over-confidence
resulting from Poland’s victory over Soviet Russia in 1921. This had relied heavily on
cavalry and Poland did too little to build in any quantity her high-quality aircraft and tanks.
In the 1930s, especially, she failed to modernize at the same rate as either of her main
threats – Russia and Germany. Poland also moved away from her close diplomatic connection
with France, despite the latter’s aim to ‘broaden her alliances, tying Poland into a regional
bloc including Czechoslovakia, Romania, Hungary and even possibly the Soviet Union’.98
Instead, Poland opted for improvements in relations with Germany: Beck co-operated with
Hitler in 1938, benefiting territorially from the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia. During
 Dictatorship elsewhere 331

the crisis of 1939 Poland returned – too late – to dependence on France, only to be forced
into reopening talks with Germany over Danzig. Bearing in mind this range of problems
and crises, there is a great deal of support for the case put by Davies: ‘If the Second Republic
had not been foully murdered in 1939 by external agents, there is little doubt that it would
soon have sickened from internal causes.’ There is less agreement with his deduction from
this that the Second Republic ‘was indeed destined for destruction’.99
While acknowledging the serious nature of the problems affecting inter-war Poland, some
historians have avoided seeing these as overwhelming. Roos, for example, argues that ‘the
“September catastrophe” was no criterion of the country’s inner vitality’.100 The main advocate
of this course is Stachura, whose revisionist approach has questioned many of the previous
criticisms of the Second Republic. Although there were parliamentary problems they have
‘unduly overshadowed historians’ overall assessments of the republic.’101 The Sanacja was
generally ‘beneficial to Poland’, as was Marshal Piłsudski, who was a ‘statesman of
international eminence’.102 Stachura has also switched the previous view that Poland exploited
her minorities to a newer emphasis on the regrettable lack of their co-operation. ‘Faced with
German revanchism, Ukrainian subversion and widespread Jewish hostility, the republic’s
treatment of its ethnic minorities . . . was, in fact, generally even-handed, equitable and
restrained.’103 Indeed, the Polish government was faced with constant provocation and
opposition: ‘far too many of the minorities were determined not to reciprocate the flexible
Polish attitude, even when one concession after another was granted’.104 As regards her stability
in a Europe containing two hostile neighbours – what other course could Poland have taken?
Victory over the Russians in 1921 provided initial security and established Poland’s reputation
as a military power that forestalled Germany’s aggression for over a decade. Eventually,
however, Poland was badly let down by the West: the Locarno Treaties of 1926 contained no
provisions for the protection of Polish frontiers and the Anglo-French Guarantees to Poland
in March 1939 could not be followed by military aid in face of the German invasion in
September. But for the external violation of Poland, ‘there is no good reason’ to believe that
Poland could not have continued to resolve her internal crises as these ‘had been resolved in
the past’.105
Revisionism is always a welcome redress to earlier assessments since it changes the
vantage point. But it is nearly always accompanied by the occasional overemphasis or passing
dismissal. In this case, recent coverage of Poland’s ethnic minorities, especially the Jews
and Ukrainians, remains controversial. Perhaps the importance of Ukrainian additions to
Poland in 1920–1 has been understated. Timely and influential though it was, Poland’s
victory in 1921 led to her being targeted in August 1939: one of the key reasons for Stalin’s
participation in the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact was the recovery of Polish conquests
in the Ukraine. This condemned Poland to obliteration. But it is surely legitimate to ask, if
this had not happened, how long Poland could have survived before losing control of its
conquests of 1921.

The nature of the Polish right wing

Poland is rightly seen as the victim of the aggression of Europe’s two leading dictatorships
in 1939. At the same time, however, Poland had itself become a dictatorship and had spawned
a number of far-right parties. In this respect it followed an experience similar to that of
Austria and Portugal. As in these countries, a distinction needs to be made between a
conservative authoritarian establishment and semi-fascist minority groups which wanted to
radicalize the right.
332 Dictatorship elsewhere

Piłsudski is normally associated with authoritarian dictatorship. He said: ‘We live in a

legislative chaos. Our State inherited the laws and prescriptions of three States, and these
have been added to.’106 This provided the justification for his assumption of power in 1926.
He was in no sense a radical. His aim was to reconcile, not to radicalize. According to
Rothschild, the purpose of the Sanacja was to form a ‘non-political phalanx of all classes
and parties supposedly prepared to elevate general state interests above particular partisan
and social ones’.107 This new order would be kept together by Piłsudski himself. Ironically,
he did not resume the presidency in 1926, serving, instead, in the humbler capacity of Foreign
Minister with two brief spells as premier. Yet no one doubted that ultimate power lay in
his hands: ‘I am a strong man and I like to decide all matters by myself.’108 To emphasize
this point, he reduced the power of the legislature, arguing that ‘The Chicanes of Parliament
retard indispensable solutions.’ He saw Western-style party political manoeuvres as highly
destructive in Poland, since they had produced a parliament which was in reality a ‘House
of Prostitutes’. He therefore broke the back of the party system and surrounded himself
with loyal followers. Yet his dictatorship was never complete; his aim was not to set up a
totalitarian state and a new political consciousness, but rather to depoliticize Poland and to
create unity through heightened moral awareness. According to Lukowski and Zawadzki,
therefore, ‘The Sanacja under Piłsudski was a secular authoritarian system of government
of a non-fascist type’.109 His successors were somewhat less restrained than Piłsudski and,
in the words of Payne, ‘accentuated state control and authoritarianism’.110 Between 1935
and 1939 the authoritarian regime was becoming more involved in regulating the economy
and mobilizing popular support behind a new government organization, the Camp of National
Unity, or OZN. This took on several outward appearances of proto-fascism.
Even so, the post-Piłsudski governments were less radical than most other non-fascist
dictatorships in Europe. More open to far-right influences were the minority movements
such as the National Democrat Party; strongest in western Poland, this was violently anti-
Semitic, strongly nationalistic and sympathetic to both Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany,
even though the latter was widely perceived as the national enemy. From this developed
the even more extreme National Party (OWP) and Camp of National Radicalism (ONR).
But the most explicitly fascist group was the Falanga, which was strongly influenced by
the Spanish Falangist movement; it also had similarities to Codreanu’s Legion and Iron
Guard in Romania.
As elsewhere, the traditionalist authorities were not prepared to tolerate the excesses of
these minority groups and at various stages during the 1930s resorted to banning them.
Even though they stood no chance of coming to power they did, nevertheless, provide a
core for that section of the Polish population which was prepared to collaborate with the
Nazis, especially in implementing their anti-Semitic policies.

Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania

The Baltic enclaves Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, originally provinces of Tsarist Russia,
had been occupied by Germany in the First World War. Like Poland, they filled the power
vacuum left by the defeat of both Germany and Russia. By 1920, the last foreign troops
had been withdrawn and the newly independent republics could concentrate on internal
consolidation.
In this they appeared to be assisted by liberal constitutions guaranteeing individual
freedoms, rights for ethnic minorities, proportional representation and powerful parliaments.
Unfortunately, in the Baltic republics, as elsewhere, these principles proved extremely
 Dictatorship elsewhere 333

difficult to operate. One of the main problems was the proliferation of parties competing
for power; in 1925, for example, the Latvian parliament (Saeima) contained no fewer than
twenty-six parties. The result was political instability, as Estonia saw seventeen governments
in fourteen years, Latvia sixteen in the same period and Lithuania eleven in seven years.
All this occurred at a time when political continuity was particularly important to tackle a
wide range of economic and social problems, especially land reform and industrialization.
The first move to the right occurred in Lithuania in 1926. After a prolonged economic
depression many prominent Lithuanians questioned the relevance of democratic institutions.
The most important of these was Smetona, who seized power with the help of the military
and established an authoritarian regime similar to that of Piłsudski in Poland. Democracy
lasted somewhat longer in the other two states but was wrecked eventually by the Great
Depression which caused a decline in exports, an increase in unemployment, and misery
in the rural areas. In 1934 they followed Lithuania’s example. Dictatorships were set up by
Päts in Estonia and Ulmanis in Latvia.
The three regimes had much in common. All imposed the usual measures associated
with dictatorship, including restrictions on political parties, the strengthening of presidential
powers and dependence on the army. Smetona went further than either of his contemporaries,
transforming Lithuania into a one-party state and developing the aura of a personality cult
– he was known as Leader of the People (Tautos Vadas). But none of the regimes had an
ideological base. Indeed, all were as suspicious of the extreme right as they were of the
radical left. The fascist movements which developed in the Baltic states (the Thunder Cross
of Latvia, the Estonian Freedom Fighters and the Lithuanian Iron Wolf) were regarded as
a major danger, to be disciplined or even banned.
The three Baltic dictators have attracted far less condemnation than the others. Vardis
argues that ‘As dictatorships go . . . their rule was the mildest in Europe’,111 while Hope
classifies them as ‘benign rather than malignant’.112 The repressive measures were by no
means complete and left considerable room for manoeuvre. The press, for example, was
less constrained than elsewhere and was still able to convey left-wing views. There was no
attempt to introduce a complete corporate system and private enterprise continued to flourish.
The Baltic peoples recovered reasonably well from the worst impact of the Depression and
certainly enjoyed a higher standard of living than their contemporaries in the Soviet Union.
By the late 1930s two of the three, Estonia and Latvia, showed signs of returning to a more
obvious democratic base. Payne maintains that ‘Both of these regimes exercised policies
of very moderate authoritarianism and may well have had the support of the majority of
the population.’113 Yet, in 1939, the independence of all three Baltic republics was snuffed
out. Two contrasting explanations have been provided for this.
One is that the three states were, like Poland, condemned by their geo-political position
in Europe, strategically placed as they were between Germany and the Soviet Union. Dallin
argues that their demise was as near as possible inevitable and that ‘whatever these countries
did or failed to do was ultimately immaterial’.114 It could certainly be argued that the situation
which brought the states into existence at the end of the First World War was unique and
never to be repeated – the almost simultaneous collapse of major powers in the region. But
it was hardly to be expected that this power vacuum would remain or that Russia would
countenance the permanent loss of her Baltic territories. Hence, the fate of the republics
was decided when the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact of August 1939 allocated Estonia
and Latvia to Stalin, and Lithuania to Hitler.
An alternative view is that the Baltic states did too little to help themselves. They failed
to set up an effective security system or to co-operate sufficiently to mobilize the 500,000
334 Dictatorship elsewhere

men available. Any attempts which were made at alliance were unsatisfactory. A pact was
drawn up in 1921 but Latvia and Estonia refused to admit Lithuania because they were
afraid of being drawn into a border conflict between Lithuania and Poland. The 1934 Treaty
of Friendship and Co-operation did include Lithuania but provided only for consultation
on foreign policy and not on military planning. By 1939 there were three divergent
approaches: Latvia wanted to remain strictly neutral, Estonia was primarily anti-Russian
and Lithuania anti-German. Anderson has argued:

It would be idle to pretend that the Baltic states were a factor of first importance in
European affairs; nevertheless, placed as they were between Russia, Poland and
Germany, if united, they could have played a respectable role in north-eastern Europe.
Their fate during the months that followed, then, would probably have been somewhat
different.115

The Baltic States were particularly unfortunate in being occupied by two of the totalitarian
dictatorships: first by the Soviet Union (1940–1), then by Nazi Germany (1941–4) and finally
by the Soviet Union again from 1944. The process was initiated by the Nazi–Soviet Non-
Aggression Pact, followed a few months later by pacts forced on the Baltic States to allow
the Red Army to be stationed on their territory. Stalin then systematically tightened his
grip, assisted by Hitler’s transfer of Lithuania to the Soviet sphere in exchange for a further
slice of Poland for Germany. In 1940 Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were brought under
direct rule as various examples of Sovietization followed. These included the collectivization
of some farms, measures to control the press and all publications through a single State
Publishing House, the banning of over 10,000 books and the imposition of tight controls
on writers, musicians and artists. The NKVD arrested a wide variety of suspects and
introduced a milder version of the Terror that had already swept through the Soviet Union.
The numbers of people killed or uprooted in the first full year of Soviet occupation were
60,000 in Estonia, 34,250 in Latvia and 75,000 in Lithuania.116 Plans had been drawn up
by June 1941 for the deportation of many more – including higher civil servants, local
government officials, trade unionists, businessmen, clergymen and army officers.117 These
were, however, interrupted by Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union on 22 June 1941.
Lithuania and Latvia were rapidly conquered and, although the Russians held out longer in
Estonia, Tallinn fell in late August. ‘The speed of the initial German thrust through the
Baltic states surpassed that of most German offensives during the Second World War.’118
Indeed, the advance covered 480 kilometres in seventeen days.
The whole area came under direct German rule after the appointment of Rosenberg
(himself a German from the Baltic) as Reich Minister for the Occupied Eastern Territories.
Even before the invasion Rosenberg had drawn up instructions for the future rule of the
Baltic States which would include ‘measures to establish a German Protectorate there, so
that it will be possible in the future to annex these territories to the German Reich. The
suitable elements among the population must be assimilated and the undesirable elements
exterminated’.119 In practice, however, German control frequently fell short of original
intentions. The excessive overlapping of jurisdictions and functions in many cases mirrored
what was happening in Germany itself, whether between party and administration or
Wehrmacht and SS. Ultimately the Baltic States were merged into Reichskommissariat
Ostland, and Rosenberg gradually gave way to Lohse, previously Gauleiter of Schleswig-
Holstein. There was also a problem with racial strategies. The deportations envisaged never
materialized and most civilians escaped the mass upheaval imposed on them by the Soviet
 Dictatorship elsewhere 335

Union. Hiden and Salmon make a significant comparison between Nazi and Soviet rule.
‘For the majority populations of the Baltic countries, the best that could be said of German
rule between 1941 and 1944 was that it was less harsh than the periods of Soviet rule which
preceded and followed it, and less brutal than the treatment meted out by Germany to the
other subject nationalities of eastern Europe.’120
A significant exception to this was the Jewish population of the Baltic States. Large
enclaves existed in Vilnius, where Jews constituted 28 per cent of the total population, Riga
(9 per cent) and Kaunas (26 per cent); they were also spread widely through the rural areas,
except in Estonia. The Nazi plans for this minority exceeded anything envisaged by the
Soviet occupiers for the majority – nothing less than mass extermination. This was started
by Einsatzgruppe A, the most effective of the four killing units, which shot 125,000 Jews
within four months in 1941. Other Jews were transferred to concentration camps near Riga
or further afield in Poland. From the outset, groups of civilians in Lithuania and Latvia
collaborated with occupiers, either in pogroms against the Jews or as volunteers in the police
forces acting with German units. One of major factors in the hatred for Jews was that they
had been seen as the main collaborators with the Soviet occupation, with which a
disproportionate number of Jews had served. It was one of the nastiest examples of indigenous
antipathy erupting into mass slaughter – and quite at odds with the relative harmony between
Jews and other peoples promoted by the Baltic governments between the wars.
The Nazi dictatorship ended in 1944 with the fall of Tallinn and Riga to the Red Army
but the price was the re-imposition of Stalinism and the transformation of the Baltic States
into Soviet Socialist Republics. The Baltic republics were, therefore, the only creations of
the Brest-Litovsk and Paris settlements not to be revived after the end of the Second World
War. A second and more intensive wave of Sovietization followed, with a return to
collectivization, industrialization and rigid controls. Deportations to Siberia were resumed:
between 1944 and 1952 80,000 Estonians were sent to labour camps in Siberia, along with
136,000 Latvians and 250,000 Lithuanians.121 Although an order for their release was
eventually issued by Khrushchev, most of the exiles had already died in captivity.
Despite examples of co-operation with Soviet changes and Nazi racial policies, there
was also a long record of defiance from some Baltic groups against the rule of both
totalitarian regimes. Against the first Soviet occupation it was initially passive and symbolic,
accompanied by a leaflet campaign. Then resistance groups emerged, like the Lithuanian
Activist Front (LAF), which planned for a provisional government and raised a force against
the deportations announced by the Soviet regime on the very eve of the German attack.
Subsequent Soviet propaganda wrongly maintained that this was resistance against the
German forces: in fact, the invaders were cautiously welcomed as the lesser of two evils.
If, however, the Germans expected gratitude from the Baltic peoples for ‘liberating’ them
from Soviet rule, they were soon to be disappointed. Within a year disillusionment had set
in at the absence of any real return to autonomy, at the controls exerted over the local
economies and at the demands for contributions to German manpower for the war against
the Soviet Union. Examples of defiant groups were the Supreme Committee for the Liberation
of Lithuania, the Latvian Central Council and, in Estonia, the Republic National Committee.
Most resistance was political, with guerrilla activities confined mainly to Lithuania, where
small units linked up with Belorussian fighters and Jewish escapees. Despite being weakened
by previous campaigns and measures taken by security clamp-downs, resistance of many
different kinds continued from 1944 well into the second Soviet era.
Throughout the war the Baltic peoples hoped for some sort of assistance from, or
mediation by, the West. But the harsh truth was that the area was of little strategic importance
336 Dictatorship elsewhere

to either Britain or the United States, neither of which risked alienating their Soviet ally in
1944 by an unrealistic challenge to Stalin’s claims. There were no Baltic governments in
exile and no resistance contacts with London. Even Churchill was prepared to concede the
area to the Soviet sphere of influence in acknowledgement of ‘the tremendous victories of
the Russian armies’.122 Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania therefore had to wait until the collapse
of the Soviet Union at the end of 1991 before their statehood could be re-established. By
2004 their realignment was complete as they had switched their membership from the
Warsaw Pact to NATO and from the Soviet Union to the European Union.

DICTATORSHIP IN THE BALKANS AND TURKEY

Introduction
The one common link between all the Balkan peoples was their historic subjugation to the
Turks; all of the states of south-eastern Europe were originally part of the Ottoman Empire.
Greece became independent in 1830, followed by Serbia and Romania after the Crimean
War, Bulgaria in 1878 and Albania in 1912. The First World War saw a division of loyalties.
Bulgaria allied herself to Germany, Austria-Hungary and Turkey (known collectively as
the Central powers). Serbia and Albania were invaded and occupied by the Central powers,
while Romania and Greece opted to join the Allies. Following the defeat of the Central
Powers in 1918 Bulgaria lost Eastern Thrace and part of Macedonia by the Treaty of Neuilly
(1920), while Turkey forfeited her dominions in the Middle East and parts of Anatolia by
the Treaty of Sèvres (1920) before undergoing major internal changes after the revolution
of Mustapha Kemal Atatürk. By 1923 Turkey had recovered its Anatolian losses by the
Treaty of Lausanne – largely at the expense of Greece, which had tried to exploit Turkey’s
predicament. Romania emerged from the war considerably enlarged by Hungarian territory
ceded by the Treaty of Trianon (1919), while Serbia was united with territory removed
from Austria by the Treaty of St. Germain (1919) and Hungary to form the Kingdom of
the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes; later this was renamed Yugoslavia. The ‘peacemakers’ hoped
that this settlement would provide secure frontiers in a troubled area and, at the same time,
enable the different countries to benefit from parliamentary regimes and progressive policies.
Appearances were, however, deceptive and this initial optimism was not fulfilled. The
Balkan states faced massive economic, social and political problems which led inexorably
to dictatorship.
The first failures occurred in the agricultural policies of the various governments. The
immediate post-war priority was to redistribute land to the peasantry but, in every case, the
reform programme was either incomplete or did not affect a high enough proportion of the
population. There remained a large and discontented rural proletariat which placed intolerable
pressure on the land and aggravated the problem of low productivity. The other half of the
economy, industry, also experienced difficulties. The most serious were inadequate domestic
sources of investment, which made most of the Balkan states prey to external influence;
Albania, for example, came to depend too heavily on Italy, while Romania and Bulgaria
found themselves ensnared by Germany.
Although it is hazardous to generalize about an area as complex as the Balkans, there
does seem to have been an identifiable political trend. At first the Balkan states operated
as democracies, with radical governments (like that of Stambuliski in Bulgaria) attempting
radical reforms. There followed a drift to the right as the parliamentary system was
undermined by bickering parties and a rapid sequence of weak governments. The eventual
outcome was a series of authoritarian regimes. Albania was the first to succumb as Ahmed
 Dictatorship elsewhere 337

Zogu proclaimed himself President in 1924 and King Zog in 1928. Yugoslavia, too, came
under a royal dictatorship, in the form of Alexander I, from 1929. Romania’s equivalent
was King Carol (1903–40) and Bulgaria was ruled with an iron hand by King Boris from
1935. Greece experienced a more ideologically based dictatorship under General Metaxas
(1936–41).
All of these regimes found themselves caught up in hectic diplomacy and bitter rivalry.
Before the First World War the Balkans had been the ‘powder keg’ of Europe, always
threatening to transform a local crisis into a general conflagration between the major powers.
After 1918 the area of greatest potential danger shifted to central Europe but the south-east
remained unstable and volatile as some of the defeated states sought to reconstitute their
former power. Bulgaria and Hungary, in particular, advanced revisionist claims against their
neighbours. The latter, fully conscious of the resentment of Bulgaria and Hungary, sought
security in two major multilateral agreements. The first was the Little Entente (1920–1) in
which Romania, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia sought to isolate Hungary and to prevent
the possibility of a Habsburg restoration. The second was the Balkan Pact of 1934, comprising
Romania, Yugoslavia, Turkey and Greece and directed, among other objectives, towards the
containment of Bulgaria. There was also a considerable amount of bilateral diplomacy
between individual Balkan states. The overall result was that, by 1939, a precarious balance
of power had been achieved in which uneasy détente had come to replace active confrontation.
What happened was that this balance was destroyed by the involvement of the great powers,
and the Balkan states were sucked one by one into the Second World War.
This happened at a time when the Balkan states were having to deal with internal ethnic
difficulties. In some cases, two or more groups had been competing for power throughout
the 1920s and 1930s, as with the Serbs and Croats in Yugoslavia or the Ghegs and Tosks
in Albania. Most countries had substantial minorities who felt oppressed, excluded or
ignored – the Slovenes, Macedonians and Bosnians in Yugoslavia and the Magyars and
Ukrainians in Romania. By 1940 there were already clear fault-lines which greatly facilitated
the process of external intervention and the forceful redrawing of national boundaries or,
as in the case of Yugoslavia, the fragmentation of the existing state. In all Balkan states
there were also large Jewish communities. These were increasingly targeted by far-right
groups who were integral to the rise of Balkan fascism and pressurized governments to co-
operate with the Nazi implementation of the Holocaust.
A final point is worth a mention. The politics of the right were particularly complex in
the Balkans, especially the relationship between conservatism and fascism in the formation
of dictatorships. Each state had a different experience. In Yugoslavia the conflict was
regionalized: conservatism was centred on Serbia, while fascism became strongly established
in Croatia as a radical opposition. Eventually there were to be two dictatorships. In Romania
the conservative right and the fascist right clashed continuously. Although fascism was
eventually eliminated as an organized movement, the conflict had pulled conservatism so
far to the right that it even secured the approval of Hitler. In Bulgaria the conservative right
remained in control throughout the 1930s and was hardly challenged by fascism. In Greece
some have claimed that traditionalism and fascism came together in the person of Metaxas.
All of these issues will be looked at further in the following sections.

Albania
The main developments in Albania between the wars were the internal dominance of Ahmed
Zogu, later proclaimed King Zog, and the ever growing influence of Fascist Italy, resulting
in 1939 in direct rule.
338 Dictatorship elsewhere

Albania established itself as an independent state in 1912, after the First Balkan War.
Almost immediately it encountered external threats to its very existence. During the First
World War, for example, it was occupied by no fewer than seven armies, while both Greece
and Italy had expectations of Albanian territory as a reward for having joined the Allies.
Their claims to territory so delayed international consideration of the future of this tiny
state that the Albanians impatiently took matters into their own hands. Setting up a Regency
Council and a Committee of National Defence, they managed to evict an Italian occupation
force of 20,000 men. By 1920 Albania was a fully independent state and a member of the
League of Nations. Indeed, a report commissioned by the League was full of optimism
about Albania’s future: ‘It seems clear that the essential elements of a prosperous Albania
exist’ and that ‘it possesses all the conditions necessary for the formation of a politically
and economically independent state’.123
Unfortunately Albania was to suffer from serious instability which led to political chaos
and dictatorship. The problem was partly socio-economic: inadequate development and the
long-standing conflict in the south between the Muslim landowning aristocracy and the
Christian agricultural workers. It was also political. Albania was torn by the rivalry between
Bishop Noli and Ahmed Zogu, the former much influenced by Western ideas, the latter
entirely indigenous. At first they served in the same government but, in 1922, Noli withdrew
to form an opposition. In 1924 Zogu did badly in an election and considered his position
so perilous that he fled to neighbouring Yugoslavia. Noli, who now replaced him, attempted
to introduce a series of reforms but his government lacked internal unity and effective
leadership. In 1924, therefore, Zogu was able to make a sudden comeback. Invading Albania
with his followers, a thousand Yugoslav volunteers and forty officers of the White Russian
army, he overthrew Noli and had himself proclaimed President. He took immediate
action to consolidate his power and, in
1928, elevated his title to ‘Zog I, King of
the Albanians’. He was backed by a new
constitution which remained in existence
until 1939.
Ahmed Zogu is described by his most
recent biographer, Tomes, as ‘a slender,
soft-spoken gentleman’ with a ‘cultivated
urbanity, neat moustache and ever-present
cigarette-holder’.124 Like Mustafa Kemal
Atatürk, with whom he is sometimes com-
pared, Zog was a Muslim modernizer; his
aim was ‘to civilise my people and make
them as far as possible adopt Western habits
and customs’. Unlike Atatürk, however, he
struggled to make any permanent impres-
sion; indeed Atatürk accused Zog in 1928
of ‘performing an operetta’.125 Zog resented
this attitude, especially since he had been
an admirer of the Turkish revolution, and
was never able to improve the strained

13 King Zog, 1895–1961, photo taken on

6 April 1939 (© Popperfoto/Gettty)
 Dictatorship elsewhere 339

relations between Albanian monarchy and the Turkish republic. He did, however, persevere
in bringing under central control Albania’s two main ethnic groups – the Ghegs in the north
and Tosks in the south. For this, he considered that a monarchy was the most suitable form
of government and borrowed ideas from Bonaparte, especially from the latter’s imperial phase
after 1802. The official line on this was expressed in the Tirana Telegraph: ‘the republican
form of government has proved to be . . . incompatible with the essential political needs of
the country.’126 His role was based partly on the development of personality cult: he presided
over parades and stage-managed jamborees where the participants saluted him with hand on
heart, the palm facing downwards. According to Tomes, these ‘clearly owed much to fascist
models’.127 He was also ruthless in playing off the tribal and religious groups against each
other and in using informers and assassins against possible political opponents. Yet he claimed
‘legality’ as the basis for all his changes – although the interpretation of ‘legality’ was always
dubious. He got the Assembly to offer him the kingship. He also reduced the legislature to
a manageable single chamber with only fifty-six members, all of whom were elected from
nominations by loyal local government officials and not drawn from the now-banned political
parties. The King controlled the parliamentary agenda and introduced most legislation
himself. He secured a Penal Law for Political Offences to target any political opponents or
troublesome intellectuals, while his censorship measures were rigid and pervasive. And yet,
at first, he rarely lost sight of his westernizing ambitions, especially the improvement of
transport, education and health. He attempted, through land reform, to force estate owners
to sell a portion of their land to their tenants, who would pay by means of loans from a new
agricultural bank. Unfortunately, the administrative system was inadequate when it came to
enforcing these reforms and his attention was diverted by one crisis after another from 1931,
including ill health and a second attempt on his life.
Zog was also confronted by the need to guarantee economic security. This, in turn,
provided a link between domestic and foreign policy. Zog identified Albania’s main need
as foreign aid, and Italy as the most likely source. He therefore signed a series of agreements
with Mussolini. The first, in 1925, allowed the Italians to finance a new National Bank and
a Company for the Economic Development of Albania. In return, Mussolini expected to be
given increased control over Albania’s military security and foreign affairs. Zog went
further down this perilous road in the 1926 Treaty of ‘Friendship and Security’ and the
1927 defensive military alliance. By 1933 he was uncomfortably aware of Albania’s
dependence on Italy and openly defied the Italian dictator by refusing his demands for a
customs union. Mussolini, however, won his point because, by 1935, Albania was in urgent
need of further Italian loans to wipe out the large budgetary deficit which had accumulated
during this brief period of conflict. The process of Italian colonization was well advanced
by 1939. It remained only to transform this into direct political control. Feeling the need
to keep up with the hectic pace of Hitler’s foreign adventures, Mussolini invaded Albania
on 7 April 1939 and overthrew the Zog regime. Albania came under the direct rule of Victor
Emmanuel III, and the diplomatic corps and army were united with those of Italy. This
arrangement continued until the surrender of Italy in September 1943. From this date
Germany was the occupying power, a transition which marked an increase in the number
of savage atrocities.
Historians are universally critical of Zog’s rule in Albania, although there is some
disagreement as to whether his failure was total. On the negative side, Pollo and Puto argue
that ‘Zogu’s return meant the establishment of a totally reactionary dictatorship in Albania’.
It is true that order was restored, but ‘it was the worst possible kind of stability’.128 Logoreci,
too, maintains that the monarchy was a ‘pitiful incongruity’ which made Albania ‘the
340 Dictatorship elsewhere

laughing stock of Europe’,129 while Stavrianos believes that any reforms attempted were only
‘skin deep’.130 Representing the Albanian Communist view, Frasheri accuses Zog of playing
a ‘demagogical game’ that ‘aimed at creating an illusion among the dissatisfied strata of the
population of the country’.131 The regime was ‘on the way of making of Albania a fully
bourgeois state’: the 1929 civil code was ‘based on the principle of the bourgeois laws’ and
the 1931 commercial law was ‘drafted after the codes of laws of the capitalist states of
Europe’. Falling increasingly under the influence of Mussolini, Zog showed ‘complete
capitulation to fascist Italy’.132 This combination provoked a popular opposition based on
Communist leadership – which occurred throughout the country, especially Tirana, ‘with
outstanding speed’.133 A more balanced approach is a re-evaluation by Fischer.134 Zog’s main
success was ensuring that ‘central government was recognized in all parts of the country.
Here Zog must be considered successful’. In the process, he managed to give Albania ‘a
certain political stability’, which, in turn, provided ‘an environment ideal for the growth of
an Albanian national consciousness’.135 On the other hand, he went into decline during the
1930s, showing ‘limited constructive talent’ and an inability ‘to grasp economics’ or ‘the
magnitude of the peasant problem’. In fact, he ‘clearly failed in his attempts to create
economic stability in Albania’.136 He was also unable ‘to choose competent advisers’.137 Yet,
throughout the time he was in power, ‘Zog was not a tyrant for he was without the means
and possibly without the inclination to be overtly oppressive’.138 It is, therefore, misleading
to compare Zog directly with most other dictators in Europe. Indeed, Tomes maintains that
‘the new Arab kingdoms of Iraq and Saudi Arabia presented most points of similarity’ and
that ‘he might also be likened to a host of more modern rulers of post-imperial countries in
Africa and Asia’.139

Bulgaria
Bulgaria was the only Balkan state to have allied itself during the First World War to the
Central powers. As one of the defeated combatants, Bulgaria was treated severely by the
Allies, losing Western Thrace to Greece, the Dobruja to Romania and several key frontier
areas to Yugoslavia. The Treaty of Neuilly (1919) also ended military conscription, reduced
Bulgaria’s army to 33,000 and imposed an indemnity of 450 million dollars, payable over
thirty-eight years. Bulgaria’s leaders, therefore, faced considerable problems in adjusting
to the country’s loss of territory, prestige and status; this was reflected in the wide variety
of regimes experienced between the wars. Bulgaria’s first government, under Stambuliski,
was radical and reformist. After this had been overthrown in 1923, Bulgaria reverted to a
more traditional style of politics. This, however, proved so chaotic that another coup, this
time in 1934, set up a right-wing regime which was gradually converted by King Boris into
a royal dictatorship. After a period of German influence, Bulgaria emerged from the Second
World War with all the components of a pro-Moscow communist system.
Between 1919 and 1923 the Prime Minister of Bulgaria was Stambuliski, leader of the
Bulgarian Peasant Party (BANU). Representing Bulgaria at the Paris Conference, he had to
sign the Treaty of Neuilly, for which he was never forgiven by the various interests within
his country. He nevertheless concentrated on Bulgaria’s rehabilitation, seeking to collaborate
with Bulgaria’s neighbours – Greece, Romania and the new Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats
and Slovenes. He also had ambitious schemes to transform Bulgaria into a ‘model agricultural
state’,140 in which land would be redistributed to benefit the poorer peasants, while men
between the ages of twenty and forty were required to contribute a period of manual labour.
These policies led to 80 per cent of the rural masses owning plots and a substantial
 Dictatorship elsewhere 341

14 King Boris of Bulgaria, r.1918–43

(© Popperfoto/Getty)

improvement in infrastructure through the

construction of bridges, roads and canals,
the laying of railway lines and the drain-
ing of swamps.141 Meanwhile, Stambuliski
hoped to achieve an international Green
Entente with fellow-Balkan states, along
with Hungary, Poland and Czechoslovakia.
He appeared unassailable when, in the 1923
elections, the BANU won an overwhelming
majority in the legislature. At this stage,
however, his premiership began to unravel.
He was confronted by numerous enemies
which included communists on the far left,
liberals in the centre, and the army which
was concerned about Stambuliski’s leftist
leanings. Most lethal of all was the Internal
Macedonian Revolutionary Organisation
(IMRO) which resented any foreign policy
based on reconciliation rather than the
recovery of Bulgarian losses to Serbia; they
were particularly incensed by attempts made by the government to control their activities.
The combination of opponents proved too much, even for a popularly supported government.
In June 1923 Stambuliski was ousted by a military coup. He was handed over to a vengeful
IMRO, at whose hands he met a horrifying end: he was tortured, mutilated and finally shot,
his head being sent to Sofia in a biscuit tin.
Stambuliski was succeeded by a bewildering array of short-lived regimes, assailed by
changing combinations of enemies. The following examples give an idea of the complexity
of Bulgaria’s politics between 1923 and 1935. The first government consisted of a coalition,
the Democratic Alliance, under Tsankov. Although initially moderate, this became
increasingly repressive. Reacting to communist attempts to seize power and assassinate the
king, Tsankov’s government conducted an active campaign against left-wing parties which,
by 1925, had been virtually eliminated. In 1926 Tsankov was replaced by Liapchev, who
relaxed the controls of Tsankov and reintroduced a measure of democracy. One remaining
problem, however, was that Liapchev was himself a Macedonian and refused to deal with
the disruptive activities of IMRO both inside and outside Bulgaria. His government was
also destabilized by the impact of the Great Depression and the gradual erosion of support
for his Democratic Alliance. He was therefore defeated in 1931 by the People’s Bloc, a
new coalition of centre-left parties (including several splinters from Stambuliski’s BANU),
which claimed to represent the peasant majority in Bulgaria. Soon, however, the People’s
Bloc was under attack from a revived Communist far left and a new National Social
Movement, a fascist organisation set up on the far right by former premier Tsankov. The
People’s Bloc also squandered the opportunity to introduce new agrarian reforms, giving
priority instead to internecine party-political rivalries.
The whole discredited edifice of party-based governments collapsed in 1934. Bulgaria’s
history from this point was dominated by dictatorships, although these too were of different
342 Dictatorship elsewhere

types. The first resulted from a military coup carried out in May 1934 by Velchev and
Gheorgiev, colonels in the Bulgarian army. They were motivated by disillusionment with
constitutional democracy, the growing isolation of Bulgaria abroad (especially with the 1934
Balkan Entente between Romania, Yugoslavia, Greece and Turkey) and Bulgaria’s unsavoury
reputation as a breeding ground for terrorism. The new regime managed to destroy the
organisation of IMRO and set itself an ambitious target – to centralize the state and establish
a corporatist system through the Directorate for Social Renewal. It was not, however,
securely based. Stavrianos has called it ‘dictatorial but not fascist’.142 It did not have the
ideological base of fascism; the premier, Gheorgiev, had little upon which to conduct a
personality cult; and there was no base of popular support. It also drew attention to itself
by its republican and anti-monarchist elements.
By process of elimination, the next and final stage in Bulgaria’s inter-war political
development was royal dictatorship. King Boris III intervened against military rule in April
1935 to restore ‘orderly and peaceful life’.143 According to Ristelhueber, he showed ‘a
combination of flexibility and subtlety’.144 In 1935 he issued a manifesto which announced
major changes. There would, he insisted, be ‘no going back’ to the unstable era of party
politics; hence, all political parties were banned. In 1937 he drew up a new constitution
which guaranteed the place of a legislature in the Bulgarian system but placed tight conditions
on the purpose and conduct of elections. It was possible, for example, to elect only candidates
who had no party attachment and voting was made into something of an ordeal as a result
of heavy police surveillance. In defence of Boris, it has been argued that he did much to
reduce the level of political extremism and terrorist violence. For example, he banned fascist
movements such as the Home Defence, the National League of Fascists, the Ratnitsi, or
Warriors, and the Bulgarian National Legions. On the other hand, Bulgaria became, in effect,
a police state in which terror now came from above. Boris also sought to pull Bulgaria out
of the grips of the Depression. But the cost was almost total dependence on Nazi Germany
which was by 1939 taking 68 per cent of all Bulgaria’s exports and providing 66 per cent
of her imports. This, in turn, pulled Bulgaria directly into the Axis’s political and diplomatic
orbit.
Like most other states in eastern Europe and the Balkans, Bulgaria sought at first not to
become involved in Hitler’s war. Then, in 1941, Boris allowed the Germans to use his
country as a base for operations against Greece and Yugoslavia, in return for territory to
be extracted from these two victims. By 1943, however, Boris’s commitment to the Axis
cause was being questioned and he died in suspicious circumstances in August 1943 after
an interview with Hitler. His place was taken by Prince Cyril who acted as regent for the
six-year-old king, Simeon. Cyril strengthened the links with Germany, effectively
transforming Bulgaria from an autonomous dictatorship into a puppet regime under full
Nazi control. This was eventually disposed of in 1944 as a result partly of internal resistance
from the Fatherland Front under the leadership of Dimitrov and partly of the Russian
invasion. By 1946 it had become clear that Bulgaria would be a communist state with close
links with the Soviet Union. It was not until 1989 that this was liberalized sufficiently to
allow for opposition groups.

Yugoslavia
Yugoslavia was one of the most heterogeneous of the smaller states of Europe. Its original
core was the pre-war kingdom of Serbia, to which was added a significant number of
territories in 1918. These included provinces of the former Austro-Hungarian monarchy,
 Dictatorship elsewhere 343

like Croatia, Slavonia, Dalmatia, Carniola, Styria, Carinthia, Istria, Baranja, Backa, the Banat,
Prekomurje, Medjurmurje and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Small but important frontier areas were
received by the Treaty of Neuilly from Bulgaria and, finally, the previously independent
state of Montenegro was added in the south. The result of these gains was a considerable
ethnic mix. The new nation had a total of twelve linguistic groups, of which three were
predominant. These were the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes which, between them, accounted
for ten million out of the total population of twelve million.145 The generous boundary
changes meant that there were also significant numbers of Germans, Magyars, Albanians
and Turks.
This conglomerate was at first called the ‘Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes’.
It adopted a new constitution in 1921 which provided for a parliamentary monarchy under
King Alexander, recognized the existence of political parties and based the electoral system
on proportional representation. This constitution could not, however, provide a guarantee
of permanent stability. The country faced two sets of serious problems, economic and
political. Serbia had been devastated during the First World War and had experienced,
proportionately, one of the heaviest population losses in Europe. Post-war recovery was
made extremely difficult by the impoverishment of the peasantry, and the persistent threat
of economic instability served only to destabilize the political scene. This, in any case, was
threatening enough. The main problem was the mutual distrust, often hatred, between the
Serbs and Croats. The former were Orthodox in religion and socially conservative; the latter
tended to be Catholic and more open to progressive Western influences. The main area of
conflict between them was the type of regime to be established. The Serbs wanted a
centralized state (in effect a Greater Serbia), which they won in the 1921 constitution. The
Croats, by contrast, aimed at a decentralized federation and did everything possible to
undermine the predominantly Serb governments of the 1920s. A major crisis occurred in
1928 when the Croatian leader, Radich, was assassinated in the parliament, the Skupshtina.146
In the riots that followed there were open demands for an end to the power of Serbia and
for the creation of a ‘free Croatia’.
At this point King Alexander seized the initiative and imposed the sort of royal dictatorship
which was to set the pattern for other Balkan states. He moved rapidly to close the parliament
and abolish the 1921 constitution. He was motivated by an impatience with party bickering,
which he found repugnant; he had, in any case, developed a profound suspicion of Western
democratic systems from his earlier contacts with the court of Imperial Russia. According
to Dedijer, he was ‘autocratic by temperament’,147 and unable to share power: he frequently
screamed at his ministers. He saw himself as the saviour of his state, which he decided to
rename Yugoslavia. In his proclamation of 6 January 1929 he observed, ‘I am sure that all,
Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, will loyally support my efforts, whose sole aim will be to
establish as rapidly as possible such administration and organization of the state as will best
conform with the general needs of the people and the interests of the state.’148 To accomplish
this he scrapped the old local government boundaries and set up nine new units, or banovine,
which were superimposed across the old ethnic areas. He failed, however, to draw the sting
of the problem. In 1931 the numerous Croatian exiles appealed to the League of Nations,
making allegations that Alexander had imposed a reign of terror in Croatia and was making
systematic use of brutality and torture.
In fact, Alexander tried to modify his rule by granting in 1931 a new constitution which
officially ended the period of dictatorship. Two views have been put forward to explain his
action. One is that this was a phased return to normality after a period of tough discipline.
An alternative view is that the new concessions were ‘merely a fig leaf for the royal
344 Dictatorship elsewhere

dictatorship, which continued as before’.149 Several points seem to support the second
argument. The 1931 constitution greatly reduced the power of the parliament, maintained
the structure of the police state, introduced an Italian-style electoral system, and abolished
the secret ballot. Far from leading Yugoslavia back to democracy, Alexander only narrowed
the base of his regime. In the process, he alienated not only the Croats but a large number
of the more progressive Serbs. At the same time, he faced a growing economic crisis which
included a trade deficit, a collapse of agricultural prices and the end of foreign investments
and credits. The picture looked bleak indeed when, in October 1934, Alexander was
assassinated, while on a visit to Marseilles, by a Macedonian terrorist.
He was succeeded by his son Peter, who, at eleven, was too young to rule. The regent
was Prince Paul, who, according to Stavrianos, was ‘ill suited for his task, being a dilettante
and more interested in his art collection’.150 Paul delegated most of his powers to his Prime
Minister, Milan Stoyadinovich, who inclined towards fascism and built up a mass movement
of green-shirted youths. Stoyadinovich also projected himself as the Vojda, or leader, but
failed the ultimate test of maintaining law and order. The threat from Croatia grew
increasingly serious until, in 1939, Stoyadinovich was replaced by Tsvetkovich, who had
a more moderate and less repressive answer to Croatian separatism. By the Sporazum of
August 1939 Croatia was given a measure of autonomy which included its own assembly.
Among the reasons for this concession were developments elsewhere in Europe. Hitler,
for example, had shown the utmost ruthlessness in Czechoslovakia, turning the Slovaks
against the Czechs and promoting internal dissolution to make possible external invasion
and German occupation. The Yugoslav government wanted to avoid the same thing
happening between Croatia and Serbia. The solution seemed to be to remove the sort of
irritants which had encouraged the Slovaks to connive at the destruction of their partnership
with the Czechs. To make doubly sure that the Czech experience would not be repeated,
Yugoslavia maintained and intensified her already close relations with the Axis powers.
This process had been under way since the early 1930s and had involved a shift of original
policy. During the 1920s Yugoslavia had depended on French support to offset the threat
of Italy over the Fiume issue. Then, during the last year of his life, King Alexander had
taken the initiative of moving closer to Germany. During the regency of Paul, Yugoslavia
became increasingly dependent on German economic aid, as was shown by the trade
agreements of 1934 and 1936. By 1939 Yugoslavia seemed a willing enough client state
to Germany, although extremely wary of Hitler’s habit of exploiting the resentment of ethnic
minorities. It seemed, therefore, that the safest course of action was to keep close links with
Germany, somehow satisfy the Croats, and sit tight.
By 1941 Paul had become sufficiently confident to follow a more active policy. He was
now convinced that the Axis powers would win the war and that the best guarantee of
Yugoslavia’s external security would be to join the Tripartite Pact between Germany, Italy
and Japan. This, however, had drastic consequences. Paul’s regime was overthown in a
wave of anti-Axis feeling, intensified by fears that Yugoslavia was about to be forced into
war on the orders of Hitler. In fact, the immediate threat now came from Italy. Mussolini
used the internal chaos in Yugoslavia as an opportunity to launch an invasion from Albania,
which Italy had already occupied in 1939. Mussolini had always expressed the most profound
contempt for Yugoslavia, regarding this new country as an ‘artificial contrivance of
Versailles’.151 The Italian offensive, however, was not entirely successful, and needed
German assistance. Eventually the Yugoslav state was dismembered (see Map 8). Slovenia
in the north was partitioned between Germany and Italy, the southern provinces were added
to Bulgaria and Italian Albania, Serbia passed under German administration, and Croatia
 Dictatorship elsewhere 345

became a pro-Nazi puppet regime under its own Führer (poglavnik) – Pavelic. The collapse
of Yugoslavia was accompanied by serious disorder and appalling massacres as old ethnic
scores were settled. No other state in Europe must have appeared so unlikely ever to be
resurrected in the future.
Yet Yugoslavia became the centre of the most effective partisan activity in Europe.
According to Dedijer, this was the ‘first massive uprising in Hitler’s “Fortress of Europe”,
one of the high points in the history of struggle against tyranny’.152 The two main branches
of resistance were the right-wing and predominantly Serbian-based Chetniks, under
Mihailovich, and the communist partisans under Josip Broz, better known as Tito – himself
a Croatian. Of the two resistance movements, Tito’s partisans were the more successful. Tito
followed a non-doctrinaire strategy and tried to attract as wide a range of support as possible.
He employed highly effective hit-and-run tactics and made maximum use of Yugoslavia’s
mountainous terrain. He devised a political programme which was likely to appeal to all parts
of Yugoslavia, with emphasis on federalism and self-determination. The partisans were, it
is true, helped by Hitler’s constant need to drain off German troops from Yugoslavia to fight
on the Russian front; they also received direct aid from the Red Army in 1944 and 1945.
But it is usually acknowledged that the prime credit for the liberation of Yugoslavia should
go to the partisans. Yugoslavia was, in effect, one of the very few occupied states to free
itself.
This was of enormous importance in Yugoslavia’s post-war history. Tito carried out his
promises, by introducing a federal structure, but also determined that Yugoslavia should
never again fall under the influence of a great power. His independent line resulted in
Yugoslavia being excluded from the Soviet orbit in 1949 and Yugoslavia eventually emerged
as one of Europe’s very few neutral states and as a key member of the world’s ‘non-aligned
movement’.

Interpretations of forces behind the collapse of Yugoslavia

Most historians see a direct connection between the collapse of the first Yugoslavia and
the internal problems developing during the 1920s and 1930s within one of Europe’s most
heterogeneous states. These problems meant that the rival groups turned against each other
once external pressure was applied by the great powers, greatly facilitating the country’s
conquest and partition.
Internal crises occurred from the very beginning of the ‘Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats
and Slovenes’ and became increasingly serious. Dragnich argues that ‘In the idealism of
the moment, too many things were taken for granted’.153 Insufficient attention was paid to
the political, religious and cultural differences ingrained in the background of the different
groups: Slovenia and Croatia had previously been part of Austria-Hungary and the other
areas had been ruled by the Ottoman Empire – until Serbia’s independence in 1878, Bosnia-
Herzegovina’s transfer to Austria-Hungary in 1908, and Macedonia’s conquest by Bulgaria
in 1912 and Serbia in 1913. Yugoslavia’s political difficulties originated from the ‘frailty
of democratic traditions’.154 Although the 1921 Constitution provided for a constitutional
monarchy, the parliament was destabilized by a multiplicity of parties representing regional
interests and never producing a working majority for either of the two largest parties – the
Radicals of Serbia and the Croatian Peasant Party. This rivalry was caused by bitter
resentment of the Serbs by the Croats and Slovenes. ‘Virtually all the communities in the
new state disagreed over one issue: Should the regime be centralized or should it be a
decentralized federation?’155 Radich and the Croatian Peasant Party pursued a policy of
346 Dictatorship elsewhere

AUSTRIA

HUNGARY
ISTR

SLOVENIA
IA (It
alian

VOIVODINA ROMANIA
)

CROATIA
SLAVONIA
BANAT

BOSNIA

DALMATIA SERBIA

HERZEGOVINA

RO
EG
EN
NT

KOSOVO
O
M

BULGARIA

MACEDONIA
ITALY ALBANIA
(Italian)

GREECE

To Germany or under To Bulgaria

German administration

To Italy or under
To Hungary
Italian administration

To Italian Albania Puppet state of Croatia

Map 8 The dismemberment of Yugoslavia 1941

separatism, to which the Slovenes also aspired. This meant that ‘The “three-tribe” nation
thus stood divided from the very beginning.’156
Political complications were exacerbated by other manifestations of Yugoslavia’s multiple
heritage, especially different legal codes and currencies. This meant that ‘The merging of
these multiple systems was slow, and the kingdom, from the beginning, lagged well behind
the rest of Europe in embracing twentieth-century methods’.157 The peasant base of Serbia
‘retarded the process of urbanization and development of the middle class’. Industrial
development was ‘stunted’, favouring Slovenia and Croatia at the expense of Serbia, Monte-
negro and Macedonia.158 Not surprisingly, ‘profound tendencies toward the disintegration
of the new state existed within it from the beginning’.159
 Dictatorship elsewhere 347

The attempts by Alexander’s dictatorship to end regional rivalries failed, although some
measures, like the new name of Yugoslavia, were welcomed by the Croats and Slovenes.
But, although he genuinely tried to foster a multi-ethnic state, increasingly Alexander used
Yugoslavism as the justification for his own power and, in any case, reaffirmed the underlying
policy of centralism to which the Slovenes and Croats had always objected; to them, it
made little difference that Serbian centralism had become Yugoslav centralism. It seemed
that some progress was made in 1939, when an agreement instigated by Paul gave Croatia
a measure of autonomy. But the Sporazum came too late. According to Ristić, it ‘could not
bridge the gap between the two peoples so long kept apart by foreign conquests and later
by both Serbian and Croatian political careerists’.160 It did not resolve the bitterness between
Serbs and Croats, threatened to stir up the other groups excluded from the agreement, and
provided no internal unity in the face of external aggression. As a result the external
aggressors, especially Germany, were able to use internal animosities to impose a new
structure on occupied Yugoslavia.
Plausible though this line of argument seems, it has been subject to some criticism. Other
historians have argued that Yugoslavia was actually destroyed by pressure from without.
The implosion from within followed the conquest and dismantling of a country which might
otherwise have survived as a national entity, despite the considerable internal problems that
it was having to confront. Bennett’s argument is that ‘The first Yugoslavia was not an
unmitigated disaster doomed to end in the slaughter of the Second World War. That it did
has more to do with foreign intervention . . . than any innate desire of Serbs and Croats to
wipe each other out.’161 After all, there were promising indicators in 1939. According to
Cipek, the Sporazum was possibly the ‘first step towards solving the national question’.
It would have needed extending since Bosnian Muslims and Slovenes would also have
wanted self-determination; yet such a process could have been accomplished within a new
national structure. But ‘The federalisation of Yugoslavia, which seemed inevitable after
1939, was interrupted by the Second World War.’162 What subsequently happened was that
German and Italian occupation made the Ustasha more popular with the Croatian public,
who had become thoroughly radicalized.
Another element to the argument against the inevitability of Yugoslavia’s internal collapse
is provided by Allcock, who questions some of the general assumptions already covered.
Yugoslavia was by no means unique in experiencing internal political instability. According
to Allcock, ‘the fragility of democracy was a general feature of European politics at this
time’.163 Certainly, the counterpart to divisions within Yugoslavia was discord within other
Balkan states, Hungary and Poland. Even Czechoslovakia, the only creation of 1919 that
survived as a democracy, was subject to conflicts between its ethnic components. What
really counted in their longer-term future was the attitude of the major powers. Allcock
criticizes Italy, Germany, the Soviet Union, the United States, France and Britain. Mussolini’s
constant interference in Albania eventually spread northwards and eastwards into Yugoslavia
and Greece. Germany’s search for economic autarky through the exploitation of the less
developed areas of south-eastern Europe made Yugoslavia a particularly attractive target.
Russia, meanwhile, exerted a destabilizing influence through unpredictable policies,
especially the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact of 1939. The United States proved
inconsistent: highly influential in setting up of the new Europe after the First World War,
its non-membership of the League of Nations and withdrawal into isolation meant that it
played little part in the further development of post-war Europe, let alone the Balkans or
Yugoslavia. Britain and – increasingly – France neglected Yugoslavia and other areas, largely
348 Dictatorship elsewhere

because of their own preoccupations. As a result, the Balkans ‘were left to stew in their
own juices’.164 Hence, Allcock concludes, the state of Yugoslavia was ‘ended by eternal
invasion and not by its own divisions. It is only under these conditions that internal fascism
was able to become a significant force within Yugoslavia’.165

Conservatism and Fascism in Yugoslavia

We have seen that dictatorship emerged in two main forms in Yugoslavia. One was the
conservative type which sought to maintain the new status quo, mainly in favour of Serbia.
The other was the radical style which sought separate national fulfilment – this took the
form of proto-fascism in Croatia.
Before the First World War, Serbia had been an expansionist state, gaining territory as
a result of the Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913. The peace settlement, however, fulfilled any
remaining irredentism and gave Serbia the task of coming to terms with all the other ethnic
groups attached to it in the new state of Yugoslavia. This automatically led to the search
for a new balance. The monarchy, itself Serbian, was therefore anxious to avoid radicalism.
This meant that the dictatorships of Alexander and Paul were essentially conservative –
similar in some respects to that of Boris of Bulgaria. There were more radical elements in
Serbia, such as the Zbor under Ljotic, but the authorities were always wary of them because
of their potential for disruption.
The real manifestation of the radical right occurred in the province which deeply resented
its close association with Serbia. Croatian nationalism came to be connected with the far right
because it was radicalized by its hatred of Serbian traditionalism. Pavelic’s Ustashi aimed at
nothing less than the complete independence of Croatia with expanded frontiers to include
Croatia, Dalmatia and Bosnia. The Ustashi were also racial and völkisch in their ideas: they
were deeply anti-Semitic and exclusive, claiming that the Croats were ‘Western’ and ‘Gothic’
not ‘Eastern’ and ‘Slavic’.166 They were also one of the most violent of all the terrorist
movements, organizing assassinations and sabotage during the 1930s. They even set a modern
precedent in collaborating with a foreign organization, the IMRO, to assassinate the head of
state in 1934.
All of these influences were crucial to the pattern of Pavelic’s dictatorship in the puppet
state of Croatia set up in 1940. The Ustashi became a radical mass movement, recruiting
especially from the urban population. Croatia was, of course, a one-party state under the
leadership of the poglavnik, who adopted all the paraphernalia of fascism. Above all, it used
terror on a massive scale to convert, expel or exterminate the various minorities in Croatia,
especially Serbs and Jews. Of all the regimes outside Germany and Italy, Ustashi Croatia was
probably the most genuinely fascist. It was also the most ruthless and arguably the most
totalitarian. In both the Serbian and Croatian cases, however, the developments were strongly
influenced by external ideologies and methods, adopted as a means to achieve frustrated
internal ethnic aspirations.

Romania
Romania entered the First World War in August 1916 and was rapidly defeated by Austria-
Hungary, but, on the latter’s collapse, ended up as one of the main beneficiaries of the
peace settlement. By the Treaty of Trianon Romania received 31.5 per cent of the area of
the former kingdom of Hungary and emerged as the largest of the Balkan states.167
 Dictatorship elsewhere 349

The political scene, however, was to prove extremely unstable. The first stage was a
coalition government between the Nationalist Party of Transylvania and the Peasant Party
of Wallachia, under the leadership of Vaida. This was committed to a policy of economic
and social reform. It failed, however, to gain the approval of King Ferdinand, who dismissed
the entire government in a royal coup in 1920, substituting a more authoritarian regime
under Averescu. This, in turn, was replaced in 1922 by a liberal government under Bratianu,
which had some major achievements to its credit; a new constitution was drawn up in 1923,
based on Western democratic principles. Unfortunately, the reforming impetus broke down
and, in 1928, the government was resoundingly defeated by the main opposition, the National
Peasants. The new Prime Minister, Maniu, hoped to revive a policy of social and economic
reform. This time, however, good intentions were destroyed by the impact of the Depression
and the emergence of another royal dictator.
Ferdinand died in 1927, leaving the succession open. The main claimant was Carol who
had, however, been excluded from the throne earlier because of widespread disapproval of
his sexual activities. The National Peasant government now pursued an ultimately fatal
policy. Hoping to win Carol’s permanent support and wanting to demonstrate that it was
not morally prudish, it assisted Carol’s return to Bucharest. Soon after his coronation,
however, Carol dismissed Maniu and his cabinet. He was convinced that the only solution
to Romania’s political and economic problems was a regime based on ‘dynastic
authoritarianism’.168 He expressed strong reservations about parliamentary systems and
openly admired Mussolini’s regime. He therefore proceeded to install a series of puppet
governments and, in 1938, abolished the 1923 constitution, introducing, instead, an imitation
of Mussolini’s corporate state. He also replaced the traditional party structure with his own
‘Front of National Rebirth’.
Meanwhile, Romania had seen the emergence of an indigenous fascist movement. This
originated, in 1927, with the formation by Codreanu of the League, or Legion, of the
Archangel Michael. In 1930 it developed a paramilitary organization known as the Iron
Guard. The ‘Guardists’ were violently anti-Semitic and typically fascist in offering a ‘third
way’ between middle-class capitalism and communism. Codreanu also stressed the
importance of mass enthusiasm. Describing a campaign in 1930 he said, ‘We looked like
crusaders. And crusaders we wanted to be, knights who in the name of the cross were
fighting the godless Jewish powers to liberate Romania.’169 At first King Carol was prepared
to ally himself with the fascist right and even to make use of its mass base. Soon, however,
he found it an encumbrance and a threat to internal security. In 1938, therefore, he took
the drastic step of banning the Iron Guard, along with Romania’s political parties. Codreanu
was prosecuted for treason and sentenced to serve ten years in prison. There, along with
other imprisoned Legionaries, he was strangled by the guards. The whole episode provides
an example of the bitter distrust between the reactionary right, in the form of royal absolutism,
and the radical right, in the form of fascism.
Subsequent events were even more tortuous. King Carol had to abdicate in 1940, in utter
humiliation. The immediate reason was that Romania was forced to give up territory to
three aggressive neighbours: Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina to Russia, Northern
Transylvania to Hungary, and Southern Dobrudja to Bulgaria. Carol was succeeded by
Michael, who tried to prevent the complete disintegration of Romania by entrusting power
to a military dictatorship under General Antonescu. At first Antonescu was prepared to
collaborate with the revived Iron Guard, now under Sima. Indeed, he went so far as to
proclaim a National Legionary State with himself as Leader, or Conducator. Before long,
350 Dictatorship elsewhere

however, the Iron Guard once again became troublesome, seeking total power and a more
extreme regime. Antonescu therefore purged the Guard, dismissed Sima and destroyed, once
and for all, the influence of homegrown fascism in Romania.
At the same time, Antonescu strengthened links with Germany. Romania played a
significant part in the invasion of Russia and was largely responsible for the conquest of
the Crimea. Then, at Stalingrad, the Romanian army was shattered, and with it Antonescu’s
reputation. By 1944 Romania was under threat of Soviet attack. Michael tried at the last
minute to win the support of the Western Allies by sacking Antonescu and installing, in
turn, Generals Senatescu and Radescu. In the process, he deliberately distanced Romania
from Germany, thereby reversing Antonescu’s policy.
Michael’s initiative was doomed. The Western Allies had already secretly consigned
Romania to the Soviet sphere of influence, in return for a Soviet guarantee of the security
of Greece. Under Soviet influence a new National Democratic Front was established, coming
increasingly under the control of the Communists. The previous leaders were dealt with
one by one: Antonescu, for example, was tried and executed as a war criminal in 1946, and
Michael was forced to abdicate in 1947. Finally, in 1948, a new constitution was drawn
up, based on that of the USSR. The country remained under a neo-Stalinist regime until
the overthrow of Nicolae Ceauşescu in December 1989.

The Romanian right wing

The right wing in Romanian politics was especially complex, giving rise to three conservative
dictatorships – under Ferdinand, Carol and Antonescu – and a number of fascist movements,
the most prominent of which was the Iron Guard.
The reason for this complexity lies in a combination of continuity with the period before
1914 and the transformation of Romania in 1919. There had already been social dislocation
in the form of a massive peasant rebellion in 1907, along with ethnic disturbances and
outbreaks of anti-Semitism. These had been sufficient to incite the sort of conservative
reaction which was common throughout the Balkans. But, more than anywhere else in the
area except Yugoslavia, it was the impact of the First World War which helped shape the
form of Romania’s subsequent politics and dictatorship.
These changes have been described by Livezeanu as a ‘national revolution’ in which
conservative responses became more extreme. Hence, ‘the postwar “status quo” represented
a profoundly revolutionized state of affairs, “conservation” of which demanded more than
traditional conservative measures’.170 There were bound to be problems in converting the
old state of 138,000 square kilometres and 7.8 million people into a new nation of 295,000
square kilometres and 14.7 million people, especially since over 30 per cent of population
were minorities (Hungarians, Ukrainians, Bulgarians, Germans, Gypsies and Jews) which
reduced the overall proportion of Romanians. This made it extremely difficult to practise
progressive parliamentary politics, which made it very likely that there would be a right-
wing reaction. This, in turn, was influenced by the far right, which fed off the social discord
resulting from Romania’s enlargement. It was all part of a vicious circle.
The reactionary right and the radical right had a stormy relationship, with the regimes
of Carol, Michael and Antonescu alternating between tolerating and banning the Legion
and Iron Guard. But the cumulative influence of the Legion had a ratchet effect on the
official regime, forcing it to institute increasingly ruthless forms of dictatorship. They were,
however, distinctively different. Fascism, especially in the form of the Legion and Iron
Guard, was visionary in its extremism, whereas the conservative regimes were largely
 Dictatorship elsewhere 351

15 Ion Antonescu, 1882–1946

(© Popperfoto/Getty)

pragmatic, using ideas when it suited them

but preferring not to be permanently com-
mitted to them.
During the 1930s Romanian fascism
consisted of several movements and layers
which varied in intensity from proto-
fascism to the genuine article. By far the
most important, however, was the Iron
Guard, which had a powerful appeal to
younger sections of the population, includ-
ing students, workers, peasants, lawyers,
civil servants and teachers. Ioanid maintains
that the main characteristics of Romanian
fascism were anti-communism, nationalism
and imperialism, anti-Semitism and racism,
the ‘myth of the state’, ‘mysticism’, ‘social
diversion’ and ‘false anti-capitalism’.171
These were all typical of both Italian
Fascism and German Nazism, although the
proportions that made up the combination
differed in each case. Codreanu made his preferences clear: ‘I am against the large Western
democracies’ and ‘I am for a Romanian foreign policy aligned to Rome and Berlin’.172 Above
all, he emphasized eternal struggle and perpetual war against the enemies of the Tara, or
Fatherland. The Romanians he considered biologically distinct from other ethnic groups and
therefore ‘superior’ to minorities such as Hungarians and Jews. The latter were a particular
target and Romanian fascists fully supported demands for their extermination. From 1937
Codreanu also spoke increasingly of the expansion of Romania into the south-western Ukraine
(‘Transnistria’) and for the establishment of a Danubian–Carpathian federation under
Romanian rule.
Some of this cut little ice with those in power: the monarchy, the army officers and
traditionalist politicians. They were less concerned about mobilization of opinion than about
the accumulation of power and about dealing with opponents; increasingly, Codreanu came
to be seen as a dangerous radical who would destabilize the regime. Although some observers
claim that Carol was a ‘monarcho-fascist’, this term is not particularly appropriate. Carol
was never inclined to any systematic ideology and remained traditional and conservative
in his policies. This also applied to Michael and the Conducator, Antonescu. Yet, when the
latter did finally succeed in destroying the Legion, he ruled, in Payne’s words, as ‘a right
radical nationalist dictator with the support of the military’.173
Strangely, this was preferred by Hitler since Antonescu offered more security as a
Romanian satellite. This was understandable because Hitler’s main concern in 1941 was
the military use of Romania rather than its complete ideological conversion. Hence, a
conservative regime which had been radicalized by its contact with fascism was an ideal
balance. In any case this radicalized conservatism proved to be one of the most extreme of
all the European states in its policies towards the Jews. The extent of Romania’s involvement
in the Holocaust is dealt with on p. 256.
352 Dictatorship elsewhere

Greece
Greece was the oldest of the Balkan states, winning her independence from the Ottoman
Empire in 1830. Her territory had been greatly extended by the Treaty of Sèvres (1920),
by which she received from Turkey Eastern Thrace, many of the Aegean islands and the
administration of Smyrna. From Bulgaria she gained Western Thrace (see Map 9). Yet,
despite being one of the victors in the First World War, Greece deteriorated into prolonged
chaos during the 1920s and 1930s, eventually succumbing to the dictatorship of Metaxas.
Her problems were both external and internal. The external crisis was the more immediate
and urgent. The Greek government found its territorial gains from Turkey difficult to digest.
In 1920 the Ottoman Sultan was overthrown and a dynamic leader, Mustapha Kemal, set
up a new Turkish republic with its capital in Ankara. Kemal’s main objective was to destroy
the Treaty of Sèvres and, in particular, to drive the Greeks out of Turkish territory. The
Greek government found itself isolated diplomatically from its former allies, and fought a
disastrous war in Turkey. The Greek army was badly equipped and had severe problems
of communication. By 1922 the Greeks were defeated and, by the Treaty of Lausanne (1923),
were obliged to give up Eastern Thrace. The whole episode was a triumph for rejuvenated
Turkish nationalism over Greek pretensions to imperialism.
Foreign problems acted as a catalyst for internal political instability as Greece experienced
numerous changes of regime between 1920 and 1935. At first the conflict was between a
discredited monarchy and the republicans, but the abdication of King Constantine in 1922
did little to guarantee peace as his successor, George II, also had to renounce the throne.
Party politics in the new republic, formed in 1924, became so chaotic and boisterous that
the military decided to intervene, with General Pangalos imposing a brief dictatorship in
1926. Democracy had a second chance when Venizelos was elected to power in 1928, but
the parliamentary system was destabilized by the disastrous impact of the Depression on
the Greek economy, especially on shipping and tourism. Greece reverted in the early 1930s
to a series of short and unstable regimes, punctuated by attempted coups and counter-coups.
This sorry state of affairs continued until 1935 when General Kondyles forced the Greek
parliament to abolish the republic. He then arranged a plebiscite which produced a
suspiciously large majority in favour of the return of the monarchy – in the person of George
II. The new king dispensed with the services of Kondyles but, in 1936, appointed an even
more authoritarian premier in the form of General Metaxas, who dominated Greece for the
next four years.
Metaxas tried to maintain an independent foreign policy and to avoid becoming a mere
puppet of the Axis powers. He was initially more suspicious of Italy than of Germany,
largely because of Mussolini’s aggressive designs on Corfu (see Chapter 4). Then, in 1939,
he came to the conclusion that Germany, too, needed watching: Hitler’s designs on Czech
and Polish territory caused a wave of apprehension even in states which sympathized
ideologically with Nazism. Hence, shortly after the Italian invasion of Albania, the Greek
government, along with Romania, accepted an Anglo-French guarantee of security of the
kind which had already been extended to Poland. The hollowness of this promise was,
however, demonstrated in September 1939, when nothing could be done to prevent the
German invasion of Poland. Metaxas decided that his only course of action was to keep
Greece neutral no matter what happened elsewhere in Europe.
Metaxas referred to the new Greece as the ‘4th August regime’ after the date on which
the constitution was amended to reduce the parliamentary role. His power lacked any party
base, his own group (Eleftherophrones) comprising only six members of parliament. Instead,
 Dictatorship elsewhere 353

his authority depended on the king himself, even though he contrived to reduce the latter’s
involvement in the details of government. His fundamental antipathy to party politics led
to the atrophy of a western-style parliamentary system and his ultimate intention was to
introduce a corporate system that would cover the political sphere as well as the economy
and society. On the positive side, he did introduce reforming laws on working hours,
minimum pay, health insurance and paid holidays. These were motivated partly by genuine
concern about deplorable existing levels and partly to justify his new powers by winning
popular support. But any improvements were accompanied by increased controls through
a combination of propaganda and coercion. The former promoted orchestrated mass
demonstrations and an extreme personality cult, while the latter took the form of a repressive
police state. The political police was placed under the leadership of Maniadakes and was
charged with eliminating opposition (especially communists), upholding and reforming
moral and political values, monitoring education and controlling the media. Whether these
measures were based on traditional and conservative, or on new and fascist, influences will
be considered in the next section. We can, however, say that attempts to mobilize public
opinion behind Metaxas had limited results. According to Petrakis, ‘the efforts of the
propaganda machine to present an image of a charismatic leader failed to turn artificial
enthusiasm into genuine belief’.174 Metaxas never managed to achieve the sort of popularity
he wanted, even though he was much more concerned about this than, say, Salazar. Petrakis
refers to his ‘insecurities, fears and doubts as to the Greek people’s love for him’.175
Opposition and outright hatred were especially strong in outlying areas like Crete, the
Peloponnese and Macedonia, or where there were substantial ethnic minorities. Indeed, the
fact that he is remembered at all owes less to his internal governance than to his brief
management of the crisis caused by external invasion.
The most positive perspective on Metaxas is his defiance of Mussolini’s ultimatum of
28 October 1940. There was greater popular acclamation for Metaxas’s response – Ochi!
(No!) – than there had been for any of the internal actions of the pre-war regime. Metaxas
then showed effective leadership and organized a successful military counter-offensive
against the Italians. He emphasized that Greece ‘has a debt to herself to remain worthy of
her history’.176 The Italians suffered a series of defeats, the worst at Metsovo. By the end
of 1940 Greece had succeeded in liberating herself. The death of Metaxas in January 1941
came as a major blow, leaving a gap in the country’s leadership. The successful war with
Italy might have contributed towards a partial rehabilitation of his reputation – but any
positive effect was soon to be wiped out by the German invasion. This came in April 1941
as Hitler launched an onslaught to rescue Mussolini from total humiliation. Despite help
from British troops, the Greek mainland and islands were rapidly conquered. Protected by
the British, the king withdrew to Egypt, as his country was partitioned between Germany,
Italy and Bulgaria, and administered by puppet regimes under Tsolakoglou, Lotothetopoulos
and Rhalles. These were all ideologically sympathetic to Nazism but, unlike Metaxas,
lacked the Hellenic drive that placed Greek nationalism above all other considerations.
They also failed to gain from the Greek people the sort of collaboration received from
the puppet regimes of Hungary, Croatia, Romania and Bulgaria. Part of the reason was that
the Greek population suffered more severely than almost any other: 7 per cent of all Greeks
died under German occupation and 30 per cent of the national wealth was removed. Greeks,
it has been argued, were driven to resistance.177 Certainly there was massive support for
the National Liberation Front (EAM) and its National Popular Liberation Army (ELAS).
These organizations scored a number of notable successes against the occupying forces and,
by 1944, were setting up administrations in newly liberated areas. The Greek effort was
354 Dictatorship elsewhere

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Greece before 1918

Ceded by Bulgaria; Greek possession confirmed by Treaty of

Neuilly 1919

Ceded by Turkey by Treaty of Sèvres 1920; restored to Turkey by

Treaty of Lausanne 1923

Map 9 Greece after the First World War

assisted not by the Russians, as elsewhere in the Balkans, but by the British, who made a
series of landings from 1943 onwards.
The anti-German Greek government in exile returned to Athens in October 1944, but
the eviction of the Nazis did not mean the end of Greece’s internal problems. Between 1946
and 1949 the country lapsed into civil war as the various ex-resistance groups competed
for power. The main threat was from the Greek communists, supported by Greece’s
neighbours and the Soviet Union. Eventually the communist insurgency was overcome by
a pro-Western government, largely with American political and economic support under
the label of the Truman Doctrine. The origins of this conflict can be seen in the Metaxas
 Dictatorship elsewhere 355

16 General Ioannis Metaxas, 1871–1941

(© Popperfoto/Getty)

era, in the war with Germany, and in the

relations between the West and the Soviet
Union. Between 1936 and 1941 the
Metaxas’s authoritarianism undermined the
base of Communism in Greece; then, in
1941 the German occupation destroyed
the base of Greek authoritarianism. As
part of the Greek resistance from 1941 to
1944 Communism re-established its earlier
vitality and contributed substantially to
the national struggle against Germany.
By 1945, however, it had diverged from
pro-western visions of the future in its pref-
erence for the Soviet model that was being
imposed in other parts of the Balkans.
Consequently, the Greek Civil War was
one of the earlier flashpoints of the broader
Cold War. The victors in the Civil War
owed much to Metaxas and, after an un-
stable parliamentary interlude, influenced
the future military dictatorship between 1967 and 1974. According to Clogg, the police and
army officers who had served Metaxas formed the ‘nucleus’ of the ‘anti-Communist alliance’
after 1943, while ‘the twelve colonels who established the military dictatorship in April
1967 had been officer cadets under Metaxas’.178 The colonels’ regime survived until 1974,
when it was discredited by defeat by Turkey in the Cyprus War and forced to restore a
parliamentary system to Greece.

Metaxas: conservative or fascist?

There has been some debate about the style of regime introduced by Metaxas. According
to Hondros, the Metaxas regime was ‘a royal bureaucratic dictatorship’.179 Payne argues,
‘Though the regime used the fascist salute and sometimes employed the term totalitarian,
it was neither generically fascist nor structurally totalitarian [but rather] a primarily
bureaucratic form of authoritarianism.’180 Against these views, Kofas maintains that the
regime of Metaxas had a powerful ‘quasi-fascist’ element.181
There is a strong case for the traditionalist nature of Metaxas’s dictatorship. His anti-
liberalism was autocratic rather than totalitarian, as was his dislike of parliamentary politics
which, he thought, would ‘throw us into the embrace of communism’.182 He was also elitist
in his support of a pyramid class structure with a nobility at the apex. Nor did he have any
revolutionary doctrine as such. The ideas of Metaxas, like those of Franco and Salazar, were
based on reviving his country’s historic role: ‘We owe it therefore to revert backwards in
order to rediscover ourselves.’183 Although his regime was inspired by nationalism, this was
not associated with militarism. This meant that the irredentism of the early 1920s was not
reactivated in the late 1930s and Metaxas did not seek closer connections with the Axis powers
356 Dictatorship elsewhere

as a means of preying on Greece’s neighbours. It is true that there was a brutal system of
police interrogation and that political opponents were ruthlessly dealt with. In this sense,
there was a real terror. But this was not accompanied by systematic targeting of minorities.
Indeed, the condition of the Jews improved during his administration; he even forbade
discrimination against them and criticized those regimes where anti-Semitism was practised.
The Metaxas regime had little difficulty in gaining recognition from the political establishment
at home and abroad. It was not in conflict with the traditional Greek monarchy and was also
acceptable to Britain and France, who guaranteed Greek security in 1939. Finally, Metaxas
himself denied that he was a fascist. He told a British official that ‘Portugal under Dr Salazar,
not the Germany of Hitler or the Italy of Mussolini, provided the nearest analogy.’184
On the other hand, Metaxas went further than the other Balkan leaders in the style of
his leadership and the totality of his vision. He fostered a personality cult, proclaiming him-
self Leader (Archigos), ‘First Peasant’ and ‘First Worker’. He aimed to replace constitutional
democracy with an entirely new system, the keynote of which would be the suppression of
individualism to the interests of the state; his programme would therefore be radical rather
than conservative. The spirit behind his changes would be historic and racial: he aimed to
revive the glories of the Greek past. He spoke of the three phases of Greek civilization.
The first was the Golden Age of Pericles in the fifth century BC, the second was medieval
Byzantium. The third would be the emergence of a racially pure Hellenic order under Metaxas
himself. He began his dictatorship with a proclamation of martial law and a ban on normal
political activity: ‘There are no more parties in Greece . . . The old parliamentary system
has vanished for ever.’ He also imposed a censorship which was so severe that it applied
even to blank spaces in newspapers. Gradually he constructed a network of terror and
indoctrination which was clearly influenced by the Third Reich; the Athens police
headquarters displayed pictures of Hitler and Goebbels, and Greek security was based
heavily on the SS and Gestapo. Mein Kampf was widely read and became a major influence
behind the National Organization of Youth (EDN), which, according to Kofas, provided
the regime with a ‘fascist base’.
This is perhaps taking things too far. The view of Close is that what Metaxas really
aimed at was to maximize the efficiency of the state machinery, which was not unnatural
since he had risen through the ranks of the army and been in a family with strong civil
service traditions.185 Hence, his authoritarianism was exercised through intensifying
traditional methods rather than inventing new ones. It is true that he borrowed ideas from
Nazism, but these were in the quest for efficiency rather than for ideological change. In
any case, fascism was associated with Italy which, after Mussolini’s invasion of Corfu in
1923, was seen, along with Turkey, as the principal national enemy. Vatikiotis is also doubtful
that Metaxas had any real commitment to fascism. After all, ‘he considered himself an
enlightened despot and a patriot who defended his country’s independence and honour’.186
His ‘new state’ showed ‘a minimal oversimplified political ideology vaguely akin to that
of European (Mediterranean) fascism’.187 The conclusion might therefore be that Metaxas
was attracted by the style of power rather than the ideology behind it: although he used
elements of fascism, he was not overtly or even latently a fascist.

Turkey
At one stage, Turkey had governed all the areas so far considered in the Balkans, along
with a swathe of territory across North Africa and the Middle East. By 1912, however, she
had lost almost all of the Balkans. Bosnia-Herzegovina had been annexed by Austria-Hungary
 Dictatorship elsewhere 357

in 1908, and the other provinces had become independent: Greece in 1830, Romania between
1862 and 1878, and Bulgaria, Serbia and Montenegro in 1878. By 1913 four of these had
considerably enlarged their territories, confining Turkey to a small enclave beyond
Constantinople. The African territories of the Ottoman Empire had, meanwhile, been annexed
by France, Britain and, most recently, Italy. This left Turkey only the Arab areas of the
Middle East by 1914.
Territorial shrinkage had been accompanied by a struggle for internal regeneration. Some
of the Sultans did provide much-needed reforms, such as the 1876 Constitution. There were,
however, lapses into corruption and repression, which provoked uprisings in the Balkans.
By 1908 the situation had become so serious that the Young Turk revolt forced the Sultanate
to restore the 1876 Constitution. Then, from 1913 real power fell to the revolutionaries, who
were now calling themselves the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP). Although they
allowed elections in 1913, the other parties were severely disadvantaged. As a result, Turkey
became a one-party dictatorship – the only example in pre-1914 Europe. In effect, it was
governed by the triumvirate of Enver, Talât and Cemal. It had no overriding ideology as
such, apart from the desire to modernize and preserve, attempting to restore and expand the
most secular and positive influences of the Tanzimat period. But its association in the First
World War with the Central Powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary and Bulgaria) brought
Turkey military defeat. On 30 October 1918, Turkey was forced to sign an armistice with
the Allies, a few days after the CUP liquidated itself and its regime.
Then followed a period of both chaos and recovery. By the Treaty of Sèvres
(20 August 1920), the Allies ended Turkey’s rule over the Arab provinces, granted autonomy
to the Kurds, authorized the Greek occupation of Smyrna for five years, and removed Eastern
Thrace, the Aegean Islands, Rhodes and the Dodecanese. British intervention forced Sultan
Mohammed VI to sign the Treaty. This, however, provoked a Nationalist uprising against
both the Treaty and the Sultanate. Under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal the Nationalist
Turks resisted the intervention of the Italians and, above all, the Greeks, who invaded Smyrna.
By September 1922 the Greeks had been decisively defeated by Kemal’s forces. The
following September the Allies agreed by the Treaty of Lausanne to modify the territorial
provisions of Sèvres. Eastern Thrace was restored to Turkey, providing a more substantial
presence in Europe, and the Greeks were deprived of their entitlement to Smyrna.
These developments were accompanied by major political changes. In November 1922,
the Sultanate itself was abolished, and a new Turkish Republic was proclaimed in October
1923, with its new capital in Angora (renamed Ankara in 1930). Constantinople (renamed
Istanbul in 1930) remained the commercial and financial centre of the new republic but the
overall centre of gravity was now very much in Anatolia. This was paradoxical, since the
main influences were now unquestionably from Europe.

The regime of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, 1923–38

Mustafa Kemal was President of the Turkish Republic from the time of its formation until
his death in 1938. He was influenced by a combination of ideas from the earlier Young
Turk and Tanzimat reformers but with a heavy admixture of western influences as selected,
interpreted and filtered by his Republican People’s Party (RPP). He was determined to
transform his country by sweeping aside the forces of reaction and resistance. Indeed,
‘Surviving in the world of modern civilization depends upon changing ourselves.’188 He
wanted to bring Turkey within the mainstream of western European development rather
than continue to emphasize the previous Islamic and Middle Eastern base.
358 Dictatorship elsewhere

Kemal’s 1931 Manifesto presented an official ideology with six components; these were
symbolized by the six-arrow emblem (the Altı Ok) adopted by the RPP. The first, and
overriding, influence was Secularism. The Islamic religion was officially separated from
the state – and from all social activities performed by the state. Kemal argued that ‘The
Turkish Revolution . . . means replacing an age-old political unity based on religion with
one based on another tie, that of nationality.’189 He started by abolishing the Caliphate and
Seriat and then proceeded on the principle that all Turkey’s laws ‘should be based on secular
grounds only’.190 Hence, when the new Civil Code was introduced in 1926, it was based
on the Swiss Civil Code of 1912. Other changes proved more controversial. The Hat Law
of 1925 banned the use of the traditional fez and discouraged the wearing of the veil by
women; these were in the interests of freeing people from inhibitions imposed upon them
in the past by religious practices. Similarly, the change to Latin script from 1927 onwards
was designed to cut the connections with the more Arabic influences of Islam. All education
was reformed by the Law of the Unification of Education, which established the Ministry
of Education in 1924, and ended classes in religion from 1928 onwards. In 1935, even the
official day of rest was changed – from the Islamic Friday to the western Sunday.
The other five principles were all closely related to Secularism. The second was
Republicanism, especially French and American, although it was applied in an authoritarian
rather than democratic format, tolerating opposition only in a strictly limited sense. The
third was Nationalism. The basis of Turkish nationhood was changed from religious and
ethnic to linguistic and cultural; it involved limiting the nation state to the post-war Anatolian
base and the abandonment of the earlier pan-Islamic ideals. If anything, it was now more
receptive to the West than it was to other regimes and cultures in the Middle East. The fourth,
Populism, concerned the social composition of Turkey. According to Kemal, ‘Our people is
composed, not of social classes with conflicting interests, but of classes whose coexistence
is indispensable one to the other.’191 All classes would be developed by the Republic, with
the ultimate aim of achieving harmony between them. Kemal was aware of both the crisis
caused by class conflict in the west – and the development of alternatives in socialism and
communism which acknowledged this class conflict as a prerequisite. He therefore tried to
avoid both the western and communist versions. This was also apparent in the fifth principle,
Revolution. According to Kemal, ‘The aim of a people’s organization as a party is not the
realization of certain classes over against those of other classes. The aim is rather to mobilize
the entire nation, called People.’192 The emphasis was very much on change from above on
‘radical change executed with order and method’.193 Finally, the purpose of the sixth,
Etatism, was to legitimize the state’s close involvement in social – and particularly economic
– change. The 1936 labour code, for example, prevented the formation of trade unions based
on class lines, and banned both strikes by workers and lock-outs by employers.
Politically, Turkey under Kemal was a one-party state – except for brief periods in 1924–5
and 1930. Kemal did not promise a democratic system as a priority; nor did he rule one
out in the future. Yet his was a more subtle exercise of authoritarian rule than existed
elsewhere. In theory at least, his authority was constrained in a number of ways. Three
examples can be provided of this. First, he was chosen as President by the National Assembly,
in contrast to the alternative expedients, used elsewhere, of popular mandate or self-
perpetuated rule. Second, his Prime Minister chose the cabinet of ministers, which in turn
was subject to the approval of the National Assembly. And third, although the President
could veto legislation passed by the National Assembly, this veto could be rescinded by a
majority within the Assembly.
 Dictatorship elsewhere 359

In practice, however, his authoritarian powers were considerable. Some of these came
through the control of his Republican People’s Party over the Assembly. Mustafa Kemal
was, for example, the party’s President-General, with the powers to appoint the other two
members of the Council of the Presidency-General. Candidates for election to the National
Assembly and local government bodies were chosen by the Party, which also influenced
the process of indirect election through electoral colleges. Hence, as long as the President
controlled the Party as President-General, he had little to fear from the assembly. In addition,
the army was always there as a back-up; even though it never did play a direct role in his
regime, it was comforting to know that Kemal could always rely on the support of Çakmak,
the Chief of General Staff between 1924 and 1944. And then, of course, Kemal’s personal
reputation was immense: both as the founder of the modern Turkish state and as the
enunciator of the principles behind it. He was known informally as Büyük Önder (Great
Leader); his formal title, from 1934, was Atatürk (Father of the Turks). In addition, he was
known as ‘saviour’ and ‘teacher’. He was also given extensive coverage in the history of
the Turkish Republic, which became compulsory in the school curriculum. In short, a strong
personality cult developed, although it should be said that this was more spontaneous and
less contrived than in Mussolini’s Italy or Stalin’s Russia.
What was the extent of Atatürk’s achievement? There is no question as to the scope of
his intended modernization. It covered everything from fundamental changes to the political
structure right down to detailed regulations concerning the wearing of headgear. In sweeping
away the Sultanate and Caliphate he transformed Turkey from an early-modern Islamic
empire into a twentieth-century secular republic. He did more than anyone before – or since
– to reorientate Turkey away from the Middle East towards the West and Europe, where
many of his reforms were received with as much enthusiasm as within Turkey itself. Yet
it has to be said that their immediate effect on the great mass of the Turkish population
was limited. Zürcher summarizes the problem as follows:

A farmer or shepherd from Anatolia had never worn a fez, so he wasn’t especially
bothered about its abolition. His wife wore no veil anyway, so the fact that its use was
discouraged did not mean anything to him or her. He could not read or write, so the
nature of the script was immaterial to him.194

There was a more positive impact in the towns than in the countryside, but in both
economic growth was knocked back by the Depression. Elements of policy, such as etatism,
were therefore heavily diluted by harsh realities.
Atatürk’s foreign policy showed considerable skill. His initial contribution was a military
one and, as we have seen, ended both Greek and Italian expansionist ambitions at Turkey’s
expense. Without his leadership it is difficult to see how the post-war chaos could have
been ended or the territorial settlement of Sèvres revised by the Treaty of Lausanne. Then,
from 1923 onwards, he maintained good relations with both the Western democracies, despite
differences with Britain over the Mosul region in Iraq and with France over the repayment
of debts incurred by the Ottoman regime. Meanwhile Turkey’s relations with the Soviet
Union improved dramatically, with a ten-year treaty signed in 1935 and acceptance of Soviet
advice on economic issues. Atatürk also took Turkey into the League of Nations in 1936
and, in the growing crisis caused by the revisionist challenges, supported the West and the
USSR against Germany and Italy. The abolition of the Sultanate may have ended Turkey’s
claims to be a great power – but Atatürk used this to enhance Turkey’s diplomatic importance.
360 Dictatorship elsewhere

What kind of regime?

It is not difficult to put the case for Atatürk as a revolutionary. As we have seen, he
transformed the base of Turkey, completely eclipsing the efforts of earlier reformers. By
comparison, the Young Turks were unsuccessful in their endeavours; Quataert argued that
the Revolution of 1908 ‘appears as a Middle-East turning point that failed to turn’ and that
it ‘offered a largely unrealized potential for social change’.195 Atatürk therefore succeeded
where they had failed. Thomson summarized the views of many historians when he argued
that ‘His policy was no less radical than Lenin’s in Russia’; he took Turkey through ‘a
great social revolution’, conducting it ‘from the center by a dictatorial government’.196
While recognizing the extent of his transformation, we should not, however, overlook
evidence of at least partial continuity between Atatürk’s regime and the past. Brooker,
Zürcher and Davison all pointed to the influence of both the Tanzimat era and the Young
Turk intellectuals. Indeed, the Tanzimat period was a ‘seed-time in which ideas which later
came to fruition under the Republic first took root’.197 A few examples will suffice. During
the Tanzimat, the army had already been westernized, particularly in 1869, providing also
a future training ground for a renovated bureaucracy. The administration had been divided
into ministries or departments and provincial administration completely overhauled by the
vilayet law of 1864. A number of clauses from the 1924 Constitution were modelled closely
on their equivalents in the 1876 Constitution, including the concept of Vatan – or Fatherland
– equality before the law, guaranteed individual rights and civil liberties, and the theory of
responsible government. Davison therefore believes that ‘The Republic is, in historical terms,
the child of the Second Constitutional Period (1908–18), the step-child of the era of
Abdülhamid II (1878–1908), and the grandchild of the era of reforms (1826–78)’.198
How confident can we be that Atatürk’s regime was actually a dictatorship? Despite its
acceptance of certain democratic influences from the West, it does seem to fulfil the criteria
of a developing authoritarian regime. Between 1922 and 1925 a revolutionary change of
power was accompanied by a brief ‘pluralist phase’,199 and expectations that a multi-party
system would follow. From 1925 onwards, however, it became clear that power would be
monopolized by the Republican People’s Party. This power was used to impose – from
above – a series of radical changes which were considered by the leadership to be integral
to the country’s future. In the process, opposition was eliminated by the Law on the
Maintenance of Order, introduced in 1925 and renewed in 1929, and by trials and tribunals.
The purges of 1925–6 involved about twenty executions, some on the basis of tenuous
evidence, and tough measures were taken against minority groups such as the Kurds in
south-eastern Anatolia. Zürcher certainly considers the regime ‘authoritarian’ and goes so
far as to attribute to it a number of ‘totalitarian tendencies’,200 in its actions against
organizations like the Freemasons or Turkish Women’s Union and against left-wing
newspapers. Others have found similarities with Mussolini’s Italy, especially in the role of
nationalism, of the legitimacy of a one-party system, of the personality cult and of a populist
type of corporativism. There were, however, more differences than similarities between
Kemalism and Fascism. The latter was a popular movement, orchestrated by Mussolini;
Kemal, by contrast, introduced his changes on a largely indifferent population. Nor did
Kemal have any expansionist programme; if anything his whole rationale was an acceptance
of the collapse of a past empire rather than on an attempt to create a future one. With that
in mind, together with Kemal’s affinity with western ideas, it would clearly be wrong to
consider Turkey to be in any way fascist. Perhaps Payne’s description makes the most sense:
‘It became a prototype of the modernizing and westernizing developmental dictatorship in
a non-Western country.’201
 Dictatorship elsewhere 361

Turkey after Atatürk

Atatürk died in November 1938 after suffering from cyrrhosis of the liver, the result of
years of excessive alcohol consumption.202 His death came as a shock to the Turkish people,
since the nature of his illness had – understandably – been concealed from them. After a
brief contest for the succession, the presidency went to Ismet Inönü, Atatürk’s former prime
minister. This continuity ensured that internal stability did not disintegrate in the testing
times ahead.
The most immediate threat came from outside Turkey. At first Inönü maintained Atatürk’s
diplomacy, and further tightened relations with Britain, France and the Soviet Union. 1939,
however, brought two blows – Italy’s invasion of Albania in April and, more seriously, the
Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact in August. In October 1939 Inönü signed a treaty with
Britain and France with a view to ‘collaborate effectively’ in the event of a threat to the
Mediterranean. This could have been instrumental in bringing Turkey into the war against
Germany and Italy but Inönü made strenuous efforts to prevent this from happening. In
1941 he even made a treaty of friendship with Hitler, while at the same time Turkey
remained militarily neutral. Churchill and Roosevelt both tried to involve Turkey, especially
after the German defeat at Stalingrad. But Inönü stalled for over a year and only entered
the war on the side of the Allies in February 1945 in order ‘to qualify as a founding member
of the United Nations’.203 This had no practical significance, as Turkey took no part in any
of the campaigns of the last few months of the war. In staying out of the war, Inönü
maintained the existing regime beyond the war, thus emulating the achievements of Salazar
and Franco and avoiding the Greek descent into chaos and civil war. At the same time,
Turkey was received with less enthusiasm by the West after the war. According to Zürcher,
‘Turkey’s policies during the war have often been seen as immoral and as reneging on the
treaty of 1939.’204 The prevailing atmosphere of the Cold War, however, prevented Turkey
from being isolated and she finally committed herself by joining NATO in 1951.
Atatürk had often hinted at the possibility of Turkey becoming a democratic state in the
longer term. After the Second World War this began to happen. Constitutional amendments
introduced in 1945 allowed for more direct elections to the National Assembly and also
introduced voting by secret ballot. In 1946 an official opposition was set up, in the form
of the Democratic Party; in the 1946 election this won 65 of the 465 seats. In 1950,
following further reforms to political parties, the Democratic Party won a majority and came
to power. From that time onwards Turkey became a parliamentary democracy, although
this was interrupted by periods of military rule in 1960–1, 1971–3 and 1980–3. Since the
last of these Turkey maintained a broadly democratic course, although concerns were
expressed about periodic abuses of the rights of minority groups. This was particularly
significant in Turkey’s application to join the European Union.

DICTATORSHIPS BEYOND EUROPE

Introduction
Although the scope of this book is ‘European’ (including the Asiatic regions of
Russia and Turkey), it is worth adding a brief section on dictatorships in other parts of the
world. The intention is to examine the extent to which leaders and ideologies of European
regimes influenced those in Latin America, Asia and Africa. The main period covered is
1918–45, with further selected developments after the Second World War.
362 Dictatorship elsewhere

As with Europe, there is a basic problem of definition. A more general approach is adopted
by Brooker, who defines a dictatorship as ‘a regime that is not a democracy nor a
monarchy’.205 This does not necessarily apply to Europe, for two reasons. One is that several
European monarchs were involved in the process of dictatorship – including Alexander in
Yugoslavia, Boris in Bulgaria and Carol in Romania. Second, it is not impossible to include
democracy in certain types of dictatorship, especially if the latter is totalitarian. Booker’s
approach is therefore more applicable to the non-European world, for which it was clearly
intended. Here democracy and dictatorship have more obvious boundaries, especially in
Latin America, while monarchies tend to be more traditional and connected with a non-
European or pre-European past.
These preliminary observations still leave a considerable variety of extra-European
dictatorships: personal, military, ‘developmental’, nationalist, fascist, communist, traditional-
ist, corporatist, or a mixture of several of these. The key question to be considered is whether
these were of indigenous origin and the extent to which they were influenced by Europe.
It will also be necessary to distinguish between regimes and movements and to establish
whether the two were integrated or antagonistic.

Latin America and the Caribbean

It has been argued that European authoritarian systems have been most widely copied in
Latin America. Yet there were significant, indigenous influences from the struggle for
independence against Spanish and Portuguese rule in the early nineteenth century, to say
nothing of the subsequent periods of political consolidation and inter-state military conflict.
By the inter-war period Latin America had already developed its own distinctive political
frameworks and structures, with a long tradition of dictatorship. But the developments already
considered in Europe could not have failed to make some impact. The question is – how
much?
The style of dictatorship occurring most frequently in Latin America and the Caribbean
was that imposed by the caudillos. Some of these derived their power from a military coup,
while other regimes started more or less constitutionally – before later degenerating into
dictatorship. These were usually short on ideology, copying from sources they identified
as useful, but taking strong action against any ideology they considered dangerous: this
applied mostly to communism, but also included several fascist movements. European influ-
ences were more marked in the form of techniques for propaganda, publicity and personality
cult. A few examples of caudillos were: Legula (1919–30) and Benavides (1933–9) in Peru;
Machado (1925–33) in Cuba; Ubico (1931–44) in Guatemala; Terra (1931–8) in Uruguay;
Morinigo (1940–8) in Paraguay; Trujillo (1930–61) in the Dominican Republic; Vargas
(1930–4 and 1937–45) in Brazil; and Batista, who seized power in Cuba in 1933. Two
caudillos of the inter-war period were particularly harsh. Martinez subjected El Salvador
between 1931 and 1944 to a reign of terror, eliminating opponents and arranging for the
massacre of communists and 20,000 recalcitrant peasants. Similarly, Gómez used fear to
maintain his control over Venezuela in the periods 1922–9 and 1931–5, spending twice as
much on his secret police as on Venezuela’s education. After 1945 the best-known caudillo
regimes were those of: Francois Duvalier (1957–71) and Jean-Claude Duvalier (1971–86)
in Haiti; Stroessner (1954–89) in Paraguay; Videla (1976–81) and Galtieri (1981–2) in
Argentina; and Pinochet (1973–90) in Chile. All were brutal – using tactics of torture and
terror to control the population, and depending on military support.
 Dictatorship elsewhere 363

Several Latin American dictatorships of the inter-war period had links, however tenuous,
with right-wing regimes in Europe. Machado was an ardent admirer of Mussolini, although
there were no obvious Italian Fascist components in his rule in Cuba (1925–33). Uriburu
of Argentina envisaged a political reorganization in line with fascism and corporatism while,
in Peru, Cerro based his rule on a fascist-type party – the Revolutionary Union which had
a section of Blackshirts; this, however, faded rapidly during the mid-1930s. Morinigo, who
seized absolute power in Paraguay in 1940, surrounded himself with pro-fascist officers
and retained his own preference for fascism until after the end of the war. Even so, the
extent and scale of his commitment to fascism remained dubious. But the two most likely
candidates as neo-fascist dictators were Vargas and Peron. The former seized power in
Brazil in 1930 and retained dictatorial power until 1945; he was subsequently elected for
a second spell as president between 1950 and 1954. Although he was in many ways a
traditional caudillo, Vargas’s regime was more complex than that. He was influenced by
various European models of the right, especially by those of Portugal and Italy. His Estado
Novo was inspired by Salazar’s regime of the same name, with the addition of components
from Mussolini’s corporatism. But it is doubtful that the description sometimes applied to
Vargas as a ‘fascist’ is justified. For one thing, his regime lacked the element of aggressive
and expansionist nationalism that characterized Mussolini’s rule. For another, Vargas found
himself in conflict with those movements within Brazil that were fascist. He even committed
Brazil to the Allied side in the second half of the Second World War. Similar reservations
could also be applied to using the label to the dictatorship of Peron; despite his corporatist
policies, mass mobilization of public support and sympathies with Mussolini (and even
Hitler), Peron had no comparable militarist, racist or expansionist aims for Argentina.
Yet if Latin America lacked any authentically fascist regimes, there were several examples
of fascist and national socialist movements although, in these, indigenous influences were
at least as strong as European. One was the National Socialist Movement (MNS or Nacis)
which developed in Chile during the 1930s. Another was the Gold Shirts of Mexico, which
emerged in the same decade, as did the Revolutionary Union in Peru (with its appendage
the Blackshirts), and a Falangist organization (FSB) in Bolivia. Perhaps the most fruitful
territory for fascist-influenced movements was Brazil which produced at least ten such
movements, the largest of which was the Brazilian Integralist Action. Many such movements,
however, clashed with the ruling regimes which had less radical political agendas. Some
were suppressed after attempting a takeover, as happened to the MNS and Gold Shirts;
others, like the Integralists, were banned after the introduction of a new constitution.
Nowhere in Latin America was there any equivalent to a fascist party-based government;
even the widespread European pattern of fascism or Falangism as a component within a
right-wing regime was not the norm in Latin American dictatorships. Indeed, many regimes
regarded fascism with deep suspicion and followed a similar course to that taken by King
Carol of Romania against Codreanu’s Iron Guard.
There were far more communist parties than fascist movements. Almost every Latin
American country produced one, most several. Some communist parties were tolerated legally
and contested elections; others lived a twilight semi-secret existence or immersed themselves
in labour and trade-union activity. But there were no instances of direct communist
involvement in inter-war dictatorships in Latin America – if anything, communist parties
played a part in opposing such regimes, as in Colombia and Peru. It was not until the post-
war period that communist or communist-influenced regimes made an appearance in the
region in, to give three examples, Nicaragua, Venezuela and – above all – Cuba. Against
all the broad trends of twentieth-century Latin American history, Castro’s left-wing
364 Dictatorship elsewhere

dictatorship proved to be more durable and successful than any regime on the right. Seizing
power from Batista in 1959, Castro announced his ideological conversion to Marxism-
Leninism in 1961, although he also remained a nationalist. His regime survived attempts
to overthrow it and Castro managed to preside over the longest-lasting dictatorship
(1957–2008) anywhere and developed important ideological and strategic connections with
Africa during the 1970s and 1980s.

Asia
Between the world wars Asia had a wide variety of regimes. These ranged from absolute
monarchies and traditionalist Asiatic regimes to European colonies and emergent powers
with a new European-style economic and military base.
The most deliberate graft of European influences on to an Asiatic structure can be seen
in Japan. This started with the period of rapid modernization during the reign of the Emperor
Meiji (1868–1912), who was strongly influenced by ideas and structures from the west,
especially Britain, Germany, France and the United States. He introduced fundamental
changes to the army, navy, economy, customs and political structures that included a new
Diet or assembly. Further developments before and after 1900 included extensive
militarization which led to Japanese expansion at the expense of China (1894–5), Russia
(1904–5), Korea (1910) and – more intensively – against Manchuria and China in the 1930s.
After 1930 Japan was particularly influenced by Italy and Germany, with whom she
eventually combined in the anti-Comintern Pact and the Axis military alliance. The regime
that entered the Second World War through a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor was widely
seen in 1941 as a ‘fascist dictatorship’ and there is still a divergence of opinion among
historians as to the suitability of either or both of these terms as descriptions of Japan before
1945.
Japan under Hirohito and Tojo was certainly regarded as ‘fascist’ by Marxist analysts,
who adopt a generic term to describe an authoritarian regime in the throes of rapid
industrialization and social upheaval. Other interpretations stress Japan’s aggressive
expansionism as a typically ‘fascist’ means of diverting attention from internal problems
and crises against a common external enemy – the Chinese during the 1930s and the western
powers from 1941. The Japanese variant has often been described as ‘military’ fascism,
which in any case was strongly influenced far-right movements drawing their inspiration
from Nazi Germany. Examples included the Cherry Blossom Society (set up in 1930 and
strongly represented by officers in War Ministry and on the General Staff), the Great Japan
Youth Party, and the Eastern Way Society. Historians arguing against applying the label
‘fascism’ to Japan point out that, although fairly numerous, such movements were small
and lacked the dynamic mass-involvement characteristics of the fascist regimes in Europe.
It is essential to distinguish between ‘regimes’ and ‘movements’: all genuine fascist regimes
were based on mass movements, while not all such movements produced fascist regimes.
Stanley G. Payne provides a particularly pithy summary: ‘Japan had evolved a somewhat
pluralistic authoritarian system which exhibited some of the characteristics of fascism, but
it did not develop fascism’s most distinctive and revolutionary aspects’, adding that Japan
had more in common with the Second German Reich than with the Third.206
There has also been some debate as to whether Japan was even a ‘dictatorship’. Arguments
in favour included the subordination of both country and society to militarism, control by
a rigid style of leadership exercising authoritarian discipline, and the most brutal treatment
of occupied areas (the Rape of Nanking, for example). Japanese mistreatment of civilians
 Dictatorship elsewhere 365

and prisoners of war has been compared with the excesses of the Waffen SS and
Einsatzgruppen in the disregard for human life. Conversely, it has been argued that Hirohito’s
monarchical rule disqualified him from being considered a dictator. As we have already
seen, however, this approach is too dismissive. In any case, Hirohito’s authority existed, at
least until 1940, alongside a constitution that allowed, and cabinets that were based on,
party politics. After that, the Emperor continued to exert at least some moderating influence
over Japan’s wartime leadership. This unusual behaviour for a dictator won the monarchy
– and its incumbent – a reprieve from the Allies after the defeat of Japan in 1945. The other
possibility for the role of Japanese ‘dictator’, Tojo, exercised no personality cult and was
at no time fully in control of the military. Finally, any ideological base for Japan’s
authoritarian rule was traditional, even if the methods of communication and control were
modern and European. Although there were inevitable distortions, Japan was not, according
to Ben-Ami Shillony, ‘an ideological disciple of the Axis’. Indeed, society was in some
ways ‘freer than those of the Soviet Union or Kuomintang China’, even though these
‘ostensibly fought on the side of democracy’.207
Other areas used ideas that originated in Europe to establish ideological regimes based
on adapted variants. These developed roots before 1945, especially during the inter-war
period and global conflict of the Second World War. Three main examples can be cited.
The first was China, where the search for a permanent replacement for the former Chinese
Imperial regime gave rise to two movements – the Kuomintang (KMT) and the Chinese
Communist Party (CCP). Some historians have seen strong fascist influences in the former,
which was essentially a military-based regime using a panoply of European ideas. Others,
however, deny that it was actually fascist and that there was the same basic problem as in
Japan in dealing with mass organizations. In any case, the KMT under Chiang Kai-shek
was preoccupied by two major priorities – defeating the external enemy – Japan – and
overcoming the main internal threat to its existence – Mao Zedong’s CCP. After losing the
Chinese Civil War, Chiang withdrew in 1949 to Formosa, recently liberated from Japanese
occupation, where, with some support from the United Sates, he presided over an authoritarian
and anti-communist regime until his death. Meanwhile, mainland China had come under
the control of a new variant of communism. In part this was of European origin and Mao
acknowledged the importance of Lenin and the ‘salvoes of the October Revolution’. He
learned from the Bolsheviks the importance of organization and conspiracy which lay
behind his view that ‘A revolution is . . . an act of violence by which one class overthrows
another’208 and that ‘The seizure of power by armed force . . . is the central task and highest
form of revolution’.209 To these inter-war influences, however, Mao added a distinctive
twist, adapting Marxism-Leninism to the needs of an agricultural rather than an industrial
society. His more pragmatic approach enabled Chinese Communism to develop in two stages
– as an ultimately victorious adversary against the right-wing forces of the KMT and then
as a new regime. At first the latter seemed to be less heavily centralized than the Soviet
Union. In the longer term, however, there were to be close similarities with Stalinism. By
the end of the 1950s Mao’s China had all the all the hallmarks of a totalitarian regime with
high degree of ruthlessness. His dissatisfaction with slow rate of agricultural and industrial
growth led to extreme methods resulting, as with those of Stalin in the 1930s, in millions
of deaths. He also unleashed the ‘Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution’, which included
the most extreme personality cult seen up to that time. Only after his death did the whole
system become more susceptible to reform and outside influences.
Two other areas also developed Communist dictatorships, with roots from before, during
and immediately after the Second World War. This time there was an additional struggle
366 Dictatorship elsewhere

against former colonial occupiers, from which emerged a variety of new regimes, ranging
from extreme dictatorships, using totalitarian methods of control, to authoritarian states
moving towards a limited system of democracy. The People’s Republic of North Korea
emerged from a war for liberation against Japan (to which Korea had been annexed in
1910). Communism was the main focus for opposition and Kim Il Sung was installed
in power by invading Soviet armies in 1945. Although it later withdrew in 1948 the Soviet
Union continued to support regime, as did Communist China after 1949. All the character-
istics of totalitarian dictatorship emerged once the regime was guaranteed is existence by
the stalemate of the Korean War (1950–3). ‘Kimilsungism’ emerged as a new form of
personality cult which, according to some historians, eclipsed even that of Stalin and Mao
Zedong; it had the added refinement of hereditary succession, the first seen in any Communist
regime. Politically, the regime became increasingly repressive, while socially and
economically it became almost totally isolated from the outside world. Meanwhile, Indo-
China had also experienced major political changes, with the emergence of four new states
from the former French empire – North and South Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. Communist
North Vietnam was established by Ho Chi Minh as an orthodox Marxist-Leninist collective
leadership and united with South Vietnam in 1975. Utterly different was the rule of the
Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Pol Pot developed the most extreme dictatorship anywhere in
the world, his variant of Marxism-Leninism killing or enslaving over one-third of the
population of Cambodia, until the Vietnamese put paid to his activities by invading Cambodia
in 1978 and removing the Khmer Rouge from power.
The post-war period produced a variety of other systems that have been described as
dictatorships. These all had strongly indigenous roots, although some also contained European
influences. One of these was Indonesia under Sukarno (1949–68) and Suharto (1967–98),
which has been seen as a ‘developmental’ authoritarian system, aiming to weld together a
diverse region with the fifth largest population in the world to a nationalist base strengthened
by the anti-colonial struggle against the Japanese and Dutch in the 1940s and further
reinforced by extensive anti-leftist purges in the 1950s and 1960s. Pakistan, meanwhile,
had several periods under military rule, especially during its conflicts with India and the
secession of Bangladesh (formally East Pakistan). Another repressive military regime
developed in Burma and for two decades the country was virtually closed to the outside
world. Two Middle-Eastern states developed more distinctively ideological systems; these
were based on Ba’athist revivalist movements under strong personal control – whether the
Assads in Syria or Saddam Hussein in Iraq. In some ways the most diverse developments
have taken place in Iran, where the revolution of 1979 which replaced a long-standing pro-
western military autocracy under the Shah with an anti-western populist theocracy under
the Ayatollahs. The overall picture has been complicated still further by militant Islamist
movements in parts of the Middle East.

Africa
Africa was the most recent area of emerging states since it was a continent experiencing
colonization and independence later than America or Asia.
Some areas were independent – or had been given internal autonomy – before 1945. The
oldest was Ethiopia, which dated back to the Middle Ages. After the overthrow of Italian
occupation she was restored to her previous status as an absolute monarchy under Emperor
Haile Selassie, although with certain adjustments. His was not a modern dictatorship and
it clearly contained the seeds of transitional instability for the future. Other independent
 Dictatorship elsewhere 367

states included Liberia, established for emancipated slaves in 1822, and Egypt, where British
occupation had ended in 1922. The Union of South Africa had been afforded dominion
status within the British Empire in 1910. The South African regime has often been referred
to as a dictatorship because of its limited franchise, based on racial criteria. But it is more
accurately described as a severely restricted constitutional system: although repressive of
the majority, it still had an elected parliament based on a multi-party system. It has also
been referred to as ‘fascist’. Again, this is technically incorrect, although there were
direct influences from Nazi Germany on various individual movements before 1939
and during the Second World War: examples included the Greyshirts, Blackshirts and
Ossewabrandwag (OB).
The rest of Africa did not achieve independence until after the Second World War –
during the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. Rule by colonial powers, however, varied considerably,
as did the preparation for the future and the timescale envisaged. Some colonial regimes
had a particularly bad record, in many cases akin to dictatorship. Germany was the most
repressive of all the powers before 1914. Although a parliamentary system, if top-heavily
ruled, Germany had no aspirations to transfer this system to the colonies, even in the distant
future. Instead, there were examples of racism – and even genocide – against, for example,
the Herero people of South West Africa. Between the wars Italy expanded her ‘Roman
Empire’ in Northern and Eastern Africa, where Mussolini brought Libya, Somalia, Eritrea
and Ethiopia under Fascist rule. There were mass killings in Libya and the use of mustard
gas in the conquest of Ethiopia was condemned in the League of Nations. The Italians also
attempted in the colonies to create an indigenous Fascist movement linked to Rome, although
with mixed success. No colonial regime could claim an exemplary record, but the others
were less extreme than this, if subject to their own lapses. In the British colonies,
administration was based on adaptations of Westminster and Whitehall to the colonial scene.
At first indigenous participation was restricted until, during the 1950s and 1960s, preparations
were made for their independence as future democracies. The French and Portuguese
systems envisaged a more direct connection between the colonies and the metropolitan power,
until major contrasts emerged between Salazar’s concept of the imperial future in the Estado
Novo and the French decision to follow a course similar to Britain’s.
When independence did eventually occur throughout Africa, there was a narrow boundary
line between democracy and dictatorship. The transition between these was often easier
than elsewhere. Most independent regimes started as democracies but some of these quickly
turned into something else. Many became single-party states ruled by strong individuals
who banned all opposition during at least part of their rule, while claiming democratic
‘legitimacy’. Examples – by no means exhaustive – included Nkrumah in Ghana (1957–66),
Banda in Malawi (1963–94), Sékou Touré in Guinea (1958–84) and Obote in Uganda
(1962–72 and 1980–5). Many others were more borderline, retaining the basic constitution
and multi-party system but accused of manipulating elections and intimidating opponents.
Examples of military dictatorships, originating in a coup and subsequently suspending
elections or banning opposition, were Sudan under Nimeiry (1969–85), Zaire (or Congo)
under Mobutu and Kabila, and Liberia under Doe (1980–90). In a few cases dictatorship
was based on widespread violence and extreme personality cult – the most notorious leaders
being Amin in Uganda (1971–9) and Bokassa in the Central African Republic (1966–79).
Portugal exerted an influence disproportionate to her size in the broader period between
the 1920s and 1970s. According to Gallagher, Salazar’s style of dictatorship had a direct
impact on the later regimes of Nasser in Egypt and Qadhafi in Libya. The indirect influence
was even greater, as the collapse of the Portuguese empire in Africa provided a catalyst for
368 Dictatorship elsewhere

revolution and the sudden spread of Marxism-Leninist regimes, as opposed to the already
widespread existence of communist movements. Some of these, like Machel’s Mozambique
and Neto’s Angola, retained at least some democratic features, while others – especially
Mengistu’s Ethiopia – accentuated the ideological base and added features of personalized
and arbitrary power.
An even wider influence behind Africa’s regimes was the imposition of colonial
boundaries, which cut arbitrarily through ethnic, tribal or religious groupings. This increased
the chances of internal instability and conflict, with some extreme cases as in Rwanda
and Burundi, Nigeria, Congo and Angola. One solution to this problem was the initial
abandonment of western-style democracy, based on party politics, and the justification instead
for a single party of national unity. There is no question that this increased the number of
what might technically be described as dictatorships. But the momentum for this slowed
during the 1980s, with a general swing (with some notable exceptions) back to the style
of democracy of the early post-colonial period. It was also widely predicted soon after
independence that the colonial boundaries would eventually be transformed, by regional
divisions or consolidation, into states corresponding more closely to the tribes of pre-
colonial Africa. But half a century after independence this had not happened. Few boundaries
had been altered and only one secessionist movement had succeeded – with the emergence
of the new state of Southern Sudan. Other attempted changes, like Biafra, failed. Even the
most diverse of the states managed to hold together – Angola, Congo, Zambia and above
all Nigeria. A fundamental – and as yet unanswered – question arises from this. Have African
states managed to overcome the centrifugal tendencies of tribalism and become genuine
nations? Or have tribal influences been seriously exaggerated, as some historians believe?
In either case, is the era of dictatorship coming to an end?
Chapter 8

Dictatorships vs democracies

By the beginning of 1939 a total of twelve European countries had avoided dictatorship.
These were Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg,
France, Sweden, Switzerland, Eire, the United Kingdom and Finland. Although they shared
with the dictatorships some sort of assembly elected by universal suffrage, they still had
the full legitimacy of representative democracy.
At the end of 1940 only five of these twelve democracies remained. Seven others had
been destroyed by German invasion – in addition to those dictatorships – Austria, Poland,
the Baltic states, Albania, Yugoslavia and Greece – that had already succumbed to Germany,
Russia or Italy. The first democracy to be overrun was Czechoslovakia, deprived of the
Sudetenland in September 1938, then of Bohemia and Moravia in March 1939. In April
1940 Denmark and Norway were also occupied by Germany; they were followed, over the
next two months, by Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and France. Most of these
areas were placed under direct occupation: Bohemia and Moravia, Denmark, the Netherlands,
Belgium, Luxembourg and most of France. Others became puppet dictatorships: Slovakia,
Norway and Vichy France.
Three of the remaining five democracies were unoccupied and managed to keep out of
the conflict that had engulfed the other seven. But, in the process, Sweden, Switzerland and
Eire became vulnerable and marginalized.
The last two democracies – the United Kingdom and Finland – remained defiant, choosing
to fight for their identity by combining with one of the major dictatorships against another.
This classification will be used to explain the experience of all twelve democracies and
to analyse their reactions to the threats posed by Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union.

SEVEN DEMOCRACIES DESTROYED

Seven of the regimes that had still been democracies in 1939 had been invaded and occupied
by 1940. In the process, they were subjected to control over their administration, economy
and society. There were marked similarities – and differences – between the reactions of
the different states to their subjection to dictatorship.

1. Czechoslovakia
Czechoslovakia was established at the end of the First World War from the northern Slav
provinces of Austria-Hungary. She was treated generously by the Treaty of St. Germain
(1919) to give her a stronger chance of survival, particularly with the inclusion of the
industrial borderlands of the Austrian part of the Empire – the Sudetenland. The new state
370 Dictatorships vs democracies

was rooted firmly in democracy and had an inter-war record of moderate politics. She also
gave priority to her own defence by a combination of systematic armament and periodic
treaties with other states. Examples of the latter included the Franco-Czechoslovak Treaty
of 1920 and the 1935 Pact with the Soviet Union. Czechoslovakia remained the only
example of a successful democracy in central-eastern Europe as all the other recent states
– including Poland, the Baltic States, Romania and Bulgaria – drifted into dictatorship in
the 1930s, as did the original core of the Habsburg monarchy, Austria and Hungary. Above
all, Czechoslovakia contrasted with the authoritarian and turbulent experience of the other
experiment in bringing Slav groups together into a new nation – Yugoslavia.
But there were also significant elements of vulnerability. Externally, the main pressure
came from Nazi Germany, with Hitler’s ambitions of reuniting all German minorities with
the Fatherland – at the expense of Germany’s neighbours. There were also claims from
Poland and Hungary to territory they considered had been over-generously allocated to
Czechoslovakia at their expense. Internally, the main domestic threats were Slovak aspirations
for autonomy within the new state and resentment from substantial ethnic minorities like
Hungarians, Germans and Ukrainians. These internal pressures worked in combination for
the destruction of a perfectly viable and robust democratic regime. The main external blows
came from Hitler, who in turn exploited the complexity of Czechoslovakia’s ethnic diversity.
This involved a two-stage process. The first was the loss in September 1938 of the
Sudetenland: the latter’s substantial German population was used by Hitler to extort the
Munich agreement from Britain and France. Although this may have benefited Britain by
providing a year in which to rearm, it did Czechoslovakia no good at all. Russia was unable
to fulfil the terms of its treaty with Czechoslovakia (1935) and Germany took over all of
Czechoslovakia’s main border defences. Whereas Czechoslovakia had stood a realistic
chance of defending herself in 1938, she had none whatever early in 1939. Further conspiracy
followed. The remainder of the Czechoslovak state fell victim to the separatist aspirations
of a Slovak minority who were manipulated by Hitler for the benefit of the Reich. The state
president, Hácha, tried to restore the full integrity of Czechoslovakia by dismissing some
of the Slovak ministers. Hitler used this to pressurise Jozef Tiso into declaring himself
president of an independent Slovakia. At the same time, Hácha was summoned to Berlin
where he was obliged to sign away the sovereignty of Bohemia and Moravia, under the
threat that the Germans would otherwise bomb the capital. On 15 March German troops
entered Prague.
Divided and severely depleted, Czechoslovakia functioned from March 1939 as two
components. One, comprising Bohemia and Moravia, was occupied and made a protectorate
of the Reich. The other, Slovakia, was allowed nominal independence and became, in effect,
a puppet state and ally of Germany.

Bohemia and Moravia

In the longer term Hitler hoped to ‘purify’ the country by deporting the Czechs to remote
parts of the Soviet Union; several plans were actually drawn up to this effect during the
war – but had to be deferred because of Germany’s need for industrial labour. For the
moment, a decree established the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. In theory this was
self-administered but all major issues were under the direct control of Berlin. The president
and prime minister were subordinate to the newly-created Reich protector, the first of whom
was von Neurath. His office contained departments paralleling the Czech ministries, while
the district authorities were similarly supervised by German-appointed governors. The
 Dictatorships vs democracies 371

Czechs tried to retain an element of democracy. A new National Assemblage and its core,
the National Committee, replaced the existing parliament, comprising appointed members
of all parties except the Communists. But this was forced inexorably into the political shade
of the German Protectorate’s administration, which exerted full control over the country’s
military capacity, including 1,600 aircraft and 2,175 artillery pieces,1 and aimed restrictive
measures against the middle classes and intellectuals. As yet, however, there was no
systematic use of terror; this was partly because of constraints exercised by von Neurath,
who argued that the country could be more effectively exploited with its co-operation.
Things changed when Heydrich replaced von Neurath as Protector in September 1941.
Authorized by Hitler to follow a harsher policy, he immediately declared martial law. The
prime minister, Eliáš, was sentenced to death for treasonable activities (for which there was
little evidence) as were hundreds of other Czech leaders. Any pretence at autonomy was
ended as the power of the Protector became absolute. In contrast to von Neurath, Heydrich
imposed widespread terror: this was very much in keeping with his position as head of
Reichssicherheitshauptamt (Reich Security Office). He also increased the intensity of anti-
Semitic policies and converted part of Theresienstadt into a ghetto for Jews of the whole
Protectorate as well as for further quotas from Germany and Austria. Terror was intensified
in retaliation for the assassination of Heydrich by Kubiš and Gabčik in May 1942. New
measures included widespread arrests and the summary executions of some 23,000 people.2
Most notorious was the destruction of Lidice and Ležáky, the shooting of their men and
the deportation of their women to concentration camps. These actions were widely publicized
to act as a deterrent to further resistance. Greater stability followed during the administrations
of Wilhelm Frick and Karl Frank but Bohemia and Moravia remained firmly in the Nazi
grip until 1945.
The Czech reaction to Nazi occupation shows a certain ambivalence. On the one hand,
resistance groups did emerge – and quite quickly. These included the military underground
or Defence of the Nation (ON); the Political Centre (PU) which tried unsuccessfully to co-
ordinate early political opposition to German rule; and moderate leftists (PVVZ). The three
organizations formed the Central Committee for Home Resistance (UVOD), which became
the main unit of resistance within Czechoslovakia. Meanwhile, the Communists (KSC)
followed a separate programme that was dictated by Moscow and was therefore affected
by the changing relations between Hitler and Stalin. On the other hand, the actual
manifestation of resistance was limited, the assassination of Heydrich being the most
spectacular act of defiance until the Prague revolt of 1945. Not surprisingly, there is a debate
about what this actually means. Mastny believes that ‘despite a few positive signs, the balance
of the Czechs’ response to Nazi rule was overwhelmingly negative’.3 A different case has
been put by Luža, who maintains that the Czechs did what they could and that ‘behind the
morale of resistance stood its realistic representation of the vital interests of the Czech people
during the course of the war’.4
There is much to support Luža’s view. What resistance there was had a strong democratic
heritage and aimed at minimizing the sufferings of a population which had few prospects
of freeing itself. Although the extent of Czech co-operation with the Germans was
considerable – in politics, administration, the economy and the labour force – they also
resorted to the opposition strategy they had used against the Habsburgs: public patriotic
rallies and religious ceremonies. In some cases defiance was more active, as partisan units
derailed trains and blew up railroads and bridges. Until 1945, however, most of this took
place in Slovakia rather than in the Czech lands – for reasons that point more towards
Mastny’s argument. The Czechs had lost their earlier will to defend their democracy partly
372 Dictatorships vs democracies

because they had been deprived of the military means to do so by the Anglo-French policy
of appeasement in 1938. Munich had been a betrayal which had destroyed the means and
the motive to resist. A willingness to fight had given way to a reluctance to shed blood in
what would now be a futile conflict; after all, Hácha’s capitulation to Germany in March
1939 had prevented the development of a popular will to resist.The argument among all
sections of society was that co-operation was in the best interests of the population. Only
a small minority joined the Czech underground, and even here many were dubious of the
activists who were flown in from Britain to organize resistance. The harsh response to the
assassination of Heydrich seemed to indicate that resistance was counterproductive anyway,
given the strength of the occupying power. Finally, active Czech resistance was impeded
by adverse geographical factors. Bohemia and Moravia were almost surrounded by the Reich
and their open countryside made it far more difficult to defy German troops who benefited
from the excellent communications infrastructure of a compact industrial state. It is not
surprising that internal resistance remained ineffective until the end of the war, even though
the German occupation and military control were clearly in disarray at the beginning of
1945.
Resistance abroad was an entirely different matter. Exiles from Bohemia and Moravia,
along with some from Slovakia, fought in volunteer units with the Allies – both in the west
(North Africa and France in 1944) and with the Red Army on the eastern front. A government
in exile was set up in London under Beneš, easily the most important and highly regarded
of the Czech leaders. His influence was enormous: according to his former personal secretary,
‘nothing of political importance, insofar as it depended on the Czechoslovak government
in exile, could be decided without Beneš, let alone against him’.5 He was driven by a
determination to undo Munich by re-establishing Czechoslovakia. Although he tried to
maintain close relations with both east and west, he was particularly pro-Soviet: Moscow,
at least, had been prepared to honour its obligations in 1938. He therefore signed an alliance
with the Soviet Union and also sought accommodation with Czechoslovakia’s communists.
The government that was restored in 1945 was therefore a genuine coalition. Beneš succeeded
in getting back most of Czechoslovakia but he had to pay a price – the cession of the tail,
Ruthenia, to the Soviet Union. It could be argued that his policy resulted in the domination
by the Soviet Union for the following four decades. But what was the alternative? The Red
Army alone drove the Germans back in eastern Europe and at least Czechoslovakia did not
suffer the major geographical shift experienced by Poland.
Czechoslovakia suffered less from the war and from German occupation than did most
other parts of eastern Europe. Bohemia’s co-operation and Slovakia’s autonomy mean that
there was far less bloodshed than, for example, in Poland. Indeed, alone among its neighbours
Bohemia and Moravia experienced a net population increase in the war years. There were
no military losses in the Second World War, compared with 200,000 in the First World
War. There was also less bombing than elsewhere. Prague escaped the destruction
experienced by the cities in Poland and the Reich (including Austria) and of many in occupied
western Europe. The Jewish inhabitants of Czechoslovakia were the major exception: of a
pre-war total of just over 100,000, some 70,000 died.6

Slovakia
At the same time as the German occupation of Bohemia in March 1939 Hitler put pressure
on Slovakia to declare itself independent from Bohemia and Moravia by the Treaty of
Protection of the Slovak State. Under the presidency of Monsignor Jozef Tiso, a cardinal
 Dictatorships vs democracies 373

in the Catholic Church, the new republic did appear to possess certain advantages. It had
a fairly widespread support, particularly from the Catholic Church, and it gained a positive
response to the new constitution of July 1939. Tiso hoped to maintain a considerable degree
of independence from Germany and to promote conservative Christian values like those of
Dollfuss and Schuschnigg in Austria or Salazar in Portugal. In many respects the early
Slovak republic was therefore similar to those authoritarian corporatist and semi-clerical
regimes rather than to the more radical system of Nazism. At first Germany paid every
apparent respect to the new republic, hoping that it would become a model to the New
Order in Europe. Accordingly, the Reich interfered as little as possible in Slovakia’s internal
affairs. As long as Tiso promised co-operation and ‘to continue directing domestic political
development in Slovakia in a spirit unqualifiedly positive and friendly towards Germany’.7
Increasingly, however, Tiso was pressurized by the radicals like Mach (head of
propaganda) and Tuka, who were more openly pro-Nazi. A rift opened up between them
and the more conservative members of the government as, despite Tiso’s efforts, Slovakia
came increasingly under Germany’s influence. The armaments industry was subordinated
to the Nazi war effort by the 1940 Treaty for the Organization for Total War, which placed
twenty-six enterprises at the disposal of the Wehrmacht. Slovakia contributed over 50,000
men to the invasion of Russia in 1941, while the SS and Hitler Youth left their mark on
the Slovak equivalents (the Hlinka Guards and the Hlinka Youth) organized by Mach. There
was also increasing interference by German advisers in government agencies; von Killinger,
an SA leader, became German minister in Bratislava and committed himself to ensuring
that Slovakia’s support for Germany was unqualified. He was determined ‘to govern Slovakia
in such a way that during the war she will be economically 100 per cent at our disposal
and that she will be led politically in such a way that there cannot be the slightest doubt
that she is absolutely keeping in line’.8 Tiso tried to draw the line against full political
subservience, especially if it affected the Catholic Church. In response, the radicalized
sections of the Slovak state, including the Hlinka Guards, co-operated with Germany’s
approach. But Germany had to delay any full confrontation because of the invasion of Russia
in June 1941. Von Killinger’s successor from January 1941, Ludin, focused on propaganda
and tightening German control over the economy. His measures were not without success
as, by 1942, 99.6 per cent of mining and metallurgy were in German ownership.
The Nazis had a major say in the treatment of Slovakia’s Jews. At first Tiso and the
pro-Nazi radicals in his cabinet constructed a package of limited anti-Semitic policies such
as the exclusion of Jews from business and the professions. Then Tuka and Mach seized
the initiative and pursued a Nazi scheme for the resettlement of Slovak Jews in Poland.
Although Tiso went along with this, he called a halt on the orders of the Pope and for two
years resisted a resumption of the deportations, which had spilled over into exterminations
at Auschwitz, Maidenek and Lublin. The fate of the Jews, however, was sealed when Slovakia
was brought under direct military subordination in September 1944. Altogether the Final
Solution was vigorously implemented in Slovakia – with or without the Slovak government’s
compliance – and a community of 100,000 was exterminated.
Whatever Tiso’s claims to the contrary, the Slovak republic was closely tied to the fortunes
of Germany. From 1943 onwards this made for extreme vulnerability. As the German military
machine was breaking down in Russia, domestic resistance grew against Slovakia’s
involvement in a futile war. The banned parties collaborated in exile to form a Slovak
National Council which was committed to ending the link with Germany and to reinstating
Czechoslovakia, this time as a federation. By the Christmas Agreement of 1943 communist
and democratic leaders formed the Slovak National Council (SNR) to act ‘in agreement
374 Dictatorships vs democracies

with the Czechoslovak government and the liberation movement abroad’.9 Its main objective
was to produce a national uprising in Slovakia, to be led by disaffected officers within the
army. Encouraged by the advance of the Red Army into Poland, the Slovak National Council
called for a popular uprising in September 1944 to replace Tiso’s government. The insurgents
succeeded in holding for several months a large part of central Slovakia but, by October,
the rebellion had been crushed by the Germans, partly because the Soviet Union had failed
to deliver the expected support. Suspicious of the rival influences within the SNR of
democrats and communists, Stalin preferred to see it weakened by defeat. For their part,
the western Allies were unable to intervene and, in any case, saw no reason to become
involved in an area well away from their own sphere of operations. The Germans now
installed, under Stefan Tiso (a relative of the previous president), a more subservient regime.
This was described by Hoensch as ‘a mere puppet of, and executioner for, the German
occupation force’.
The German occupation was ended by the arrival of Soviet troops in April 1945. The
Slovak republic was instantly liquidated and the former state of Czechoslovakia revived,
with Beneš installed as its first post-war president. Jozef Tiso was tried for treason and
collaboration with Nazism and hanged in Bratislava in 1947. But, under Soviet influence,
the early broad-based and multi-party governments gave way from 1948 to a more exclusively
communist regime which remained in existence until it was brought down by popular
movements in 1989.

2. Denmark
Denmark had not been involved in the First World War but had benefited from its aftermath,
with the acquisition of northern Schleswig after a plebiscite. Seeing no reason to change
direction in the future, she continued a policy of neutrality, although recognizing that this
was dependent on Germany’s compliance. Thus the first and most significant element of
Danish democracy was the hope for peaceful coexistence with its neighbours. The Danes
posed no threat to anyone and based everything on the trust that no-one would threaten
them. They also operated a political system which possessed all the components of an early
twentieth-century liberal democracy, including government responsibility to a bicameral
parliament (in this case, the Rigsdag, which comprised the Folketing and the Rigsting).
The inter-war period brought periodic domestic crisis and instability, although these were
no worse than anywhere else. There were, for example, serious economic problems,
exacerbated by the Great Depression. These were, however, offset by reforms like insurance
provision for sickness, unemployment and old age. Political extremism, meanwhile, was
confined to the Danish Nazis (DNSAP) on the far right and the Communists on the far left.
In electoral terms neither was significant, the DNSAP achieving 1.8 per cent of the popular
vote in 1939 and the Communists 2.4 per cent. Throughout the period the mainstream parties
retained firm control – the Social Democrats, Radical Liberals, Liberals, Conservatives and
Agrarians. Unsurprisingly, coalition governments were the norm, ensuring a fully-functioning
democracy with no apparent leanings towards dictatorship. More problematic was Denmark’s
precarious position in Europe, especially its proximity to Germany. Possible causes of future
conflict included Denmark’s blocking German access to northern Europe and the Baltic,
along with Germany’s resentment at the loss of its co-nationals in northern Schleswig. This
fatal combination of strategic location and internal issues had already accounted for Austria
in 1938 and Czechoslovakia between 1938 and 1939. There were therefore weak spots within
Denmark’s apparent stability, as external threats reacted with internal problems that did not
 Dictatorships vs democracies 375

appear too serious per se. The DNSAP, together with the Danish Rally (Nationalt Samvirke),
welcomed the prospect of Nazi involvement in Danish affairs, while the precarious balance
of the economy meant that Denmark was forced to consider closer co-operation with
Germany to preserve its normal pattern of trade. Although the government had increased
the defence budget by 1939, Denmark remained in constant danger of invasion by a revived
Germany.
When this came in April 1940 it was, nevertheless, a shock. Germany’s preoccupation
in eastern Europe gave the western states a sense of anti-climax and false security. Denmark
had not been involved in the declaration of war on Germany in September 1939 and
expected a limited ultimatum, at the most for bases or airfields. The Danish government
might have been prepared to meet this to guarantee its survival as an independent state and
free society. Instead, it was faced with a general invasion, military collapse within a few
hours and general occupation.
Unlike Norway, where the government relocated in Britain, Denmark co-operated directly
with the invaders. The King, Christian X, did much to sustain public morale and to lessen
the blow of the occupation. He was helped by an initial German undertaking not to interfere
in Denmark’s internal affairs or to undermine Denmark’s sovereignty. The Germans were
prepared to make this concession since it meant that fewer resources would have to be
poured into the occupation. This policy of ‘protection’ would also be a sign to the rest of
Europe of the possible reward for co-operation with the New Order. But there were three
points on which the Danes would not negotiate. There was to be no interference with
parliamentary process of government, no Danish involvement in war, and no discriminatory
laws against Denmark’s Jewish population. A series of arguments over specific legal cases
meant that these intentions were gradually eroded in a ‘slippery slope’ towards collaboration.
The Germans insisted on the resignation of several ministers who spoke out against them
and, in August 1940, the government of Scavenius accepted a demand for the removal of
trade barriers between Germany and Denmark and the harmonization of German and Danish
duties and indirect taxation.
These demands and concessions incurred hostile public reactions which, in turn, provoked
stronger German counter-measures. Early opposition was expressed in the form of community
singing of patriotic songs, while flying flags at half-mast was the response to particularly
contentious German demands. The king often expressed his sympathy with public opinion,
mingling with the crowds in the streets of Copenhagen. The German response gradually
became more punitive. In 1941 the government had to comply with tougher penalties for
sabotage and a ban on the Communist Party. There was also pressure to allow Danish
volunteers to fight in Russia and for Denmark to join the Anti-Comintern Pact. More unrest
and strikes followed. The German plenipotentiary Best tried to revive co-operation by
allowing elections to the Folketing, hoping that the far right would exercise a restraining
influence on the rest of the population. But 94 per cent of electorate voted for mainstream
parties and only 3.3 per cent for the Danish Nazi Party and the NS. Youth organizations
developed within the different political parties, opposing the ideological influence of national
socialism and newspapers emerged with titles like De Frie Danske (Free Danes) and Frit
Danmark (Free Denmark). Even so, most Danes hoped for some form of compromise which
would allow the return of democratic government.
But this proved impossible. Hitler was becoming convinced that conciliation was no longer
effective. In contrast to his original view that Denmark was a positive example to the rest
of Europe, he now saw the country as a weak link in his Fortress Europe against the western
Allies. The German occupation was therefore tightened. In August 1943 Best demanded a
376 Dictatorships vs democracies

ban on all demonstrations and strikes and the death penalty for sabotage. When the Danish
government refused to comply it was replaced by direct military power under General von
Hannecken. The whole status of the occupation changed with the internment of many
prominent politicians and the demobilization of Danish security forces. The king rejected
Best’s offer of a government based on limited nominations. Instead, he reversed his previous
policies and now defied Germany to impose direct occupation. This was made inevitable by
the uprising of August 1943 and by German measures to round up Denmark’s Jewish
population.
Official policies and public opinion therefore changed more dramatically in Denmark
than in other occupied states. With the end of the government experiment in limited co-
operation with German occupation, discreet opposition turned into more active defiance.
From August 1943 the public were more inclined to support sabotage, which now became
more extensive in Denmark than in Norway. Encouraged by the Normandy landings and
the prospect of liberation, Danish partisans blew up railway lines, armaments factories and
even the Gestapo headquarters. Meanwhile, a rash of strikes reduced the capacity of Germany
to supply its defences against the Allied threat. Retaliatory measures, such as the declaration
of emergency and interference with Copenhagen’s power supplies, failed to intimidate the
population. Now that Germany looked certain to lose the war, it had become clear the Danish
public preferred direct occupation to being labelled a German ally. But the end was delayed
until 5 May 1945, when the German surrender freed Denmark. A new government had
already been agreed on 1 May, comprising both resistance members and politicians with
parliamentary experience. The result was a more peaceful transition than that experienced
by some of Denmark’s neighbours.
Overall, Danish policy was not one of resistance; nor was it one of full collaboration.
Denmark had not been permitted to be neutral; therefore the government had opted to avoid
involvement in the war, to recognize the futility of military defiance and do as much as
possible to maintain Danish sovereignty within the restrictions of conquest and occupation.
In the process it maintained the support of a large proportion of public opinion – a near-
impossible achievement in the complex condition of war. The cost of occupation was
considerable: eight billion kroner, or 22 per cent of the Danish national income per annum,10
and resistance cost up to 1,400 lives. Yet this was substantially less than in Denmark’s
occupied neighbours. The nature of the occupation also meant less physical destruction and
far fewer Jewish casualties in the Holocaust: 472 Jews were arrested out of a total population
of 7,000, the rest being smuggled out to Sweden.

3. Norway
As an independent state, Norway had, from 1905, been a typical example of Scandinavian
political stability. The country had survived the Great Depression, through consensus rather
than confrontational politics, a model of the effective operation of proportional representation.
As in Denmark, extreme parties had fared badly: the far-right Nasjonal Samling won only
1.8 per cent of the popular vote in 1936, while the Communists were down to 0.3 per cent.
Norway had also been strongly committed to peace and neutrality. In 1938 a neutrality pact
had been signed with Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Iceland. Unfortunately, this was not
based on strength: Norway’s defences had deteriorated badly during the 1920s and 1930s.
The Norwegian government tried to keep out of the Second World War but the Germans
launched a surprise attack in April 1940, drawn by Norway’s mineral resources and strategic
domination of the North Atlantic. Norway may well have been the victim of a disagreement
 Dictatorships vs democracies 377

between Hitler and Admiral Raeder, commander-in-chief of the German navy. Hitler assumed
that the north would be sorted out by the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact. Raeder on the
other hand was looking for ways to increase Germany’s strategic naval power11 and stressed
that the Norwegian coast offered a safe haven for German warships and submarines. Hitler
was eventually convinced and decided on German expansion into the area. When Norway
insisted on defending her neutrality he launched a surprise attack, dealing with Denmark
at the same time. Whereas the latter surrendered within hours, the Norwegian armed forces
resisted until June.
Norway also declined the sort of co-operation with Germany agreed by Denmark. Hitler
insisted that the king accept Quisling, leader of the Norwegian Nazi Party (Nasjonal Samling
– NS), as head of government. When Haakon refused, withdrawing into temporary exile in
London, the government came under German control. Quisling was appointed minister
president in February 1942, although most actual power remained with Terboven, previously
Gauleiter of Cologne and now appointed Reichskommissar for Norway. Quisling’s ideas
were influenced by Nazism, in particular by Alfred Rosenberg.12 He had a vision of the
regeneration of Norway under his own leadership as Fører; he developed a private army
that was similar to the SA and SS; and he condemned parliamentary politics, probably as
a result of his own disappointing showing in the 1936 elections. He was also strongly anti-
Semitic and believed in the utmost importance of Nordic racial purity and supremacy. His
initial hope was that Norway could work to promote peace and co-operation between Britain
and Germany to form a great Nordic peace union. By 1940, however, he had become
convinced that Britain had succumbed to Jewish influence and was therefore no longer
worthy of such a destiny. He therefore threw in Norway’s lot entirely with Germany: ‘in
the Greater German community we shall have a leading position in the working of the New
Order.’ He attempted to reshape Norwegian society as a whole and had some success in
increasing young membership of the NS movement and in Nazifying local government.
Under Quisling and Terboven, Norway was heavily exploited to meet the needs of Hitler’s
war effort in Europe. The Germans appropriated the funds of the Norwegian national bank,
depleted the industrial stock and increased the national debt nine-fold.
Most of the population remained quiet, if sullen, but a variety of resistance activities did
develop. Early examples showed a particular resentment against the measures of the Quisling
government. In autumn 1940 there was a strike against the NS state-controlled central Sports
Union to which all teams had to belong; in October the churches formed a common front
against Nazism in a Christian Council, criticizing many of the decrees of the government;
in December 1940 the Supreme Court resigned as a protest against incursions into the
independence of courts; and spontaneous grassroots opposition emerged from the National
Federation of Trade Unions (LO). Resistance intensified from 1942 with teachers’ protests
against regulations on the education of youth according to Nazi principles. Their stand was
supported by religious organizations as bishops and pastors read letters of protest from the
pulpit. Gradually civilian resistance became more organized in form of the Coordination
Committee, which included representatives from trade unions, the professions, industry
and agriculture. At first the effects were more damaging for the NS than a threat to the
control exercised by the Germans: the most significant result was an increase in Terboven’s
power at the expense of Quisling’s. But this tightening of the German grip served to
focus Norwegian resistance in more specifically anti-German ways. A secret press, for
example, had a growing impact on public opinion and escape routes opened up for refugees
of different kinds.
378 Dictatorships vs democracies

17 Vidkun Quisling, 1887–1945

(© Popperfoto/Getty)

As in most other occupied states the

strongest resistance was external, with the
Norwegian armed forces serving abroad
numbering 15,000. The Norwegian mer-
chant navy also played an important role
in the war against Germany. Those ships
that had escaped German hands carried
vital supplies across the Atlantic, assisted
at the evacuation of Dunkirk in 1940, and
carried troops for the Normandy landings
in 1944. The XU, a military intelligence
organization, worked closely with British
intelligence, as did Milorg, an underground
army set up in spring 1941. Despite Ger-
man reprisals, commando groups carried
out daring raids on German positions in
Norway. All such activities were conducted on behalf of the government in exile – a
constant declaration and reminder that Norway continued to see itself as undefeated and
defiant.
But there was one major problem. Norway did not have the strength to liberate herself
and the main impetus of the attacks of the western Allies was in the Mediterranean and
France, not in Scandinavia. In 1944 Allies advised restraint within the resistance because
they had decided against an invasion of Norway and backup would therefore be difficult.
Norway therefore had to wait until the general capitulation announced by Dönitz on 7 May.
This made Norway one of the last of the occupied countries to see the back of German
troops. Within a week King Haakon returned Norway to her customary democratic system.
The general election of October 1945 produced a coalition government which gave priority
to reconstruction. It also dealt with the collaborators. Terboven had already committed suicide
but Quisling was captured. He was put on trial and eventually executed for treason.
The name Quisling holds a particular place in the hall of infamy. It has been pointed
out that Quisling’s role was no worse than that of other collaborators elsewhere in Europe.
Still, it is he rather than they ‘who is remembered above all as the archetypal traitor’,13
even though his impact ceased abruptly at the end of the war. His NS party was entirely
uprooted during the purges that followed the German withdrawal. In proportion to the
population as a whole, more collaborators were dealt with than almost anywhere else (1,400
per 100,000 in Norway, compared with 1,200 in the Netherlands, 1,000 in Belgium and
300 in France and Denmark).14 It was almost as if Norway acknowledged the extent of the
indigenous roots of collaboration and saw Quisling as the source of its influence. The nearest
equivalent to the hatred accorded to him is the French aversion to Pierre Laval.

4. The Netherlands
The Dutch Republic had been a major naval and colonial power before falling into decline
in the eighteenth century. Briefly occupied by France during the revolutionary and Napoleonic
wars, it had been reconstituted as an enlarged Kingdom of the Netherlands in 1815 before
 Dictatorships vs democracies 379

reverting to its previous size in 1830. It had remained neutral during the First World War
and emerged with a democratic constitution based on universal suffrage: proportional
representation was used for the first time in the election of 9 September 1918.
The Netherlands had a series of paradoxical experiences between the wars. Despite relative
political stability, there was some political activism during the 1930s from both party fringes,
including the NSB (Nationaal-Socialistische Beweging in Nederland), under Mussert, and the
Red Front. Both, however, performed badly in the elections of 1937 and 1939 and posed no
real challenge to Dutch democracy. More threatening were economic difficulties aggravated
by inflation in Germany, which affected the Dutch guilder. Despite a period of recovery with
the operation of the Dawes Plan in Germany, the Dutch were affected again by the Depression
from 1929 onwards as unemployment increased from 18,000 to 100,000. A particular feature
of the Dutch financial crisis was the government’s insistence on retaining the gold standard
long after other countries had abandoned it. While Britain began her recovery between 1931
and 1933, the Dutch economy suffered a decline in exports through inflated prices, with a
consequent increase in unemployment. When the Dutch government finally reversed its policy
in September 1936, a measure of recovery followed, although this was closely tied to
Germany’s rearmament – which employed large amounts of Dutch labour.
Economic issues, in turn, affected any defence programme. Throughout the period the
Netherlands expected to remain neutral in any future conflict; the government had not been
involved in the Anglo-French declaration of war on Germany in September 1939 and was
encouraged by the military inactivity of the Phoney War over the following seven months.
But there was only a real chance of Dutch neutrality if Germany’s aspirations were the same
as those in the First World War. Unfortunately, Hitler’s plans were more ambitious those of
the Kaiserreich – encompassing virtually every state in western and northern Europe. In these
circumstances the Dutch had a particular difficulty – their close connection with the German
economy. In bad times this meant that little funding was left over for rearmament. Even during
the recovery of the late 1930s a substantial proportion of the Dutch workforce was still
building German weapons and aircraft rather than for Dutch defence. Alarm signals sounded
with the German remilitarization of the Rhineland in 1936, resulting in an increase in the
defence budget from 93 million guilders in 1937 to 261 million in 1939. Even so, Dutch
weapons were outdated, while there were no tanks and only 140 aircraft. It was all too little
and too late – and with far too much assistance to a future enemy. It is true that there were
strategic preparations for a Fortress Holland north of the Maas and Waal rivers, to be created
by partial flooding. But these needed time to activate.
This was not available. On 10 May 1940 Germans launched a sudden attack, with no
formal declaration of war. Four days later the Luftwaffe bombed Rotterdam following an
ultimatum for the latter’s surrender. This, too, was based on shock tactics as bombers headed
out to sea on an apparent course for Britain, only to return and attack the key industrial
city and port. Civilian areas were deliberately targeted, with heavy casualties and extensive
destruction. After a German threat to destroy Utrecht, the Dutch High Command recognized
the futility of further resistance and surrendered on 15 May. In the meantime Queen
Wilhelmina and some of her ministers had left the country, eventually creating a government
in exile in Britain.
What were Germany’s plans for the Netherlands? Hitler saw the Dutch as racially close
to the Germans and proposed a New Order in the Reichskommissariat Niederlande. This
was to be the ‘Westland’ of German-occupied Western Europe, first in its expansion, then
its defence.15 Accordingly, Seyss-Inquart was appointed Reichskommissar of the Netherlands
with instructions to make the area an integral part of the expanded Reich. Despite denying
380 Dictatorships vs democracies

that Germany would seek to subvert Dutch beliefs and traditions, he issued orders banning
Orangist insignia and royal street names. His officials also implemented a policy removing
any non-Nazi institutions: for example, all parties were prohibited except for NSB. Seyss-
Inquart was assisted by Rauter, another Austrian Nazi, who headed the SS in the Netherlands.
Between them they squeezed everything they could out of the country. They aimed to
integrate the former Dutch forces into the military police or the Netherlands Labour Service;
they made it compulsory for every man between the ages of eighteen and forty-five to work
in German factories; and they undermined the Dutch economy by confiscating all Dutch
gold in October 1940 and debasing its silver in January 1941. Above all, the Germans
introduced extreme anti-Semitic measures: from February 1941 Dutch Jews were deported
to camps in Germany, especially Mauthausen. By the end of the war only 30,000 Jews
remained of an original population of 140,000.
The Dutch people had less leadership than some of their neighbours in how they should
react. Unlike Denmark, there was no steer from the former government, now in exile, or
from the Dutch parliament, the States General, which did not meet throughout the war. At
first, many felt that things would eventually improve under occupation – or at least that the
time had come to make the best of the inevitable German victory in Europe. In his Synthesis
of War Jan de Geer saw the hopelessness of defiance; after all, if France had also surrendered,
what could the Netherlands do other than maintain good relations with Germany? Besides,
where were the monarch and her government? For many, collaboration meant a more active
role. The Germans saw Mussert as a local force for integration, giving him the title of Leider
of the Netherlands in 1942; his NSB was the only legal party in the Netherlands and his
version of the SS was upgraded into the Standarte Westland (Land of the West Brigade).
Meanwhile, the Dutch Volunteer Legion was formed in 1941 to serve in Russia. Other units
followed, including the Landstorm (Territorial Guard) in 1943, which played an active role
against the Allied invasion from 1944. Altogether, 5,000 Dutch nationals belonged to the
Waffen-SS and 54,000 to other organizations – out of a total population of nine million.
There were, however, examples of resistance. After the initial shock of the invasion and
occupation, the Dutch population became increasingly defiant. Many doctors, architects,
lawyers and teachers resigned in protest against the Nazification of the Dutch professions.
There was an ever-growing readership for illegal newspapers and pamphlets, while Radio
Oranje used BBC transmissions to maintain contacts with the Dutch resistance. The latter
comprised numerous small groups, which were deliberately decentralized and had little
contact with each other. They became adept at forging documents, producing counterfeit
currency, printing illegal material and hiding refugees. Measures were also taken to assist
the Jews. Communists organized a protest in February 1941 against their deportation; this
eventually expanded into a strike in which all sectors of society participated. Jews were
widely assisted by the Dutch population, who concealed them in roof spaces and attics. The
German response was to issue emergency measures, which were retained until 1945.
Meanwhile, the government in exile co-ordinated resistance and intelligence through the
SOE in London, while Dutch volunteers served with the Allies and in those parts of the
merchant marine that had escaped capture during the German invasion.
Despite the Normandy landings in June 1944, the liberation of the Netherlands took
longer than expected. The initially rapid advance through France slowed as it reached the
Low Countries and Germany, stalled by the German Ardennes Offensive and the British
failure to capture Arnhem. The Dutch population had to endure the ‘Hunger Winter’ of
1944–5, which brought 30,000 deaths through starvation. Liberation came later than in other
areas and Queen Wilhelmina’s government did not return until after the general German
 Dictatorships vs democracies 381

surrender on 5 May 1945. As in France, Belgium, Norway and Denmark, collaborators were
dealt with either summarily or by judicial process: Mussert was sentenced to death and shot
in May 1946. Those involved in the German occupation were also scrutinized, Seyss-Inquart
being sentenced to death at the Nuremberg tribunal in October 1946.
The impact of the war was as severe as anywhere in western Europe. The overall cost
was 220,000 lives, the loss of 33 per cent of GDP, extensive damage to infrastructure from
bombing by both the Germans and the Allies, and deliberate destruction caused during the
German retreat in 1945. Particularly badly affected were homes, factories, bridges and
railways.
But post-war recovery was swift, within the political structure of a restored democratic
system and a more integrated economic structure.

5. Belgium
From the sixteenth century, the southern Netherlands had been ruled by one of the major
powers – Spain, Austria and France. In 1815 it was joined with the Kingdom of the
Netherlands, against which it revolted in 1830. Belgian independence had been achieved
by 1839 but, despite international recognition of its neutrality, Belgium was invaded by
German forces in August 1914 as part of the Schlieffen Plan to defeat France. In
compensation for the considerable destruction suffered during the First World War, Belgium
received reparations from Germany, along with the industrial area of Eupen-Malmédy. Her
subsequent economic problems were similar to those of most other states of the inter-war
period: with the impact of the Great Depression, unemployment reached 23.5 per cent in
1932 but dropped back to 15 per cent by 1937. Politically, it was one of Europe’s more
secure democracies, with a constitution operating on the principle of the separation but
integration of legislative, executive and judicial powers. The bicameral system comprised
the House of Representatives and Senate, the former elected every four years by men and
women over the age of twenty-one. One possible source of friction was the distinction
between the two main regions of Belgium – Flanders in the north and French-speaking
Wallonia in the south. Both areas developed far-right parties, including the Rexists and the
Flemish nationalist movement (VNV). These did not, however, threaten Belgium’s basic
political stability and the popularity of the extremists was in decline by 1939.
Despite the experience of the First World War, Belgium eventually opted to maintain
its long-standing commitment to neutrality. In the process it left behind the 1920 Treaty of
Mutual Guarantee with France, withdrew from the 1925 Locarno Pact and in 1937 accepted
an undertaking that under no circumstances would Germany invade Belgium. In this respect,
Belgium’s aspirations were similar to those of the other small democracies – Denmark, the
Netherlands, Norway and Switzerland. There was, however, additional reason for peaceful
coexistence with Nazi Germany: the Maginot Line, constructed by the French between the
wars, stopped before reaching the Ardennes, leaving the Belgian frontier with Germany
unprotected. By 1939 Belgium had accepted the inevitability of increased rearmament, which
was intensified after the declaration of war on Germany by Britain and France in September
1939. The Belgians had 650,000 troops available in 1940, more than either the British in
France or the Dutch. But this advantage was nullified by the German Blitzkrieg in May.
The Belgian air force was largely destroyed on the ground, while the recently constructed
fortifications were useless in preventing the onslaught which was only part of a more general
attack on France and the Netherlands. Nevertheless, Belgium held out for eighteen days,
longer than either the Netherlands or Denmark.
382 Dictatorships vs democracies

But this had no effect on the occupation that followed. Belgium was placed under
Militärverwaltung, or direct military rule, headed by Reeder and Falkenhausen until July
1944, then by Grohé until end of the war. The Germans exploited the differences between
the two main parts of the population, expressing a clear preference for the Flemings over
the Walloons, on the grounds that the former were more closely related to the Germans and
therefore racially ‘superior’. Most former magistrates, aldermen and burgomasters were
replaced by Degrelle’s Rexists, and by De Clerq’s Flemish Nationalists. The military
authorities also imposed an indemnity to pay for the occupation, rationed all essentials,
curtailed press and academic freedoms, and deported 375,000 Belgian labourers to Germany.
Anti-Semitic laws provided for the seizure of Jewish property and for the compulsory wearing
of the Star of David. Altogether, 25,000 Jews were eventually transported to Auschwitz
and other camps.
The policy of the Belgian leadership towards all this was less clear-cut than it was
elsewhere. The Prime Minister, Pierlot, fled abroad, first to France, then to Britain, setting
up a government in exile. Some of his fellow ministers followed his example, while others
remained in Belgium. The role of the monarchy was especially contentious. In contrast to
the Netherlands, King Leopold III decided not to go into exile and surrendered to the Germans
on 28 May, for which he was criticized by Pierlot. Leopold remained in Belgium, under
German supervision, although he was still supported by much of the population. There has
always been more controversy about the role of the monarchy in Belgium than elsewhere.
In Denmark the king stood for constitutionalism, accepted by the rest of the government
until the national uprising in 1943. By contrast, the monarchs of Luxembourg, the Netherlands
and Norway led regimes in exile. In Belgium, it is true, the monarch tried to intercede, with
some success, in reducing the harshness of the occupation. But the real test came in the
post-liberation atmosphere of 1945, when any record of co-operation with the Germans was
treated with derision. Whereas he had been praised earlier in the occupation for remaining
to carry out his responsibilities while his officials had fled abroad, he was eventually
discredited as a collaborator. Although the population opted after the war to retain
constitutional monarchy, Leopold himself was obliged to abdicate in 1950, in favour of his
son, Baudouin.
The population at large showed a broad range of responses to the occupation. The
Germans received extensive co-operation from the administration, once the key post-holders
had been replaced by Nazi sympathizers. There was also some military collaboration, an
example being Degrelle’s Légion Wallonie, which co-operated with the SS in Belgium and
also served on the eastern front. By contrast, although much of the population appreciated
the difficulties faced by the monarch and the attempts he made to ameliorate conditions,
there was widespread resentment of the occupation. Within Belgium itself opposition came
from a variety of political groups, ranging from the communists through socialists and social
democrats to conservatives. There was even dissent from some patriotic fascists, showing
that the far right was not fully united. Saboteurs destroyed bridges and railway lines and
the attack on German troops was at least as large – in proportion to the population – as in
France. Allied pilots shot down over Belgium were assisted by escape routes and with false
identity papers. Up to 20,000 Jews were also saved from the camps through concealment
by civilians. Meanwhile, the government in exile created appropriate ministries to deal with
the influx of refugees from Belgium. It conscripted all Belgians in other countries to fight
with the British army, navy or RAF. Assistance also came from the Belgian Congo in form
of volunteers and financial resources, while colonial forces played an important role against
the Italians in Abyssinia.
 Dictatorships vs democracies 383

Belgium was liberated by the Allies towards the end of 1944. But the Ardennes Offensive
caused considerable suffering before the final expulsion of German troops in February 1945.
By the end of the war some 40,000 civilians and soldiers had been killed, 12,000 political
prisoners interned, and nearly 27,000 Jews exterminated in the death camps.16 In addition,
Belgium had had to pay about 65 per cent of its national income for the expense of the
occupation and had endured major destruction, partly by Allied bombing in 1944 on German
positions and industries, and partly by the German defence in 1944–5. Belgian recovery
was assisted by measures taken towards the end of the war by the government in exile,
including the introduction of a new currency and the signing in 1944 of a new economic
agreement with representatives of Holland and Luxembourg; this was the effective beginning
of Benelux. Further developments matched those in Netherlands and Luxembourg – the
movement towards a new defence policy within NATO and economic integration in the
EEC and European Union.

6. Luxembourg
With a population of 293,000, Luxembourg was the smallest of all the democracies covered
in this chapter. The Grand Duchy leaned to the right and was strongly influenced by the
Catholic Church. It was, nevertheless, a democratic state with universal suffrage, a legislature
comprising the Council of State and the Chamber of Deputies, and a range of political
parties: apart from the period 1925–6, most governments were dominated by the Liberals
and Social Democrats. The main political threat came from the far left but a government
attempt to ban the Communist Party was rejected by a referendum in 1937.
Luxembourg’s main external threat came from Germany. This, however, seemed to have
been contained by the post-war settlement in 1919, which also enabled the Grand Duchy
to pursue a policy of neutrality as a member of the League of Nations. At the same time,
it maintained friendly relations with the Weimar Republic and then with Nazi Germany.
But the warning signs came with the German remilitarization of the Rhineland (1936) and
occupation of Austria (1938) and Bohemia (1939). Luxembourg’s main concern was its
complete lack of any defences. By 1939 Germany had reinforced its gun emplacements
along the border – until these commanded a view of the entire country. After a temporary
reprieve during the Phoney War (September 1939 until April 1940), Luxembourg was
swamped in May by the German invasion. 47,000 refugees blocked the roads westwards,
while the Grand Duchess and her government fled, first to France and then to Britain, where
they set up in exile.
Germany condemned Luxembourg to oblivion as a separate entity and a nation state.
More extreme measures were taken than elsewhere in western Europe: these were concerned
not just with pacification and occupation but with racial ‘purification’. Himmler considered
that the population had been ‘polluted’, with the result that Luxembourg came closer than
any other western European country to being systematically ‘cleansed’, albeit on a much
smaller scale than happened in eastern Europe. The German People’s Movement
(Volksdeutsche Bewegung or VDB) was used to convert or intimidate the population. Heavy
restrictions were imposed on other ethnic influences and the French language was banned,
as were French greetings and names. Meanwhile, the economy was completely absorbed
and transfers enforced to supplement the labour force in Germany. Above all, much of the
population was threatened with deportation. Jews were sent to their deaths in Germany,
while two-thirds of the remaining Luxembourgers were intended for eventual deportation
to the Ukraine as part of Himmler’s measures against non-Aryans. Newcomer summarizes
384 Dictatorships vs democracies

the overall impact of such measures: ‘The brutal German policy of absorbing Luxembourg
into the German state cost the Luxembourg citizenry the highest proportion of people sent
to concentration camps, people imprisoned and people deported of all the countries of
Europe.’17
The population was too small to try to resist the German invasion or absorption.
Nevertheless, it opted from the start for other forms of non-cooperation and did not, like
Denmark, try to develop a constitutional coexistence with Germany. When a plebiscite was
arranged in October 1941, 97 per cent of the electorate opposed welcoming German rule.
This result was ignored as Luxembourgers were made German nationals and 12,000 called
up to the German army. The reaction to this was a general strike called in 1942 and over
one-quarter of those enlisted failed to report. Only 2,000 joined the German army voluntarily,
far fewer than those who served with the Allies, in the RAF and Royal Navy. Many also
fought in the Belgian Brigade or with the Belgian resistance.
Wartime Luxembourg was particularly affected by two contrasting experiences. One was
the intensity of the German occupation between 1940 and 1944. The other was the Ardennes
Offensive between 1944 and 1945. The former had violated the integrity of Luxembourg
but had prevented wholesale devastation. The latter incurred greater destruction but offered
the prospect of liberation. The ‘Battle of the Bulge’ was one of the major battles of the
Second World War and the largest ever fought on Luxembourg soil, causing desolation
across half the country. It did, however, fatally weaken German resistance in the west; it
also ensured that Luxembourg would be one of the first countries in western Europe to see
the end of German rule.

7. France
France became a dictatorship as a direct result of military defeat by Germany in 1940 and
the overthrow of the Third Republic. It is difficult to see how fascism could have come to
power in any other way.
France did, of course, have several anti-democratic influences. It is sometimes seen as
the seedbed of fascism with the convergence of ideas from the far left (Sorel) and far
right (Maurras). There was also a strong undercurrent of nationalism, militarism and anti-
Semitism, the Dreyfus case pulling all three together during the 1890s. In the 1930s,
France was inclined towards appeasing right-wing dictatorships, especially Mussolini over
Abyssinia and Hitler over the Sudetenland. Yet in no way could it be argued that France
by 1940 was on the verge of becoming a dictatorship herself. There was no more of a threat
to democracy from the far right within France than in Belgium, the Netherlands and Britain.
Indeed, France managed to sustain democracy throughout the inter-war period. Although
there were periods of political turbulence, these were navigated by broad-based governments
of either the right or the left, including the Bloc National under Clemenceau (1919), the
Cartel des Gauches under Herriot (1924), Poincaré’s National Union (1926) and Blum’s
Popular Front (1936). As for appeasement, France always acted in conjunction with Britain.
During the Spanish Civil War, the French governments were sympathetic towards the
Republicans – but were warned by London that no British support would be forthcoming
if France were to become embroiled. Similarly, Daladier was not unwilling to assist
Czechoslovakia in 1938 but not without the support that Chamberlain was desperately anxious
not to give.
What actually destroyed the democracy within the Third Republic was the most
catastrophic military reverse in the whole of France’s history. This resulted from the triumph
 Dictatorships vs democracies 385

of the German Blitzkrieg offensive over the French defensive system based on the Maginot
Line. The rapidity of French defeat, which occurred in under six weeks, took everyone by
surprise, Britain included. Prime Minister Reynaud, who had succeeded Daladier in March,
resigned on 16 June. A new government, under Marshal Pétain, a hero of the First World
War, secured an armistice on 22 June. This had echoes of the Treaty of Versailles imposed
on Germany in 1919. For example, France was required to pay an indemnity and the costs
of German occupation while, at the same time, having to reduce her army to 100,000.
Altogether, France was forced to pay 60 per cent of her national income to Germany.
Conquest was also followed by partition. Alsace-Lorraine was returned to the Reich; the
departments of Pas-de-Calais and Nord were placed under military occupation; and other
parts of north-eastern France were assigned to Germany – after their population had been
‘rebalanced’. The bulk of France was divided into two main areas. The north, comprising
the Atlantic coast and its interior, was placed under immediate German occupation, while
a ‘free zone’ based on Vichy was established in the south. Nominally Vichy provided the
government for all of France – but the northern part of the Pétain regime was entirely
subordinate to the German occupation. Between the two areas rigid border controls were
imposed and any access between them required official permission and papers. From late
1942 distinctions between the two areas were removed as the Germans occupied Vichy on
the same terms as the rest of France.
The collaborationist regime therefore covered the whole of France in theory while, in
practice, governing only the southern part based on Vichy. Its credibility was based almost
entirely on the reputation and leadership of Marshal Pétain, who expected unconditional
loyalty and obedience: ‘You, the French people, must follow me without reservation on the
paths of honour and national interest.’ According to the anthem of the regime, the Marshal
was ‘France’s saviour’. Furthermore, ‘we, your men, we swear to serve you and follow in
your footsteps. For Pétain is France, and France is Pétain’.18 The message of Pétain was
that France had to undergo an ‘intellectual and moral revival’.19 He focused on a ‘National
Revolution’, the tone of which was unmistakably authoritarian, with the emphasis on ‘work,
family, country’, rather than ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’. The democratic past was
denounced, especially the Third Republic, which was held to have brought France to defeat
and ruin.
Pétain was served by a succession of subordinates. Laval was Foreign Minister until
December 1940, when he was succeeded by Flandin who, in turn, gave way to Admiral
Darlan. Laval proved the most resilient, returning as Prime Minister in April 1942. He
believed in the vital importance of the closest co-operation with Germany, which would
eventually create a New European Order, under German control but in partnership with
France. Meanwhile this most virulently anti-Semitic of Vichy’s leaders was a major influence
behind the persecution of France’s Jews and other minorities. He also drove the more extreme
social changes sought by the National Revolution. He emphasized that France had been
defeated because it had been ‘feminized’ by the Third Republic: women were blamed for
the population stagnation which had placed France in military peril, the reason being their
preference for employment and independence. Such influences had to be reversed by the
restoration of male dominance and the emphasis on the family.
The ideological basis of the National Revolution is debatable. The policies of Vichy
were largely traditional but also influenced by the radical right. In some respects, they were
a combination of the two. Pétain always asserted the importance of Charles Maurras and
Action française rather than of Nazi or Italian Fascist influences. There may well be
something in this and the original contributions of France to fascism have already been
386 Dictatorships vs democracies

noted. Any corporatism in the National Revolution therefore came largely from French
origins, enhanced by traditional values which were strongly reasserted after the fall of the
Third Republic and supported by Catholic Church. Yet there was also an ideological
connection with Germany, which owed more to Laval than to Pétain. Laval maintained that
‘parliamentary democracy has lost the war; it must disappear, ceding its place to an
authoritarian, hierarchical, national and social regime’.20 This was a clear indication of Laval’s
open sympathy with Nazi ideas. According to Ousby, ‘The National Revolution was also,
if not fascist, close enough to being fascist to tempt its architects into believing it would
win France the respect of the Reich and, with that respect, a worthy place in the new European
Order’.21 The Vichy regime was certainly a dictatorship: the constitution and the leadership
of Pétain could be described as authoritarian, with totalitarian influences injected by Germany
through Laval.
How successful was the Vichy regime – at least in its early stages? There is some evidence
to show that Pétain was popular in 1940, offering as he appeared to do a way out of total
defeat and disaster. He remained more moderate than Laval and retained some links with
the previous regime – such as the Marseillaise. He received strong backing from the Catholic
Church, which had never been a strong supporter of the Third Republic and now saw Pétain’s
leadership as ‘providential’. According to Christofferson, ‘Vichy was the revenge of the
Church, in many respects’.22 Yet every apparent success in the regime’s policies was
cancelled by more obvious shortcomings. Women benefited from better provision for
antenatal assistance but their role in society was adversely affected by a wave of official
antifeminism. It was also impossible to enforce the laws restricting women’s labour because
of the shortage of men and the fact that over a million of the armed forces captured in 1940
remained in captivity in Germany until the end of the war. Although the National Revolution
showed more interest in the culture and traditions of rural France and attempted to revive
the economic influence of a self-sufficient peasantry, this conflicted with German aims to
control agricultural production for its own uses. The working class also found itself worse
off under Vichy, again because of German pressures. Pétain’s Labour Charter of September
1941 had aimed to end class conflict but was overwhelmingly rejected by the workforce as
a hollow system which imposed restrictions on the right to strike. As for the constitution,
this was seen as too mystical, vague and anti-Third Republic. Instead, administration
depended on the system of prefects which pre-dated that regime and, indeed, it predecessors.
But this was, in itself, a problem because of the conflict between the local prefects and the
central government. The latter was underpinned by the paramilitary Légion française, which
took an oath of personal allegiance to Pétain, then by the fascist Milice, installed after the
German takeover in 1943. ‘Inevitably, it seems, the military state that Pétain believed was
the answer to France’s decline was based on nothing less than brute force.’23
There can be no question about the extent of persecution inflicted by the Vichy regime.
The slogan of the National Revolution, ‘Work, Family, Fatherland’, unlike the earlier
‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’, excluded identifiable minorities like foreigners, Gypsies,
Freemasons and, above all, Jews. The Germans actually received more co-operation from
the Vichy government than from Paris, even though the latter was more directly under
German control. This was demonstrated by a series of measures emanating from Vichy. In
July 1940 citizenship was revoked for naturalized Jews, while in October laws were issued
to intern foreign-born Jews in camps. All Jews were excluded from public office, teaching
and most professions. By 1941 they were also being deprived of their property through a
process of ‘Aryanization’ and the Statuts des Juifs (June 1941) took anti-Semitism to a new
level. Most of these measures followed those introduced in Occupied France – without the
 Dictatorships vs democracies 387

need for any pressure on the Vichy authorities by the Germans. By the summer of 1942
the Vichy authorities were also assisting the transportation of Jews to death camps. Out of
the total of 330,000 Jews in France in 1939, 75,000 were eventually rounded up and sent
to Auschwitz, and smaller numbers to other camps.24 Some 30,000 survived through rescue
operations, 50,000 escaped from France and 150,000 survived without help.
There are several insights into the treatment of Jews in France under the occupation.
One is the strength of anti-Semitism there even before the German conquest. This is
emphasized by McMillan: ‘Vichy’s anti-Semitism was entirely home-grown and in certain
respects even exceeded German requirements.’ He also argues that Vichy showed a
‘willingness to go much further than the previous regime, partly in order to curry favour
with the Germans but more to try to lend substance to its claims to be an autonomous state,
aspiring to exercise influence even in the occupied zone’.25 On the other hand, the overall
percentage of Jews who died in the camps was lower in France than elsewhere. This was
because the pace of the rounding-up and deportation slowed substantially after 1942. Taking
this into consideration, Christofferson argues that ‘France’s record of saving German Jews
from extermination was one of the best of all European nations, far better, for example,
than the Netherlands’.26 Yet any such limitation was based less on humanitarian
considerations than on Vichy’s awareness from 1942 of its increasing subordination to
Germany and its alienation from public opinion, which had accepted earlier anti-Semitic
laws but not the deportations. The main thought of the government was for the consequences
of a backlash, either of a German takeover or of a popular rebellion. In the end, Laval
thought he had found the solution – of using co-operation with the Germans as a means of
extracting concessions and prolonging Vichy’s autonomy. This may have slowed the
deportations but it did not prevent the flood of public opinion away from the regime.
The reason for this was the growing resistance to the regime and the threat from outside.
Up to 1942 Vichy had kept at least the pretence of independence and had even possessed
colonies in North Africa. These, however, were conquered by British and American troops
and the Vichy government was deprived of any significant role. Many Frenchmen therefore
switched their support to internal opposition movements. In Vichy the fight was no longer
against old enemies like capitalists, communists or republicans. Instead, the target was now
the collaborator. With this came the emphasis on the future liberation of France. The
dominating nature of the Vichy regime actually provoked the growth of this new resistance.
Kedward argues: ‘Had Vichy been less authoritarian, less dogmatic, and less repressive this
might have been avoided or at least delayed.’27 He adds: ‘Resistance was thus a political
response to political provocation as well as patriotic response to a national crisis.’28 The
main groups which developed in the southern zone were Combat and Libération. By January
1943 these had been united into the Mouvements Unis de la Resistance (MUR). A similar
process brought together a more complex pattern of resistance in the northern zone, where
the earlier divergence between small groups like Libération-Nord and Front National gave
way in March 1943 to the Conseil National de la Résistance (CNR). A key factor in the
growing convergence was the reduction of aggressive competition between different interests.
A specific example of this was the Communists. Initially compromised by the tortuous
diplomacy between Hitler and Stalin between 1939 and 1941, they had not been able to
agree with the other groups a stance against the German occupation. This, of course, changed
with the German invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941. In addition, the dissolution of
Comintern meant that the Communist resistance could abandon the earlier priority of internal
revolution and co-operate in the national task of evicting the external enemy. Other groups,
too, modified their own specific aims in the pursuit of a more common objective.
388 Dictatorships vs democracies

Internal resistance needed external co-ordination and leadership. This was provided by
de Gaulle, a junior general in the French army who left for exile in Britain and broadcast
his intentions on the BBC on 18 June 1940. At first he had to struggle against the popularity
of Pétain and his own obscurity as one of the lesser-known generals claiming to represent
France. He also found it difficult to get on with Churchill and was thoroughly disliked by
Roosevelt, who refused to recognize him as the future leader of France. For a while he had
to struggle for leadership against General Giraud, preferred by the Americans. But, through
strength of character and perseverance, de Gaulle eventually increased his credibility. He
insisted that the Vichy government had no legitimacy since it had not been confirmed by
the electorate: it was merely a client state of Germany. Eventually de Gaulle benefited from
the declining credibility of Pétain and the Vichy regime, as well from the advance of the
Allies across North Africa. His influence grew, even though, in theory, he shared the
leadership of the resistance with Giraud after their reconciliation in 1943. De Gaulle was
actually preferred by movements within France. His emissary, Moulin, established essential
links between internal and external resistance, and forged closer co-operation between
different groups and between north and south – in the United Movements of Resistances
(MUR) and National Resistance Council (CNR). Moulin also persuaded most of groups,
including Communists, to accept de Gaulle as the successor to Pétain and the alternative
to Giraud. De Gaulle was therefore directly involved in both the liberation and the post-
liberation government of France.
German defeat became increasingly likely as a result of events on the eastern front and
in North Africa from 1942–3 onwards. At first the German response was to intensify their
control through the direct occupation of southern sector in November 1942. This meant the
end of Vichy’s autonomy and tightened controls over the population through the creation
of the Milice, the use of special courts martial to deal swiftly with any form of resistance
or opposition, and the imposition of compulsory labour in Germany through the Service du
Travail Obligatoire (STO), a major factor in the strengthening of the resistance. The
beginning of the end for German rule in France came with the invasion by the Western
Allies in 1944, the north falling in June and the south in August. Official collaboration
under Pétain continued until the end of the war in May 1945. He and Laval were forced to
go to Germany as the Vichy government in exile in August 1944 to avoid falling into the
hands of the Allies in France. Meanwhile de Gaulle was allowed by the British and
Americans to liberate Paris. He subsequently introduced a Provisional Government in
August 1944, based on the Commissaires de la République who replaced the previous
officials of Vichy. Different sectors of the resistance were integrated into the regular armed
forces and special Courts of Justice dealt with collaborators. The new regime was recognized
by both the United Kingdom and the United States, which France now joined as the third
western allied power. As such, France participated in the post-war settlement and was
included in the zoning arrangements for defeated Germany. President Roosevelt, however,
remained convinced that de Gaulle was a possible danger. He pointed to certain authoritarian
tendencies and warned that de Gaulle might set up another dictatorship.
Time was to show that de Gaulle avoided this trap, settling instead for a leadership that
was paternalist but firmly rooted in democracy. France was returned to pre-war democratic
values, shorn of Vichy and Pétainist traditionalist structures but with a stronger emphasis on
authority and leadership embodied in de Gaulle himself. But it took time to discover this
fully in the transition from the Fourth to Fifth Republics. De Gaulle’s first presidency was
short, ending with his resignation in January 1946. The Fourth Republic, with its constrained
executive, weak presidency and strong prime minister, was not to his liking. Without him
 Dictatorships vs democracies 389

France experienced some successes down to 1959, with movement into the EEC and
membership of NATO. But there were also significant failures over Indo-China, Suez and
Algeria. When he returned to power with strengthened presidential powers in 1959 he
associated the new Fifth Republic with a distinctive Gaullist approach. On the one hand, he
gave up French power through decolonization and Algerian independence. On the other, he
reclaimed French sovereignty by partially withdrawing from NATO, imposing conditions
on the EEC and developing an independent nuclear deterrent for France. Until his resignation
in 1968 de Gaulle remained suspicious of both the United States and the United Kingdom
while, at the same time, being the most willing of western leaders to improve relations with
East Germany and the Soviet Union. The difficulties he had experienced as leader of the
French resistance undoubtedly influenced his post-war policies and statesmanship.

THREE DEMOCRACIES MARGINALIZED

Three democracies managed to remain neutral during the Second World War, avoiding
military occupation and retaining their own identity and political institutions. The cost,
however, was high. They were affected by the conflict around them and, in their isolation,
threatened with the constant prospect of invasion. Each found its own way of coming to
terms with prolonged crisis.

1. Switzerland
Swiss democracy was a traditional federation of cantons overlaid with modern freedoms,
although with one important exception: it was the only country in Europe to exclude women
from the franchise. Its organic development was a compromise between the different
linguistic groups, which was assisted by a growing rapport between French and German
parts of Switzerland, in contrast to the obvious rift between them during the First World
War. In the 1930s and early 1940s there was little support for Nazi Germany and political
extremism did not flourish – whether on the right or the left. Ever since the end of the
Napoleonic wars in 1815 Switzerland had also maintained a tradition of neutrality; despite
occasional incursions by combatants in other conflicts, it suffered no actual invasion.
Switzerland’s determination to protect the integrity of both federalism and neutrality did
not, however, mean unconditional co-operation with its more powerful neighbours. At first
it depended on frontier fortifications – although less elaborate than those of Czechoslovakia
and France. But events of 1938–40 showed how vulnerable such static defences were
against the might of the German Blitzkrieg. After the fall of France, Swiss military strategy
changed from resisting the enemy at the frontier to falling back to the Alpine core within
Switzerland. Preparations were made for a war of attrition from a réduit national (National
Redoubt) – which would control the communications through Switzerland. The purpose
was to emphasize how costly an invasion would be to any potential aggressor. According
to Huber, chief of General Staff, ‘In our situation there can only be one aim, to resist as
long as possible’. He added ‘We want to go down fighting, leaving the aggressor only a
totally devastated country without material or human resources of any kind.’29
Although it had several times considered dealing with Switzerland, Germany had never
followed through the invasion plan it had drawn up, Operation Tannenbaum. In part it was
deterred by the Swiss réduit strategy, which would be so much more difficult to overcome
than rolling across weakened and outdated fixed defences elsewhere. In any case, tempting
as it might be to incorporate Switzerland into the Reich, little support could be expected
390 Dictatorships vs democracies

from the German majority there. There was also a matter of priorities. Germany was already
preoccupied – first with the invasion of western Europe, then with reversing Italian failures
in the Balkans and north Africa, and finally expanding eastwards beyond Poland. There
was never a sufficient hiatus to invade Switzerland since the maximum German expansion
overlapped the beginning of the Soviet fight-back. Switzerland was also of questionable
strategic importance. After the Anschluss, Germany bordered on its ally, Italy, and had
direct access to the Balkans. Once France was conquered in 1940, Switzerland could
therefore be left in isolation. It was easier to live with this – provided the Allies also respected
Swiss neutrality – than to invest the considerable resources that would be necessary for
Switzerland’s conquest. Indeed, the Swiss would probably retaliate by blowing up the
Gotthard rail tunnel, depriving Germany of its most direct means of providing Italy with
coal supplies. In these circumstances, it is not hard to see why von Weizsäcker, at the German
Foreign Office, called Switzerland ‘an indigestible lump’.30
To an extent, therefore, Switzerland was saved from invasion by external circumstances.
Nevertheless it remained highly vulnerable, surrounded by Axis powers and heavily
dependent on Germany economically. This conditioned some of its policies, at least until
1944. Between September 1939 and August 1943 imports from Germany totalled 2.258
billion Swiss francs while exports to Germany were worth 1.972 billion. During the whole
war period, the Reichsbank deposited 1.638 billion in Swiss banks; according to Steinberg,
‘Switzerland, by acting as a reserve bank for the Germans, had done very handsomely out
of the war’.31 There was, however, a cost. Switzerland’s trade with Britain suffered a sharp
decline and there was pressure within Britain for punitive measures. In 1940 the British
Foreign Office had to resist proposals by the Ministry of Economic Warfare to include
Switzerland within the scope of the economic blockade. Pressure was put on Swiss companies
following a sudden increase in Swiss exports to Germany in 1941. There were particularly
strong British complaints about the more sensitive exports to the Axis. Lord Lovatt, for
example, told the Swiss ambassador that exports for ‘the equipment of the German war
machine’ were contributing to ‘the loss of Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen in battle, and
to the aerial attacks on this country’.32 His pressure eventually succeeded, as Swiss exports
to Germany dropped between1944 and 1945.
Despite these rough patches, relations between Switzerland and the Allies, especially
Britain, were basically positive. Switzerland was held in higher esteem by Churchill than
were the other neutrals – Sweden and Ireland. In October 1944 Stalin tried to persuade
Churchill to send Allied troops through Switzerland to surprise Germany from the rear.
Churchill refused to countenance the proposal, in contrast to the real consideration given
in February 1940 by the Allied War Council to the occupation of central Sweden. In a
minute to the Foreign Secretary, Churchill went so far as to say: ‘Of all the neutrals,
Switzerland has the greatest right to distinction.’ He continued: ‘She has been a democratic
state, standing for freedom in self-defence among her mountains, and in thought, in spite
of race, largely on our side.’33 Despite the economic predicament imposed by their isolation,
the Swiss remained largely pro-British – partly because they were also hostile to Germany,
fiercely independent and committed to democratic traditions. An underlying sympathy for
the Allied cause ensured that Switzerland was a reliable sanctuary for escaped prisoners-
of-war. Admittedly, there were complaints about the occasional bombing mistakes made
by the RAF and USAF through accidental incursions into Swiss territory, but these were
far fewer than those issued against the Luftwaffe. The Swiss even took measures to prevent
the latter, providing a constant source of irritation to the German government and periodically
reigniting the argument for a German invasion.
 Dictatorships vs democracies 391

Overall, Switzerland did manage to survive the considerable threats to its existence and
integrity. But, in the process, she made substantial compromises. De Salis has aptly summar-
ized her dilemma: ‘The immediate threat of the Fascist and National Socialist ideologies and
our entrenchment in our redoubt during the last war forced us to make a virtue of necessity
and to concentrate passionately on the defence of our own particular and inviolate existence.’34

2. Sweden
During the seventeenth century Sweden had established herself as one the major powers of
Europe, spreading her control over the Baltic and into Germany. By 1721 defeat by Russia
in the Great Northern War had forced a more circumspect attitude to its neighbours.
Subsequently she lost Finland to Russia in 1809 and was forced to acknowledge the
independence of Norway in 1905. Military strength and expansion therefore gave way to
the twin themes of constitutionalism and neutrality, which Sweden saw no reason to change
during the twentieth century. A fully parliamentary system emerged in 1918, when elections
based on universal suffrage were added to the bicameral Riksdag formed in 1867. Most
governments were based on coalitions since no party – Conservatives, Liberals or Social
Democrats – held a majority, especially during the 1920s and early 1930s. Parties of the
extreme right and left fared badly: the Nationalsocialistiska arbetarepartei never achieved
more than 0.7 per cent of the national vote – thereby failing to qualify for any seats in
parliament,35 while the Communists were divided and represented no real threat to their
main rivals on the left, the Social Democrats.
Between 1914 and 1939 Sweden had a mixed record. Although one of Europe’s seven
neutrals during the First World War, she suffered from the British blockade against Germany
which provoked severe rationing and food riots. A period of recovery and consolidation
during the 1920s was followed by another downturn, with the Wall Street Crash, the Great
Depression and rising unemployment. A second recovery was tied to a tightened economic
link with Germany, in the form of iron-ore exports which were used to strengthen Germany’s
industrial growth and rearmament. The economic advantages to Sweden of this trade were
sufficient to offset any opposition to the Nazi regime. More than ever, Sweden appeared
to have committed herself to the path of neutrality, albeit with her defences strengthened
by a new programme launched in 1936.
The Second World War was a greater challenge to Swedish security than the First. Two
developments were of particular concern: the Russian attacks on Finland in the Winter War
of 1939–40 and the German invasion of Norway in April 1940. Although public opinion
was strongly behind its neighbours – and former provinces – the Swedish government decided
on strict neutrality. Sweden’s dilemma was magnified by the complexity of its strategic
situation. The most direct threat to Sweden came from Germany – but only if Russia
succeeded in taking over Finland. If Russia could be contained, in whatever way, Germany
would be more likely to respect Swedish neutrality. If Finland’s neutrality could not be
sustained against the threat of Russia, then the best of a series of bad options would be to
accept the inevitability of Germany’s aid to Finland. Otherwise, if the USSR managed to
conquer Finland it was quite possible that Germany would make a similar move on Sweden
to prevent complete Soviet domination of the Baltic. At the same time, Sweden had to
restrict her connections with Germany in order to avoid the possibility of retaliation from
Britain, a very real possibility in 1939 and always a threat after 1940. The situation became
especially difficult during the Continuation War between Finland and Russia, which
overlapped Hitler’s invasion of Russia in 1941 and growing British support for Stalin.
392 Dictatorships vs democracies

Sweden therefore had to perform a delicate balancing act which required a degree of
opportunism and ruthlessness to maintain. This was in contrast with Denmark, which
accepted German occupation to maintain its existence, and Norway, which tried to resist.
Perhaps Sweden had more in common with Finland and Britain, where opportunism and
ruthlessness were also key influences; except that these, unlike Sweden, defied their enemies
and risked everything in the process. Instead, Sweden chose to come to terms with Nazi
Germany over two key issues – transit arrangements and continued trade in strategic
materials.
At first Sweden tried to reject German demands for automatic permission for rail transit
across her territory. But the Swedish government feared German invasion if all such
arrangements were rejected and persuaded the Riksdag to accept limited transit facilities.
These applied initially to medical supplies, then to armaments and to troops on leave. But
the agreement covered much more than was immediately apparent, allowing for the transport,
to Norway and Finland, of a total of two million German troops and 75,000 railway
wagonloads of armaments.36 After the outbreak of the Continuation War between Finland
and Russia, permission was also given for the movement of the Engelbrecht Division across
Sweden in June 1941. Sweden complied, not least to save democratic process. The reasoning
was also that Germany looked like winning the war – so what was the alternative? The
economic situation was equally sensitive. Geographically, Sweden was vulnerable to German
control over the Baltic – at least in the early stages of the war. This meant that the Allies
could not guarantee any effective protection for Swedish commerce, any disruption of which
would have a profound effect on the Swedish economy. This, in turn, would have two side-
effects. One would be the growth of internal social unrest. The other would be the reduction
of resources to spend on rearmament to reinforce Swedish neutrality. Concessions to
Germany therefore appeared to be an essential component of Swedish neutrality.
Until, that is, Germany’s changing prospects induced a rethink by the Swedish
government. From 1943 onwards there was an increasing possibility that Germany would
lose the war. The main implication of this was a shift from co-operation with Germany to
a closer relationship with the Allies. This had to be gradual as Sweden was still committed
to remaining outside the war. Eventually, however, Allied pressure told. From 1943 Sweden
reduced its iron exports to Germany and, in 1944, ended its transit agreements over the
transport of German troops. In 1944 there was strong pressure from the Allies to cut further
the supplies to Germany, especially iron ore and ball bearings, and to close Swedish ports
to German shipping. The last two years of the war also saw a change in Swedish policy
towards Norway and Denmark. Sweden feared the possibility of chaos in the event of German
withdrawal. Denmark and Norway requested military help but Sweden wanted to maintain
its neutrality and not be drawn into the war at a late stage or provoke a German occupation.
Instead, Sweden assisted the training of Norwegian and Danish ‘police’ to maintain internal
order and stability – but not troops to fight against the Germans. There was, nevertheless,
unofficial contact at lower military levels and from February 1945 the Norwegian police
reserve camp in Sweden started to train recruits to the Norwegian resistance, providing
instruction in sabotage and use of weapons. There were also positive features to Sweden’s
adjustment: one was that she became a refugee haven. Sweden welcomed Jews fleeing the
Holocaust, including 7,500 from Denmark in October 1943. She provided for a total of
193,000 refugees by the end of 1944, including 80,000 Finns, 43,000 Norwegians and 18,000
Danes.37
Her strategic position gave Sweden a unique opportunity for survival while, at the same
time, making it difficult to exercise genuine neutrality. She managed a successful – but
 Dictatorships vs democracies 393

tainted – legacy, the proportions of the mixture depending on the viewpoint of the beholder.
The Swedish establishment remained sensitive about the way other countries perceived
Sweden’s role, opting on the whole for the case based on ‘small state realism’. Gilmour
has summarized the main tenets of this as: ‘national independence’; the ‘welfare and survival
of the Swedish people’; the strength of ‘German military hegemony over Sweden’; and
making concessions only ‘where they were essential’. Finally, ‘neutrality was bent but not
broken’ and, throughout the war, ‘national unity was paramount’.38 Alternative views were
apparent from the beginning. Churchill was especially critical of Sweden’s relations with
Germany, while being prepared to overlook similar concessions made in Switzerland’s
continued trade with the Germans. Kenney wrote in 1946: ‘The Swedes who were most
guilty of what was in effect a pro-German policy will soon be claiming that Swedish neutrality
gave the Allies the victory!’39 More recently, individual Swedes have challenged the usual
orthodoxy; in 1991 Boëthius maintained that: ‘One country that did not lift a finger to stop
the Nazis’ war and conquests was Sweden.’40 The controversy will doubtless continue but
‘small state realism’ continues to provide a strong case. Gilmour’s angle is that ‘Sweden
prudently looked after its own interests and spurned the tutelage of the self-interested and
evidently untrustworthy combatants’.41

3. Eire
Ireland had been partitioned in 1922, with all except part of Ulster becoming independent
as the Irish Free State (known as Eire from 1937 onwards). Technically it was still a dominion
within the British Empire. Yet it was the only part of the empire not to join the war against
the Axis powers. The Irish Taoiseach (prime minister), de Valera, announced in February
1939 that he was determined ‘to preserve our neutrality in the event of war’.42 This remained
unchanged after the fall of the democracies in western Europe. In July 1940 he told the
New York Times that ‘We do not wish to become the base for attack by any power upon
any other power. We do not have the slightest intention of abandoning our neutrality’.43
The most obvious reason for this decision was Ireland’s weakness. By contrast with the
other neutrals – Switzerland and Sweden – Ireland could not realistically have hoped to
defend itself. Its army was limited to just under 7,500 regulars, clearly intended to maintain
internal order. The air force consisted of four fighters and the navy of two patrol boats.
Why, therefore, should Ireland make the ultimate sacrifice of its very existence by allying
with Britain – especially since the struggle for independence from Britain was still very
much within the national memory? Besides, there was still a complication over the future:
the partition of Ireland meant that the six out of the nine counties of the historic province
of Ulster remained in the United Kingdom. Fighting alongside Britain would involve an
alliance which would, in turn, amount to the recognition of the separation of the north from
the main part of Ireland. What could Ireland possibly add to Britain’s struggle with Germany?
The Royal Navy would safeguard the Atlantic approaches with or without Ireland’s
involvement and could, in the process, manage without a lease-back of the treaty ports of
Cóbh, Castletown Bere and Lough Swilly (retained by Britain in 1921 but given up in
1938). Finally, it was clear in the early stages of the war that Hitler wanted to patch up the
differences between Germany and Britain. If this did happen, Ireland’s involvement would
have been unnecessary as well as futile.
What kind of neutrality did Ireland pursue? For several reasons, it could never be
absolute. Unlike Switzerland and Sweden, no special treaties were involved. Nor was there
a commitment to any anti-British cause, as had often been demanded during the First World
394 Dictatorships vs democracies

War by radical republicans; all resistance to Britain had been ended by the compromise of
the Irish Free State. The worst scenario would be the occupation of Ireland by Germany in
the wake of a conquest of Britain. Not surprisingly, there was a clear preference for the
survival of Britain and a return to the status quo. Hence Irish neutrality was often described
as ‘biased’ towards Britain. There were practical examples of this. Information was passed
on to Britain from Irish intelligence sources and there was some co-operation between
Britain’s MI5 and the Irish G2. Allied pilots crashing in Ireland were immediately released,
while German pilots were interned for the rest of the war. Irish fire brigades were used to
assist Belfast in the spring of a 1941 after German bombing raid. According to de Valera,
‘any help we can give in the present time we will give them wholeheartedly, believing that
were the circumstances reversed, they would also give us their help wholeheartedly’.44 And,
most striking of all, 124,500 men and 58,000 women went to join the workforce in Northern
Ireland and Great Britain during the war and 38,500 volunteers joined the armed forces.
Such concessions have been explained in two very different ways. George Bernard Shaw
maintained that neutrality was a ‘crack-brained idea’, but that ‘de Valera got away with
it’.45 A more positive view has been advanced by the historian J.P. Duggan: ‘Through it
all de Valera managed to give the Irish people the only type of neutrality that was attainable.’46
Internal reactions to neutrality showed a similar divergence of opinion. Most members
of parliament and ministers within the government saw de Valera’s approach as the only
one possible. This applied also to part of public opinion; increasingly, however, public
sympathy increased for the Allies, along with reservations about neutrality. This was
reflected in – or led by – writers and the press. Samuel Beckett preferred France at war to
Ireland at peace.47 Writers like the novelist Frank O’Connor wrote in 1942 that Ireland was
‘a non-entity state entirely divorced from the rest of the world’.48 There was a sense of
cultural isolation against which many emergent writers now fought: a war for the Irish mind
seemed to parallel the controversy over neutrality in the political war. A small minority,
however, wanted further distance from Britain, or even more active measures against it.
Some were drawn to listen to the ‘Germany calling’ broadcasts of William Joyce (Lord
Haw Haw) and there was a revival of IRA bombing campaigns in Britain.
External reactions tended to be strongly critical. Churchill complained of the ‘so-called
neutrality of so-called Eire’.49 In particular, ‘The fact that we cannot use the South and
West coasts of Ireland to refuel our flotillas and aircraft, and thus protect the trade by which
Ireland as well as Britain lives’ was ‘a most grievous burden and one which should never
have been placed on our shoulders, broad though they be’.50 During the latter stage of the
war there were increased fears about security risks posed by Irish members of the British
workforce, while travel was stopped between Britain and Ireland in March 1944. This was
announced by Churchill in the House of Commons as ‘the first step in a policy designed
to isolate Great Britain from Southern Ireland and to isolate Southern Ireland from the outer
world during the critical period which is now approaching’.51 Once the war had ended,
Churchill gave vent to his real feelings about Ireland. Criticizing Ireland’s refusal to give
the British access to airfield and ports, he added: ‘This was indeed a deadly moment in our
life, and if it had not been for the loyalty and friendship of Northern Ireland, we should
have been forced to come to close quarters with Mr de Valera, or perish for ever from the
earth.’52 In contrast to Britain, the United States showed sympathy with Ireland’s right to
neutrality. There had been considerable historic support for Ireland’s cause against Britain,
strengthened, of course, by the considerable Irish presence in the United States. From the
time of the American entry into the war, however, opinion shifted firmly in favour of Ireland
contributing more to the war effort. The US government became especially critical of
 Dictatorships vs democracies 395

the number of foreign missions in Ireland, accusing Ireland of pursuing a neutrality that
favoured the Axis powers. In February 1944 the US Ambassador to Ireland demanded
‘the removal of these Axis representatives, whose presence in Ireland must inevitably be
regarded as constituting a danger to the lives of American soldiers and to the success of
Allied military operations’.53 The Soviet reaction was the most critical of all. Foreign
Minister Gromyko vetoed Ireland’s accession to the United Nations in 1946 on the grounds
that Ireland’s relations with fascist regimes was ‘hardly calculated to help her to admission’
of that body.54
One of the advantages of neutrality was that the countries concerned had every reason
to maintain a normally functioning democratic system. In most respects this applied as much
to Eire as it did to Switzerland and Sweden. For example, a general election was held in
1944 at the height of the crisis in relations with the United States. De Valera was returned
with an absolute majority for Fianna Fáil, ending the previous coalition government. This
seemed to show the extent of public support for de Valera’s policy towards the United
States. On the other hand, his government imposed rigid censorship, even banning ‘unneutral’
comments about the war and the participants. By the Offences Against the State Act
prisoners could be interned without trial, a measure aimed mainly against the IRA whom
de Valera suspected of trying to drag Ireland into the war on the side of Germany. This
action was, however, no more severe than measures taken during the period of civil war in
the early 1920s.
Neutrality did not guarantee Ireland an absence from hardship. It is true that she did not
suffer Britain’s losses in the Blitz: any destruction was limited to strategic targets or
accidental bombing, as was the case in Switzerland. The worst example was an attack on
part of Dublin in May 1941 which killed thirty-four people and destroyed or wrecked 325
houses. There were also severe shortages, especially of white bread, grain, tea, coal, gas,
paraffin, electricity and petrol. Fuel rationing had an impact on train and tram services
which was at times more serious than in the United Kingdom. These problems continued
into the post-war period, exacerbated by the wet summer of 1946 and the cold winter of
1946–7. Eire’s recovery was only gradual, taking at least as long as in those democracies
that had been involved in the war.

TWO DEMOCRACIES DEFIANT

Only two of the democracies that remained intact after June 1940 continued openly to defy
the dictatorships that had come to dominate Europe. Yet Britain and Finland were never
able to co-ordinate their efforts and, from 1941, were in constant danger of going to war
against each other. This was because the dictatorship each engaged as an enemy was the
partner of the other. Hence Finland collaborated with Germany against the Soviet Union
which, in turn, was Britain’s ally against Germany.

1. The United Kingdom

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had a mixed record of defending
democracy in Europe in the ten years before the outbreak of war. Like most countries, it
was more concerned with its own survival in a world of economic crisis and hostile political
developments. This was complicated during the 1930s by a policy of appeasement. But a
change occurred after 1939 with a greater determination to resist aggression and to provide
leadership for others to do the same. Time was to show that Britain was to be better at
396 Dictatorships vs democracies

defiance than she had been at persuasion which, by 1939, had come to be accepted as an
inappropriate strategy for dealing with fascism and Nazism.
Looking back, from a post-war perspective, British democracy seemed strangely
incomplete, a result of its gradual evolution without radical changes or written constitution.
The franchise had developed more slowly than in many other European states. It was not
until 1927 that all women over the age of twenty-one received the vote; only Switzerland
left this later. Britain was also the only democracy in Europe not to adopt proportional
representation. She had a bicameral parliamentary system which had become unbalanced
because of the reduction of the powers of the House of Lords by the 1911 Parliament Act
without any changes in the second chamber’s composition. There was a smaller range of
parties in parliament than anywhere else. A particular feature was the unprecedented
domination of the political system by one party, the Conservatives, who amassed vast
majorities in the 1918, 1931 and 1935 elections. This was due to the temporary inability
of the electoral system to accommodate three large parties; as yet, Labour had not fully
risen and the Liberals had not fully declined. Yet somehow British democracy found
correctives for its own distortions, with Lib–Lab pacts producing Labour governments in
1924 and 1929–31, and a Labour leader, Ramsay MacDonald, heading a National
Government dominated by Conservatives from 1931. It is true that the 1930s saw street
violence between extremist groups (the Communists and Mosley’s British Union of Fascists),
described by MP Geoffrey Lloyd in 1934 as ‘a deeply shocking scene for an Englishman
to see in London’. Yet there was nothing at the end of the 1930s to indicate that Britain
was in any danger of political revolution or of the drift towards dictatorship that had hap-
pened in large swathes of Europe. There were also extreme social problems, aggravated
by the decline of Britain’s staple industries, with a rise in unemployment and consequent
poverty, squalor, dole queues and hunger marches. But the large majority of the population
was unaffected by this misery, benefiting from Britain’s new industries, consumer prosperity
and diversions offered by the cinema.
Britain’s role in Europe underwent two main periods between 1918 and 1945. The first
has been characterized as one of moderation and constraint, with Collective Security in the
1920s and early 1930s followed by Appeasement from 1935. The second, between September
1939 and May 1945, was open defiance and a refusal to negotiate or compromise with the
enemy.
Until 1939 British policy sent out mixed messages, although its intention was to avoid
war while seeking to restrain likely aggressors. The dictatorships were, however, unreceptive,
taking advantage of the diplomacy of moderate pressure and persuasion. Sanctions were
applied only lightly to Italy after the invasion of Abyssinia in 1935, while the British-inspired
Non-Intervention Committee actively discouraged help to Republican Spain, even while
Italy and Germany were directly assisting Franco’s Nationalists. Baldwin actually warned
the French Prime Minister, Blum, that if France assisted the Spanish Republic and thereby
provoked a war with Italy, Britain would not be involved on the side of France. There was
no response from Baldwin to Germany’s remilitarization of the Rhineland 1936 or from
Chamberlain to the Anschluss March 1938. Appeasement reached a climax over the Sudeten
crisis of September 1938, when the Munich Agreement signed away the Sudetenland to
Germany. Chamberlain, it has been argued, lost the opportunity to stand up to Germany
alongside France and the Soviet Union. The abandonment of appeasement through the
guarantee to Poland came too late to prevent further aggression by Hitler who, in any case,
went on to form the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact. The Anglo-French position was
therefore much weaker in September 1939 than it had been twelve months earlier.
 Dictatorships vs democracies 397

Nevertheless, Britain’s eventual contribution to the defeat of Italy and Germany cannot
be overestimated. Admittedly the early period was profoundly discouraging, with the fall
of France in June 1940 and the evacuation of all British troops from the continent. But
Britain’s survival between 1940 and 1941 prolonged the war long enough to ensure that
Germany was crushed by other powers with much greater industrial strength. Britain kept
the war going in the vital year between the fall of France in June 1940 and Hitler’s invasion
of Russia in June 1941. Thereafter Britain greatly assisted the war effort of the Soviet Union.
Supremacy at sea ensured the supplies to Russia via the Arctic convoys to Murmansk, while
Montgomery’s campaign against Rommel in north Africa was a major distraction during
Hitler’s failing assault on the Soviet Union. In this respect, two turning points occurred at
about the same time. More directly, Britain established a base for the United States. From
1943 joint bombing campaigns targeted German industries and cities, while Anglo-American
operations saw the defeat of Rommel in North Africa, the invasion of Italy (1943), the
Normandy landings (1944) and the subsequent campaigns on the western front. The British
government was also directly responsible for co-ordinating the war effort with external
powers, especially the United States, the Soviet Union and the countries of the British Empire
and Commonwealth. It also linked up with resistance movements or governments in exile
from Czechoslovakia, Norway, the Low Countries and France.
What impact did the war have on the style of democracy in Britain between 1939 and
1945? It has been suggested that Britain became a totalitarian state during the period of the
war. This view should not, however, be pressed too far. The purpose of any measures taken
was to mobilize a democratic system to fight a totalitarian one. It was a response to an
emergency rather than an attempt to change the basis of normality: if anything it comes
closer to the original Roman meaning of ‘dictatorship’ as a temporary set of emergency
powers. Even here there were constraints and limits which, nevertheless, allowed an overall
effectiveness in some ways greater than in Nazi Germany.
The governments of Chamberlain and Churchill exerted controls over the population
much more quickly that had happened in the First World War. Conscription was introduced
immediately in September 1939 by the National Service Act. By 1942 all men and women
between eighteen and sixty could be called up for appropriate service: men between eighteen
and forty were eligible for military service, while women were directed to the labour force,
especially munitions. The Emergency Powers (Defence) Act, particularly Regulation 58A,
empowered the Ministry of Labour to take whatever actions were needed. Government
regulations also covered the protection of the civilian population as well as its mobilization.
Arrangements were made for the evacuation of children from cities, for the construction of
bomb-shelters and the enforcement of blackouts, and the rationing of essential commodities
and some forms of food. Controls were imposed on freedom of expression by the Ministry
of Information. Although the motive was to ensure security, the measures were often heavy-
handed. The decision to close down the Daily Worker in January 1941 was criticized by
other papers, including the Daily Mirror, while the poster campaign against loose talk lacked
subtlety. According to George Orwell, ‘the Government has done extraordinarily little to
preserve morale; it has merely drawn on existing measures of goodwill’.55 This was clearly
not a system that was comfortable with exerting control over the way in which people thought
or behaved.
Did political democracy disappear during the war years? It is true that compromises were
made in the defeat of Hitler and that many normal democratic operations were suspended.
For example, no general elections were held during the war in Europe, making the election
of 1935 the last for ten years. This was the longest gap between general elections in Britain
398 Dictatorships vs democracies

since the seventeenth century. Yet it was not intended as a measure against parliament;
rather, it was an inter-party truce drawn up on 26 September 1939 not to ‘nominate
Candidates for the Parliamentary vacancies that now exist, or may occur, against the
Candidate nominated by the Party holding the seat at the time of the vacancy occurring’.56
This was enacted by regular amendments to the 1716 Septennial Act. It could be argued
that the massive ten-year majority it gave the Conservatives was harmful to constitutional
democracy. But there were mitigating factors. The parliamentary committee system partially
offset the gravitation of power to the executive: an opposition front bench was elected by
an administrative committee to monitor and question the activities of the government. In
any case, MPs from other parties, like Attlee and Bevin, served in Churchill’s coalition.
Initially, the Conservatives held fifty-two ministerial posts in the coalition, to Labour’s
sixteen, a reflection of the relative strength of the parties in parliament at the time. By 1945
Labour’s share had risen to twenty-seven. It was easier in wartime to pursue policies
supported by both Labour and the Conservatives as the welfare of the population demanded
that they sink their normal ideological differences for the sake of the common good. Nor
did such arrangements have any permanent impact on democracy. Far from being damaged
by the absence of a general election for ten years, Labour went on to win a landslide in
1945.
Economically, Britain managed to reach a peak of efficiency which eluded Germany –
without resorting to the coercive measures and forced labour used by Nazi Germany and
the Soviet Union. In 1943 armaments accounted for 55.3 per cent of all national expenditure,
compared with 7.4 per cent in 1938.57 Britain adapted more efficiently than Germany to
abnormal economic pressures imposed between 1939 and 1945 – but without a totalitarian
base. This is partly historic: Broadberry and Howlett argue that, despite its rapid industrial
advance, Germany had ‘a much smaller service sector, which failed to reap economies of
specialization, and hence achieved lower productivity than its British counterpart’. Hence
we should not be ‘mesmerized by the success of Germany’s rapid industrialization from
the mid-nineteenth century on the basis of protectionism, state intervention, and universal
banks. Britain’s slower, more market-oriented development made for a more flexible
economy which was better able to stand the strains of total war’.58
Britain’s resilience and capacity for survival owed much to the leadership and the
considerable popularity of Churchill himself. He was the only politician to inspire genuine
support across party boundaries: this was shown by a vote of confidence in his leadership
in July 1942, which he won by 476 votes to 25. Labour backed him in a way that had never
been possible with Chamberlain. There have, admittedly, been questions about some of his
decisions. Did he delay too long in opening up a second front in Western Europe, thereby
handing the Soviet Union too much control in 1945 and condemning eastern Europe to
nearly half a century of Soviet repression? The counter-argument is that his methods suited
Britain’s means. It took time to co-ordinate with Roosevelt the most effective strategy to
deal with Germany. In any case, Churchill was more aware of the potential threat from
Stalin in the future than Roosevelt. It is also apparent that Churchill’s realism was
accompanied by examples of ruthlessness. Giving preferential treatment to the defence of
British airfields may have left London open to attack from the Luftwaffe – yet this helped
win the Battle of Britain at the most crucial stage in the war. His strategy of saturation
bombing against the civilian population of Germany has also been questioned – but at the
time this was the most effective way of engaging in Total War against Germany. Above
all, Churchill had the ability to inspire loyalty and trust on an unprecedented scale, making
the most of the media of the time, whether on the radio or in reports of his famous war
 Dictatorships vs democracies 399

speeches in the House of Commons. Overall, he outperformed Britain’s three other great
wartime premiers – the Younger Pitt, Palmerston and Lloyd George, although his election
defeat in 1945 showed that he, like Palmerston and Lloyd George, was most valued as a
wartime leader.
The war’s long-term political impact on Britain was surprisingly limited, leading to no
immediate constitutional changes. The next amendment to the franchise did not take place
until 1969, while the House of Lords had their delaying power further reduced in 1949 and
their membership slightly altered by the introduction of life peers in 1959. None of these
were due directly to the war. There was still no written constitution or bill of rights or an
elected second chamber. Yet there were differences from the pre-war period. The main one
was a reversion to a two-party system with the collapse of the Liberals in the 1945 general
election. The next half-century saw alternating periods of party ascendancy (Labour 1945–51,
1963–70 and 1997–2010, the Conservatives 1951–63, 1970–4 and 1979–97). There were
only two periods of stalemate: 1977–9 which involved an agreement between Labour and
the Liberals, and 2010–15 which saw a coalition between the Conservatives and Liberal
Democrats. Again, this pattern can in no way be attributed to the impact of the war. Despite
being a major combatant, Britain experienced the sort of continuity which affected the neutral
democracies (Sweden, Switzerland and Eire) which also experienced political refinements
rather than the dramatic post-war changes of Czechoslovakia or France.
Of much greater importance was the social impact of the war, which highlighted changed
perceptions of how the democratic process should be used rather than how it should actually
operate. Most historians see the war as an accelerator of social change in Britain. Bruce,
for example, argues that it was ‘the decisive event in the evolution of the Welfare State . . .
The war speeded changes and left a country markedly different and . . . markedly more
humane and civilised than that of 1939’.59 This was because the war had revealed the disparity
in the standards of health care and provision, resulting in government measures to expand
medical services, improve maternity care and provide free school meals, orange juice, milk
and vitamins. The social landmark of the Second World War was the Beveridge Report,
published in 1942. This identified the five major social deficiencies as ‘giants’: these were
Want, Disease, Ignorance, Squalor and Idleness. The intention was to transform the pre-
war system of Social Insurance, based on Want, into a new Social Security designed to
cover all five. A series of measures followed in 1944, including White Papers on Health
and Employment and a new Education Act. Churchill’s coalition government therefore used
the pressures of war – and the exceptional levels of political power these provided – to plan
the types of social change that had eluded Britain after the First World War. The actual
implementation of the new Welfare State was the work of Attlee’s government after 1945
after the resumption of party politics and the Labour landslide.
The Second World War also exerted powerful economic pressures on Britain, although
in the longer term these were generally more negative than the social changes. It has to be
said, however, that the Second World War completed a process begun by the First. After
1914 Britain lost its position as the centre of international finance and trade; after 1939/45
Britain’s economic strength contracted still further. British imports from the empire grew,
while its exports dropped. The gap was filled by the transfer of British investments abroad,
especially to India and Canada. Even more significant was the extent of Britain’s debt to
the United States – first through the lend-lease programme and then, when this was cancelled,
through the loans raised by post-war governments. The full extent of the shrinkage of Britain’s
part in the international economy was not immediately recognized as successive governments
tried to revive Britain’s role in international finance. This meant restoring the sterling area,
400 Dictatorships vs democracies

despite Britain’s greatly reduced economic base. Such misplaced optimism, along with
attempts to prolong Imperial commitments and retain world-power status, has been given
as a reason for the relative slowness of Britain’s post-war economic growth by comparison
with the swifter recovery of Germany, Japan and France.
There are still debates about specific elements of Britain’s involvement in the war: the
excessively cautious diplomacy of appeasement, for example, or the sudden switch in policy
from March 1939, or the delay in opening up a second front. But there is general consensus
over the rightness of the decision to defy Nazi Germany.60 There are also arguments as to
whether eventual victory belonged more to the perseverance of Britain or to the might of
the United States and the Soviet Union. But persisting with defiance – regardless of the
likely outcome – kept the war open for others to join. And the reason for a democracy to
do this had never been clearer. Churchill could have spoken for Britain when he said that
he had ‘only one single purpose – the destruction of Hitler’ and that his life was ‘much
simplified thereby’.61

2. Finland
Finland had been ruled by Sweden until 1809, when she was transferred to Russia as a
semi-autonomous Grand Duchy. She took the opportunity presented by Russia’s defeat in
the First World War – and revolution – to declare independence on 6 December 1917. A
complex situation followed, which contained many of the seeds for conflict between 1939
and 1945. Civil war broke out between Finnish Reds, who aspired to a republic, and the
Finnish Civil Guards (or Whites), who formed the government in Vyborg and were in favour
of a monarchy. The Reds were armed by the Bolsheviks, while the Whites, under the military
leadership of Mannerheim, were supported by the Germans. This struggle directly overlapped
the last few months of the war on the eastern front between Revolutionary Russia and Imperial
Germany – until this was ended in March 1918 by the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk imposed on
Russia by the victorious Germans. The Finnish civil war ended in May 1918 in the victory
of the Whites under Mannerheim. Friedrich Karl, Prince of Hessen, was invited in October
to become King of Finland. This, however, was frustrated by the surrender of Germany to
the western Allies in November; instead, Finland became a republic under President
Stahlberg, and a new constitution was adopted.
This was based on a single-chamber parliament, the Eduskunta, originally established
in 1906 and elected by universal suffrage based on proportional representation (Finland was
actually the first country in Europe to enfranchise women). The basis for these changes had
already been established while Finland was still a Grand Duchy within the Russian Empire,
although the damage subsequently done by Tsar Nicholas II’s policy of Russification meant
that the whole process now had to be reinvented. After becoming independent Finland also
developed a wide range of political parties including, within the mainstream, Social
Democrats, Agrarian Union, Liberals, Conservatives and Swedish People’s Party. On the
far right was Lapua or the IKL (Patriotic People’s Movement), which was influential during
the1930s but in decline by the outbreak of war. It was strongly disliked by Mannerheim
and other leaders in the struggle for independence. On the far left, the pro-Moscow
Communists were more popular during the 1920s, with 11 to 12 per cent of the popular
vote; they were, however, prohibited in 1930. Unfortunately, political harmony was disturbed
by the periodic threat of renewed civil war between right and left. Part of the problem was
the residual resentment of the leftists against the revenge taken against them by the Whites
at the end of the civil war – some 10,000 Reds and their families died in camps through
 Dictatorships vs democracies 401

neglect. The re-engagement in earlier conflicts provided the background for Finland’s future
attitude to the Soviet Union and Germany.
It also had a direct influence on Finland’s foreign policy. Here the ideal was neutrality,
unencumbered by commitments to major powers – if, of course, this could actually be
achieved. One possibility was closer co-operation, even unity, with other Nordic states. But
this was prevented by internal disputes and external differences between Norway, Sweden
and Finland. Instead, hopes rested on Germany and Russia imposing checks and restraints
on each other. Given the choice between the two powers, most Finns still hoped for the
weakening of Russia and for her isolation from the mainstream of European diplomacy. It
is, therefore, hard to overestimate the shock caused in August 1939 by the announcement
of the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact. Finnish fears would have been intensified by the
Secret Protocol allocating spheres of influence to Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, the
latter cleared to exert future control over eastern Poland, Estonia, Latvia – and Finland. The
danger to Finland escalated when Hitler and Stalin began to claim their allocations by sending
German and Soviet troops into Poland in September.
By October 1939, the Soviet Union was exerting heavy pressure on Finland. In its
concern for the security of land and sea approaches to Leningrad, it demanded control over
Hanko, some of south coast of Finland, and parts of Karelia – in total 2,761 square kilometres.
In return, it offered some territorial compensation to the north of Lake Ladoga. When
subsequent negotiations between Finland and Russia collapsed in November 1939, Stalin
was encouraged by the success of Germany’s Blitzkrieg in Poland to try the same against
Finland – after accusing Finland of violating the border with artillery fire. Following the
Soviet invasion on 30 November the Finnish government launched an unsuccessful search
for outside help. It then approached League of Nations, which responded by expelling the
Soviet Union from membership. Although completely outnumbered, the Finns put up a
strong resistance and inflicted heavy losses on the Russians in what soon became known
as the Winter War. In a radio broadcast on 20 January 1940 Churchill enthused: ‘superb,
nay sublime in the jaws of peril, Finland shows what free men can do. They have exposed,
for all the world to see, the military incapacity of the Red Army.’62 Yet, despite moral
support from Britain, France and Sweden and the vague possibility of 100,000 Allied troops
being sent to Finland, no military help was forthcoming. Finland eventually had to agree
in March 1940 to the Peace of Moscow. Losses to Russia included the whole of the Karelian
isthmus, the shores of northern half of Lake Ladoga, and territory along the Fenno-Soviet
border in the north. But at least Finland had survived.
The experience of the Winter War gradually pushed Finland towards an understanding
with Germany, culminating in 1941 in a commitment that stopped just short of an alliance.
There were several reasons for this. One was the depth of hostility to the peace settlement.
Government control over the press and radio had given the illusion of successful campaigns
against Soviet forces and had failed to prepare the public for the extent of Finland’s losses.
There were also increasing suspicions of Soviet attempts to influence Finland’s internal
affairs through, for example, the election of a pliable president. Militarily the new frontier
imposed by the Peace of Moscow made it more difficult for Finland to defend herself against
a surprise attack in the future. And, of course, Finland was cut off from direct contact with
the west in April 1940 by the German occupation of Norway and Denmark. At the same
time, Russia was tightening her pressure on the southern shore of the Baltic by adding
Lithuania to her sphere of influence. Finland therefore reacted positively to new approaches
from Germany, including secret diplomacy suggesting future German support for Finland
against Russia. Indeed, an agreement was drawn up later in 1940 to allow the provision of
402 Dictatorships vs democracies

supply bases in Lapland. But the real breakthrough occurred with the German invasion of
Russia in June 1941, followed by the Wehrmacht’s rapid advance towards Moscow and the
siege of Leningrad. Despite Mannerheim’s reservations and evident distaste, there was
growing political support for a deal with Germany and for closer connections with Nazis.
It was at this point, according to Upton, that Finland ‘made the error, which is usually fatal
for small powers, of backing the loser in a great power conflict’. Yet, Upton adds, ‘the
choice which Finland made in 1941, however mistaken it turned out to be, was an entirely
natural one in view of the historical background and the recent course of Finnish-Russian
relations’.63
Hitler was eager to form a full military alliance with Finland. On 22 June 1941 he
announced that ‘In alliance with their Finnish comrades, the victors of Narvik stand on the
shores of the Arctic Ocean.’64 Finland took the opportunity to win back some of the losses of
the Winter War. But it had a different understanding of the ‘Continuation War’ that now
followed. Whereas Hitler saw the association between Germany and Finland as an ‘alliance’
and ‘brotherhood’, the Finnish government preferred the concept of ‘side-by-side’ involvement
against Russia – but neutrality in any broader conflict. It had not been anxious to re-engage
Russia and had reacted to specifically to Soviet air attacks. From the outset it tried to avoid
any impression of any alliance with Germany and never agreed to any such commitment being
drawn up. Finland was also reluctant to become involved in the German siege of Leningrad
because of the importance attached by Russia to the city. Instead, Mannerheim pursued more
limited objectives in recovering Karelian losses in the Winter War. With the entry of the United
States into the war, it was also crucial to maintain good relations with the west.
Ultimately, the gradual ascendancy of the Allies forced Finland into a change of attitude
to Germany. In theory, Finland was at war with Britain from the end of 1941, although
there was no direct military engagement: this was partly because the United States had no
desire to open up a front in the eastern Baltic. As Germany looked increasingly likely to
lose the war, Finland sought possible ways to disengage – but without suffering too many
losses to the Soviet Union. Eventually Mannerheim, who had replaced Ryti as President,
agreed in September 1944 to an Armistice, by which Finland would return to its 1940 frontiers
and pay an indemnity to the Soviet Union of $300 million. It was also to disarm and drive
out all German forces still in Finland. This task took until April 1945 to accomplish and
involved extensive destruction in Lapland.
Finland’s losses had been extensive, including 11 per cent of its area. Some 85,000 people
had died during the Continuation War, about 2 per cent of Finland’s total population
(although this compared with wartime losses of 10 per cent of Germany’s population and
12 per cent of the Soviet Union’s). Unlike other states in eastern Europe, Finland managed
to retain her previous democratic system and to avoid being converted into a Soviet satellite
(although for four decades she remained under Soviet influence).

The United Kingdom vs Finland?

The attitudes of Britain towards Finland underwent a change during the period in which
the two countries were involved in their respective wars against each other’s fellow-
combatants.
In the earliest stage, the Winter War (1939–40), there was clear sympathy within the
United Kingdom for the Finns, but with a sense of frustrated helplessness. Any real possibility
of help was prevented by the refusal of Sweden to allow transit for Allied troops, although
it is by no means clear that this would actually have happened. Britain’s priorities in the
 Dictatorships vs democracies 403

Baltic area were the Norwegian coast, access to the Skagerrak and reducing Sweden’s iron-
ore provision to Germany. Besides, if Britain and France had not been able to give military
assistance to Poland after September 1939, how could they hope to assist Finland three
months later? There was also an important technicality. Neither Britain nor France had
declared war on Russia in September 1939, even though Russia had also invaded Poland.
How could it have made sense for Britain to antagonize Russia at this point and quite probably
convert the Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact into a formal military alliance between Russia
and Germany?
The situation changed in June 1941. Following Hitler’s invasion of Russia, Britain and
Finland were driven further apart. This was because Stalin, Churchill’s new ally against
Hitler, was Finland’s enemy. How, therefore, could Britain now support Finland? Similarly,
what could Finland now expect from Britain when there were links to be had with Germany
instead? All Britain could do was to hope that Sweden would limit the transit possibilities
for German troops to Finland and make it as difficult for the Germans as it had done earlier
for the Allies. Churchill’s overriding emphasis had always been to get the Soviet Union
involved against Germany. Having secured Britain’s first ally since the fall of France in
June 1940, what sense would it have made to assist the Finns in their Continuation War
against Russia?
There is, of course, still a question as to whether Finland should have sided with Germany.
The immediate answer is probably not, considering the particularly odious nature of that
dictatorship and the opportunism used by Finland to recover territory from a war already
settled. On the other hand, there had been clear Soviet provocation since the Peace of
Moscow, which enticed the Finnish government to look towards Germany, despite earlier
reservations. There now appeared to be an opportunity to re-establish Finland’s security,
whatever compromise might be needed. Was this really so different to Britain’s position?
Churchill’s greatness as a war leader was at least partly the result of his opportunism, timing
and, if necessary, ruthlessness. His alliance with the Soviet Union represented a major shift
of opinion: after all, he had once tried to persuade Lloyd George’s coalition government
(1918–22) to upgrade British support for anti-Bolshevik forces in revolutionary Russia.
Ultimately it was a choice between two evils, the lesser of which was Stalin and Communism.
Churchill expressed his justification for this in parliament: ‘if Hitler invaded Hell, I would
at least make a favourable reference to the Devil in the House of Commons.’65 For the
Finns, on the other hand, the threat of Russia was greater than that of Germany. In both
cases, therefore, national survival was at stake.
But were Finnish expectations realistic? Could Finland really have hoped for long-term
success in another war with Russia? Perhaps not, but the alternative was to accept the
likelihood of German hegemony in the future without an accompanying advantage of
Finnish security against Russia. It is true that this future did not materialize and that the
eventual defeat of Germany undermined Finland’s security for a generation, pulling it within
its enemy’s orbit of influence. Finland’s policy was therefore a risk, undertaken in 1941,
which had completely failed by 1945. Yet did this not have parallels with the risk taken by
Britain in 1940 in keeping the war open against all apparent odds – and again, in backing
the Soviet Union even despite the latter’s reverses after June 1941? If anything, when these
decisions were made, Britain’s risk was the greater since its enemy, Germany, seemed to
be in the ascendant, while Finland’s decision was taken against a foe apparently on the
wane.
Britain and Finland both behaved ambivalently in their relations with each other’s
opponent. In September and October 1941 the Soviet Union tried to persuade Britain to
404 Dictatorships vs democracies

declare war on Finland. Churchill, however, refused on the grounds that this would force
Finland into an alliance with Germany; at the same time, he urged Finland to limit her
recent advances to restoring the 1939 frontier. Then, in November, he issued an ultimatum
that Finland must cease hostilities against Russia immediately. When Finland demanded
further time to complete the recovery of areas lost in the Winter War, Britain declared war
in December 1941 – although Churchill never implemented this in practice. The United
States made no such declaration and maintained diplomatic relations with Finland until
1944.
Finland also played an opportunist role. While making the most of German assistance
in the Continuation War, she was unwilling to enter into a formal and irrevocable alliance.
The test came in April 1944 when the Soviet Union demanded terms and Finland was assailed
by a counter demand by Germany for just such an alliance. Finland’s elder statesman and
military leader, Mannerheim, suggested that President Ryti should give a personal guarantee
to Germany on Finland’s behalf, in the process avoiding any obligation by the Finnish
Parliament to a formal pact. For a while this was successful and Germany continued to
provide essential supplies to the Finns. By September, however, Germany had been
significantly weakened and the Soviet demands on Finland became more insistent. In
September Mannerheim, who had by now been sworn in by parliament as president, wrote
to Hitler breaking off relations with Germany. He also prepared the way to ending the war
with the Soviet Union and joining the Allies by agreeing to clear Finland of German troops.
Throughout the war period, there had been strong evidence of mutual sympathies between
Finland and Britain – more so than between either and Sweden. Ultimately, however, what
counted was their strategic position and opportunities for allies. Hard realities separated
them, placing them on opposing sides. Britain was one of the victors against Germany –
but only in alliance with the Soviet Union. The latter had also defeated Finland and brought
it within its orbit of control at the end of the war. The distance between Britain and Finland
remained as the outcome of the war prevented full reconciliation for nearly half a century.
The Cold War from 1947 involved Britain and the Soviet Union in opposing camps – at
least until 1989. While this lasted Finland remained, as far as Britain was concerned, in a
twilight area, neither fully a part of the Soviet zone nor free to disengage from Soviet
influence. This ambivalence was itself suspect to the west, which feared the possibility of
‘Finlandization’ in non-Communist Europe. The key events in changing this were the
collapse of Communism and the Soviet Union in 1991 and the eventual accession of Finland
to the European Union.
Chapter 9

Dictatorships compared

THE ROLE OF IDEOLOGY

The term ‘ideology’ is normally understood to mean an organized set of ideas and ideals
intended to deal with problems and, perhaps, to institute sweeping change. The totalitarian
ideologies had in common a desire to destroy the existing system and to recreate it according
to an ideal form often called a Utopia. In fact, Friedrich and Brzezinski believe that
‘totalitarian ideologies are typically Utopian in nature’.1 Authoritarian regimes, by contrast,
were usually unable to produce a distinctive ideology. Although they often aimed to change
the existing political system, they were much more prepared to adapt to more traditional
influences and ideas. Hence, they tended to be backward looking, even reactionary, in contrast
to the revolutionary nature of totalitarian ideologies.
It is usual to categorize three inter-war ideologies as potentially totalitarian: Marxism–
Leninism, Nazism and Fascism (see Chapter 2). Of these, Marxism–Leninism was the most
coherent, based on a systematic doctrine derived from the ideas of Hegel, Marx and Engels,
as redefined by Lenin and Stalin. It incorporated an economic theory (economic determinism),
a series of historical laws (dialectical materialism) and a belief in eventual progress towards
a higher form of human organization called the ‘classless society’. Fascism and Nazism
owed to nineteenth-century writers like Nietzsche, Gobineau and H.S. Chamberlain such
concepts as racial inequality and the inevitability of struggle. But neither possessed the
disciplined structure of Marxism–Leninism, partly because, in the words of Bracher, neither
had ‘the kind of classic bible that Marxism possessed’.2 Hitler’s ideas, for example, were
expounded very loosely in Mein Kampf, which was little more than an autobiography, while
Mussolini’s most explicit doctrinal statement was confined to an article in Enciclopedia
Italiana. Neither of these sources had the coherence and weight of Marx’s Das Kapital or
Lenin’s The State and Revolution. Bracher goes so far as to call Nazism ‘an eclectic
“ragbag” ideology, drawn from a multitude of sources’.3
As for the lesser dictators, few even attempted a systematic statement of beliefs beyond
a simple reformulation of traditional ideas. This applied to all authoritarian leaders, whether
military men like Franco and Piłsudski or academics like Salazar. Some of the more radical,
potentially totalitarian dictators, who came to power as Nazi puppets during the Second
World War, did have a go at organizing their thoughts. A typical example was Szálasi of
Hungary; but, as Weber points out, Szálasi’s writing is unsystematic and ‘steadfastly ignores
grammar, style and sense’.4 Marxism–Leninism, Nazism and Fascism had in common the
desire to transform the previous system through revolution. All three involved the
manipulation of history and the movement towards an ideal. There were, however, major
differences in the nature of that ideal. The Marxist Utopia involved two distinct phases.
The first was the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’, which was intended to eliminate all
406 Dictatorships compared

obstacles to achieving the second, and very different, phase: the ‘classless society’. Force
and struggle were therefore a means to an end. This end was fundamentally different in
that it would see the decline of organized coercion and the conclusion of the ‘prehistoric
phase’ of human existence. According to Engels, there would be ‘a leap from slavery into
freedom; from darkness into light’.5 In complete contrast Nazi and fascist utopias envisaged
one state only – uninterrupted and unending movement towards total domination and power.
Fascism has been described as a ‘national-imperial mission ideology’ which made a ‘powerful
state the highest value’.6 This process, the opposite to the ‘classless society’, is sometimes
called ‘etatism’. It also involved the perpetual glorification of war and struggle for, in
Mussolini’s words, ‘war is to the man what maternity is to the woman’.7 Nazism also focused
on struggle, although the vehicle was race rather than the state, Aryanism rather than
etatism. According to Hitler, ‘All of nature is one great struggle between strength and
weakness, an eternal victory of the strong over the weak.’8 The victims were to be the race
enemies, for ‘All eugenic progress can begin only by eliminating the inferior.’ These ideas
were to be sublimated in the most horrifying way in the gas chambers of Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Elsewhere the purpose of ideology was less to transform than to revive. It was therefore
less forward-looking and more traditional, even nostalgic. History was regarded less as a
transition to a higher phase, more as providing examples for imitation. The clearest example
of this was Salazar’s stress on ‘Deus, Patria, Familia’ (‘God, Country, Family’) and on the
historic role of Portuguese imperialism ‘to defend western and Christian civilisation’.9
Franco, in turn, aimed quite consciously at reviving the virtues of the historic Spain destroyed,
he considered, by the Second Republic; he regarded himself therefore as the political
reincarnation of Philip II. Even the more radical ‘Hungarism’ of Szálasi and the ‘Hellenism’
of Metaxas were essentially glorifications of national pasts. In other states presidential or
royal absolutism lacked any systematic ideas and based itself on pragmatic common sense
and an appeal to patriotism.
Which of the main ideologies proved to be of the most practical use? Marxism–
Leninism certainly appears the most elusive in its ultimate aim: the ‘classless society’ and
the ‘withering away’ of the state could occur only after profound change in human nature.
Nazism and fascism, by contrast, intended to exploit and accentuate the most basic human
instincts – the struggles for survival and domination. And yet events proved Marxism–
Leninism a more efficient tool than either fascism or Nazism for transforming society, the
economy and political institutions. The reason was that the practical application of Marxism–
Leninism by Stalin stopped well short of the ultimate ideal of the ‘classless society’ and
concentrated on the organization and coercion necessary for the phase of the ‘dictatorship
of the proletariat’. Fascism and Nazism lacked the capacity for complete institutional
reorganization and for the mobilization of the economy for Total War, even though the
latter featured so strongly in their scheme. On balance, therefore, Stalin had at his disposal
a more adaptable ideological weapon than had either Hitler or Mussolini.

The fate of the minor Fascisms and Communisms

Even allowing for the differences in the use and meaning of ideology in various parts of
Europe, two things are still clear. First, the three regimes of Italy under Mussolini, Germany
under Hitler, and Russia under Lenin and Stalin initially developed ideological systems for
their own countries. Second, they went on to impose their ideologies on most of Europe in
their subsequent expansionist drive. Included among their conquests were the lesser
dictatorships and then the democracies that had managed to survive their own internal
 Dictatorships compared 407

ideological challenges; these all dealt with in Chapters 7 and 8. An issue that now needs
to be considered is whether the systems that followed their conquest were in any sense the
fulfilment of a logical movement these countries were already showing towards either fascism
or communism, or whether the changes were entirely due to external pressures and ultimate
control, especially by Germany and Russia.
In the lesser dictatorships it tended to be the latter. The natural trend there had been to
an authoritarian-conservative system based on a variety of influences. One of these may
have been fascism – but in a diluted form which fell far short of dominating the regime
itself. This applied to Austria, Poland, the Baltic States, Albania, Yugoslavia, Greece,
Bulgaria and Romania. Those dictatorships which, like Spain and Portugal, remained neutral
in 1939 and therefore undefeated in the Second World War, showed no later inclination to
strengthen the grip of fascism over the other components of their regimes. There is a strong
possibility that the same might have applied to the dictatorships in central and eastern Europe
– but for the upheaval of war. In almost all cases fascist movements were minority groups,
often strongly suspected by the regimes they aimed to control. What thrust the minority
groups into positions of power was external wartime occupation or domination. In the
dictatorships where it had previously been controlled, fascism suddenly became the key
influence in German-occupied states, albeit with a strong Nazi twist. The one possible case
where indigenous fascism did break through was in Yugoslavia; even here, however, Italian
and German control were crucial in breaking the state power that was still resisting the
Ustasha by 1939.
In the democracies that still existed before the outbreak of war, there was certainly a
far-right presence, especially in France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Britain and the Nordic
countries. Some, parties, like the DNSAP in Denmark, the Nasjonal Samling (NS) in
Norway or the Nationaal-Socialistische Beweging in the Netherlands, were Nazi and racist
as much as they were fascist and corporativist. Others, like the British Union of Fascists
(BUP) inclined more to Italian patterns. All had attachments of paramilitary groups and
street fighters. But they also had in common a poor electoral performance during the 1930s:
the DNSAP, for example, achieved only 1.8 per cent of the Denmark’s popular vote in
1939. Even the Depression did not make much of a difference to their political credibility.
The elevation of the far right was in all cases the result of Nazi invasion and Germany’s
attempt to rule with the sympathetic political elements that were suddenly given a share of
power. This was particularly the case in the Low Countries and Scandinavia (see Chapter
8). This was not, however, permanently successful and in almost all cases the Germans had
had to resort to direct rule by 1942 and 1943. By 1944 and 1945 indigenous fascism was
targeted by growing resistance from internal movements co-operating with the Allies for
the removal of German rule and for the restoration of democracy. The domestic far right
therefore became a casualty of the military defeat of the external occupier.
Turning to the far left: to what extent was communism the development of internal trends,
and to what extent the result of external intervention? Early examples seem to show
ideological and organizational influences from Soviet Russia and the International, rather
than any direct imposition by military force. This applied in 1918–19 to the brief activities
of the Spartacists in Germany, of the communists in the Po Valley in Italy, and, of course
the brief revolution of Béla Kun in Hungary. Thereafter, however, communist movements
were dealt a severe blow in all those states that became dictatorships, being banned by the
regimes of much of central and eastern Europe. They were tolerated in most of the
democracies (with the exception of Finland) but they did not prosper in terms of public
support; in many cases, their electoral performance was no more successful than that of the
408 Dictatorships compared

far right. If fascism did not have the strength outside Italy and Germany to elevate itself to
power, the same was even more the case with communism beyond Russia. The outbreak
of war made matters worse, as the occupied dictatorships experienced a more efficient Nazi
purge on remaining communist influences, while all communist parties were banned in the
occupied democracies. The only exception was the Baltic States, where the Soviet occupation
in 1939–41 revived communist groups which, however, were promptly expunged by the
Nazi invasion of 1941.
Major changes began to occur from 1944 onwards. Fascist groups went into decline,
reflecting the collapse of most of Fascist Italy and the expected defeat of Nazi Germany,
while communist groups revived rapidly. A key factor in this was certainly the influence
of the Soviet Union, as the Red Army drove the Germans out of central and eastern Europe
and Stalin imposed tight ideological controls over the countries he occupied. But there was
also an internal development, which did not apply to fascist groups. Communism was reborn
in the resistance to German and Italian rule. Examples occurred all over occupied Europe,
from France to Poland, Romania, Greece, Albania and, above all, Yugoslavia. Yet most
new communist regimes (with the exceptions of Yugoslavia and Albania) came into being
in a way defined by the Soviet Union, at first as coalitions with other parties of the left,
then under a tightened monolithic political system. The regimes that emerged in eastern
Europe from 1948 were very much on the totalitarian pattern than were the more chaotic
fascist regimes operating under Nazi tutelage during the war.

LEADERSHIP
Of the three types of leadership categorized by Max Weber – traditional, rational-legal and
charismatic – two are particularly appropriate for the period 1918–45. The totalitarian states
were a prime example of charismatic leadership, while the authoritarian regimes had a more
traditional style. Yet there were differences within the categories and examples of crossovers
between them.
All the dictatorships covered by this book depended upon the leadership of a single
commanding figure. In some cases these were surrounded by a leadership cult, defined by
Rees as ‘an established system of veneration of a political leader, to which all members of
the society are expected to subscribe, a system that is omnipresent and ubiquitous and one
that is expected to persist indefinitely’. It is ‘a deliberately constructed and managed
mechanism’ which aims at ‘the integration of the political system around the leader’s
persona’.10 It can also offer ‘salvation’ in return for ‘veneration’, while the mystique is one
of the key strengths of the ideology behind it. Hence it is not surprising that references
have been made to ‘secular religions’ or the ‘sacralization of politics’.
In Russia, the Lenin cult was largely posthumous, created by the Party Central Committee.
The Stalin cult originated by association with Lenin, then from 1929 assumed its own persona
as well as he became the chief (vozhd). This, in turn, was part of the broader cult infused
into the Soviet system – comprising the ideology, the revolution, the party and the state.
At first the cult of Stalin was subordinate to that of Lenin. Then the revolution was Sovietized
and Stalin represented the next dynamic stage becoming, in the process, the ‘great educator’.
In theory Stalin was subject to collective leadership and the ideology of communism was
supposed to prevent any excessive accumulation of personal power. In practice he elevated
his authority to heights which were unprecedented even in a country with an almost
uninterrupted history of autocracy. At the same time, his actual power was sometimes
constrained by the problem of enforcing his orders in the localities.
 Dictatorships compared 409

The situation in Germany was somewhat different. Whereas the Stalin cult was an
addition to the Soviet one, the Führer cult embodied the whole Nazi structure. Unlike Stalin,
Hitler did not owe his status to any predecessor – ideological or revolutionary. He was able
to present himself as the originator of that ideology and revolution, not as their best
consolidator and successor. Hitler’s public appearances also differed from those of Stalin.
He presided over mass processions and rallies and his speeches were more forceful and less
reasoned than Stalin’s, whose delivery was slow and considered. In theory Hitler was in
total command, with no conceivable constraints. According to Broszat,

Hitler’s power as Führer exceeded that of any monarch. The notion of ‘divine right’
was replaced by the claim that the Führer was the saviour appointed by Providence
and at the same time the embodiment and medium of the unarticulated will of the
people.11

In practice, however, Hitler was frequently isolated at the pinnacle of the party and state
apparatus.
In Italy, the cult of the Duce was different again. It was certainly not based on the ‘best
successor’ approach: like Hitler, Mussolini had no predecessor or line of acknowledged
ideological forebears. But, unlike Hitler, he did not bring a dynamic and cohesive ideology,
even though he tried to reconcile the conflicting strands of Fascism and to select moments
for dynamic action. His cult therefore existed as a separate entity which overlapped into
Fascism. His main strength was as a populist demagogue. Although he had a greater flair
for oratory than Hitler, he lacked the latter’s mystique. Mussolini’s power was never as
strong as Hitler’s, even in theory. He remained, officially, the appointee of Victor Emmanuel
and it was to the King, not to the Duce, that the army and state officials owed their ultimate
allegiance.
The ‘authoritarian’ states also depended on the strong-man image, although any ‘cults’
existed at a lower level than in Russia, Germany or Italy. Spanish leaders liked the imagery
of the ‘sentinel’, while Franco was also known as Caudillo. The basis behind his authority
was certainly traditional and yet it overlapped at times into the charismatic. He was, for
example, careful to claim victory in the Spanish Civil War as inspired by God and he received
the plaudits of the establishment, especially of the Church. In the victory celebrations he
was surrounded by ‘the dual imagery of the victorious general and the holy saviour’.12
Although more open to public appearance than Piłsudski or Salazar, on most occasions
Franco never managed to transcend a rather dour image. In terms of appeal and performance
on the balcony he was no Mussolini – and never aspired to be. In Portugal, Salazar was
even more aloof and retiring: his was not the sort of personality that would want a cult let
alone benefit from one. He was willing to leave ritual to other components of the system,
especially to the Catholic Church, as befitted one whose beliefs were strongly influenced
by the ideas of St Thomas Aquinas.
In Poland, Piłsudski’s popularity assumed cultic proportions after his defeat of the Red
Army at Warsaw in 1921. But this was not something that he deliberately fostered and he
had no wish to assume a populist form of dictatorship. If anything, his cult increased after
his death in 1935, partly to legitimize the regime of less popular successors like Rydz-
Smigly and Beck. It could be argued, therefore, that Piłsudski had a personality cult ‘thrust
upon him’. None of the other ‘leaders’ (which included Smetona as Tautos Vadas and
Metaxas as Archigos) found it necessary to develop the sort of cult which played so important
a part in the totalitarian states. This was because they aimed to quieten the population, not
410 Dictatorships compared

to rouse it; this could be more successfully accomplished by a more remote type of authority.
Much the same applied to the monarchs of the period. King Alexander of Yugoslavia, Carol
of Romania and Boris of Bulgaria were all traditionalist in their outlook, preferring the
deference which went with their office to adulation based on radical ideas or promises.
A possible exception to this was King Zog of Albania, who sought to project himself as
a unifier after a period of civil war.
There was one special case. Mustafa Kemal was the creator neither of a totalitarian regime
nor of a new ideology: he was neither communist nor fascist. Yet he did have a cult of
leadership which transcended anything seen in Europe outside Italy, Germany or Russia.
He was known as ‘saviour’ and ‘teacher’, as Büyük Önder (Great Leader) and Atatürk (Father
of the Turks). There were, however, good reasons for this. He committed himself personally
to a radical programme of modernization which involved breaking with tradition and
replacing inertia with dynamism. Atatürk personified this approach – but not to the extent
that he represented an ideology. Hence it would not be appropriate to compare him with
Lenin or Mussolini – as some have tried to do.
Under Stalin a few smaller cults were allowed to develop around subordinate figures at
different levels. A similar pattern developed in eastern Europe after 1945. The power
vacuums in the former authoritarian regimes were filled by new leaders in the Stalinist mould.
The strongest cults over the next few decades attached to Tito in Yugoslavia and Hoxha in
Albania (both of whom managed to separate themselves from Soviet tutelage). Others who
made some attempt to elevate themselves to similar status were Gheorghiu-Dej and
Ceauşescu in Romania, Bierut and Gomulka in Poland, Ulbricht in East Germany and
Gottwald in Czechoslovakia. Although their cults were artificial and varied in their success,
they reached proportions to which their predecessors either could not manage or did not want.

STATE, PARTY AND ARMY

The leaders we have just examined presided over a wide variety of political systems, with
contrasting approaches to institutional change, party influence and military presence.
In the totalitarian regimes some effort was made to transform the political establishment,
although the leadership went about it in different ways. Russia saw the most extensive
changes, which involved the eradication of Tsarist institutions. The three constitutions of
the period (1918, 1922 and 1936) provided for a system of soviets, dominated at all stages
by the Communist Party. This was able to exercise total control through its Central
Committee, which, in turn, was subdivided into the Orgburo, Politburo and Control
Commission. The Nazi leadership also sought political change, although in practice it
stopped short of the sort of transformation seen in the Soviet Union. Instead of sweeping
away the old system altogether, Hitler carried out some drastic surgery on it; for example,
he perpetuated the emergency powers of the executive by means of the Enabling Act and,
by merging the presidency and chancellorship, destroyed the checks and balances within
the constitution. The key changes came at the centre with the new Chancellery and special
deputies, although these tended to overlap and conflict with more traditional officials and
agencies. Mussolini’s Italy followed the German rather than the Soviet pattern. The effect,
however, was still less complete; the superstructure of the monarchy remained intact and
was eventually to become the focal point of opposition to the regime. There was also a
more chaotic replacement of some traditional institutions like the Chamber of Deputies by
the Chamber of Fasces and Corporations and the superimposition of other components of
the Corporate State.
 Dictatorships compared 411

Elsewhere the dictators were less ambitious. One of the characteristics of authoritarian
regimes was to stabilize and restore rather than transform, even though constitutional
amendments were often involved. Examples of the emphasis on tradition and order can be
seen in Salazar’s Estado Novo (1935) and in the constitutions in the various Balkan states
which granted increased powers to their respective monarchs. In Yugoslavia King Alexander
suspended the 1921 constitution, replacing it in 1931 with one which severely curtailed the
democratic process. New and similarly restrictive arrangements were introduced in Bulgaria
by King Boris (1937) and in Romania by King Carol the following year.
What importance did the dictators attach to a party base and to radicalizing the masses?
Again, the approach in the totalitarian states varied. Russia used the ‘vanguard’ method,
by which the Communist Party dominated the entire system. Rather than attempting to
generate mass involvement, it operated through the principle of ‘democratic centralism’,
whereby a small elite acted on behalf of the whole population. Membership of the Communist
Party was strictly limited and, during the 1930s, Stalin was able, through his purges, to
reduce this further. The Party also provided the channels of control between the centre and
the different republics of the USSR, in effect cancelling out the principles of national self-
determination accorded to the nationalities by the 1922 and 1936 constitutions. Although
Stalin reduced the role of the party in the process of decision making, especially during the
period of war, he was never able to replace it. During the destalinization campaign under
Khrushchev, the party – not Stalin – was given the official credit for the changes made
between 1929 and 1953.
The Nazi and Italian Fascist parties possessed more genuine mass bases, which did much
to radicalize politics and promote right-wing revolutionary fervour. But penetration by the
parties of state institutions was less complete than in Russia. In Germany different layers
of personnel were allowed to develop, some based on traditional offices, others created for
new party functionaries. Even though they were all theoretically within and under the
Nazi Party, there were a great many overlapping and conflicting jurisdictions. In Italy the
situation was more paradoxical. On the one hand, more effort was made to integrate party
organs into the centre of the government system – with, for example, the Fascist Grand
Council and the Chamber of Fasces and Corporations. On the other hand, institutions based
on the party did not guarantee party unity or the security of the leadership – as Mussolini
was to discover to his cost when a majority of the Grand Council demanded his dismissal
in 1943.
Elsewhere the development of a one-party system was intended to neutralize, defuse and
depoliticize rather than to create a resurgent mass. This, for example, was the motive behind
Salazar’s National Union (UN). This did ‘not pursue a popular, mass basis’.13 Salazar said
that ‘We need neither fawn on the working class to get their backing nor provoke their ire
only to have them later shot for their excesses’.14 Similarly, Rivera’s Unión Patriótica (UP)
was intended to replace competition between parties for the mass vote. Parties were banned
altogether in Bulgaria in 1935, elections being conducted without their participation in 1937.
In Romania, the 1938 Constitution replaced the multi-party system with a single Front of
National Rebirth.
Some authoritarian regimes remained multi-party states but instituted heavy controls or
promoted overriding blocs or fronts. In Austria, for example, Dollfuss developed the
Fatherland Front and in Spain Franco formed a broad alliance in the National Front before
banning the multiple-party system at the end of the Civil War. In theory, Piłsudski’s coalition
Sanacja, and Rydz Śmigły’s Camp of National Unity (OZON), existed alongside other parties
but some of these met with indifference from the electorate, over half of which boycotted
412 Dictatorships compared

the elections of 1935. Finally, Zog proclaimed a multi-party system in his 1928 Constitution
but made sure that it was curtailed by unofficial measures and corruption.
Political power, especially in closed systems, is sometimes associated with the military
– in the process either of its attainment or its retention. Between the wars this was more
the case with authoritarian than with totalitarian regimes.
Direct military intervention by the army was not involved in the rise of the three major
regimes. In Russia the Red Army evolved out of the Red Guard, a paramilitary group which
seized power in October 1917. In Germany Hitler actually prevented the takeover of the army
by the SA, while in Italy the armed forces remained under the command of the King. In a
number of other states the army did exert a direct influence. In Turkey, for example, Mustafa
Kemal came to power in 1922 as the direct result of a military coup, as did Primo de Rivera
in 1923 and Franco from 1936. Piłsudski used the army to seize power in Poland in 1926,
as did Smetona in Lithuania. In some case a military coup provided the opportunity for future
changes carried out by others. In Portugal the military coup of General Gomes da Costa in
1926 cleared the way eventually for the rise of Salazar. Similarly, the coup of Colonel Velchev
in Bulgaria in 1934 was utilized by Boris to establish a royal dictatorship in 1935 and the
Kondyles revolt in Greece in 1935 prepared the ground for General Metaxas from 1935.
Irrespective of how it had come to power, no dictatorship could have survived without
the support of the army. There was, however, a contrast between those regimes which tried
to absorb the military and those which allowed the army to remain as an independent and
privileged institution. The most complete transformation was achieved in Russia. The
Bolshevik regime built an entirely new army and subordinated it to the Communist Party
by means of commissars; under Stalin these were known as zampolits (deputy commanders
for political affairs). At the head of the whole system was the GPUVS or the Main Political
Administration of the Soviet Armed Forces. In Germany control over the army was
accomplished more gradually. Hitler had to earn its support in 1934 in the Night of the
Long Knives but, by 1938, felt sufficiently confident to reorganize the High Command. He
subsequently used the Waffen SS to politicize the army and infuse it with Nazi ideology.
Italy, never a good example of a totalitarian state, did not experience a comparable process.
Mussolini, in fact, claimed that he did ‘not intend to use the army as a political arm’. He
also failed to produce an equivalent to the Waffen SS, which meant that there was nothing
to prevent the officers from taking part in a plot to depose him in 1943. Elsewhere the army
achieved or retained a high status. In Portugal it had a special relationship with Salazar,
until, that is, it was destabilized by the experience of the African wars. In Spain it was
directly elevated and protected by Franco, who was, of course, the Commander-in-Chief.
The same applied in Poland, although Piłsudski was less able than Franco to adjust to a
civilian role. These and other leaders did whatever was necessary to prevent the penetration
of the armed forces by radical right-wing groups, realizing that a disaffected officer corps
could engineer a military coup and thereby imperil the whole regime.

SOCIAL CONTROL
The individual exists within a society; the society is contained within a state. An important
characteristic of a totalitarian state is that it aims to subordinate both the individual and
society. According to Buchheim, ‘Totalitarian rule attempts to encompass the whole person,
the substance and spontaneity of his existence, including his conscience.’15 In Russia, both
Lenin and Stalin intended to create a ‘new type of man’, the purpose of society being to
impart to him the new political values and culture as directed by the state. There was a
 Dictatorships compared 413

similar emphasis, in both Germany and Italy, on a radical change of attitudes and beliefs.
In the smaller states there was no place for social transformation. The intention, instead,
was to restore the traditional social balance. One example was Salazar’s Portugal, of which
Bruce writes, ‘the state was never to swallow up the groups – hence it was never to be
“totalitarian” – it was simply to act as the co-ordinating agent of these groups’.16 In Spain,
Franco’s regime, according to Payne, followed the ‘intolerant, ultra-Catholic norms of
Spanish history’,17 while the main influence on Piłsudski’s Sanacja was Polish civic virtue,
based very much on social tradition.
How completely did the totalitarian regimes reach the individual? One of the most
important methods used was propaganda. According to Friedrich and Brzezinski, ‘The
nearly complete monopoly of mass communication is generally agreed to be one of the
most striking characteristics of totalitarian dictatorship.’18 Each state had its own means of
achieving this monopoly. Within the Soviet Union state ownership prevailed, in contrast to
private ownership under state licence, as sometimes existed in Italy and Germany. The Nazi
and Fascist systems placed greater emphasis than the Soviet Union on the use of radio,
probably because Hitler and Mussolini were more adept than Stalin at the use of the spoken
word. All systems tried to manipulate culture, whether through Socialist Realism or
Aryanism; as shown in Chapter 4, Italy was probably the least successful in this respect.
All redesigned the structure and function of education, although in different ways. The Nazi
and Fascist approach was to close minds in order to make them unreceptive to anything
but carefully programmed propaganda. The result would be a simplification of the whole
intellectual process. Soviet education was based, in theory, on expanding the intellect so
that it could deal with the complexities of the dialectic and other elements of Marxist
ideology. In practice, however, Soviet education under Stalin stultified the intellect by
demanding the complete acceptance, as an act of faith, of the ideas passed down from the
leadership.
Elsewhere the traditional process of education was adapted to be politically supportive
of newly independent states, as in Poland and the Baltic States, but without heavy ideological
content, as in Austria, Hungary and Portugal. Traditional systems were not radically altered;
indeed, some were rendered even more traditional. According to Article 43 of the 1933
Portuguese Constitution (as redrafted in 1935), ‘The education supplied by the state aims
at . . . the formation . . . of all the civic and moral virtues, these being guided by the
principles of Christian doctrine and morality traditional in the country.’19 This was at the
expense of effective progress: it has been estimated that 50 per cent of the Portuguese
population were still illiterate by 1970.20 The exception to all this was Turkey, which used
major reforms in education to update, secularize and westernize.
For a while perceptions of the roles of women and the family were polarized between
regimes dominated by communism on the one hand and, on the other, those that were fascist,
corporative or conservative. Bolshevik Russia under Lenin and the brief communist regime
in Hungary under Béla Kun attempted to remove the inequalities between men and women.
By contrast, Mussolini’s Italy, Hitler’s Germany and the authoritarian regimes in Portugal,
Spain, Austria, Horthy’s Hungary, the Baltic States and the Balkans intensified the traditional
differences between gender roles, emphasizing the family and home orientation of women.
Much the same applied to perceptions of the family. Early communist systems sought to
weaken the family as a ‘bourgeois’ institution that impeded ideological influences over the
individual, while right-wing dictatorships integrated the family into the hierarchy of social
and political control. During the 1930s, however, dictatorships of all kinds gradually
414 Dictatorships compared

converged in their more practical attitudes. Most needed the input of female labour to
contribute to economic growth, which tended to undermine the emphasis on women in the
home rather than in the employment market; at the same time, the Soviet Union allowed
more diversification for women’s roles, including a much wider use of women in the armed
forces. Whereas Hitler and Mussolini had to make extensive compromises over the
composition of their workforces, Stalin moved further towards Germany and Italy in reviving
the importance of the family as a means of promoting population growth and as a means
of guaranteeing social control and discipline. In all cases, adjustments to preferred theory
had to be made in the light of economic and social experience.
Attitudes to religion varied widely. Communism was fundamentally hostile, seeing it as
a rival ideology. Hence both Lenin and Stalin took a range of measures against religion in
all its forms – Christianity, Islam, Judaism and Buddhism. Nazism was more adaptable to
Christianity, although more radical towards Judaism. At first Hitler claimed to be supportive
of traditional Christian values and gained considerable support among both Catholics and
Protestants, doing a deal with the Church by the Concordat in 1933. Later, however, he
clashed with the Church over the euthanasia programme and Nazism itself became more
overtly paganistic, atheistic or pragmatic. Italian Fascism reached that stage only during
the phase of the Salò Republic. Up to that point it did not challenge the Church’s spiritual
supremacy and, despite Mussolini’s own atheistic views, hastened to an agreement with the
Church in the Lateran treaty of 1929.
Elsewhere the Church was afforded special status. In Poland it grew in influence during
the 1930s with the growth of lay organizations such as Catholic Action, the introduction
of religious education and the development of a new Catholic intelligentsia. This was not
uncritical towards the creeping authoritarianism in the 1930s but the regime found it less
threatening than did the communist governments after 1945. In Portugal the government
was more actively supportive of the Church. Even though the 1933 Constitution provided
for the official separation of Church and state, nevertheless, Catholicism was still officially
considered ‘the traditional religion of the Portuguese nation’21 and relations with the Vatican
were formalized by the Concordat of 1940. Salazar’s view was typical of that of most
authoritarian regimes: ‘The state will abstain from playing politics with the church in the
knowledge that the church will abstain from playing politics with the state.’22 Secularization
was not normally part of an authoritarian approach, although here Turkey was the exception,
Mustafa Kemal abolishing both the Caliphate and the Seriat.
It was in their treatment of minorities or sub-groups that the totalitarian regimes inflicted
the worst degradation. In Germany minorities were seen as race enemies, who included
hereditarily diseased people or those with disabilities, the Gipsies and, above all, the Jews.
Fascism targeted Arabs in Libya, Africans in Ethiopia and, from 1938 onwards, Italian
Jews. In the Soviet Union the focus was on class enemies – members of the ‘reactionary’
bourgeoisie or peasantry, above all the kulaks. In theory there was a difference with the
Nazi and Fascist minorities, in that those identified in the Soviet Union were susceptible
to rehabilitation But in practice class often overlapped with ethnicity, at least in Stalin’s
quotas for purging by the NKVD.
Other regimes were more variable in their treatment of minorities. Officially, Portugal
followed an assimilado policy in the colonies, although in practice the ‘culture bar’ was
superseded by the ‘colour bar’ normal to overseas empires. The Romanian government
practised open discrimination against ethnic Hungarians, although Poland made more of an
effort to absorb the Ukrainians and Belorussians included within enlarged frontiers from
 Dictatorships compared 415

1921. In Spain, Franco was much less sympathetic than the Second Republic to Basque
and Catalan regionalism, making it clear that he favoured a unitary Spain. All areas became
more inclined to anti-Semitic legislation during the 1930s, including Poland under Rydz-
Smigly. Even Turkey saw discrimination against minorities who were seen as a potential
threat, especially the Kurds and Armenians.
What was the attitude of the various regimes to popular mobilization? In the totalitarian
states, rallies were frequent and officially orchestrated, usually with a dynamic and
revolutionary emphasis: paramilitary parades were more apparent in Germany, military and
party in the Soviet Union. In the authoritarian regimes such displays were of two main
types. Either they were the fringe activities of bodies like the Arrow Cross, Iron Guard, or
Heimwehr, seeking to influence the regime and causing tensions with it in the process. Or
they were official state rallies, like those of Franco, to celebrate historic events or the triumph
of tradition over revolution. Perhaps the main exception was the Portuguese Legion, set up
in 1936, with an average membership of 120,000 between 1936 and 1945.
Organized leisure activities were more a feature of the totalitarian systems, especially
Germany, with the KdF and SdA. Authoritarian regimes tended to leave this to traditional
bodies, particularly the Church. Youth movements were widespread, although their main
purpose in Russia, Germany and Italy was induction into the prevailing ideology and
subordination to the party and leadership. The main examples were Komsomol and Pioneers
in the USSR, the Pimpf, HJ, JM and BDM in Germany and the Balilla, Avanguardisti and
Fascist Levy in Italy. Elsewhere attempts were made by militant groups to influence youth
– but were often unwelcome or seen as deviant. In Spain and Portugal, however, the regime
did become involved. Portugal developed a Student Vanguard in 1934, which was replaced
in 1936 by Portuguese Youth (Mocidade Portuguesa), the purpose of which was to stimulate
‘physical activities’, the ‘formation of character’ and ‘devotion to country’.23 The treatment
of women was based on more egalitarian principles in the Soviet Union than in Germany
or Italy, although in all three regimes there were differences between theory and practice.
Elsewhere attitudes were generally conservative – especially in Spain, Portugal, Greece and
the Balkan countries – conditioned, however, by traditional social norms as well as by official
government policy. The one major exception to this was Turkey, which made some progress
in improving the status of women by removing Islamic constraints. In this way it was working
in the opposite direction to Spain and Portugal.
Finally, all regimes attached considerable importance to the attitudes of the people
towards them. But the type of attitude would depend on the regime’s expectations. Where
the system expected full-scale involvement and total commitment, then half-heartedness
would be seen as a sign of dissent. On the other hand, where the expectation was a
depoliticized individual, refraining from enthusiastic action could be seen as positive
behaviour. The most extreme expectations were in the Soviet Union and applied to all sectors
of society. The Nazi regime opened certain channels for communication and control but
focused specific attention on suspected ‘deviants’ rather than on everyday opinion. Italy
found it hard to enforce conformist behaviour with any consistency, as was shown by the
large-scale evasion from the youth organizations. In the authoritarian states, opposition was
sometimes ruthlessly targeted, especially in Spain and Portugal. Both regimes were very
destructive to creative writing and journalism through a policy of pre-emptive censorship.
Less draconian measures were adopted in Austria, Hungary, Poland and the Balkans. Yet
none of the authoritarian regimes developed the sort of controls which were applied by the
neo-Stalinist systems in eastern Europe after 1948.
416 Dictatorships compared

SECURITY AND TERROR

Propaganda, indoctrination and social mobilization were invariably backed up by measures
of state security and terror. Totalitarian regimes, indeed, made a permanent connection
between the two processes. Authoritarian states, although never strong on indoctrination,
maintained a watchful security and sometimes pursued a brutal form of repression.
Terror had two main purposes. One was ideological. Both Hitler and Stalin legitimized
their rule by identifying enemies of the people: in Germany they were ‘race enemies’ and
‘sub-humans’, in the Soviet Union, ‘class enemies’ and ‘poisonous weeds’. In both cases
they were to be removed, although this involved different methods. The other purpose was
to prevent the development of opposition either by deterrence and fear or by actual arrest,
followed by detention or execution. Measures here might be summary or judicial. In extreme
cases, purges were conducted to remove a carefully targeted section of society or even of
the establishment itself.
The security forces in the totalitarian regimes involved some of the most notorious
institutions ever devised. The German structure comprised the SA and the SS-Gestapo-SD
complex, while Soviet security evolved through the Cheka, GPU, OGPU, NKVD, MGB,
MVD and, after the death of Stalin, the KGB. Italy’s system was far less extensive or extreme,
based on the OVRA and Special Tribunal. Here terror was more apparent with the rise of
Fascist squadristi than with more mature fascist institutions. The OVRA never achieved
the same notoriety as the SS or NKVD; according to Friedrich and Brzezinski, it was ‘less
total, less frightful, and hence less “mature” than in Germany and the Soviet Union’.24 Indeed,
its staff numbered only 375 in 1940.25 The Special Tribunal was sparing in its use of capital
punishment: 42 death sentences were imposed from 1927 to 1943, 31 of which were carried
out.26
Elsewhere, methods varied considerably. Some regimes had no organized terror as such:
examples included Horthy’s Hungary, the Baltic states, Austria under Dollfuss and Piłsudski’s
Poland. Others developed machinery for repression which was more efficient than Italy’s.
Franco extended police functions to the army, which carried out huge numbers of extra-
judicial killings and acts of vengeance. The total number of executions in Spain was anything
up to 200,000 and some 400,000 passed through Spanish prisons between 1939 and 1945.
Although Portugal saw far fewer victims, Salazar’s secret police was actually more widely
known: the PVDE (Police of Vigilance and State Defence) was set up in 1933, to be replaced
in 1945 by the PIDE (International Police for State Defence). These targeted suspected
Communists and dissidents, using a network of spies and informers. Yet there were
constraints. Salazar’s view was that in a small country ‘a relentless economy of terror proved
more effective than mass terror or recurrent bouts of large-scale purging’.27
What was the role of legal systems in these developments? In most authoritarian regimes
the legal structure remained intact but was heavily leaned on by the state. But it did act as
a restraining influence, especially once enemies of the state had been identified by the secret
police. It was more difficult for these accused to be removed anonymously. Going through
the judicial system meant that the numbers were automatically controlled. The exception
to this was Franco’s Spain, where the tribunals were for a while under the emergency control
of the army – in the wake of a bloody civil war.
The totalitarian regimes varied. Italy was more like the authoritarian structures in that
the judicial system retained some control over the prosecution and processing of prisoners
within Italy. The Special Tribunal retained a legal base and was manned by legal officials.
In Russia, however, earlier attempts to set up an independent legal order ‘did not really
take root’.28 According to Wachsmann, ‘the bloody and arbitrary justice of the Bolsheviks
 Dictatorships compared 417

did nothing to increase respect for legality’.29 Jurists were often untrained and subordinated
to local party leaders. Pressure was put upon them to deal with the enemies of the state as
they deserved. During the height of the Terror in the late 1930s the NKVD took the lead
in prosecutions and regular courts rarely took part in political cases. In Germany, the
situation was more complex. On the one hand, Germany had a longer and more continuous
legal tradition. Legal officials were more highly trained – and this remained the case during
the period of the Third Reich. Unlike Stalin, Hitler conducted no mass purges of judges.
This meant that ‘the legal system in Nazi Germany was much more firmly entrenched than
in the Soviet Union’.30 Yet the ideological influence in Germany was what really counted
and the judicial system was brought round to this as the result of the work of certain key
figures like Roland Freisler. Similarly, there were no constraints on the euthanasia programme
or exterminations on racial grounds. These were well outside the scope of the normal legal
process, going beyond even the NKVD courts. As Wachsmann maintains, ‘an established
legal system and a professional body of trained jurists provided no secure barrier against a
descent into terror.’31
A key element of terror is the application of purges. In the totalitarian regimes, these
were most common in the Soviet Union and least common in Fascist Italy. The dynamics
and purpose also differed. Bullock, for example, points out the different directions taken
by Hitler and Stalin during the 1930s. ‘While Hitler between 1934 and 1938 accepted the
need to curb radical excesses and allow a period of accommodation and restraint, Stalin in
the same years moved in the opposite direction.’ This involved ‘a renewal of the revolution
from above, culminating in a reign of terror’.32 Of the three totalitarian dictators, Stalin was
the most obsessed about the security of his position: unlike Hitler and Mussolini, he had
not been the original inspiration behind the new system and needed to place firmly upon
himself the mantle of Lenin. Stalin was also confronted by a huge range of local initiatives
and inertias which needed to be spurred into action or, alternatively, reined back. The extent
of Soviet terror is therefore in part a sign of administrative malfunctioning. In Germany
purges served a more restricted purpose. The Night of the Long Knives was Hitler’s method
of cutting off the radical wing of the Nazi movement in order to guarantee military support
for the new regime. It was not, however, followed by a clean sweep through the rest of the
party leadership. One can only speculate on whether this would have happened had the
Third Reich outlived Hitler. Would Goering, Himmler, Bormann or Goebbels eventually
have become a Stalin? The only real equivalent to a purge in the authoritarian states was
the summary execution of Republican opponents in the wake of the Civil War: this was
actually more extensive than any developments within Italy – but fell far short of the slaughter
of perceived opponents within the USSR.
One of the most notorious features of the panoply of terror was the use of concentration
and labour camps. In fact, both preceded the era of dictatorship. During its 1896 war with
the United States, Spain used camps in Cuba for the renconcentración of potentially hostile
peasants. The same method was used by the British in the Boer War, then by the Germans
in South West Africa, who developed the Konzentrationslager for the Herero people of
South West Africa, where forced labour was added to the regime. This combination
of confinement and labour came to be applied ruthlessly by Mussolini’s occupying forces
in Libya and Ethiopia during the 1920s and 1930s. It remained, however, a colonial device
and was not imported into Italy itself.
The camps in Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union were a new departure. Although the
early Nazi camps, such as Dachau and Sachsenhausen, were intended as centres of labour
for opponents and ‘deviants’, most of the network ended up with facilities for mass killing,
while six were set up specifically for this purpose. The overall conception of the German
418 Dictatorships compared

system was the more horrifying because of their eventual connection with the deliberate
extermination of 6 million people. There was no Soviet equivalent to the RHSA, to
Auschwitz-Birkenau, to the gas chambers or ovens. Nevertheless, the Soviet Gulag was
incomparably greater in size, consisting at its height of 476 labour camps and 2,000 colonies,
whereas the total number of camps administered by the SS was about 16. The twin purposes
were penal and economic. Dzerzhinski set the original agenda: ‘The republic cannot be
merciful toward criminals and cannot waste resources on them’; instead, ‘we will have to
work to organize forced labour (penal servitude) at camps for colonizing undeveloped areas
that will be run with iron discipline’.33 This was taken to unprecedented lengths by Stalin
both as a device for terror and as one of the pillars of the planned economy.
What links Nazi Germany with the USSR is that ‘both regimes legitimated themselves,
in part by establishing categories of “enemies” or “sub humans”, whom they persecuted
and destroyed on a mass scale’.34 In Germany it was people with disabilities, then race
enemies and finally Jews. In the Soviet Union it was class enemies, including kulaks and
‘saboteurs’, along with certain ethnic minorities. In terms of overall numbers, many more
victims were processed through the Gulag system than through the SS network: more people
died in the Soviet camps than in those in Germany and Poland. These deaths, however,
were the result of neglect and overwork rather than a policy of genocide. The Stalinist
system always retained a theoretical emphasis on correction and rehabilitation while the
Nazi ideology was ultimately geared to a policy of disposal.

ECONOMIES
Within the totalitarian states the government sought to impose overall economic control.
Most was attempted in the Soviet Union, where, as in the political sphere, the previous
system was largely destroyed. Stalin’s method was the Five-Year Plan, co-ordinated by
Gosplan, which, by 1938, had been subdivided into fifty-four departments. His basic intention
was to impose upon all sectors of the economy the principle of collective ownership while,
at the same time, preparing the Soviet Union to resist an invasion from the West. The fascist
states, by contrast, aimed to adapt rather than destroy the previous system. Germany’s
programme was based on Gleichschaltung, Italy’s on the corporate state. In both cases the
emphasis was on state direction but with a degree of private enterprise; the state allied with
big business rather than seeking to destroy it. The ultimate objectives of both Hitler and
Mussolini were autarky and the pursuit of Lebensraum, the assumption being that only
territorial expansion would enable the German and Italian economies to reflect the
industriousness of their respective people.
Elsewhere, the smaller states varied in their economic policies. Some, like Spain, Austria,
Portugal and Turkey, were clearly influenced by Mussolini’s corporate state, although they
avoided some of its Fascist connotations. Others struggled on with open economies based
on private enterprise and minimal state direction; eventually, however, the impact of the
Depression forced Bulgaria, Romania, Yugoslavia and Greece into making trade agreements
with Germany. These, in turn, dragged them into the vortex of German diplomatic and
political influence.
The key test of the success of the planned economies was their capacity for mobilization
in wartime. The Soviet system of the 1930s has been reinterpreted. It was once thought to
have made the most successful adjustment to the demands of Total War and that Soviet
success against Nazi Germany from 1943 onwards was due to the full implementation
of the Five-Year Plans. It now seems that the Soviet recovery was made possible by the
 Dictatorships compared 419

suspension of economic planning – the very reverse of Stalin’s original intention. Even so,
it could be argued that Stalin had geared the Soviet economy directly to the demands of
Total War; the problems were how best to generate the necessary resources and how to
make the best use of them. The experience of the fascist states was very different. The
Italian economy reacted badly to being stretched by conflict in the 1930s. The Ethiopian
campaign and the Spanish Civil War brought it close to collapse, while the campaigns in
the Balkans and North Africa finished it off. Germany was geared specifically to a war of
conquest followed by the absorption of large areas to consolidate the economic base. But
to be fully effective, this conquest had to be rapid. As long as Germany could depend upon
a successful Blitzkrieg the economy functioned smoothly and efficiently. Faced with the
prospect of Total War, however, Germany fell far behind the Soviet Union in armaments
production. By the time that Speer had managed to introduce more radical measures it was
already too late: Soviet troops were closing in on the Third Reich.
The economies of other European states were also geared at times for warfare. Poland
had to finance its war with the Soviet Union between 1920 and 1921and then maintained
one of the largest conventional armies in Europe. Portugal had to set aside a substantial
proportion of its GDP to maintain its position in the colonies. This became increasingly
difficult as the regimes of Salazar and Caetano were confronted by guerrilla resistance in
Angola and Mozambique. Spain’s economy was dictated by civil war and needed a period
of urgent recuperation. Given these priorities, it made sense to keep out of the Second World
War, a chance which Mussolini did not take on behalf of Italy, and one which was not
offered to Poland or the Baltic states.
We have seen that a key feature of industrial growth in the totalitarian states was military
mobilization. How did the consumer fare faced with this priority? Stalin’s industrialization
was conducted entirely at the expense of consumer industries, while Hitler’s policies tried
at least to accommodate consumer expectations. In the Soviet Union full employment was
accompanied by declining living standards and an overlapping sector based on forced
labour. Hitler never dared inflict on the German consumer the sort of demands taken for
granted by Stalin in Russia. In some ways the German consumer was worse off under Hitler
than in the Weimar Republic, experiencing lower wages and a longer working week. Yet
for all that, the level of consumer goods did rise between 1933 and 1938 and German
consumers were not fully affected by the impact of military conflict until the introduction
of the Total War economy from 1941. Mussolini also tried to combine rearmament with
maintaining a steady standard of living – but with somewhat less success. After the invasion
of Ethiopia the prospects for consumer industry declined rapidly and consumers were called
upon to make extra sacrifices during the second half of the 1930s. At the same time, Mussolini
lacked the political power of Stalin to convert austerity into industrial recovery.
Elsewhere conditions of the consumer varied. In Portugal the Estado Novo of Salazar
made very little difference to the workforce, which continued to experience some of the
lowest living standards in Europe. Spain’s economic recovery after 1945 was slow and
based so heavily on that a consumer boom did not occur until the 1960s autarky. In Austria
and Hungary the population had had higher consumer expectations, given the industrialization
which had been taking place in the former Dual Monarchy. Both, however, were badly
affected by the loss of industrial regions, affecting both the capacity to produce and the
ability to purchase. Even the countries with increased territory, like Poland and Romania,
did not experience significant improvements in the standard of living. Probably the most
successful in terms of consumer gains was Turkey, where for Mustafa Kemal, consumerism
was an important part of the introduction of a westernized lifestyle.
420 Dictatorships compared

All of the totalitarian regimes were severely tested by the special problems posed by
agriculture. Tight, centralized control was particularly difficult in an economic activity which
was essentially local and which required the exercise of on-the-spot initiative. It might have
been possible more or less to co-ordinate decision-making in the industrial sector, but how
could the same process take into account the diverse and unpredictable conditions faced by
agriculture? The Soviet experience was catastrophic. Stalin’s enforced collectivization
alienated huge sections of the peasantry, and his determination to use agriculture to subsidize
industrial development created an imbalance which permanently crippled the Soviet
economy. Mussolini’s policies were similarly disastrous for Italy. Although he avoided a
social upheaval by not seeking to alter the pattern of land ownership, he did cause serious
disruption to agricultural productivity. By insisting that farmers should switch to crops like
wheat to enable the government to win its ‘Battle for Grain’, he created an imbalance which
post-war Italy has struggled to resolve. Hitler managed to avoid the direct disruption inflicted
by Stalin and Mussolini. It could, however, be argued that his belief in a strong peasantry
underlay his policy of Lebensraum: he envisaged the settlement of German rural communities
across the whole of eastern Europe. Lebensraum, in turn, conditioned Hitler’s whole
economic and military strategy, with all the implications examined in Chapter 5.
Some of the smaller states experienced agricultural reforms in the early 1920s;
Stambuliski, for example, sought to redistribute land among the peasantry of Bulgaria in
what was really the reverse of Stalin’s policy. But the onset of the Depression forced the
authoritarian regimes to abandon virtually all attempts to direct agriculture. The smaller
dictators valued the support of the landed gentry too much to risk incurring their wrath by
interfering with the status quo. In this respect, as in many others, they considered that things
were best left as they were.

IMPACT OF WAR
Trotsky once described war as ‘the locomotive of history’. At no time was this more relevant
than during the period covered by this book. The impact of the First World War was covered
in Chapter 1. This was followed by the Russian Civil War (1918–21), the Russo-Polish
War (1920–1), the Abyssinian War (1935–6), the Spanish Civil War (1936–9) and the Russo-
Finnish War (1940–1).
What were the attitudes of the various regimes to war? To Lenin it was external to
communist ideology: it was the means whereby capitalism would tear itself apart and enable
communism to triumph through revolution. Stalin, however, changed this approach by
preparing more deliberately for war and eventually making the Second World War the means
by which communism was spread. Revolutions were imposed from above in the wake of
military victory. His attitude was strongly affected by the Russian Civil War – one of the
most brutal conflicts of the twentieth century. For Mussolini, war was intrinsic to the
ideology of fascism, being the ultimate means by which the dynamic forces come to bear.
For Hitler, war was essential for the formation of the racial empire: in effect, the Kampf-
gemeinschaft would forge the Volksgemeinschaft through the process of Lebensraum.35 In
the authoritarian dictatorships war was seen more as a means of adjusting frontiers. Irredentist
nationalism was probably the strongest force in this. Hungary was the most obvious example,
which did develop something more akin to fascist expansionism in Szálasi’s ‘Hungarism’
(p. 325), but it lacked the resources on its own to carry it out. Poland proved the most
successful of the inter-war states in frontier adjustment, in contrast to Greece whose
aspirations to Turkish territory had been ended by 1922. Portugal had no claims; although,
 Dictatorships compared 421

proportionate to her GDP, she had one of the largest military budgets in Europe, this was
used to defend an overseas empire which had been held over several centuries. If there was
an ideology here it was one of imperial fulfilment.
But the war which affected almost all of the dictatorships was the Second World War,
the impact of which lasted from 1939 to 1948. The main trend was the domination of the
authoritarian regimes by the totalitarian ones. This was anticipated by Germany’s absorption
of Austria in 1938 and Italy’s subjection of Albania in 1939. In September 1939 Poland
was dismembered by Germany and USSR. The Baltic States were Sovietized by 1940, while
Greece was conquered by Germany and Yugoslavia was partitioned between Germany and
Italy. Four others were in alliance with Germany: Slovakia, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria.
Three – Spain, Portugal and Turkey – remained neutral. A second wave of domination
occurred after the collapse of Nazi Germany as Poland, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria,
Albania and the eastern zone of Germany itself ended up under Soviet control – a
development which brought a seamless transition from the Second World War to the Cold
War.
The totalitarian regimes pursued objectives which shaped the way in which the War
developed. Germany’s main priority was always in the east – with the pursuit of Lebensraum
and racial frontier. This meant that the conflict in the west became subsumed into the race
war. As Horowitz argues,

The Nazi onslaught into Poland and then Russia – from June 1941 to May 1942 –
corresponded to a shift in German priorities if not policies . . . the war aims of the
Nazis shifted from victory over the Allied powers to victory over the Jews.36

The Soviet experience was somewhat different. Although Stalin had produced a massive
build-up of Soviet armaments during the 1930s, he was initially forced onto the defensive.
The Soviet recovery, however, provided the main momentum from 1943 as the war turned
from one of survival into one of expansion – the reverse of Germany’s Lebensraum.
Mussolini, meanwhile, had deflected committed Italy to a war beyond its resources in the
Balkans in the vain hope of completing a new Roman Empire. This, too, shaped the outcome
of the war as a whole as Germany was drawn into southern Europe by the need to salvage
Mussolini’s empire. This had not been part of Hitler’s intended Lebensraum and it fatally
weakened his campaigns in the east. It also provided the means for the Western Allies to
open up another front and relieve at least some of the pressure on the Soviet Union.
To what extent did war act as a major catalyst to change regimes internally? It certainly
radicalized Nazi Germany. The SS, for example, expanded rapidly in importance, to the
point where it is arguable that it had assumed many of the functions of the state itself. By
1944 it was running the army through the Waffen SS, the extermination programme through
the RSHA, and the eastern occupied territories. It was also in charge of the Reich’s racial
policy through the RKFDV and had assumed virtual control over the industrial sector. In
contrast, the war seemed to traditionalize Stalin’s Russia: the purges were suspended, the
planning system was replaced and, with the emphasis on the Great Patriotic War, traditional
themes were brought back into the Soviet system. According to Rees, ‘The war, eclipsing
the October Revolution, became the great event that legitimised the Soviet regime until its
ultimate demise.’37 Fascist Italy had already experienced war 1936–9 and Mussolini had
tried, through it, to radicalize Fascism. The Second World War merely wound Fascism
down – apart from a final flare of radicalism in the Salò Republic from 1943, a development,
however, arising out of the imminence of defeat. In Spain the Civil War made the actions
422 Dictatorships compared

of Franco’s regime more brutal but it forced what radical influences there were into a broader
conservative coalition. Once he was safely in power Franco exercised the option to avoid
further radicalization by keeping out of the Second World War while, at the same time,
showing solidarity with Germany by providing volunteers for the German campaign in
Russia. Elsewhere, regimes were changed by their association with the totalitarian states:
Albania, Greece and Yugoslavia were conquered and reconstructed, while Hungary, Romania
and Bulgaria became allies and swung more to the right as a result. The main effect of this
was on policies towards their minorities, especially the Jews.
The peoples and nationalities of eastern Europe were massively affected by the Second
World War as they became caught up in a huge theatre of war and subsequent reorganizations
brought by conquest or defeat. Nazi Germany, for example, restructured the populations of
Poland, Ukraine, Belorussia and the Baltic States as soon as it had conquered them. This
involved bringing them under SS or government administration, creating new colonies for
Aryan settlers and removing existing Jewish inhabitants. Some historians see the Holocaust
as closely connected with the other racial and ethnic policies of a radicalized regime acting
in a new and terrible way. The Soviet regime also brought massive disruption, through
large-scale resettlements based on generalizations about ethnic reliability. There was no
change of internal structure as such – unlike the vast new administrative system imposed
by Nazi Germany. The USSR retained its existing format but included the Baltic States and
Moldavia. What was new, however, was the extension of new Communist regimes – under
Soviet influence – to East Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Romania and
Bulgaria. All this involved frontier changes and the large-scale movement of peoples through
transportation or expulsion.
Many of the dictatorships covered in this book were at some stage involved in mass
killings and war crimes. In extreme cases these extended to genocide. Before the Second
World War the worst example had been the massacre of 1.5 million Armenians in Turkey
between 1915 and 1916. Between the wars, Italy had a particularly bad record in Libya and
Ethiopia (pp. 135–7) and, in the context of the Second World War, colluded with atrocities
against Serbs and Muslims in Yugoslavia. From 1941, the Wehrmacht and SS carried out
mass killings of Polish, Ukrainian and Russian civilians and of Soviet prisoners of war.
Above all, attempts were made to exterminate all Jews living in areas under German
occupation, initially by Einsatzgruppen units, later after transportation to the death camps.
The Soviet regime was also involved in war crimes on a huge scale, including the activities
of the Cheka in the Russian Civil War, the deportation of ethnic minorities by the Red
Army and NKVD, savage treatment of Polish or German prisoners of war, and reprisals
against German civilians or suspected ethnic ‘traitors’ in Ukraine, Belorussia or the Baltic.
Total casualties were on an even larger scale than those committed by the Nazis, although
it is sometimes hard to draw the line between peacetime and wartime atrocities. Nor did
the Soviet system produce anything equivalent to the gas chambers which were used on
millions of Jewish civilians after being tested on Soviet prisoners of war. Outside the
totalitarian states the most notorious atrocities were committed in the Ustasha-held area of
Yugoslavia. In Bosnia-Herzegovina and Croatia some 300,000 Serbs were massacred, along
with smaller numbers of Jews and Gipsies. This was unprecedented in the area: according
to Pavkovic, ‘no regime or movement in Yugoslavia had ever attempted to wipe out a whole
national or ethnic group’.38 The wartime expansion of Germany eastwards had a profound
impact on anti-Semitism and race conflict, converting both into the Holocaust. There were
two basic reasons for this. First, such a policy of elimination could be accomplished only
within the context of Lebensraum which, in turn, was inconceivable without war. Second,
 Dictatorships compared 423

this expansion brought direct contact with the areas of most concentrated Jewish population
in Europe – and within the country regarded by Hitler as Germany’s greatest ideological
enemy. The invasion of the Soviet Union therefore brought to a climax the previous phases
of exclusion, expulsion and ghettoization – and converted them into mass murder. The new
priorities were transmitted back to Germany’s treatment of European Jewry more generally.
This actually had an effect on Germany’s priorities for the war at large; indeed, it became
the war as far as the Nazi leadership were concerned.
Other countries involved in the Holocaust have already been considered in
Chapter 5. In all cases the Nazi regime imposed the overall structure for extermination –
either following military conquest, as in Poland, Bohemia, the Baltic States and Yugoslavia,
or as a result of heavy pressure on an ally (Romania, Bulgaria, Slovakia); in some cases
this led to occupation, as in Italy or in Hungary in 1944. All of these areas had experienced
a degree of anti-Semitism during the 1920s and 1930s – but this could not of itself have
produced a Holocaust without the direct agency of the Nazi regime. Yet, as previously
shown, the countries which had been ruled by – or were still under – authoritarian
dictatorships showed at least a degree of co-operation with Nazi measures. These were less
obvious in Poland, the Baltic States and Bulgaria than they were in Hungary and Romania.
Nevertheless, it is only recently that any degree of complicity has been acknowledged. This
is a reflection on the transition of eastern Europe from closed communist regimes, which
were generally dismissive of any special significance for the Holocaust, to post-communist
democracies.
Epilogue
Europe since 1945

The period between the two world wars saw an unprecedented variety of regimes. These
can be classified in two ways. First, it is possible to make a three-way distinction between
democracies, left-wing dictatorships (Russia) and right-wing dictatorships (Germany, Italy
and many smaller states). The alternative division is between democracy and dictatorship,
the latter subdividing into totalitarian regimes (Stalinist Russia, Nazi Germany and possibly
Mussolini’s Italy) and authoritarian states. This book has looked at both types of
classification.
The post-war period saw major political changes and shifts in the meaning of dictatorship.
At the millennium, two major phases were discernible.

1945–89
After 1945 the regimes of the far left were greatly strengthened while, elsewhere,
parliamentary democracy was revived. The far right, by contrast, was gradually squeezed
out of Europe altogether. The collapse of the right-wing dictatorships was a direct result of
military defeat in the Second World War at the hands of the Western democracies and the
Soviet Union. The scope and extent of this defeat utterly discredited fascism as a doctrine
or as a vehicle for political activism. It is true that the word itself survives. It is normally
used to describe small parties of the far right which aspire, so far unsuccessfully, to revive
a totalitarian form of nationalism. It is also sometimes used as a term of abuse against
regimes or governments more appropriately called reactionary or traditionalist. Between
1945 and the 1980s Europe saw only three manifestations of the far right, all of which were
authoritarian rather than fascist. Spain and Portugal survived as dictatorships, against the
general trend, because they had avoided involvement in the Second World War. Neither,
however, was able to outlive its founder: Portugal moved towards democracy after the 1974
revolution, Spain more gradually under the guidance of King Juan Carlos. Greece presents
a different case. Between 1967 and 1974 the colonels briefly recreated the Metaxas era, but
their regime was eventually doomed by its isolation, ostracism and defeat in war.
As a result of the decline of the far right, Europe was initially polarized between
parliamentary democracy and the communist left. The reason was that Western Europe felt
vulnerable after the Second World War to the threat which it perceived from the new Soviet
superpower and came to depend on a renewed connection with the United States in the
form of NATO. The Soviet Union, in turn, tightened its control in eastern Europe by means
of Comecon and the Warsaw Pact. The West saw itself as the ‘free world’ and the Soviet
bloc as the remaining source of dictatorship threatening this freedom. At first the term
‘totalitarian’ was widely used to describe the Soviet bloc, although its appropriateness began
to be questioned afer the decline of Stalinist influences (see Chapter 2).
 Epilogue: Europe since 1945 425

SINCE 1989
This situation lasted well into the 1980s, when a change occurred. Imperceptible at first,
this accelerated with breathtaking speed towards the end of the decade. Gorbachev dismantled
much of the remaining neo-Stalinist apparatus in the Soviet Union, while the period 1989–91
saw a political transformation. Communist regimes were toppled in Poland, Czechoslovakia,
Hungary, East Germany, Bulgaria and Romania. The Warsaw Pact was disbanded, the Cold
War formally ended and the Soviet Union was replaced by sixteen independent states; those
in Europe were Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Armenia,
Georgia and Azerbaijan.
The implications were mixed. There was a great deal more scope for political instability
as national identities were revived after decades of suppression by communism. The result
was a proliferation of nationalist and right-wing movements throughout eastern Europe, and
of ethnic conflicts which saw the break-up of Yugoslavia and the emergence of authoritarian
regimes in Serbia, Belarus and, for a while, Ukraine. On the other hand, some of the new
states looked to closer association with NATO and the European Union as a means of
avoiding any possibility of a return to ideologically based dictatorship, whether of the
communist left or of a reborn far right. The development of democracy in eastern Europe
has also led to a revival of the term ‘totalitarian’ to describe the pre-1989 regimes – now
consigned to the past, to be examined as history.
By the millennium, dictatorship was being seen in Europe as a thing of the past. Many
political theorists were referring to the ‘end of ideology’ and, in view of the end of the
Cold War and the growth of European integration, some were even anticipating the ‘end
of history’. The twenty-first century is likely to prove both assertions rash. The seeds of

Communist
FINLAND states under
Soviet control
NORWAY Communist
UNITED SWEDEN states outside
KINGDOM Soviet control

DENMARK

IRELAND USSR

NETH.
EAST
POLAND
GERMANY
BELG. WEST
GERMANY

CZECHOSLOVAKIA

FRANCE AUSTRIA
SWITZ. HUNGARY
ROMANIA

YUGOSLAVIA
ITALY BULGARIA
SPAIN
PORTUGAL ALBANIA

GREECE TURKEY

Map 10 Europe before 1989

426 Epilogue: Europe since 1945

Former
FINLAND USSR
RUSSIAN
NORWAY FEDERATION Former
UNITED
Yugoslavia
SWEDEN ESTONIA
KINGDOM 1 = Slovenia
2 = Croatia
LATVIA 3 = Bosnia –
DENMARK
LITHUANIA Herzegovina
IRELAND
4 = Montenegro
BELARUS 5 = Serbia
NETH. 6 = Macedonia
POLAND
BELG. GERMANY
UKRAINE
CZECH REP.
SLOVAKIA
MOLDOVA
FRANCE AUSTRIA
SWITZ. HUNGARY
1 ROMANIA
2

3 5
ITALY BULGARIA
4
SPAIN
6
PORTUGAL ALBANIA

GREECE TURKEY

Map 11 Europe since 1991

many twentieth-century developments were sown in the 1890s. The 1990s could have been
similarly productive and it remains to be seen whether dictatorship will be able to regenerate
in the future.
Notes

1 The setting for dictatorship

1 See Z. Sternhell, ‘Fascist Ideology’, in W. Laqueur (ed.) Fascism: A Reader’s Guide
(Berkeley, CA 1976).
2 Quoted in A. Lyttelton (ed.) Italian Fascisms from Pareto to Gentile (London 1973),
p. 211.
3 J.S. Hughes, Contemporary Europe (Englewood Cliffs, NJ 1961), Ch. 2.
4 K.D. Bracher, The Age of Ideologies (London 1984), Part II, Ch. 2.
5 S.G. Payne, A History of Fascism (London 1995), p. 79.
6 I. Kershaw, ‘War and Political Violence in Twentieth-Century Europe’, Contemporary
European History, 2005, 14:1, pp. 107–123, at p. 113.
7 J.A.S. Grenville (ed.) The Major International Treaties 1914–1973 (London 1974),
Document: President Wilson’s Fourteen Points, 8 January 1918.
8 A. Cobban, The Nation State and National Self-determination (London 1969), Part I,
Ch. 4.
9 H. Kohn, Political Ideologies of the Twentieth Century (New York 1949), Ch. 13.
10 K.J. Newman, European Democracy between the Wars (trans. K. Morgan) (London 1970),
Ch. 3.
11 D. Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: The Cultural Norms of Soviet Modernity, 1917–1941
(Ithaca, NY 2003), p. 7.
12 R. Vinen, A History in Fragments: Europe in the Twentieth Century (London 2000),
p. 184.
13 Hoffmann, op. cit., p. 9.
14 R. Ben-Ghiat, Fascist Modernities (Berkeley, CA 2001), p. 3.
15 Quoted in P. Fearon, The Origins and Nature of the Great Slump 1929–1932 (London
1979).
16 M. Mazower, Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century (London 1998).

2 Types of dictatorship
1 H. Buchheim, Totalitarian Rule: Its Nature and Characteristics (Middletown, CT 1968),
Ch. 1.
2 J.J. Linz, Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes (London 2000), pp. 61–3.
3 M.R. Curtis, Encyclopedia Americana, s.v. ‘Dictatorship’.
4 P. Brooker, Twentieth-Century Dictatorships: The Ideological One-Party States (New
York 1995), pp. 1–6.
5 I. Kershaw and M. Lewin, Stalinism and Nazism: Dictatorships in Comparison
(Cambridge 1997).
6 A. Perlmutter, Modern Authoritarianism: A Comparative Institutional Analysis (New
Haven, CT 1984), p. 175.
7 For a basic definition of totalitarianism, see entry in J. Krieger et al., eds.: The Oxford
Companion to the Politics of the World, second edition (Oxford 2001).
428 Notes

8 See C.J. Friedrich and Z.K. Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy
(Cambridge, MA 1956).
9 Ibid., p. 9.
10 Ibid., p. 88.
11 See H. Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (London 1986).
12 Friedrich and Brzezinski, op. cit., Ch. 2.
13 A. Gleeson, Totalitarianism: The Inner History of the Cold War (New York 1995),
p. 3.
14 C.J. Friedrich, M. Curtis and B.R. Barber, Totalitarianism in Perspective: Three Views
(London 1969), p. 55.
15 See J.L. Talmon, The Origin of Totalitarian Democracy (London 1952).
16 S. Tormey, Making Sense of Tyranny: Interpretations of Totalitarianism (Manchester
1995), p. 186.
17 Ibid., p. 188.
18 K.D. Bracher, The Age of Ideologies (London 1984), Part II, Ch. 1. See also the more
recent emphasis on the ‘sacralization of politics’, especially in Emilio Gentile, The
Sacralization of Politics in Fascist Italy (trans. Cambridge, MA 1996) and ‘A Contribution
to the Current Debate on Political Religions’, Journal of Contemporary History, 2015,
50:2, pp. 168–187.
19 Friedrich and Brzezinski, op. cit., Ch. 2.
20 Ibid.
21 Ibid.
22 Bracher, op. cit., Part II, Ch. 1.
23 G.D. Obichkin et al., V.I. Lenin: A Short Biography (Moscow 1968), p. 33.
24 J.L.H. Keep, The Debate on Soviet Power (Oxford 1979), p. 173.
25 R. Pipes, ‘The Origins of Bolshevism: The Intellectual Evolution of Young Lenin’, in
R. Pipes (ed.) Revolutionary Russia (London 1968).
26 T.H. Rigby, The Changing Soviet System (Aldershot 1990), p. 13.
27 Quoted in G.B. Smith, Soviet Politics. Struggling with Change (London 1992), p. 79.
28 Quoted in T.H. Rigby (ed.) Stalin (Englewood Cliffs, NJ 1966).
29 Quoted in L.G. Churchward, Soviet Socialism: Social and Political Essays (London 1987),
p. 121.
30 G.P. Blum, The Rise of Fascism in Europe (Westport, CT 1998), p. 79.
31 R. Paxton, quoted in A.C. Pinto, ‘Back to European Fascism’, Contemporary European
History, 2006, 15, pp. 103–115.
32 Quoted in I. Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship (4th edn, London 2000), p. 30.
33 Blum, op. cit., p. 4.
34 Ibid.
35 Quoted in D. Smith (ed.) Left and Right in Twentieth Century Europe (Harlow 1970),
Ch. 1.
36 E. Nolte, Three Faces of Fascism (London 1964), p. 64).
37 Hildebrand, quoted in Kershaw, op. cit.
38 Blum, op. cit., p. 4.
39 See Z. Sternhell, ‘Fascist Ideology’, in W. Laqueur (ed.) Fascism: A Reader’s Guide
(Berkeley, CA 1976).
40 S.M. Lipset, Political Man: The Social Bases of Politics (New York 1960), Ch. 5.
41 Quoted in R.C. Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideologies (Boston, MA 1983),
Ch. 9.
42 E. Weber, quoted in W. Laqueur (ed.) Fascism: A Reader’s Guide (Harmondsworth 1979).
43 Kershaw, op. cit., p. 42.
44 Quoted in Kershaw, op. cit., p.42.
45 Ibid.
46 P.F. Sugar, ‘Nationalism: The Victorious Ideology’, in P.F. Sugar (ed.) Western European
Nationalism in the Twentieth Century (Washington, DC 1995), p. 413.
47 K.R. Minogue, Nationalism (London 1969), p. 153.
 Notes 429

3 Dictatorship in Russia
1 A. Ascher (ed.) The Mensheviks in the Russian Revolution (London 1976), Introduction.
2 Quoted in E.H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution (London 1950), Vol. I, Ch. 4.
3 E. Acton, Rethinking the Russian Revolution (London 1996), p. 183.
4 Quoted in A.E. Adams (ed.) The Russian Revolution and Bolshevik Victory (Lexington,
MA 1974), extract by M. Fainsod.
5 Carr, op. cit., Vol. 1, Ch. 4.
6 Quoted in Adams, op. cit., extract by Fainsod.
7 Quoted in S.N. Silverman (ed.) Lenin (New York 1966), Ch. 2.
8 See G. Swain, The Origins of the Russian Civil War (London 1996); S. Smith, ‘The
Socialist-Revolutionaries and the Dilemma of Civil War’, in V.N. Brovkin (ed.) The
Bolsheviks in Russian Society (New Haven, CT 1997); L. Hertz, ‘The Psychology of the
White Movement’, in Brovkin, op. cit.; E. Mawdsley, The Russian Civil War (London
1987).
9 The argument in this section is partly derived from Swain, op. cit.
10 Ibid., p. 252.
11 Ibid., p. 8.
12 Hertz, op. cit., p. 106.
13 P. Kenez, ‘The Ideology of the White Movement’, Soviet Studies, January 1980, xxxii,
1.
14 Mawdsley, op. cit., p. 283.
15 J.L.H. Keep (ed.) The Debate on Soviet Power: Minutes of the All-Russian Central
Executive Committee of Soviets (Oxford 1979), Introduction.
16 J. Smith, Red Nations: The Nationalities Experience in and after the USSR (Cambridge
2013), p. 25.
17 Quoted in Ascher, op. cit., Introduction.
18 Figures adapted from Smith, op. cit., pp. 23–24.
19 Quoted in M. McCauley, The Russian Revolution and the Soviet State, 1917–1921:
Documents (London 1975), pp. 184–186.
20 A Short History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Moscow 1970 edition),
pp. 134–135.
21 J. Rees, ‘In Defence of October’, in J. Rees, R. Service, S. Farber and R. Blackburn,
In Defence of October: A Debate on the Russian Revolution (London 1997), p. 30.
22 R. Wade, The Russian Revolution, 1917 (Cambridge 2000), p. 297.
23 Ibid., p. 298.
24 Keep, op. cit., Introduction.
25 R. Gregor (ed.) Resolutions and Decisions of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
(Toronto 1974), Vol. 2, Document 2.9.
26 R. Sakwa, The Rise and Fall of the Soviet Union 1917–1991 (London 1999), Document
1.11, p. 16.
27 Quoted in G. Leggett, ‘Lenin, Terror and the Political Police’, Survey, Autumn 1975.
28 Ibid., p. 75.
29 Quoted in Carr, op. cit., Ch. 7.
30 Quoted in G. Leggett, The Cheka: Lenin’s Political Police (Oxford 1981), Ch. 14.
31 R. Kowalski, The Russian Revolution 1917–1921 (London 1997), Document 10.5,
p. 155.
32 Quoted in D. Lane, Politics and Society in the USSR (London 1970), Ch. 3.
33 A Short History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Moscow 1970), p. 172.
34 D. Volkogonov, Lenin: Life and Legacy (London 1994), p. 334.
35 R. Conquest, Lenin (London 1972), p. 104.
36 L. Trotsky, History of the Bolshevik Revolution, Vol. 1.
37 A. Kerensky, ‘The Policy of the Provisional Government of 1917’, The Slavonic and
East European Review, July 1932, xi, 31.
38 Gregor, op. cit., Introduction.
39 C. Hill, Lenin and the Russian Revolution (London 1947), Ch. 8.
430 Notes

40 E. Mandel, ‘Solzhenitsyn, Stalinism and the October Revolution’, New Left Review, 1974,
86.
41 Leggett, op. cit., Epilogue.
42 S. Kotkin, Stalin, Vol. 1: Paradoxes of Power, 1878–1928 (London 2014), p. 419.
43 E.H. Carr, ‘The Russian Revolution and the West’, New Left Review, 1978, iii.
44 Mandel, op. cit.
45 L. Schapiro, 1917: The Russian Revolution and the Origins of Present Day Communism
(Hounslow 1984), Epilogue.
46 Quoted in T.H. Rigby (ed.), Stalin (New York 1966).
47 M. McCauley, Stalin and Stalinism (Harlow 1983), Ch. 1.
48 P. Kenez: A History of the Soviet Union from the Beginning to the End, second edition
(Cambridge 2006), p. 77.
49 Ibid.
50 L. Colletti, ‘The Question of Stalin’, New Left Review, 1970, 61.
51 Silverman, op. cit., Ch. 2.
52 Kotkin, op. cit., p. 739.
53 N. Krasso, ‘Trotsky’s Marxism’, New Left Review, 1967, 44.
54 Quoted in E.H. Carr, Socialism in One Country 1924–1926 (London 1958), Ch. 4.
55 Krasso, op. cit.
56 Quoted in E.H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution, op. cit., Vol. 1, Ch. 4.
57 Ibid.
58 J. Arch Getty, ‘The Politics of Stalinism’, in A. Nove (ed.) The Stalin Phenomenon
(London 1993), p. 128.
59 Ibid., p. 129.
60 N. Rosenfeldt, ‘The Secret Apparatus during the Stalin Era’, in N.E. Rosenfeldt, B. Jensen
and E. Kulavig (eds) Mechanisms of Power in the Soviet Union (London 2000), p. 41.
61 Ibid., p. 42.
62 I.V. Pavlova, ‘The Strength and Weakness of Stalin’s Power’, in Rosenfeldt et al.,
op. cit., p. 38.
63 R.C. Tucker, The Soviet Political Mind (London 1972), Ch. 3.
64 I. Grey, Stalin: Man of History (Abacus ed. 1982), pp. 265–266.
65 R. Overy, The Dictators: Hitler’s Germany, Stalin’s Russia (London 2004), p. 13.
66 Kotkin, op. cit., p. 597.
67 A. Ulam, ‘The Price of Sanity’ in G.R. Urban (ed.) Stalinism: Its Impact on Russia and
the World (London 1982).
68 I. Deutscher, Stalin: A Political Biography (London 1949), Ch. 9.
69 L. Viola, ‘The Second Coming: Class Enemies in the Soviet Countryside, 1927–1935’,
in J. Arch Getty and R.T. Manning (eds) Stalinist Terror: New Perspectives (Cambridge
1993), pp. 69–70.
70 Arch Getty, op. cit., p. 132.
71 R. Thurston, ‘The Stakhanovite Movement: Background to the Great Terror in the
Factories, 1935–1938’, in Arch Getty and Manning, op. cit., p. 160.
72 See R.R. Reese, ‘The Red Army and the Great Purges’, in Arch Getty and Manning,
op. cit.
73 Ibid. p. 213.
74 See S. Fitzpatrick, ‘How the Mice Buried the Cat: Scenes from the Great Purges of 1937
in the Russian Provinces’, in C. Ward (ed.) The Stalinist Dictatorship (London 1998).
75 G.T. Rittersporn, ‘The Omnipresent Conspiracy: On Soviet Imagery of Politics and
Social Relations in the 1930s’, in Arch Getty and Manning, op. cit., p. 114.
76 R.G. Sumy, ‘Stalin and his Stalinism: Power and Authority in the Soviet Union, 1930–53’,
in I. Kershaw and M. Lewin (eds) Stalinism and Nazism, Dictatorships in Comparison
(Cambridge 1997), p. 50.
77 A. Litvin and J. Keep, Stalinism: Russian and Western Views at the Turn of the Millennium
(London 2005), p. 182.
78 K. McDermott, Stalin (Basingstoke 2006), p. 99.
79 E. Acton, Russia: The Tsarist and Soviet Legacy, second edition (Harlow 1995), p. 234.
 Notes 431

80 Reese, op. cit., p. 199.

81 Ibid., p. 210.
82 Ibid., p. 213.
83 McDermott, op. cit., p. 107.
84 V. Brovkin, Russia after Lenin: Politics, Culture and Society 1921–1929 (London 1998),
p. 222.
85 M. Lewin, Russian Peasants and Soviet Power: A Study of Collectivization (New York
1968), pp. 516–517.
86 Arch Getty, op. cit., p. 140.
87 Quoted in M. Lynch, Stalin and Khrushchev: The USSR 1924–64 (London 1990), p. 30.
88 R. Hutchings, Soviet Economic Development (Oxford 1967), Ch. 6.
89 See D.R. Shearer, Industry, State and Society in Stalin’s Russia 1926–1934 (Ithaca, NY
1996), p. 235.
90 Ibid., p. 236.
91 Quoted in Lane, op. cit., Document 15.
92 Ibid., Ch. 11.
93 N.S. Timasheff, ‘The Family, the School and the Church’, in C. Ward (ed.) The Stalinist
Dictatorship (London 1998), p. 304.
94 S. Davies, Popular Opinion in Stalin’s Russia: Terror, Propaganda and Dissent,
1934–1941 (Cambridge 1997), p. 65.
95 Timasheff, op. cit., p. 305.
96 Sakwa, op. cit., Document 5.13, p. 195.
97 Ibid., p. 209, Document 5.22: The 1936 Constitution.
98 Davies, op. cit., pp. 59–60.
99 L. Viola, ‘Bab’i Bunty and Peasant Women’s Protest during Collectivization’, in C. Ward
(ed.) The Stalinist Dictatorship (London 1998), p. 227.
100 Sakwa, op. cit., p. 209, Document 5.22.
101 Davies, op. cit., p. 75.
102 Ibid., p. 81.
103 Ibid., p. 82.
104 See Ward, op. cit., p. 193.
105 Quoted in R. Hingley, Russian Writers and Soviet Society 1917–1978 (London 1979),
Ch. 2.
106 Ibid., quoted in Ch. 9.
107 Quoted in McCauley, op. cit., Part II.
108 S. Fitzpatrick, ‘Resistance and Conformity: Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Lives in
Extraordinary Times’, in D.L. Hoffman (ed.), Stalinism (Oxford 2003), p. 174.
109 Ibid., p.176.
110 Ibid., p. 171.
111 L. Viola, ‘Populist Resistance in the Stalinist 1930s’, in L. Viola (ed.) Contending with
Stalinism: Soviet Power and Popular Resistance in the 1930s (Ithaca, NY 2002), p. 1.
112 T. McDonald, ‘A Peasant Rebellion in Stalin’s Russia’, in Viola, Contending with
Stalinism, op. cit.
113 Sakwa, op. cit., Document 5.22, p. 208.
114 E. Mawdsley, The Stalin Years: The Soviet Union 1929–1953, second edition (Manchester
2003), pp. 69–70.
115 Quoted in A. Fontaine, History of the Cold War from the October Revolution to the
Korean War, 1917–1950 (trans. D.D. Paige) (London 1968), Ch. 1.
116 G.F. Kennan, Soviet Foreign Policy 1917–1941 (Princeton, NJ 1960), Document 8.
117 Quoted in R.C. Tucker, ‘The Emergence of Stalin’s Foreign Policy’, Slavic Review,
December 1977, xxxvi, 4.
118 Quoted in A.Z. Rubinstein, Soviet Foreign Policy since World War II (Cambridge, MA
1981), Ch. 1.
119 Quoted in Tucker, ‘The Emergence’, op. cit.
120 Quoted in W. Laqueur, Russia and Germany: A Century of Conflict (London 1965),
Ch. 11.
432 Notes

121 Quoted in T.J. Uldricks, ‘Soviet Security Policy in the 1930s’, in G. Gorodetsky (ed.)
Soviet Foreign Policy 1917–1991 (London 1994), p. 73.
122 Quoted in R. Hutchings, Soviet Economic Development (Oxford 1967), Ch. 6.
123 Quoted in Tucker, ‘The Emergence’, op. cit.
124 Ibid.
125 Ibid.
126 J. Haslam, The Soviet Union and the Struggle for Collective Security in Europe, 1933–39
(New York 1984), pp. 52–53.
127 J.A.S. Grenville, The Major International Treaties 1914–1973 (London 1974),
pp. 195–196.
128 G. Roberts, The Soviet Union and the Origins of the Second World War (London 1995),
p. 97.
129 A Short History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Moscow 1970), p. 247.
130 See Laqueur, op. cit., Ch. 12.
131 Grey, op. cit., Ch. 24.
132 Quoted in A. Bullock, Hitler: A Study in Tyranny (London 1952), Ch. 12.
133 J. Sapir, ‘The Economics of War in the Soviet Union during World War II’, in Kershaw
and Lewin, op. cit., p. 210.
134 See V. Suvorov, Icebreaker: Who Started the Second World War? (London 1990).
135 E. Radzinsky, Stalin: The First In-Depth Biography Based on Explosive New Documents
from Russia’s Secret Archives (trans. H.T. Willetts) (New York 1996), pp. 452–456.
136 Quoted in Radzinsky, op. cit., p. 454.
137 Quoted in ibid., p. 456.
138 See E. Mawdsley, ‘Crossing the Rubicon: Soviet Plans for Offensive War in 1940–1941’,
in The International History Review, 2003, 25, pp. 815–865.
139 D.A. Volkogonov, Stalin (Moscow 1989).
140 McDermott, op. cit.
141 T.J. Uldricks, ‘The Icebreaker Controversy: Did Stalin Plan to Attack Hitler?’, Slavic
Review, 1999, 58, pp. 626–643.
142 Litvin and Keep, op. cit., p. 198.
143 R. Sakwa (ed.), The Rise and Fall of the Soviet Union 1917–1991, Document 8.4:
Khrushchev’s Secret Speech (London 1999), p. 319.
144 P. Mezhiritsky, On the Precipice: Stalin, the Red Army Leadership and the Road to
Stalingrad, 1931–1942 (trans. S. Britton) (Solihull 2012), extracts from Chapter 31.
145 Grey, op. cit., p. 319.
146 B. Bonwetsch, ‘Stalin, the Red Army and the “Great Patriotic War”’, in Kershaw and
Lewin, op. cit., p. 196.
147 Sakwa, op. cit., p. 255. Document 6.17: Stalin’s Radio Broadcast of 3 July 1941.
148 See ibid., p. 193.
149 G. Fischer, Soviet Opposition to Stalin (Cambridge, MA 1952), p. 45.
150 Grey, op. cit., p. 422.
151 See D.A. Volkogonov, ‘Stalin as Supreme Commander’, in B. Wegner (ed.) From Peace
to War: Germany, Soviet Russia and the World, 1939–1941 (Oxford 1997).
152 Sapir, op. cit., p. 234.
153 Quoted in V.M. Kulish, ‘Russia Strikes Back’, in Purnell’s History of the 20th Century,
Vol. 5 (London 1968), p. 1936.
154 M. Harrison, Accounting for War: Soviet Production, Employment and the Defence
Burden, 1940–1945 (Cambridge 1996), p. 130.
155 See M. Von Hagen, ‘From “Great Fatherland War” to the Second World War: New
Perspectives and Future Prospects’, in Kershaw and Lewin, op. cit.
156 V.S. Dunham, In Stalin’s Time: Middleclass Values in Soviet Fiction (Durham and
London 1990), p. 7.
157 J. Noakes and G. Pridham (eds), Nazism 1919–1945: A Documentary Reader (Exeter
1995 edition), Vol. 3, Document 640, p. 912.
158 Fontaine, op. cit., Ch. 8.
 Notes 433

159 Estimates only approximate and take account of figures provided by J. Ellenstein,
The Stalin Phenomenon (London 1976), Ch. 5.
160 History of Soviet Society (Moscow 1971), p. 273.
161 A Short History of the Communist Part of the Soviet Union (Moscow 1970), p. 271.
162 Mawdsley, op. cit., p. 72.
163 Deutscher, op. cit., p. 551.
164 See Grey, op. cit.
165 Extracts from P. Kenez, A History of the Soviet Union from the Beginning to the End,
second edition (Cambridge 2006), pp. 172–173.
166 C. Ward, Stalin’s Russia (London 1993), p. 188.
167 Ibid., p. 187.
168 Extracts from McDermott, op. cit., p. 142.
169 See McDermott, op. cit., p. 141.
170 Quoted in ibid., p. 141.
171 Quoted in C. Seton Watson, ‘The Cold War – Its Origins’, in J.L. Henderson (ed.) Since
1945: Aspects of Contemporary World History (London 1966).
172 Rubinstein, op. cit., Ch. 3.
173 C. Kennedy-Pipe, Russia and the World 1917–1991 (London 1998), p. 211.
174 Ward, op. cit., p. 188.
175 Tucker, The Soviet Political Mind, op. cit., Ch. 6.
176 This subject is covered thoroughly in R.C. Tucker, ‘The Rise of Stalin’s Personality
Cult’, American Historical Review, 1979, 84:2, pp. 347–366.
177 Ulam, op. cit.
178 Grey, op. cit., extracts from Preface and Ch. 23.
179 McCauley, op. cit., Part III.

4 Dictatorship in Italy
1 Quoted in A. Cassels, Fascist Italy (London 1969), Ch. 4.
2 A.J.P. Taylor, The Origins of the Second World War (London 1961), Ch. 3.
3 A.J.P. Taylor, video of Men of Our Time: Mussolini (Granada Television 1987).
4 J. Pollard, The Fascist Experience in Italy (London 1998), p. 10.
5 Ibid., p. 18.
6 A. De Grand, Italian Fascism: Its Origins and Development (Lincoln, NE 1982), Ch. 1.
7 D. Mack Smith, Italy: A Modern History (Ann Arbor, MI 1959), Ch. 37.
8 See Z. Sternhell, Neither Right nor Left: Fascist Ideology in France (Berkeley, CA 1986).
9 See D. Roberts, ‘How to Think about Fascism and Ideology’, Journal of Contemporary
History, 2000, 35.2, pp. 185–211.
10 A.J. Gregor, Young Mussolini and the Intellectual Origins of Fascism (Berkeley, CA
1979), Ch. 10.
11 See Cassells, op. cit., Ch. 2.
12 De Grand, op. cit., Ch. 2.
13 R. de Felice, Interpretations of Fascism (Cambridge, MA 1977), p. 56.
14 A. Lyttelton, ‘Italian Fascism’, in W. Laqueur (ed.) Fascism: A Reader’s Guide (London
1976).
15 Pollard, op. cit., p. 32.
16 Ibid., quoted on p. 42.
17 Ibid., quoted on p. 41.
18 Ibid.
19 Quoted in J. Whittam, Fascist Italy (Manchester 1995), p. 2.
20 Quoted in L. Barzini, ‘Benito Mussolini’, Encounter, July 1964.
21 M. Gallo, Mussolini’s Italy (New York 1973), Ch. 5.
22 C. Hibbert, ‘Fallen Idol’, Spectator, 19 June 1964; a review of Sir I. Kirkpatrick’s
Mussolini: Study of a Demagogue.
23 Sir I. Kirkpatrick, Mussolini: Study of a Demagogue (London 1964), Ch. 6.
24 See D. Mack Smith, Mussolini (London 1981).
434 Notes

25 P. Morgan, Italian Fascism 1919–1945 (London 1995), p. 155.

26 B. Mussolini, ‘The Political and Social Doctrine of Fascism’, International Conciliation,
January 1935, p. 306.
27 De Grand, op. cit., Ch. 10.
28 Quoted in Whittam, op. cit., p. 2.
29 From Enciclopedia Italiana, XIV, 1932, quoted in Pollard, op. cit., p. 119.
30 Quoted in Gallo, op. cit., Ch. 7.
31 Pollard, op. cit., p. 50.
32 S.G. Payne, A History of Fascism (London 1995), p. 114.
33 Quoted in Pollard, op. cit., p. 52.
34 Quoted in Payne, op. cit., p. 116.
35 Quoted in Whittam, op. cit., p. 43.
36 Ibid., quoted on p. 153.
37 Ibid.
38 Payne, op. cit., p. 118.
39 E. Tannenbaum, Fascism in Italy: Society and Culture, 1922–1945 (London 1973),
p. 73.
40 Payne, op. cit., p. 117.
41 Ibid., p. 119.
42 Lyttelton, op. cit.
43 See P. Melograni, ‘The Cult of the Duce in Mussolini’s Italy’, in G.L. Mosse (ed.)
International Fascism: New Thoughts and New Approaches (London 1979).
44 Quoted in Gallo, op. cit., Ch. 5.
45 See Emilio Gentile, The Sacralization of Politics in Fascist Italy (trans. Cambridge, MA
1996).
46 Ibid., p. 154.
47 Ibid., p. 159.
48 Ibid.
49 See S. Falasca-Zamponi, Fascist Spectacle: The Aesthetics of Power in Mussolini’s Italy
(Berkeley 2000), p. 26.
50 Ibid.
51 Ibid., p. 28.
52 Ibid., p. 36.
53 Ibid., p. 86.
54 Quoted in ibid., p. 86.
55 Quoted in R. Wolfson, Years of Change (London 1978), Ch. 11.
56 Pollard, op. cit., p. 67.
57 See Payne, op. cit., p. 224.
58 P.V. Cannistraro (ed.), Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy (Westport, CT 1982), s.v.
‘Cinema’.
59 See R.J.B. Bosworth, The Italian Dictatorship: Problems and Perspectives in the
Interpretation of Mussolini and Fascism (London 1998), Ch. 7.
60 Quoted in Pollard, op. cit., p. 84.
61 Morgan, op. cit., p. 87.
62 Payne, op. cit., p. 117.
63 Ibid.
64 Whittam, op. cit., p. 56.
65 Pollard, op. cit., p. 65.
66 Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy, s.v. ‘Antisemitism’.
67 Gallo, op. cit., Ch. 13.
68 Quoted in Bosworth, op. cit., p. 102.
69 Pollard, op. cit., p. 127.
70 Ibid.
71 M. Van Creveld, ‘Beyond the Finzi-Contini Garden. Mussolini’s “Fascist Racism”’,
Encounter, February 1974.
72 Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy, s.v. ‘Antisemitism’.
 Notes 435

73 Whittam, op. cit., p. 99.

74 Morgan, op. cit., p. 161.
75 Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy, s.v. ‘Antisemitism’.
76 B. Mussolini, My Autobiography (London 1928), p. 276.
77 Morgan, op. cit., p. 96.
78 Bosworth, op. cit., p. 145.
79 Quoted in Tannenbaum, op. cit., Ch. 7.
80 Quoted in P.C. Kent, The Pope and the Duce (New York 1981): overall argument
summarized in Preface.
81 Quoted in G. Jackson (ed.), Problems in European Civilization: The Spanish Civil War
(Lexington, MA 1967); extract by F.J. Taylor.
82 Cassels, op. cit., p. 58.
83 Pollard, op. cit., p. 84.
84 Tannenbaum, op. cit., p. 100.
85 De Grand, op. cit., Ch. 8.
86 Morgan, op. cit., p. 129.
87 Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy, s.v. ‘Industry’.
88 Quoted in Mack Smith, Italy, op. cit., Ch. 28.
89 See A. De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany: The ‘Fascist’ Style of Rule (London
1995), p. 57.
90 Bosworth, op. cit., p. 264.
91 L. Caldwell, ‘Reproducers of the Nation: Women and the Family in Fascist Policy’, in
G. Forgacs (ed.) Rethinking Italian Fascism: Capitalism, Populism and Culture (London
1986), p. 115.
92 See De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 59.
93 Bosworth, op. cit., p. 268.
94 V. De Grazia, How Fascism Ruled Women: Italy 1922–1945 (Berkeley, CA 1992),
p. 275.
95 Caldwell, op. cit., p.117.
96 De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 60.
97 Gregor, op. cit., Ch. 8.
98 Pollard, op. cit., p. 80.
99 Morgan, op. cit., p. 113.
100 C. Duggan, Fascism and the Mafia (New Haven, CT 1989), p. 264.
101 Tannenbaum, op. cit., Ch. 9.
102 G. Salvemini, Prelude to World War II (London 1953), p. 20.
103 A.P. Taylor, The Origins of the Second World War (Harmondsworth 1964), p. 85.
104 For a historiographical summary of this, see R. Mallett, Mussolini and the Origins of
the Second World War, 1939–1940 (Basingstoke 2003), Ch. 1.
105 M. Knox, Mussolini Unleashed: Politics and Strategy in Italy’s Last War, 1939–41
(Cambridge 1988).
106 A. Kallis, Fascist Ideology, Territory and Expansionism in Italy and Germany, 1922–1945
(London 2000).
107 D. Rodogno, Fascism’s European Empire: Italian Occupation During the Second World
War (trans. Cambridge 2008).
108 See Mallet, op. cit.
109 Ibid., p. 8.
110 See S. Marks, ‘Mussolini and Locarno: Fascist Foreign Policy in Microcosm’, Journal
of Contemporary History, 1979, 14, pp. 423–479.
111 See P.G. Edwards, ‘Britain, Mussolini and the Locarno-Geneva System’, European
Studies Review, January 1980.
112 Quoted in R.B. Bosworth, ‘The British Press, the Conservatives and Mussolini 1920–34’,
Journal of Contemporary History, April 1970.
113 R.B. Bosworth, Mussolini (London 2002), pp. 254–255.
114 R. Ben-Ghiat, Fascist Modernities: Italy 1922–1945 (Berkeley, CA 2001), p. 125.
115 Mallett, op. cit., p. 8.
436 Notes

116 Ibid.
117 See ibid., p. 9.
118 P.M.H. Bell, The Origins of the Second World War in Europe (London 1996), p. 264.
119 Mallett, op. cit., p. 13.
120 H. Thomas, The Spanish Civil War (London 1961), Appendix 3.
121 Mallett, op. cit., p. 15.
122 Quoted in W. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (London 1960), Ch. 9.
123 G. Ciano, Diary 1937–38 (trans. A. Mayor) (London 1948), p. 29.
124 Bosworth, ‘The British Press’, op. cit.
125 Morgan, op. cit., p. 136.
126 R. de Felice, Fascism: An Informal Introduction to its Theory and Practice (New
Brunswick, NJ 1976), quoted in D. Smyth, ‘Duce Diplomatico’, Historical Journal, 1978,
21, 4.
127 Ibid.
128 G. Carocci, Italian Fascism (trans. I. Quigly) (Harmondsworth 1974), Ch. 7.
129 De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 99.
130 D. Mack Smith, Mussolini’s Roman Empire (London 1976), Preface.
131 M. Knox, Mussolini Unleashed 1929–1941 (Cambridge 1982).
132 Whittam, op. cit., p. 122.
133 P. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and Military
Conflict from 1500 to 2000 (London 1988), p. 430.
134 Ibid., p. 458.
135 Morgan, op. cit., p. 177.
136 A. Kallis, Fascist Ideology, Territory and Expansionism in Italy and Germany, 1922–1945
(London 2000), p. 59.
137 See ibid., pp. 51–52.
138 See D. Rodogno, Fascism’s European Empire: Italian Occupation During the Second
World War (trans. Cambridge 2008), p. 412.
139 Ibid., p. 413.
140 Mack Smith, Mussolini’s Roman Empire, op. cit., Ch. 17.
141 Pollard, op. cit., p. 108.
142 Quoted in C. Leeds, Italy under Mussolini (London 1968), Ch. 5.
143 Pollard, op. cit., p. 109.
144 Quoted in Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy, s.v. ‘Italian Social Republic’.
145 Clark, op. cit., p. 309.
146 Pollard, op. cit., p. 114.
147 Ben-Ghiat, op. cit., p. 202.
148 See R. Battaglia, The Story of the Italian Resistance (London 1957).
149 G. Procacci, History of the Italian People (London 1970), p. 374.
150 See C. Pavone, A Civil War: A History of the Italian Resistance, translated by Peter
Levy with the assistance of David Broder (London and New York 2013).
151 D. Mack Smith, Italy: A Modern History (Ann Arbor 1959), p. 491.
152 L. Barzini, ‘Benito Mussolini’, Encounter, July 1964.
153 Taylor, Origins of the Second World War, op. cit., p. 56.
154 W.W. Halperin, Mussolini and Italian Fascism (New York 1964), p. 4.
155 L. Fermi, Mussolini (Chicago 1961), p. 210.
156 Ibid., p. 212.
157 Mack Smith, Mussolini, op. cit., p. xiv.
158 Sir I. Kirkpatrick, Study of a Demagogue (London 1964) and J. Ridley, Mussolini
(London 1997).
159 A.J. Gregor, Young Mussolini and the Intellectual Origins of Fascism (Berkeley, CA
1979), p. 237.
160 Roberts, op. cit., p. 208.
161 Ibid.
162 Ibid.
163 Taylor, Origins of the Second World War, op. cit., p. 56.
 Notes 437

164 A. De Grand, ‘Mussolini’s Follies: Fascism in its Imperial and Racist Phase’, Con-
temporary European History, 2004, 13:2, p. 128.
165 Ibid., p. 136.
166 R.J.B. Bosworth, Mussolini’s Italy (London 2005), 570.
167 De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 147.
168 Halperin, op. cit., p. 4.
169 J. Ridley, Mussolini (London 1997), p. 201.
170 A.J. Gregor, Giovanni Gentile: Philosopher of Fascism (New Brunswick, NJ 2001),
p. 102.
171 R. Kedward, ‘Afterword: What Kind of Revisionism?’ in D. Forgacs (ed.) Rethinking
Italian Fascism (London 1986), p. 201.
172 Ibid., p. 201.
173 Bosworth, Mussolini’s Italy, op. cit., p.568.
174 Quoted in De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 131.
175 Ibid., p. 138.
176 Quoted in ibid., p. 140.
177 Ibid., p 147.

5 Dictatorship in Germany
1 The concept of ‘revolution’, as applied to Germany in 1919, has sometimes been
challenged, although consideration of the arguments would not be appropriate in a section
which is here a background to another issue. For further details of the arguments on the
‘German revolution’, see S.J. Lee, The Weimar Republic (London 1998), Ch. 1.
2 Quoted in L. Snyder (ed.) The Weimar Republic (Princeton, NJ 1966), Reading No. 3.
3 Ibid., Readings to No. 18.
4 Ibid.
5 Quoted in A. Bullock, Hitler: A Study in Tyranny (London 1952), Ch. 2.
6 Quoted in J. Noakes and G. Pridham (eds) Documents on Nazism 1919–1945 (London
1974), Ch. 1, Document 12.
7 I. Kershaw, Hitler (Harlow 1991), p. 29.
8 Noakes and Pridham, op. cit., Ch. 3, Document 4.
9 E. Davidson, The Making of Adolf Hitler (Columbia, MI 1997), p. 331.
10 Quoted in K. Sontheimer, ‘The Weimar Republic and the Prospects of German
Democracy’, in E.J. Feuchtwanger (ed.) Upheaval and Continuity (London 1971).
11 E. Fraenkel, ‘Historical Handicaps of German Parliamentarianism’, in E. Fraenkel, The
Road to Dictatorship 1918–1933 (London 1970).
12 H. Mommsen, ‘Government without Parties: Conservative Plans for Constitutional
Revision at the End of the Weimar Republic’, in L.E. Jones and J. Retallack (eds) Between
Reform, Reaction and Resistance: Studies in the History of German Conservatism from
1789 to 1945 (Providence, RI 1993), p. 350.
13 Quoted in S. Taylor, Germany 1918–1933 (London 1983), Ch. 4.
14 J.W. Hiden, The Weimar Republic (Harlow 1974), p. 21.
15 A. Hitler, Mein Kampf, Vol. 2, Ch. 11.
16 Ibid., Vol. 1, Ch. 6.
17 P.D. Stachura, ‘Who Were the Nazis? A Sociopolitical Analysis of the National Socialist
Machtubernahme’, European Studies Review, 1981, ii.
18 A. Bullock, Hitler and Stalin: Parallel Lives (2nd edn, London 1998), p. 158.
19 R.F. Hamilton, Who Voted for Hitler? (Princeton, NJ 1982).
20 H. Trevor-Roper, The Last Days of Hitler (London 1947), Ch. 1.
21 T. Childers, ‘The Middle Classes and National Socialism’, in D. Blackburn and R.J.
Evans (eds) The German Bourgeoisie (London 1991), p. 326.
22 Stachura, op. cit.
23 D. Mühlburger, ‘The Sociology of the NSDAP: The Question of Working Class
Membership’, Journal of Contemporary History, 1980, 15.
24 C. Fischer, The Rise of the Nazis (Manchester 1995), p. 108.
438 Notes

25 E. Eyck, A History of the Weimar Republic (Cambridge, MA 1962), Vol. 1, Ch. 10.
26 H. Boldt, ‘Article 48 of the Weimar Constitution, Its Historical and Political Implications’,
in A. Nicholls (ed.) German Democracy and the Triumph of Hitler: Essays in Recent
German History (London 1971).
27 J. Hiden, Republican and Fascist Germany (London 1996), p. 60.
28 H. Boldt, quoted in D.G. Williamson, The Third Reich (Harlow 1982), Ch. 3.
29 Noakes and Pridham, op. cit., Ch. 5, Document 7.
30 M. Broszat, The Hitler State: The Foundation and Development of the Internal Structure
of the Third Reich (London 1981), Ch. 3.
31 Noakes and Pridham, op. cit., Ch. 7, Document 2.
32 Ibid., Ch. 8, Document 1.
33 Broszat, op. cit., Ch. 6.
34 Noakes and Pridham, op. cit., Ch. 8, Document 4.
35 Quoted in Sir J. Wheeler-Bennett, The Nemesis of Power: The German Army in Politics
1918–1945 (London 1953), Part III, Ch. 2.
36 Quoted in J. Remak (ed.), The Nazi Years (Englewood Cliffs, NJ 1969), p. 52.
37 A. Kaes, M. Jay and E. Dimendberg, The Weimar Republic Sourcebook (Berkeley, CA
1994), Document 16, p. 49.
38 Remak, op. cit., pp. 52–53.
39 Ibid., p. 54.
40 J. Noakes and G. Pridham (eds), Nazism 1919–1945: A Documentary Reader (Exeter
1983–8), Vol. 1, p. 185.
41 K.D. Bracher, ‘Stages of Totalitarian “Integration” (Gleichschaltung): The Consolidation
of National Socialist Rule in 1933 and 1934’, in H. Holborn (ed.) Republic to Reich:
The Making of the Nazi Revolution (New York 1972), p. 116.
42 K.D. Bracher, The German Dictatorship (trans. London 1973), p. 244.
43 C. Leitz (ed.), The Third Reich: The Essential Readings (Oxford 1999), p. 27.
44 See K. Hildebrand, The Third Reich (trans. London 1984), Concluding Remarks.
45 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Part III.
46 Information from Broszat, op. cit. and Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit.
47 See K.D. Bracher, The German Dictatorship (New York 1970).
48 See Hildebrand, op. cit.
49 See M. Broszat, Hitler and the Collapse of the Weimar Republic (Oxford 1987).
50 See extracts from H. Mommsen in Hildebrand, op. cit., p. 137.
51 See I. Kershaw, ‘Working Towards the Führer: Reflections on the Nature of the Hitler
Dictatorship’, Contemporary European History, 1993, 2:2, pp. 103–118.
52 Information from Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, Ch. 10.
53 Ibid., Ch. 10, Document 8.
54 Ibid., Ch. 10, Document 30.
55 G.C. Browder, The Gestapo and the SS Security Service in the Nazi Revolution (New
York 1996), p. 5.
56 Ibid., p. 6.
57 M. Kitchen, The Third Reich: Charisma and Community (Harlow 2008), p. 261.
58 Ibid., p. 262.
59 Ibid., pp. 260–261.
60 Quoted in Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Vol. 2, p. 500.
61 H. Höhne, The Order of the Death’s Head (London 1972), p. 12.
62 Quoted in K.M. Mallman and G. Paul, ‘Omniscient, Omnipotent, Omnipresent? Gestapo,
Society and Resistance’, in D. Crew (ed.) Nazism and German Society 1933–1945
(London 1994), p. 169.
63 Ibid.
64 Ibid., pp. 169–170.
65 R. Gellately, The Gestapo and German Society: Enforcing Racial Policy 1933–1945
(Oxford 1990), p. 212.
66 Mallman and Paul, op. cit., p. 174.
67 Hiden, Republican and Fascist Germany, op. cit., p. 181.
 Notes 439

68 M. Burleigh, The Third Reich: A New History (London 2000), p. 183.

69 R.J. Evans, The Third Reich in Power 1933–1939 (London 2005), p. 114.
70 E.A. Johnson, Nazi Terror: Gestapo, Jews and Ordinary Citizens (New York 1999),
p. 483.
71 Quoted in Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., p. 381.
72 Quoted in Bracher, The German Dictatorship, op. cit., Ch. 5.
73 Quoted in M.J. Thornton, Nazism 1918–1945 (London 1966), Ch. 7.
74 Quoted in Bracher, The German Dictatorship, op. cit., Ch. 5.
75 Quoted in R. Grunberger, A Social History of the Third Reich (London 1971), Ch. 19.
76 T.L. Jarman, The Rise and Fall of Nazi Germany (New York 1961), p. 183.
77 D.J.K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity, Opposition and Racism in Everyday
Life (trans. London 1989), p. 153.
78 Ibid.
79 See E. Harvey, Women and the Nazi East: Agents and Witnesses of Germanization
(New Haven and London 2003).
80 Quoted in D. Welch, The Third Reich: Politics and Propaganda (London 1993), p. 24.
81 Ibid., p. 26.
82 H. Boak, ‘“Our Last Hope”: Women’s Votes for Hitler – a Reappraisal’, German Studies
Review, 1989, XII:2, p. 303.
83 C. Koonz, Mothers in the Fatherland: Women, the Family and Nazi Politics (London
1988), p. 5.
84 Quoted in Williamson, op. cit., Document 7.
85 Quoted in Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Ch. 12.
86 Quoted in C. Haste, Nazi Women: Hitler’s Seduction of a Nation (London 2001),
Ch. 7.
87 J. Stephenson, ‘Women, Motherhood and the Family in the Third Reich’, in M. Burleigh
(ed.) Confronting the Nazi Past (London 1996), p. 178.
88 Koonz, op. cit., p. 6.
89 Ibid., p. 14.
90 See Harvey, op. cit.
91 Ibid., p. 10.
92 Ibid., p. 299.
93 Quoted in Koonz, op. cit., p. 200.
94 Quoted in Grunberger, op. cit.
95 See Haste, op. cit., Ch. 7.
96 Koonz, op. cit., p. 17.
97 See Stephenson, op. cit., p. 107.
98 Quoted in Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Ch. 12.
99 P. Steinbach, ‘The Conservative Resistance’, in D.C. Large (ed.) Contending with Hitler:
Varieties of German Resistance in the Third Reich (Cambridge 1991), p. 90.
100 Quoted in Grunberger, op. cit., Ch. 29.
101 Ibid.
102 Burleigh, The Third Reich, op. cit., p. 253.
103 Ibid., p. 254.
104 Quoted in Burleigh, The Third Reich, op. cit., p. 256.
105 Kershaw, op. cit., Ch. 7.
106 Quoted in Kitchen, op. cit., p. 115.
107 Ibid.
108 Quoted in F. Spotts, Hitler and the Power of Aesthetics (London 2002), p. 43.
109 R.G. Waite, The Psychopathic God: Adolf Hitler (New York 1993), pp. 5–6.
110 Peukert, op. cit., p. 69.
111 Quoted in Crew, op. cit., pp. 4–5.
112 Ibid., p. 6.
113 Quoted in Peukert, op. cit., p. 69.
114 O. Bartov, ‘The Missing Years: German Workers, German Soldiers’, in Crew, op. cit.,
p. 46.
440 Notes

115 See Mallman and Paul, op. cit., pp. 180–189.

116 See D.J. Goldhagen, Hitler’s Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust
(London 1997), especially Ch. 15.
117 I. Kershaw, Popular Opinion and Political Dissent in the Third Reich (Oxford 1983),
p. 373.
118 Quoted in ibid., p. 126.
119 Details from D.J.K. Peukert, ‘Youth in the Third Reich’, in R. Bessel (ed.) Life in the
Third Reich (Oxford 1986), pp. 30–36.
120 Quoted in D.J.K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity, Opposition and Racism in
Everyday Life (trans. London 1987; Harmondsworth 1989), p. 160.
121 Quoted in Peukert, ‘Youth in the Third Reich’, op. cit., p. 29.
122 See Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 161.
123 Quoted in M. Housden, Resistance and Conformity in the Third Reich (London 1997),
p. 58.
124 Ibid., p. 53.
125 Quoted in J. Laver, Nazi Germany 1933–1945 (London 1991), p. 79.
126 Quoted in Remak, op. cit., p. 93.
127 Quoted in Housden, op. cit., p. 61.
128 T.S. Hamerow, On the Road to the Wolf’s Lair: German Resistance to Hitler (Cambridge,
MA 1999), p. 162.
129 M. Broszat, ‘A Social and Historical Typology of the German Opposition to Hitler’, in
Large, op. cit., p. 28.
130 Ibid.
131 K. Kweit, ‘Resistance and Opposition: The Example of the German Jews’, in Large,
op. cit., p. 67.
132 Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 248.
133 Bracher, op. cit., Ch. 7.
134 Hitler, Mein Kampf, quoted in J. Laver (ed.) Nazi Germany (London 1991), p. 82.
135 Quoted in Remak, op. cit., pp. 32–33.
136 These are dealt with in S.J. Lee, The Weimar Republic, second edition (London 2010),
pp. 151–156.
137 N. Frei, National Socialist Rule in Germany: The Führer State 1933–1945 (trans. Oxford
1993), p. 71.
138 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Vol. 2, p. 287.
139 See A. Tooze, The Wages of Destruction: The Making and Breaking of the Nazi Economy
(London 2006) and R.J. Overy, ‘“Domestic Crisis” and War in 1939’, in Leitz, op. cit.,
p. 115.
140 C.W. Guillebaud, Economic Recovery in Germany (London, 1939), p. 218.
141 Jarman, op. cit., p. 179.
142 C. Buccheim, ‘The Nazi Boom: A, Economic Cul-de-Sac’, in H. Mommsen (ed.), The
Third Reich Between Vision and Reality: New Perspectives on German History 1918–1945
(Oxford 2001), pp. 79–82.
143 Overy, op. cit., p. 108.
144 B.H. Klein, ‘Germany’s Economic Preparations for War’, in H.W. Koch (ed.), Aspects
of the Third Reich (London 1985), p. 360.
145 Guillebaud, op. cit., p. 218.
146 See extract in R.G.L. Waite (ed.), Hitler and Nazi Germany (New York 1965).
147 Ibid.
148 V.R. Berghahn, Modern Germany: Society, Economy and Politics in the Twentieth
Century (Cambridge 1987), p. 149.
149 Quoted in G. Layton, Germany: The Third Reich 1933–45 (London 1992), p. 72.
150 Ibid.
151 Kitchen, op. cit., p. 150.
152 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Vol. 3, p. 665.
153 See H. Schmitz (ed.), A Nation of Victims? Representation of German Wartime Suffering
from 1945 to the Present (Amsterdam and New York 2007).
 Notes 441

154 Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany, op. cit., p. 208. See also T.W. Mason, Social Policy
in the Third Reich: The Working Class and the National Community (Oxford 1993),
pp. 279–280.
155 H. Friedlander, ‘The Exclusion and Murder of the Disabled’, in R. Gellately and
N. Stoltzfus (eds) Social Outsiders in Nazi Germany (Princeton, NJ 2001), p. 146.
156 Quoted R. Proctor, Racial Hygiene: Medicine under the Nazis (Cambridge, MA 1988),
p. 183.
157 Ibid., p. 183.
158 See L. Pine, Nazi Family Policy 1933–1945 (Oxford 1997), p. 119.
159 Quoted in N. Wachsmann, ‘From Indefinite Confinement to Extermination: “Habitual
Criminals” in the Third Reich’, in R. Gellately and N. Stoltzfus (eds) Social Outsiders
in Nazi Germany (Princeton, NJ 2001), p. 177.
160 Ibid.
161 See N. Wachsmann, Hitler’s Prisons: Legal Terror in Nazi Germany (New Haven 2004),
pp. 125–128.
162 I. Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship, fourth edition (London 2000), p. 263.
163 A. Barkai, ‘The German Volksgemeinschaft from the Persecution of the Jews to the “Final
Solution”’, in Burleigh, Confronting the Nazi Past, op. cit., p. 89.
164 S.H. Milton, ‘ “Gypsies” as Social Outsiders in Nazi Germany’, in R. Gellately and
N. Stoltzfus eds., Social Outsiders in Nazi Germany (Princeton, NJ 2001), p. 212.
165 Quoted in Remak, op. cit., p. 5.
166 J.C.G. Röhl, From Bismarck to Hitler (Harlow 1970), Ch. 5, Document 1.
167 Hiden, Republican and Fascist Germany, op. cit., Ch. 4.
168 Röhl, op. cit, Ch. 5, Document 7.
169 Ibid.
170 H.W. Gatzke, Stresemann and the Rearmament of Germany (Baltimore, MD 1954),
Ch. 6.
171 Quoted in ibid.
172 Quoted in H. Holborn, A History of Modern Germany, Vol. 3, 1840–1945 (London 1969),
Ch. 12.
173 G.A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford 1978), Ch. 19.
174 Ibid.
175 Ibid.
176 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Ch. 18.
177 Quotations in this paragraph are from Hitler’s Mein Kampf and his Second Book. Material
and quotations are also from H. Von Maltitz, The Evolution of Hitler’s Germany (New
York 1973), Ch. 3.
178 Quoted in Williamson, op. cit., Ch. 9.
179 A. Hillgruber, Germany and the Two World Wars (trans. W.C. Kirby) (Cambridge, MA
1981), Ch. 5.
180 E. Jäckel, Hitler in History (Hanover 1984), Ch. 2.
181 See Kershaw, op. cit., for summary of debate and for quoted extracts.
182 Jäckel, op. cit., Ch. 4.
183 A. Hillgruber, ‘England’s Place in Hitler’s Plans for World Dominion’, Journal of
Contemporary History, 1974, 9.
184 J. Thies, Hitler’s Plans for Global Domination: Nazi Architecture and Ultimate War
Aims (originally published 1976, trans I. Cooke and M. Friedrich) (New York 2012),
p. 195.
185 Ibid., p.143.
186 Ibid., p. 147.
187 Ibid., p. 7.
188 Ibid.
189 V.R. Berghahn, ‘Foreword’, in ibid., p. xiii.
190 Quotations from A.J.P. Taylor, The Origins of the Second World War (London 1961),
Ch. 7.
442 Notes

191 Quoted in K.H. Jarausch, ‘From Second to Third Reich: The Problem of Continuity in
German Foreign Policy’, Central European History, 1979, 12.
192 A. Bullock, contribution to Hitler and the Origins of the Second World War, Proceedings
of the British Academy (Oxford 1967), Ch. 8.
193 Bullock, op. cit., liii.
194 I. Kershaw, ‘Nazi Foreign Policy: Hitler’s “Programme” or “Expansion without Object”?’,
in P. Finney (ed.) The Origins of the Second World War (London 1997), p. 143.
195 Kitchen, op. cit., p. 302.
196 See F. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War (London 1967).
197 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Ch. 16.
198 See extract in Waite, op. cit.
199 I. Kershaw, lecture at Aston University, 1997.
200 J.L. Snell (ed.), The Outbreak of the Second World War (Boston 1962), extract from the
Nuremberg Judgement.
201 R.J. Sontag, ‘The Last Months of Peace, 1939’, Foreign Affairs, 1957, xxv.
202 H. Trevor-Roper, ‘A.J.P. Taylor, ‘Hitler and the War’, Encounter, 1961, xvii.
203 J. Fest, Hitler (London 1974), Interpolation Three.
204 Quotations from A.J.P. Taylor, op. cit., Ch. 7.
205 T.W. Mason, ‘Some Origins of the Second World War’, Past and Present, 1964.
206 R. Henig, The Origins of the Second World War (London 1985), Section III.
207 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., Ch. 19.
208 Williamson, op. cit., Ch. 10.
209 Craig, op. cit., Ch. 20.
210 Quoted in W.L. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (London 1960), Ch. 19.
211 Quoted in Williamson, op. cit., Ch. 10.
212 Quoted in Hildebrand, op. cit., Ch. 1.
213 N. Rich, Hitler’s War Aims: The Establishment of the New Order (London 1974),
Vol. II.
214 Quoted in K. Syrop, Poland: Between the Hammer and the Anvil (London 1968),
Ch. 16.
215 Shirer, op. cit., Ch. 27.
216 Thornton, op. cit., Ch. 9.
217 Ibid.
218 M.R.D. Foot, ‘Nazi Wartime Atrocities’, in Purnell’s History of the Twentieth Century,
Vol. 5 (London 1968).
219 Jäckel, op. cit., Ch. 4.
220 Quoted in T.L. Jarman, The Rise and Fall of Nazi Germany (London 1955), Ch. 15.
221 Bullock, Hitler, op. cit., Ch. 14.
222 F. Halder, Hitler as War Lord (trans. P. Findley) (London 1950).
223 P.E. Schramm, Hitler: The Man and the Military Leader (London 1972), Ch. 2.
224 Ibid.
225 Halder, op. cit.
226 Quoted in P. Stern, Hitler: The Führer and the People (London 1975), Ch. 22.
227 Halder, op. cit.
228 G. Weeks, ‘Understanding the Holocaust: The Past and Future of Holocaust Studies’,
Contemporary European History, 2006, 15:1, pp. 117–129.
229 See R. Breitman, Official Secrets: What the Nazis Planned, What the British and
Americans Knew (New York 1968).
230 See D. Bloxham, Genocide on Trial: War Crimes Trials and the Formation of Holocaust
History and Memory (Oxford 2001).
231 B. Niven, ‘Remembering the Holocaust: Representation, Neglect and Instrumentalization’,
European History Quarterly, 2006, 36:2, pp. 279–291, at p. 281.
232 D. Diner, ‘The Destruction of Narrativity: The Holocaust in Historical Discourse’, in
M. Postone and E. Santner (eds) Catastrophe and Meaning: The Holocaust and the
Twentieth Century (Chicago 2003), p. 68.
233 Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit., p. 1049.
 Notes 443

234 Information adapted from ibid.

235 See D. Lipstadt, Denying the Holocaust: The Growing Assault on Truth and Memory
(New York 1993).
236 Ibid., p. 222.
237 D.J. Goldhagen, Hitler’s Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust
(London 1997), p. 162.
238 See R. Hilberg, The Destruction of the European Jews (Chicago 1961).
239 M. Broszat, in D. Cesarini (ed.), The Final Solution: Origins and Implementation (London
1994), p. 7.
240 M. Mommsen, ‘The Realization of the Unthinkable’, in G. Hirschfield (ed.), The Policies
of Genocide (London 1986), pp. 35–36.
241 O. Bartov (ed.), The Holocaust: Origins, Implementation, Aftermath (London 2003),
p. 5.
242 C. Browning, ‘The Origins of the Final Solution’, in J.C. Friedman (ed.) The Routledge
History of The Holocaust (Abingdon 2011), pp. 163–164.
243 Ibid., p. 7.
244 Diner, op. cit., p. 75.
245 Quoted in Remak, op. cit., p. 159.
246 J. Dülffer, Nazi Germany 1933–1945: Faith and Annihilation (London 1996), p. 179.
247 Goldhagen, op. cit., p. 162.
248 G.D. Rosenfeld, ‘The Controversy That Isn’t The Debate over Daniel J. Goldhagen’s
Hitler’s Willing Executioners in Comparative Perspective’, Contemporary European
History, 1999, 8:2, pp. 249–273, at p. 262.
249 See L. Rothkirchen, The Jews of Bohemia and Moravia: Facing the Holocaust (Lincoln,
NE 2005), Ch. 5.
250 See J. Connelly, ‘Poles and Jews in the Second World War: The Revisions of Jan T.
Gross’, Contemporary European History, 2002, pp. 641–658.
251 J.T. Gross, Neighbours: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland
(Princeton, NJ 2001), Ch. 5.
252 Connelly, op. cit., p. 656. See also N. Aleksiun, ‘Polish Historiography of the Holocaust
– Between Silence and Public Debate’, German History, 2004, 22:3, pp. 406–432.
253 Quoted in T. Cole, Holocaust City: The Making of a Jewish Ghetto (London 2003),
p. 53.
254 Quoted in ibid., p. 65.
255 Quoted in ibid., p. 61.
256 Quoted in ibid., p. 66.
257 R. Ioanid, The Holocaust in Romania (Chicago 2000), p. 293.
258 Hilberg, op. cit., pp. 666–667.
259 See G. Corni, Hitler’s Ghettoes. Voices from a Beleaguered Society 1939–1944 (trans.
N.R. Iannelli) (London 2003), Ch. 11.
260 Quoted in A. Barkai, From Boycott to Annihilation (London 1989), p. 141.
261 Koonz, op. cit., p. 363.
262 M. Housden, Resistance and Conformity in the Third Reich (London 1997), p. 125.
263 R. Hilberg, ‘The “Judenrat”: Conscious or Unconscious Tool?’, in Patterns of Jewish
Leadership in Nazi Europe 1933–45: Proceedings of the Yad Vashem International
Conference (Jerusalem 1977).
264 J. Robinson, ‘Some Basic Issues that Faced the Jewish Councils’, in I. Trunk, Judenrat:
The Jewish Councils in Eastern Europe under Nazi Occupation (London 1972), p. xxxi.
265 I. Trunk, ‘The Attitudes of the Judenrats to the Problems of Armed Resistance against
the Nazis’, in Jewish Resistance to the Holocaust: Proceedings of the Conference on
Manifestations of Jewish Resistance, Jerusalem, April 7–11, 1968 [Prepared under the
supervision of Meir Grubsztein. Translated into English by Varda Esther Bar-on and
others] (Jersualem 1971).
266 J.M. Cox, ‘Jewish Resistance against Nazism’, in J.C. Friedman (ed.) The Routledge
History of The Holocaust (Abingdon 2011), p. 334.
444 Notes

267 Quoted in R. Breitman, ‘The “Final Solution” ’, in G. Martel, Modern Germany

Reconsidered (London 1992), p. 197.
268 Quoted in Höhne, op. cit., p. 352.
269 Quoted in ibid., p. 353.
270 Quoted in Noakes and Pridham, Nazism 1919–1945, op. cit.
271 Quoted in M. Housden, Hans Frank: Lebensraum and the Holocaust (London 2005),
p. 251.
272 Ibid.
273 Housden, Lebensraum and the Holocaust, op. cit., pp. 192–193.
274 J. Lukacs, The Hitler of History (New York 1998), p. 34.
275 Ibid., p. 236.
276 Ibid., p. 26.
277 See M. Burleigh and W. Wippermann, The Racial State: Germany 1933–1945 (Cambridge
1991).
278 Ibid., p. 42.
279 A.J.P. Taylor, The Course of German History (London 1945), p. 213.
280 Shirer, op. cit., p. 126.
281 Ibid., p.129.
282 Ibid., p.148.
283 Goldhagen, op. cit., p. 23.
284 Lukacs, op. cit., p. 258.
285 G. Eley (ed.), The ‘Goldhagen Effect’ (Ann Arbor, MI 2000), p. 23.
286 Burleigh, The Third Reich, op. cit., p. 3.
287 Lukacs, op. cit., p. 222.

6 Dictatorship in Spain
1 H. Thomas, The Spanish Civil War (London 1961), Ch. 2.
2 S.G. Payne, Falange: A History of Spanish Fascism (Stanford, CA 1961), Ch. 1.
3 Quoted in S. Ben-Ami, ‘Dictatorship of Primo de Rivera: A Political Reassessment’,
Journal of Contemporary History, 1977, 12:1, pp. 65–84.
4 Quoted in ibid.
5 J.H. Rial, Revolution from Above: The Primo de Rivera Dictatorship in Spain, 1923–1930
(London and Toronto 1986), p. 230.
6 R. Carr, Modern Spain 1875–1980 (Oxford 1980), Ch. 7.
7 For example, S. Ben-Ami, Fascism from Above: The Dictatorship of Primo de Rivera
in Spain 1923–1930 (Oxford 1983).
8 M. Blinkhorn, Conservatism, Traditionalism and Fascism in Spain, 1898–1937’, in
M. Blinkhorn (ed.) Fascists and Conservatives (London 1990).
9 Ben-Ami, Fascism from Above, op. cit.
10 Blinkhorn, op. cit.
11 Rial, op. cit.
12 See Ben-Ami, Fascism from Above, op. cit., pp. 398–402.
13 Ibid., p. 399.
14 Rial, op. cit., p. 233.
15 F.J.R. Salvadó, The Spanish Civil War: Origins, Course and Outcomes (Basingstoke
2005), p. 28.
16 Thomas, op. cit., Ch. 10.
17 P. Preston, ‘War of Words: The Spanish Civil War and the Historians’, in P. Preston
(ed.) Revolution and War in Spain 1931–1939 (London 1984).
18 G. Eisenwein and A. Shubert, Spain at War: The Spanish Civil War in Context 1931–1939
(London 1995), p. 173, footnote 11.
19 Quoted in J. Casanova, The Spanish Republic and the Civil War (trans. Cambridge 2010),
p. 236.
20 Quoted in R. Carr and J.P. Fusi, Spain: Dictatorship to Democracy (London 1979),
p. 26.
 Notes 445

21 Quoted in F.J. Taylor, The United States and the Spanish Civil War (New York 1956).
22 F. Lannon, ‘The Church’s Crusade against the Republic’ in Preston, Revolution and War
in Spain, op. cit., p. 53.
23 Quoted in M. Alpert, ‘Soldiers, Politics and War’, in Preston, Revolution and War in
Spain, op. cit.
24 Quoted in Carr, op. cit., Ch. 5.
25 Ibid., Ch. 9.
26 F. Farmborough, Life and People in National Spain (London 1938), p. 14.
27 Ibid., p. 20.
28 Quoted by R.A.C. Parker in W.J. Mommsen and L. Kettenacker (eds) The Fascist
Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London 1983), p. 38.
29 Quoted in Casanova, op. cit., p. 295.
30 B. Shelmerdine, British Representations of the Spanish Civil War (Manchester and New
York 2006).
31 Quoted in ibid., p. 82.
32 Quoted in ibid., p. 82.
33 Quoted in ibid., p. 83.
34 Ibid., p. 86.
35 Lannon, op. cit., p. 53.
36 Quoted in Salvadó, op. cit., p. 65.
37 Quoted in Casanova, op. cit., p. 216.
38 Eisenwein and Shubert, op. cit., p. 192.
39 Salvadó, op. cit., p. 72.
40 See S.G. Payne, The Spanish Civil War, the Soviet Union and Communism (New Haven
and London 2004), pp. 295–297.
41 Information on International Brigades from Thomas, op. cit., Appendix III.
42 Quoted in Casanova, op. cit., p. 219.
43 Salvadó, op. cit., p. 65.
44 Thomas, op. cit., Appendix Three.
45 Casanova, op. cit., p. 226.
46 Quoted in ibid., p. 217.
47 A. Vinas, ‘The Financing of the Spanish Civil War’ in Preston, Revolution and War in
Spain, op. cit.
48 Hart quoted in R.H. Whealey, Hitler and Spain: The Nazi Role in the Spanish Civil War
1936–1939 (Lexington, Kentucky 1989), p. 142.
49 Ibid., p. 142.
50 Eisenwein and Shubert, op. cit., p. 206.
51 Whealey, op. cit., p. 135.
52 S.G. Payne, The Spanish Civil War, the Soviet Union and Communism (New Haven and
London 2004), p. 313.
53 Ibid., pp. 313–314.
54 Casanova, op. cit., p. 278.
55 G. Jackson, The Spanish Republic and the Civil War 1931–39 (Princeton, NJ 1965),
Ch. 24.
56 M. Gallo, Spain under Franco (trans. J. Stewart) (London 1973), Introduction.
57 B. Crozier, Franco: A Biographical History (London 1967), Part IV, Ch. 6.
58 Carr, op. cit., Ch. 9.
59 A. Beevor, The Battle for Spain: The Spanish Civil War 1936–1939 (London 2006),
p. 219.
60 Beevor, cited in Casanova, op. cit., p. 337.
61 Beevor, op. cit., p. 219.
62 R. Whealey, ‘How Franco Financed his War – Reconsidered’, Journal of Contemporary
History, 1977, 12.
63 Beevor, op. cit., pp. 97 and 105.
64 Ibid., p. 91.
65 Ibid., p. 99.
446 Notes

66 Eisenwein and Shubert, op. cit., p. 179.

67 Ibid., p. 184.
68 A.C. Sanchez, Fear and Progress: Ordinary Lives in Franco’s Spain 1939–1975
(Chichester 2010), p. 9.
69 Quoted in Gallo, op. cit., Part I, Ch. 2.
70 Quoted in R. Carr, Spain 1808–1975 (Oxford 1966), Ch. 18.
71 Quoted in Gallo, op. cit., Part II, Ch. 2.
72 Ibid., Part II, Ch. 3.
73 Quoted in J.D.W. Trythall, Franco: A Biography (London 1970), Ch. 8.
74 C. Powell, ‘The United States and Spain’, in N. Townson (ed.) Spain Transformed: The
Late Franco Dictatorship, 1959–75 (Basingstoke 2007), p. 228.
75 J. Grugel and T. Rees, Franco’s Spain (London 1997), p. 178.
76 T. Buchanan: ‘How “Different” Was Spain? The Later Franco Regime in International
Context’, in Townson, op. cit., p. 87.
77 Ibid., p. 88.
78 Quoted in S. Ellwood, Franco (Harlow 1994), p. 109.
79 Carr, Spain 1808–1975, op. cit., Ch. 18.
80 Townson, op. cit., Introduction, p. 3.
81 Carr, Spain 1808–1975, op. cit., Ch. 20.
82 Ibid.
83 Townson, op. cit., Introduction.
84 Carr, Spain 1808–1975, op. cit., Ch. 20.
85 Townson, op. cit., Introduction.
86 Ibid., p. 12.
87 S.D. Pack, ‘Tourism and Political Change in Franco’s Spain’, in Townson, op. cit.,
p. 47.
88 Ibid., pp. 56–57.
89 Ibid., p. 56.
90 See E. Malefakis, ‘A Bifurcated Regime?’ in Townson, op. cit., p. 253.
91 Crozier, op. cit.
92 Ibid., p. 506.
93 Ibid. p. 509.
94 Ibid. p. 511.
95 Ibid, p. 311.
96 See J. Treglown, Franco’s Crypt: Spanish Culture and Memory Since 1936 (London
2013). Also G. Tremlett, an article in the Guardian, 31 May 2011.
97 H. Trevor-Roper, ‘Franco’s Spain Twenty Years Later’, in G. Jackson (ed.) The Spanish
Civil War (Chicago 1972), p. 198.
98 A.C. Sanchez, Fear and Progress: Ordinary Lives in Franco’s Spain 1939–1975
(Chichester 2010), p. 9.
99 Carr, Spain 1808–1975, op. cit., Ch. 18.
100 See C. Jerez-Farrán and S. Amago (eds), Unearthing Franco’s Legacy: Mass Graves
and the Recovery of Historical memory in Spain (Notre Dame, IN 2010).
101 Ibid., p. 18.
102 See J. Labanyi, ‘Testimonies of Repression’ in ibid., pp. 192–205.
103 A.E. Hardcastle: ‘ “El documental es un arma cargada de pasado”: Representation in
Documentary and Testimony’, in ibid., p. 148.
104 Ibid., p. 4.

7 Dictatorship elsewhere
1 N. Bruce, Portugal: The Last Empire (London 1975), Ch. 1.
2 S.G. Payne, ‘Epilogue’, in L.S. Graham and H.M. Makler (eds) Contemporary Portugal:
The Revolution and its Antecedents (Austin, TX 1979), p. 345.
3 Bruce, op. cit., Ch. 1.
 Notes 447

4 Quoted in T. Gallagher, Portugal: A Twentieth-Century Interpretation (Manchester

1983).
5 Quoted in H. Kay, Salazar and Modern Portugal (London 1970), Ch. 5.
6 Quoted in ibid.
7 Gallagher, op. cit., Ch. 4.
8 Kay, op. cit., Ch. 4.
9 Gallagher, op. cit., Ch. 3.
10 Quoted in ibid., Ch. 5
11 Quoted in R.A.H. Robinson, Contemporary Portugal: A History (London 1979), p. 86.
12 Quoted in ibid., Ch. 3.
13 Quoted in ibid., p. 87.
14 Ibid., p. 88.
15 G.A. Stone, Spain, Portugal and the Great Powers, 1931–1941 (Basingstoke 2005),
p. 171.
16 T.C. Bruneau, Politics and Nationhood: Post-Revolutionary Portugal (New York 1974),
Ch. 1.
17 Quoted in Robinson, op. cit., p. 67.
18 Robinson, op. cit., p. 68.
19 M. Soares, Portugal’s Struggle for Liberty (trans. London 1975), p. 49.
20 Robinson, op. cit., p. 94.
21 Soares, op. cit., pp. 169–170.
22 J.E. Duffy, Portuguese Africa (Cambridge, MA 1959), Ch. 9.
23 Summarized from Soares, op. cit., p. 177.
24 Bruce, op. cit., p. 63.
25 Gallagher, op. cit., p. 178
26 See Bruce, op. cit., pp. 69–84.
27 See Soares, op. cit., pp. 189–190.
28 Gallagher, op. cit., p. 178.
29 D. Birmingham, A Concise History of Portugal (Cambridge 1993), p. 169.
30 See J.M. Anderson, The History of Portugal (Westport, CT 2000), p. 158.
31 Ibid., p. 159.
32 Ibid., p. 154.
33 D.L. Raby, Fascism and Resistance in Portugal: Communists, Liberals and Military
Dissidents in the Opposition to Salazar, 1941–1974 (Manchester 1988), pp. 5–6.
34 Soares, op. cit., p. 12.
35 Ibid., p. 12.
36 Birmingham, op. cit., pp. 158–159.
37 A.C. Pinto, The Blue Shirts: Portuguese Fascists and the New State (New York 2000),
p. 236.
38 Ibid., p. 237.
39 Ibid., p. 238.
40 Ibid., p. 238.
41 Quoted in T. Gallagher, ‘Conservatism, Dictatorship and Fascism in Portugal, 1914–45’,
in M. Blinkhorn (ed.) Fascists and Conservatives (London 1990), p. 166.
42 R. Griffin, The Nature of Fascism (London 1991), pp. 122–123.
43 Quoted in Gallagher, ‘Conservatism, Dictatorship and Fascism’, op. cit., p. 167.
44 F.R. De Meneses, ‘The Origins and Nature of Authoritarian Rule in Portugal, 1919–1945’,
Contemporary European History, 2003, 11:1, pp. 153–154.
45 Quoted in Gallagher, ‘Conservatism, Dictatorship and Fascism’, op. cit., p. 163.
46 Quoted in ibid., pp. 164–165.
47 E. Eyck, A History of the Weimar Republic (Cambridge, MA and London 1962–4),
Vol. I, Ch. 4.
48 A.J.P. Taylor, The Habsburg Monarchy (London 1948), Epilogue.
49 Quoted in S. Marks, The Illusion of Peace (London 1976), Ch. 1.
50 E. Barker, Austria 1918–1972 (London 1973), Part I.
51 Quoted in K.R. Stadler, Austria (London 1971), Ch. 4.
448 Notes

52 Ibid.
53 Quoted in ibid.
54 Barker, op. cit., Ch. 9.
55 Stadler, op. cit., Ch. 4.
56 Barker, op. cit., Ch. 9.
57 Ibid.
58 J. Lewis, ‘Conservatives and Fascists in Austria, 1918–34’, in Blinkhorn, op. cit., p. 114.
59 Ibid., p. 103.
60 Payne, A History of Fascism, op. cit., p. 250.
61 M. Kitchen, The Coming of Austrian Fascism (London and Montreal 1980), p. 274.
62 Ibid., p. 277.
63 Ibid., p. 279.
64 Quoted in E.B. Bukey, Hitler’s Austria: Popular Sentiment in the Nazi Era, 1938–1945
(Chapel Hill and London 2000), Epilogue.
65 Quoted in R. Steininger, Austria, Germany and the Cold War: From the Anschluss to
the State Treaty 1938–1955 (London 2008), p. 22.
66 Bukey, op. cit., Epilogue.
67 Ibid.
68 Quotations from G.-K. Kindermann, Hitler’s Defeat in Austria 1933–1934: Europe’s
First Containment of Nazi Expansionism (trans. S. Brough and D. Taylor) (London 1984),
pp. xvi–xxv.
69 Steininger, op. cit., p. 15.
70 Ibid.
71 Ibid., p. 15.
72 Ibid.
73 Ibid.
74 Ibid., p. 14.
75 M. Molnár, A Concise History of Hungary (trans. A Magyar) (Cambridge 2001), p. 259.
76 A.C. Janos, The Politics of Backwardness in Hungary 1825–1945 (Princeton, NJ 1982),
Ch. 4.
77 P.F. Sugar (ed.), A History of Hungary (London 1990), p. 305.
78 R.J. Crampton, Eastern Europe in the Twentieth Century – and After (London 1997),
Ch. 5.
79 P. Ignotus, Hungary (London 1972), p. 147.
80 Crampton, op. cit., Ch. 5.
81 Janos, op. cit., Ch. 4.
82 E. Pamlényi (ed.), A History of Hungary (London 1975), Ch. 9.
83 D. Sinor, A History of Hungary (London 1959), Ch. 32.
84 Quoted in Ignotus, op. cit., Ch. 9.
85 L. Kontler, A History of Hungary (London 2002), p. 344.
86 K. Syrop, Poland: Between the Hammer and the Anvil (London 1968), Ch. 14.
87 J. Rothschild, Pilsudski’s Coup d’Etat (New York 1966), Conclusion.
88 Z. Landau and J. Tomaszewski, The Polish Economy in the Twentieth Century (London
1985), in D.H. Aldcroft, Editor’s Introduction. Details to be added.
89 Rothschild, op. cit.
90 See J. Holzer, ‘The Political Right in Poland, 1918–39’, Journal of Contemporary
History, 1977, 12.
91 Syrop, op. cit, Ch. 15.
92 Ibid., Ch. 16.
93 A. Polonsky, Politics in Independent Poland, 1921–1939: The Crisis of Constitutional
Government (Oxford 1972), p. 506.
94 H. Roos, A History of Modern Poland: From the Foundation of the State in the First
World War to the Present Day (trans. J.R. Foster) (London 1961), p. 141.
95 A.J. Prażmowska, A History of Poland (Basingstoke 2004), p. 168.
96 Ibid., p. 169.
97 See Roos, op. cit., pp. 132–133.
 Notes 449

98 Prażmowska, op. cit., p. 171.

99 See N. Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland. Volume II: 1795 to the Present
(Oxford 1981), pp. 426, 431, 434.
100 Roos, op. cit., p. 169.
101 P.D. Stachura, Poland Between the Wars, 1918–1939 (London 1998), p. 183.
102 Ibid., p. 184.
103 Ibid., p. 184.
104 Ibid., p. 184.
105 Ibid., p. 185.
106 Quoted in E.J. Patterson, Pilsudski: Marshal of Poland (Bristol 1935), p. 117.
107 Rothschild, op. cit., Conclusion.
108 Syrop, op. cit., Ch. 15.
109 J. Lukowski and H. Zawadzki, A Concise History of Poland (Cambridge 2006), p. 245.
110 Payne, op. cit., p. 322.
111 V.S. Vardis, ‘The Rise of Authoritarian Rule in the Baltic States’, in V.S. Vardis and
R.J. Misiunas (eds) The Baltic States in Peace and War (University Park, PA 1978).
112 N. Hope, ‘Interwar Statehood: Symbol and Reality’, in G. Smith (ed.) The Baltic States
(New York 1994), p. 63.
113 Payne, op. cit., p. 325.
114 B. Meissner, ‘The Baltic Question in World Politics’, in Vardis and Misiunas, op. cit.
Also A. Dallin, ‘The Baltic States between Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia’, in Vardis
and Misiunas, op. cit.
115 E. Anderson, ‘The Baltic Entente: Phantom or Reality’, in Vardis and Misiunas, op. cit.
116 R. Misiunas and R. Taagepera, The Baltic States: Years of Dependence 1940–1990
(London 1993), p. 42.
117 J. Hiden and P. Salmon, The Baltic Nations and Europe: Estonia, Latvia & Lithuania
in the Twentieth Century (London 1991), p. 115.
118 Misiunas and Taagepera, op. cit., pp. 45–46.
119 Hiden and Salmon, op. cit., p. 116.
120 Ibid., p. 119.
121 Ibid., p. 131.
122 D. Kirby, ‘Morality or Expediency in British-Soviet Relations, 1941–42’, in Vardis and
Misiunas, op. cit., p. 172.
123 L.S. Stavrianos, The Balkans since 1453 (New York 1958), Ch. 36.
124 J. Tomes, ‘The Throne of Zog: Monarchy in Albania 1929–1939’, in History Today,
2001, 51.
125 Quoted in ibid.
126 Quoted in B.J. Fischer, King Zog and the Struggle for Stability in Albania (New York
1984), p. 139.
127 Tomes, op. cit.
128 S. Pollo and A. Puto, The History of Albania (trans. C. Wiseman and G. Cole) (London
1981), Ch. 9.
129 A. Logoreci, The Albanians (London 1977), Ch. 3.
130 Stavrianos, op. cit., Ch. 36.
131 K. Frasheri, The History of Albania (Tirana 1964), p. 243.
132 Ibid., p. 255.
133 Ibid., p. 255.
134 Fischer, op. cit.
135 Ibid., p. 305.
136 Ibid., p. 304.
137 Ibid., p. 303.
138 Ibid., p. 304.
139 Tomes, op. cit.
140 B. Jelavich, A History of the Balkans, Vol. 2, Twentieth Century (Cambridge 1983).
141 See T. Gallagher, Outcast Europe: The Balkans, 1789–1989 from the Ottomans to
Milosevic (London 2001), p. 97.
450 Notes

142 Stavrianos, op. cit., Ch. 33.

143 M. Biondich, The Balkans, Revolution, War and Political Violence since 1878 (Oxford
2011), p. 114.
144 R. Ristelhueber, A History of the Balkan Peoples (trans. S.D. Spector) (New York 1971).
145 F. Singleton, Twentieth-Century Yugoslavia (London 1976), Ch. 5.
146 Stavrianos, op. cit., Ch. 32.
147 V. Dedijer, ‘Yugoslavia between Centralism and Federalism’, in V. Dedijer (ed.) History
of Yugoslavia (New York 1974).
148 R.W. Seton-Watson and R.G.D. Laffan, ‘Yugoslavia between the Wars’, in S. Clissold
(ed.) Short History of Yugoslavia (Cambridge 1966).
149 Stavrianos, op. cit., Ch. 32.
150 Ibid.
151 Quoted in V. Dedijer, ‘The Subjugation and Dismemberment of Yugoslavia’ in Dedijer,
op. cit.
152 Ibid.
153 A.N. Dragnich, The First Yugoslavia: The Search for a Viable Political System (Stanford,
CA 1983), p. 146.
154 B. Prpa-Jovanovi , ‘The Making of Yugoslavia’, in J. Udovi ki and J. Ridgeway (eds)
Burn this House: The Making and Unmaking of Yugoslavia (Durham and London 2000),
p. 50.
155 Ibid., p. 50.
156 Ibid., p. 53.
157 Ibid., p. 50.
158 Ibid.
159 Ibid.
160 D.N. Risti , Yugoslavia’s Revolution of 1941 (London 1966).
161 C. Bennett, Yugoslavia’s Bloody Collapse: Causes, Course and Consequences (London
1995) p. 33.
162 T. Cipek: ‘The Croats and Yugoslavism’ in D. Djoki (ed.) Yugoslavism: Histories of
a Failed Idea 1918–1992 (London 2003), p. 78.
163 J.B. Allcock, Explaining Yugoslavia (London 2000), p. 231.
164 Ibid., p. 236.
165 Ibid., p. 236.
166 Payne, op. cit., p. 405.
167 Stavrianos, op. cit., Ch. 32.
168 S. Fischer-Galati, Twentieth-Century Rumania (New York 1970).
169 F.L. Carsten, The Rise of Fascism (London 1967), Ch. 5.
170 J. Livezeanu, ‘Fascists and Conservatives in Romania: Two Generations of Nationalists’,
in Blinkhorn, op. cit., p. 220.
171 R. Ioanid, The Sword of the Archangel: Fascist Ideology in Romania (trans. P. Heinegg)
(New York 1990), Ch. 4.
172 Quoted in Gallagher, Outcast Europe, op. cit., p. 103.
173 Payne, op. cit., p. 396.
174 M. Petrakis, The Metaxas Myth: Dictatorship and Propaganda in Greece (London and
New York 2006), p. 183.
175 Ibid., p. 184.
176 Quoted in Jelavich, op. cit., Ch. 6.
177 Stavrianos, op. cit.
178 R. Clogg, Greece 1940–1949: Occupation, Resistance, Civil War (Basingstoke 2002),
p. 53.
179 J.L. Hondros, Occupation and Resistance: The Greek Agony, 1941–4 (New York 1983),
p. 26.
180 Payne, op. cit., p. 319.
181 J.V. Kofas, Authoritarianism in Greece: The Metaxas Regime (New York 1983).
182 Quoted in ibid.
183 Quoted in Payne, op. cit., p. 319.
 Notes 451

184 Kofas, op. cit., p. 186.

185 D. Close, ‘Conservatism, Authoritarianism and Fascism in Greece, 1914–45’, in
Blinkhorn, op. cit.
186 P.J. Vatikiotis, Popular Autocracy in Greece 1936–41: A Political Biography of General
Ioannis Metaxas (London and Portland 1998), p. 204.
187 Ibid., p. 14.
188 Quoted in N. Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (London 1964; 1988
edition), p. 464.
189 Quoted in ibid., p. 470.
190 Ibid, p. 470.
191 Quoted in Berkes, op. cit., p. 462.
192 Quoted in Berkes, op. cit., p. 463.
193 Quoted in P. Brooker, Twentieth-Century Dictatorships: The Ideological One-Party
States (New York 1995), p. 246.
194 E. J. Zürcher, Turkey: A Modern History (London 1993), p. 202.
195 D. Quataert, Social Disintegration and Popular Resistance in the Ottoman Empire,
1881–1908 (New York 1983), Conclusion, pp. 154–155.
196 D. Thomson, Europe Since Napoleon (London 1962), pp. 550–551.
197 R.H. Davison, Essays in Ottoman and Turkish History, 1774–1923: The Impact of the
West (Austin, TX 1990), p. 244.
198 Ibid., p. 259.
199 See Zürcher, op. cit., p. 180.
200 Ibid., p. 187.
201 Payne, op. cit., p. 144.
202 Zürcher, op. cit., p. 191.
203 Ibid., p. 213.
204 Ibid., p. 214.
205 P. Brooker, Defiant Dictatorships: Communist and Middle-Eastern Dictatorships in a
Democratic Age (New York 1997), p. 1.
206 Details to be added (London 2005 edition), p. 336.
207 Ibid., p. 337.
208 Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse Tung (Peking 1966), p. 11.
209 Ibid., p. 18.

8 Dictatorships vs democracies
1 G. Rhode, ‘The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia 1939–1945’ in V.S. Mamatey and
R. Luža (eds) A History of the Czechoslovak Republic 1918–1948 (Princeton, NJ 1973),
p. 301.
2 J. Korbel, Twentieth-Century Czechoslovakia: The Meanings of Its History (New York
1977), p. 163.
3 V. Mastny, The Czechs under Nazi Rule: The Failure of National Resistance, 1939–1942
(New York and London 1971), p. 225.
4 R. Luža, ‘The Czech Resistance Movement’, in Mamatey and Luža, op. cit., p. 301.
5 E. Taborsky, ‘Politics in Exile 1939–1945’, in Mamatey and Luža, op. cit., p. 323.
6 Figures from G. Rhode, ‘The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia 1939–1945’, in
Mamatey and Luža, op. cit., p. 321.
7 Quoted in J.K. Hoensch, ‘The Slovak Republic, 1939–1945’, in Mamatey and Luža,
op. cit., p. 279.
8 Ibid., p. 285.
9 A. Josko, ‘The Slovak Resistance Movement’, in Mamatey and Luža, op. cit., p. 372.
10 B. Nokleby, ‘Adjusting to Allied Victory’, in H.S. Nissen (ed.) Scandinavia during the
Second World War (Minneapolis 1983), p. 318.
11 See M. Häikiö, ‘The Race for Northern Europe, September 1939–June 1940’, in Nissen,
op. cit., p. 74.
452 Notes

12 For Quisling’s political philosophy see P.M. Hayes, Quisling: The Career and Political
Ideas of Vidkun Quisling (Newton Abbot 1971).
13 P.M. Hayes, Quisling (London 1971), Ch. 7. See also O.K. Hoidal, Quisling: A Study
in Treason (Oslo 1989).
14 H.F. Dahl, Quisling: A Study in Treachery (trans. A.-M. Stanton-Ife) (Cambridge 1999),
p. 416.
15 See G. Hirschfeld, ‘Collaboration and Attenism in the Netherlands 1940–41’, in
W. Laqueur (ed.) The Second World War: Essays in Military and Political History
(London 1982), pp. 101–118.
16 V. Mallinson, Belgium (London 1969), p. 122.
17 J. Newcomer, The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg: The Evolution of Nationhood 963 A.D.
to 1983 (New York and London 1984), pp. 264–265.
18 I. Ousby, Occupation: The Ordeal of France 1940–1944 (London 1999), p. 89.
19 T.R. Christofferson and M.S. Christofferson, France during World War II: From Defeat
to Liberation (New York 2006), p. 36.
20 Ibid., p. 37.
21 Ousby, op. cit., p. 79.
22 Christofferson and Christofferson, op. cit., p. 46.
23 Ibid., p. 65.
24 Ibid., pp. 112–113.
25 J.F. McMillan, Twentieth-Century France: Politics and Society 1898–1991 (London
1992), p. 138.
26 Christofferson and Christofferson, op. cit., p. 113.
27 H.R. Kedward, Resistance in Vichy France (Oxford 1978), p. 230.
28 Ibid.
29 J. Steinberg, Why Switzerland? (Cambridge 1996), p. 68.
30 Ibid., p. 68.
31 Ibid., p. 69.
32 Ibid., p. 69.
33 Quoted in J. Wraight, The Swiss and the British (Michael Russell 1987), p. 323.
34 J.-R. De Salis, Switzerland and Europe: Essays and Reflections (London 1971), p. 71.
35 N. Kent, A Concise History of Sweden (Cambridge 2008), p. 231.
36 H.S. Nissen, ‘Adjusting to German Domination’, in Nissen, op. cit., p. 107.
37 B. Nokleby, ‘Adjusting to Allied Victory’, in Nissen, op. cit., p. 317.
38 J. Gilmour, Sweden, the Swastika and Stalin: The Swedish Experience in the Second
World War (Edinburgh 2011), pp. 270–271.
39 R. Kenney, The Northern Tangle: Scandinavia and the Post-War World (London 1946),
p. 234.
40 Quoted in Gilmour, op. cit., pp. 270–271.
41 Ibid., p. 287.
42 J. Lydon, The Making of Ireland (London and New York 1998), p. 377.
43 E. Arnold, ‘Irish Neutrality between Vichy France and de Gaulle 1940–1945’, in
G. Morgan and G. Hughes (eds) Southern Ireland and the Liberation of France (Bern
2008), p. 33.
44 Lydon, op. cit., p. 381.
45 C.J. Carter, The Shamrock and the Swastika (Palo Alto, CA 1977), p. 234.
46 J.P. Duggan, Neutral Ireland and the Third Reich (Dublin 1985), p. 10.
47 See C. Wills, That Neutral Island: A Cultural History of Ireland During the Second
World War (London 2007), p. 8.
48 Ibid., p. 8.
49 Duggan, op. cit., p. 9.
50 Lydon, op. cit., p. 378.
51 Wills, op. cit., p. 384.
52 Ibid., p. 391.
53 Ibid., p. 385.
54 Lydon, op. cit., p. 382.
 Notes 453

55 Quoted in R. Pope, War and Society in Britain 1899–1948 (London 1991), p. 40.
56 Quoted in A.R. Ball, British Political Parties: The Emergence of a Modern Party System
(London 1981), p. 138.
57 S. Broadberry and P. Howlett, ‘Blood, Sweat and Tears: British Mobilization for World
War II’ in R. Chickering, S. Förster and B. Greiner (eds) A World at Total War (Cambridge
2005), p. 158.
58 Ibid., p. 174.
59 M. Bruce, The Coming of the Welfare State (London 1961), p. 326.
60 See D. Dutton, ‘Unity and Disunity: The Price of Victory’, in K. Robbins (ed.) The
British Isles 1901–1951 (Oxford 2002).
61 Quoted in P. Clarke, Hope and Glory: Britain 1900–2000 (London 2004), p. 208.
62 Quoted in F. Singleton, A Short History of Finland (Cambridge 1989), p. 130.
63 A.F. Upton, Finland 1939–1940 (London 1974), p. 157.
64 Quoted in Singleton, op. cit., p. 135.
65 Quoted in A. Farmer, Britain: Foreign and Imperial Affairs 1939–64 (London 1994),
p. 16.

9 Dictatorships compared
1 C.J. Friedrich and Z.K. Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy (Cambridge,
MA 1956), Ch. 7.
2 K.D. Bracher, The Age of Ideologies (London 1984), Part II, Ch. 4.
3 Ibid.
4 E. Weber, Varieties of Fascism (New York 1964), Reading 3, Introduction.
5 Quoted in R.C. Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideologies (Boston, MA 1983),
Ch. 5.
6 Bracher, op. cit., Part II, Ch. 3.
7 Quoted in H. Kohn, Political Ideologies of the Twentieth Century (New York 1966),
Ch. 10.
8 Quoted in J. Remak, The Nazi Years (Englewood Cliffs, NJ 1969), Ch. 3.
9 T. Gallagher, Portugal: A Twentieth-century Interpretation (Manchester 1983).
10 E.A. Rees, ‘Leader Cults: Varieties, Preconditions and Functions’, in E.A. Rees (ed.)
The Leader Cult in Communist Dictatorships (Basingstoke 2004), p. 4.
11 M. Broszat, The Hitler State: The Foundation and Development of the Internal Structure
of the Third Reich (London 1981), Ch. 6.
12 S. Ellwood, Franco (Harlow 1994), p. 114.
13 A.C. Pinto, Salazar’s Dictatorship and European Fascism (New York 1995), p. 178.
14 Salazar, quoted in Pinto, op. cit., p. 178.
15 H. Buchheim, Totalitarian Rule: Its Nature and Characteristics (Middletown, CT 1968),
Ch. 1.
16 N. Bruce, Portugal: The Last Empire (London 1975), Ch. 2.
17 S.G. Payne, Franco’s Spain (London 1968), Ch. 2.
18 Friedrich and Brzezinski, op. cit., Ch. 11.
19 Quoted in R. Robinson, Contemporary Portugal (London 1979), p. 61.
20 D.P. Machado, The Structure of Portuguese Society (New York 1991), p. 88.
21 Quoted in Robinson, op. cit., p. 62.
22 Ibid., p. 63.
23 Ibid., p. 58.
24 Friedrich and Brzezinski, op. cit., Ch. 11.
25 R.J.B. Bosworth, Mussolini (London 2002), p. 222.
26 Ibid.
27 Robinson, op. cit., p. 56.
28 N. Wachsmann, Hitler’s Prisons: Legal Terror in Nazi Germany (New Haven, CT 2004),
p. 363.
29 Ibid., p. 363.
30 Ibid., p. 364.
454 Notes

31 Ibid.
32 A. Bullock, Hitler and Stalin: Parallel Lives (London 1991), Ch. 12.
33 Quoted in G.M. Ivanova, Labor Camp Socialism: The Gulag in the Soviet Totalitarian
System (Armonk, NY 2000), p. 186.
34 A. Appelbaum, Gulag: A History of the Soviet Camps (London 2003), p. 20.
35 See O. Bartov, Germany’s War and the Holocaust (Ithaca, NY 2003), p. 4.
36 I.L. Horowitz, ‘Foreword’, in I. Ehrenburg and V. Grossman, The Complete Black Book
of Russian Jewry (New Brunswick, NJ 2000), p. vii.
37 Rees, op. cit., p. 4.
38 A. Pavkovic, The Fragmentation of Yugoslavia: Nationalism and War in the Balkans
(2nd edn, London 2000), p. 43.
Select bibliography

The notes section listed the works which have been used in compiling this book. This final
section is intended to select from these some titles to introduce the reader to further study.

GENERAL ISSUES (INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS, INSTITUTIONS

AND IDEOLOGIES)
The following introductions to the period can be strongly recommended: H. James, Europe
Reborn: A History, 1914–2000 (Harlow 2003); M. Kitchen, Europe Between the Wars (Harlow
2003); M. Mazower, Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century (London 1998); M. Pugh
(ed.), A Companion to Modern History, 1871–1945 (Oxford 1997); R. Conquest, Reflections
on a Ravaged Century (New York 2000); and R. Vinen, A History in Fragments: Europe in
the Twentieth Century (London 2000).
The various foreign policies are covered in the context of the individual states. The most
accessible collection of documents on international relations covering the whole period is
J.A.S. Grenville (ed.), The Major International Treaties 1914–1973 (London 1974). Now under
increasing pressure but still invigorating is A.J.P. Taylor, The Origins of the Second World
War (London 1961). The debate this caused has been updated in P. Finney (ed.), The Origins
of the Second World War (London 1997). Also recommended are R. Henig, Versailles and
After (London 1984); R. Henig, The Origins of the Second World War (London 1985); S.
Marks, The Illusion of Peace, International Relations in Europe 1918–1983 (London 1976);
and M. Trachtenberg, Reparation in World Politics (London 1980).
On institutions and ideologies, I found the following particularly informative and
enlightening: K.J. Newman, European Democracy between the Wars (trans. E. Morgan)
(London 1970); S. Tormey, Making Sense of Tyranny: Interpretations of Totalitarianism (Man-
chester 1995); H. Buchheim, Totalitarian Rule: Its Nature and Characteristics (Middletown,
CT 1968); K.D. Bracher, The Age of Ideologies (London 1984); R.C. Macridis, Contemporary
Political Ideologies (Boston 1983); C.J. Friedrich and Z.R. Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship
and Autocracy (Cambridge, MA 1956); A. Perlmutter, Modern Authoritarianism: A
Comparative Institutional Analysis (New Haven, CT 1984); J.J. Linz, Totalitarian and
Authoritarian Regimes (London 2000); J.L. Talmon, The Origins of Totalitarian Democracy
(London 1952); C.J. Friedrich, M. Curtis and B.R. Barber, Totalitarianism in Perspective:
Three Views (London 1969); A. Gleeson, Totalitarianism: The Inner History of the Cold War
(New York 1995); and A. Perlmutter, Modern Authoritarianism: A Comparative Institutional
Analysis (New Haven, CT 1984).
Works specifically on communism and Soviet institutions include: I. Deutscher, Marxism
in Outline (London 1972), J.S. Reshetar, Jr, The Soviet Polity: Government and Politics in
the USSR (New York 1989); L. Gozman and A. Etkind, The Psychology of Post-Totalitarianism
in Russia (Enfield 1992); M. Jaworskyj, Soviet Political Thought: An Anthology (Baltimore,
MD 1967); R.A. Medvedev, On Socialist Democracy (trans. E. de Kadt) (Nottingham 1977);
L. Cooper, Power and Politics in the Soviet Union (London 1992); E.A. Rees (ed.), The Leader
456 Select bibliography

Cult in Communist Dictatorships (Basingstoke 2004); and R. Sakwa, Soviet Politics in

Perspective (London 1998).
Fascism is dealt with in: G.L. Mosse (ed.), International Fascism (London and Beverly
Hills 1979); E. Nolte, Three Faces of Fascism (New York 1963); M. Kitchen, Fascism
(London 1976); F. Carsten, The Rise of Fascism (London 1967); S.J. Woolf (ed.), Fascism
in Europe (London 1981); S.G. Payne, A History of Fascism (London 1995); Z. Sternhell,
Neither Right nor Left: Fascist Ideology in France (Berkeley, CA 1986); M. Blinkhorn,
Fascism and the Right in Europe, 1919–1945 (Harlow 2000); and G.P. Blum, The Rise of
Fascism in Europe (Westport, CT 1998).

DICTATORSHIP IN RUSSIA
Since the late 1980s there have been fundamental changes in the interpretation of the Lenin
and Stalin periods. The second, third and fourth editions of this book have aimed to show
how these have developed and to contrast new with original views. In the process, I have
used some of the material from three of my other books. These are: S.J. Lee, Stalin and the
Soviet Union (London 1999); S.J. Lee, Lenin and Revolutionary Russia (London 2003); and
S.J. Lee, Russia and the USSR 1855–1991 (London 2006).
The traditional works are still of enormous value to the student and general reader. On the
Lenin era these include: E.H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution 1917–23 (3 vols, London 1950),
E.H. Carr, The Russian Revolution from Lenin to Stalin 1917–1929 (London 1979); C. Hill,
Lenin and the Russian Revolution (London 1974); L. Schapiro, 1917: The Russian Revolution
and the Origins of Present Day Communism (Hounslow 1984); L. Fischer, The Life of Lenin
(London 1965); S.N. Silverman (ed.), Lenin (New York 1966); R. Conquest, Lenin (London
1972); A.E. Adams (ed.) The Russian Revolution and Bolshevik Victory (Lexington, MA 1974).
Two more detailed works are: A. Ascher (ed.), The Mensheviks in the Russian Revolution
(London 1976); and G. Leggett, The Cheka: Lenin’s Political Police (Oxford 1981). Earlier
works on Stalin and Stalinism include: I. Deutscher, Stalin: A Political Biography (Oxford
1949); A.B. Ulam, Stalin: The Man and his Era (London 1973); I. Grey, Stalin; Man of History
(1882 edition, Abacus 1982); R.C. Tucker, Stalin as Revolutionary (London 1973); R. Hingley,
Joseph Stalin: Man and Legend (London 1974); T.H. Rigby (ed.), Stalin (New York 1966);
A. Nove, Stalinism and After (London 1975); M. McCauley, Stalin and Stalinism (Harlow
1983); E.H. Carr, Socialism in One Country 1924–1926 (London 1958); J. Ellenstein, The
Stalin Phenomenon (London 1976); and G.R. Urban (ed.), Stalinism: Its Impact on Russia
and the World (London 1982). More specific material can be found in: M. Lewin, Russian
Peasants and Soviet Power: A Study of Collectivization (New York 1968); R. Conquest, The
Great Terror (London 1968); R. Hutchings, Soviet Economic Development (Oxford 1967);
D. Lane, Politics and Society in the USSR (London 1970); R. Hingley, Russian Writers and
Soviet Society 1917–1978 (London 1979); R.C. Tucker, The Soviet Political Mind (London
1972); G. Fischer, Soviet Opposition to Stalin (Cambridge, MA 1952); G.F. Kennan, Soviet
Foreign Policy 1917–1941 (Princeton, NJ 1960); W. Laqueur, Russia and Germany: A Century
of Conflict (London 1965); J. Haslam, The Soviet Union and the Struggle for Collective Security
in Europe, 1933–39 (New York 1984); and A.Z. Rubinstein, Soviet Foreign Policy since World
War II (Cambridge, MA 1981).
Later works have provided some fascinating contrasts and have been heavily drawn upon
for the more recent editions of this book. On the Lenin period they include: E. Acton,
Rethinking the Russian Revolution (London 1996); I.D. Thatcher (ed.), Reinterpreting
Revolutionary Russia (Basingstoke 2006); R. Wade, The Russian Revolution, 1917 (Cambridge
2000); G. Swain, The Origins of the Russian Civil War (London 1996); E. Mawdsley, The
Russian Civil War (London 1987); V.N. Brovkin (ed.), The Bolsheviks in Russian Society
(New Haven, CT 1997); J. Rees, R. Service, S. Farber and R. Blackburn, In Defence of October:
A Debate on the Russian Revolution (London 1997); and D. Volkogonov, Lenin: Life and
Legacy (London 1994).
 Select bibliography 457

The most recent biography of Stalin is S. Kotkin, Stalin, Vol. 1: Paradoxes of Power,
1878–1928 (London 2014). Other works on Stalin and Stalinism published since 1990 include:
K. McDermott, Stalin: Revolutionary in an Era of War (Basingstoke 2006); C. Ward, Stalin’s
Russia (London 1993); C. Ward (ed.), The Stalinist Dictatorship (London 1998); H. Kuromiya,
Stalin (Harlow 2005); S. Davies and J. Harris (eds), Stalin: A New History (Cambridge 2005);
R. Service, Stalin: A Biography (London 2004); E. Mawdsley, The Stalin Years: The Soviet
Union 1929–1953 (second edition, Manchester 2003); E. Radzinsky, Stalin: The First In-
Depth Biography Based on Explosive New Documents from Russia’s Secret Archives (trans.
H.T. Willetts) (New York 1996); D. Volkogonov, Stalin: Triumph and Tragedy (trans. London
1991); A. Nove (ed.), The Stalin Phenomenon (London 1993); D.L. Hoffman (ed.), Stalinism
(Oxford 2003); and A. Litvin and J. Keep, Stalinism: Russian and Western Views at the Turn
of the Millennium (London 2005).
Among the many recent works on the Stalinist politics, terror, economy and society are:
J. Channon (ed.), Politics, Society and Stalinism in the USSR (London 1998); J. Arch Getty
and R.T. Manning (eds), Stalinist Terror: New Perspectives (Cambridge 1993); G.M. Ivanova,
Labor Camp Socialism: The Gulag in the Soviet Totalitarian System (trans. Armonk, NY
2000); A. Appelbaum, Gulag: A History of the Soviet Camps (London 2003); V. Brovkin,
Russia after Lenin: Politics, Culture and Society 1921–1929 (London 1998); D.R. Shearer,
Industry, State and Society in Stalin’s Russia 1926–1934 (Ithaca, NY 1996); S. Davies,
Popular Opinion in Stalin’s Russia: Terror, Propaganda and Dissent, 1934–1941 (Cambridge
1997); L. Viola (ed.), Contending with Stalinism: Soviet Power and Popular Resistance in
the 1930s (Ithaca, NY 2002); and V.S. Dunham, In Stalin’s Time: Middleclass Values in Soviet
Fiction (Durham and London 1990); D.L. Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: The Cultural Norms
of Soviet Modernity, 1917–1941 (London 1999); and M. Harrison, Accounting for War – Soviet
Production, Employment and the Defence Burden, 1940–1945 (Cambridge 1996). Recent
publications on foreign policy include: G. Gorodetsky (ed.), Soviet Foreign Policy 1917–1991
(London 1994); G. Roberts, The Soviet Union and the Origins of the Second World War
(London 1995); V. Suvorov, Icebreaker: Who Started the Second World War? (London 1990);
P. Mezhiritsky, On the Precipice: Stalin, the Red Army Leadership and the Road to Stalingrad,
1931–1942 (trans. S. Britton) (Solihull 2012); and B. Wegner (ed.), From Peace to War:
Germany, Soviet Russia and the World, 1939–1941 (Oxford 1997).
The general context of the Soviet Union under both Lenin and Stalin is covered in: E. Acton,
Russia: The Tsarist and Soviet Legacy (second edition, Harlow 1995); P. Kenez: A History
of the Soviet Union from the Beginning to the End (second edition, Cambridge 2006); N.E.
Rosenfeldt, B. Jensen and E. Kulavig (eds.) Mechanisms of Power in the Soviet Union (London
2000); and J. Smith, Red Nations: The Nationalities Experience in and after the USSR
(Cambridge 2013). Comparisons are drawn between the Stalin and Hitler regimes in: A.
Bullock, Hitler and Stalin: Parallel Lives (London 1991); R. Overy, The Dictators: Hitler’s
Germany, Stalin’s Russia (London, 2004); and I. Kershaw and M. Lewin (eds), Stalinism and
Nazism, Dictatorships in Comparison (Cambridge 1997).
Finally, compilations of primary sources can be found in: R. Sakwa (ed.), The Rise and
Fall of the Soviet Union 1917–1991 (London 1999); R. Kowalski, The Russian Revolution
1917–1921 (London 1997); M. McCauley, The Russian Revolution and the Soviet State,
1917–1921: Documents (London, 1975); P. Boobbyer, The Stalin Era (London 2000); and
R. Gregor (ed.), Resolutions and Decisions of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
(Toronto 1974). The official Soviet views of the Lenin and Stalin periods (written after the
destalinization of the 1950s) are contained in: A Short History of the CPSU (Moscow 1970);
and History of Soviet Society (Moscow 1971).

DICTATORSHIP IN ITALY
Although less immediately noticeable than in the case of Russia, there have also been some
changes in the interpretation of Fascist Italy.
458 Select bibliography

Among the most valuable works reflecting scholarship before 1990 are: P.V. Cannistraro
(ed.), Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy (Westport, CT 1982); L. Fermi, Mussolini (Chicago
1961); A. Cassels, Fascist Italy (London 1969); D. Mack Smith, Italy: A Modern History
(Ann Arbor 1959); D. Mack Smith, Mussolini (London 1981); M. Gallo, Mussolini’s Italy
(New York 1973); A.J. Gregor, Young Mussolini and the Intellectual Origins of Fascism
(Berkeley, CA 1979); Sir I. Kirkpatrick, Study of a Demagogue (London 1964); C. Leeds,
Italy under Mussolini (London 1968); R. Macgregor-Hastie, The Day of the Lion (New York
1963); C. Hibbert, Mussolini (Harmondsworth 1975), R. Collier, Duce! The Rise and Fall of
Mussolini (London 1971); A. De Grand, Italian Fascism: Its Origins and Development
(Lincoln, NE 1982); W.W. Halperin, Mussolini and Italian Fascism (New York 1964);
G. Carocci, Italian Fascism (trans. I. Quigly) (Harmondsworth 1974); A.J. Gregor, Italian
Fascism and Developmental Dictatorship (Princeton, NJ 1979); R. De Felice, Fascism, An
Informal Introduction to its Theory and Practice (New Brunswick, NJ 1976); D. Mack Smith,
Mussolini’s Roman Empire (London 1976); M. Knox, Mussolini Unleashed: Politics and
Strategy in Italy’s Last War, 1939–41 (Cambridge 1988); R. Battaglia, The Story of the Italian
Resistance (London 1957); C. Duggan, Fascism and the Mafia (New Haven, CT 1989); and
P.C. Kent, The Pope and the Duce (New York 1981).
The following works, published since 1990, have been used to update the historiography
of the period for the third and fourth editions of this book: G. Forgacs (ed.), Rethinking Italian
Fascism: Capitalism, Populism and Culture (London 1986); J. Whittam, Fascist Italy
(Manchester 1995); J. Pollard, The Fascist Experience in Italy (London 1998); P. Morgan,
Italian Fascism 1919–1945 (London 1995); S.G. Payne, A History of Fascism (London 1995);
R.J.B. Bosworth, The Italian Dictatorship: Problems and Perspectives in the Interpretation
of Mussolini and Fascism (London 1998); R.J.B. Bosworth, Mussolini (London 2002); R.J.B.
Bosworth, Mussolini’s Italy (London 2005); J. Ridley, Mussolini (London 1997); R. Ben-
Ghiat, Fascist Modernities: Italy 1922–1945 (Berkeley, CA 2001); A. Gillette, Racial Theories
in Fascist Italy (London 2002); A.J. Gregor, Giovanni Gentile: Philosopher of Fascism (New
Brunswick, NJ 2001); Emilio Gentile, The Sacralization of Politics in Fascist Italy (trans.
Cambridge, MA 1996); S. Falasca-Zamponi, Fascist Spectacle: The Aesthetics of Power in
Mussolini’s Italy (Berkeley 2000); D. Thompson, State Control in Fascist Italy: Culture and
Conformity 1925–43 (Manchester 1991); V. De Grazia, How Fascism Ruled Women: Italy
1922–1945 (Berkeley, CA 1992); A. Kallis, Fascist Ideology, Territory and Expansionism in
Italy and Germany, 1922–1945 (London 2000); A. De Grand, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany:
The Fascist Style of Rule (London 1995); R. Mallett, Mussolini and the Origins of the Second
World War, 1939–1940 (Basingstoke 2003); D. Rodogno, Fascism’s European Empire: Italian
Occupation During the Second World War (trans. Cambridge 2008); and C. Pavone, A Civil
War: A History of the Italian Resistance, translated by Peter Levy with the assistance of David
Broder; introduced by Stanislao G. Pugliese (London and New York 2013).

DICTATORSHIP IN GERMANY
As with the chapter on dictatorship in Russia I have made substantial overlaps with one of
my books in the Questions and Analysis series. S.J. Lee, Hitler and Nazi Germany (London
1998), especially the second edition of 2010, in an attempt to provide a synthesis between
traditional and post-1990 interpretations. There has therefore been some interplay between
the various editions of the two books.
By far the most detailed collection of primary sources is J. Noakes and G. Pridham
(eds), Documents on Nazism 1919–1945 (London 1974). Others include: A. Kaes, M. Jay and
E. Dimendberg, The Weimar Republic Sourcebook (Berkeley, CA 1994); L. Snyder, The
Weimar Republic (Princeton, NJ 1966); J. Remak (ed.), The Nazi Years (Englewood Cliffs,
NJ 1969); J.W. Hiden, The Weimar Republic (Harlow 1974); and D.G. Williamson, The Third
Reich (Harlow 1982).
 Select bibliography 459

The best known of the long-established texts are: A. Bullock, Hitler: A Study in Tyranny
(London 1952); W.L. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (London 1960); J. Fest,
Hitler (London 1974); N. Stone, Hitler (London 1980); R.G.L. Waite (ed.), Hitler and
Nazi Germany (New York 1965); M.J. Thornton, Nazism 1918–1945 (London 1966); and
A. Nicholls, Weimar and the Rise of Hitler (London 1968); H. Holborn (ed.), Republic to
Reich: The Making of the Nazi Revolution (New York 1972); M. Broszat, Hitler and the
Collapse of the Weimar Republic (Oxford 1987); P. Stern, Hitler: The Führer and the People
(London 1975); and T.L. Jarman, The Rise and Fall of Nazi Germany (New York 1961).
Especially recommended as overall interpretations of the Nazi era are: M. Broszat, The Hitler
State (London 1981); K.D. Bracher, The German Dictatorship (trans. London 1973);
K. Hildebrand, The Third Reich (trans. London 1984); E. Jäckel, Hitler in History (Hanover
1984); A. Hillgruber, Germany and the Two World Wars (Cambridge, MA 1981); J. Hiden
and J. Farquharson, Explaining Hitler’s Germany: Historians and the Third Reich (London
1983); H.W. Koch (ed.), Aspects of the Third Reich (London 1985); and I. Kershaw, The Nazi
Dictatorship: Problems and Perspectives of Interpretation (London 1985).
More recent works on Hitler and the Third Reich are: A. Bullock, Hitler and Stalin: Parallel
Lives (London 1991); R. Overy, The Dictators: Hitler’s Germany, Stalin’s Russia (London
2004); I. Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship (fourth edition, London 2000); I. Kershaw, Hitler
1889–1936: Hubris (London 1998); I. Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945: Nemesis (London 2000);
I. Kershaw and M. Lewin (eds), Stalinism and Nazism, Dictatorships in Comparison
(Cambridge 1997); M. Burleigh, The Third Reich: A New History (London 2000); R.J. Evans,
The Coming of the Third Reich (London 2003); R.J. Evans, The Third Reich in Power
1933–1939 (London 2005); E. Davidson, The Making of Adolf Hitler (Columbia, MO 1997);
N. Frei, National Socialist Rule in Germany: The Führer State 1933–1945 (trans. Oxford
1993); M. Kitchen, The Third Reich: Charisma and Community (Harlow 2008); C. Leitz (ed.),
The Third Reich: The Essential Readings (Oxford 1999 edition); H. Mommsen (ed.), The
Third Reich Between Vision and Reality: New Perspectives on German History 1918–1945
(Oxford 2001); M. Burleigh (ed.), Confronting the Nazi Past (London 1996); J. Lukacs, The
Hitler of History (New York 1998); G. Martel, Modern Germany Reconsidered (London 1992).
There is a huge variety of publications on various aspects of the Nazi regime. The SS,
Gestapo and the police state are dealt with in: H. Höhne, The Order of the Death’s Head
(London 1972); G.C. Browder, The Gestapo and the SS Security Service in the Nazi Revolution
(New York 1996); R. Gellately, The Gestapo and German Society: Enforcing Racial Policy
1933–1945 (Oxford 1990); E.A. Johnson, Nazi Terror: Gestapo, Jews and Ordinary Citizens
(New York 1999); and N. Wachsmann, Hitler’s Prisons: Legal Terror in Nazi Germany (New
Haven 2004). Indoctrination is one of the main themes of: F. Spotts, Hitler and the Power of
Aesthetics (London 2002); R.G. Waite, The Psychopathic God: Adolf Hitler (New York 1993);
D. Welch, The Third Reich: Politics and Propaganda (London 1993); J. Dülffer, Nazi Germany
1933–1945: Faith and Annihilation (trans. London 1996). Recommended for coverage of Nazi
economic and social policies, and the Volksgemeinschaft are: V.R. Berghahn, Modern
Germany: Society, Economy and Politics in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge 1987); D.F.
Crew (ed.), Nazism and German Society 1933–1945 (London 1994); R. Grunberger, A Social
History of the Third Reich (London 1971); R. Bessel (ed.), Life in the Third Reich (Oxford
1986); D.J.K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany (Harmondsworth 1989); D. Crew (ed.), Nazism
and German Society 1933–1945 (London 1994); T.W. Mason, Social Policy in the Third Reich:
The Working Class and the National Community (Oxford 1993); G. Rempel, Hitler’s Children:
The Hitler Youth and the SS (Chapel Hill, NC 1989); R. Gellately and N. Stoltzfus (eds),
Social Outsiders in Nazi Germany (Princeton, NJ 2001); R. Proctor, Racial Hygiene: Medicine
under the Nazis (Cambridge, MA 1988); and M. Burleigh and W. Wippermann, The Racial
State: Germany 1933–1945 (Cambridge 1991). Women and the family have received detailed
attention in: C. Koonz, Mothers in the Fatherland: Women, the Family and Nazi Politics
(London 1988); C. Haste, Nazi Women: Hitler’s Seduction of a Nation (London 2001);
460 Select bibliography

L. Pine, Nazi Family Policy 1933–1945 (Oxford 1997); and E. Harvey, Women and the Nazi
East: Agents and Witnesses of Germanization (New Haven and London 2003). Support,
opposition and resistance are included in: D.J.K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity,
Opposition and Racism in Everyday Life (trans. London 1987; Harmondsworth 1989); D.C.
Large (ed.), Contending with Hitler: Varieties of German Resistance in the Third Reich
(Cambridge 1991); I. Kershaw, Popular Opinion and Political Dissent in the Third Reich
(Oxford 1983); M. Housden, Resistance and Conformity in the Third Reich (London 1997);
T.S. Hamerow, On the Road to the Wolf’s Lair: German Resistance to Hitler (Cambridge,
MA 1999); and L.E. Jones and J. Retallack (eds), Between Reform, Reaction and Resistance:
Studies in the History of German Conservatism from 1789 to 1945 (Providence, RI 1993).
Foreign policy and war are covered in: A. Hillgruber, Germany and the Two World Wars
(trans. W.C. Kirby) (Cambridge, MA 1981); E. Jäckel, Hitler in History (Hanover 1984);
J. Thies, Hitler’s Plans for Global Domination. Nazi Architecture and Ultimate War Aims
(originally published 1976, trans I. Cooke and M. Friedrich; New York 2012); P. Finney (ed.),
The Origins of the Second World War (London 1997); F. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the
First World War (London 1967); N. Rich, Hitler’s War Aims: The Establishment of the New
Order (London 1974); M. Kitchen, Nazi Germany at War (London 1995).
The Holocaust is an ever expanding area of study. Among recent works particularly
recommended are: J.C. Friedman (ed.), The Routledge History of The Holocaust (Abingdon
2011); R. Hilberg, The Destruction of the European Jews (Chicago 1961); D. Cesarini (ed.),
The Final Solution: Origins and Implementation (London 1994); G. Hirschfield (ed.), The
Policies of Genocide (London 1986); A. Barkai, From Boycott to Annihilation (London 1989);
C.R. Browning, The Origins of the Final Solution (London 2004); D.J. Goldhagen, Hitler’s
Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust (London 1997); G. Eley (ed.),
The ‘Goldhagen Effect’ (Ann Arbor, MI 2000); O. Bartov, Germany’s War and the Holocaust
(Ithaca, NY 2003); O. Bartov (ed.) The Holocaust: Origins, Implementation, Aftermath (London
2003); M. Postone and E. Santner (eds) Catastrophe and Meaning: The Holocaust and the
Twentieth Century (Chicago 2003); M. Housden, Hans Frank: Lebensraum and the Holocaust
(London 2005); D. Lipstadt, Denying the Holocaust: The Growing Assault on Truth and
Memory (London 1993); R. Breitman, Official Secrets: What the Nazis Planned, What the
British and Americans Knew (New York 1968); D. Bloxham, Genocide on Trial: War Crimes
Trials and the Formation of Holocaust History and Memory (Oxford 2001); L. Rothkirchen,
The Jews of Bohemia and Moravia: Facing the Holocaust (Lincoln, NE 2005); J.T. Gross,
Neighbours: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland (Princeton, NJ
2001); T. Cole, Holocaust City: The Making of a Jewish Ghetto (London 2003); R. Ioanid,
The Holocaust in Romania (Chicago 2000); G. Corni, Hitler’s Ghettoes: Voices from a
Beleaguered Society 1939–1944 (trans. N.R. Iannelli) (London 2003); I. Trunk, Judenrat: The
Jewish Councils in Eastern Europe under Nazi Occupation (London 1972); L. Dobroszycki
and J.S. Gurock (eds), The Holocaust in the Soviet Union (New York 1993); and I. Ehrenburg
and V. Grossman, The Complete Black Book of Russian Jewry (New Brunswick, NJ 2000).

DICTATORSHIP IN SPAIN
In the fourth edition of this book, Spain has been entirely rewritten and given its own chapter.
This means that an expanded bibliography includes the earlier entries and some newer
publications.
General histories include: R. Carr, Spain 1808–1975 (Oxford 1966); and R. Carr, Modern
Spain 1875–1980 (Oxford 1980). The Rivera dictatorship is covered in: S. Ben-Ami, Fascism
from Above: The Dictatorship of Primo de Rivera in Spain 1923–1930 (Oxford 1983); and
J.H. Rial, Revolution from Above: The Primo de Rivera Dictatorship in Spain, 1923–1930
(London and Toronto 1986). The Second Republic and the different aspects of the Spanish
Civil War are dealt with in: H. Thomas, The Spanish Civil War (London 1961); G. Jackson,
The Spanish Republic and the Civil War 1931–39 (Princeton, NJ 1965); G. Jackson (ed.), The
 Select bibliography 461

Spanish Civil War (Chicago 1972); F.J.R Salvadó, The Spanish Civil War: Origins, Course
and Outcomes (Basingstoke 2005); P. Preston (ed.), Revolution and War in Spain 1931–1939
(London 1984); G. Eisenwein and A. Shubert, Spain at War: The Spanish Civil War in Context
1931–1939 (London 1995); J. Casanova, The Spanish Republic and the Civil War (trans.
Cambridge 2010); A. Beevor, The Battle for Spain: The Spanish Civil War 1936–1939 (London
2006); W.J. Mommsen and L. Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of
Appeasement (London 1983); S.G. Payne, The Spanish Civil War, the Soviet Union and
Communism (New Haven and London 2004); R.H. Whealey, Hitler and Spain: The Nazi Role
in the Spanish Civil War 1936–1939 (Lexington, KY 1989); and S.G. Payne, Falange: A
History of Spanish Fascism (Stanford, CA 1961).
Franco and his regime are covered in: B. Crozier, Franco: A Biographical History (London
1967); J.D.W. Trythall, Franco: A Biography (London 1970); P. Preston, Franco: A Biography
(London 1993); S. Ellwood, Franco (Harlow 1994); M. Gallo, Spain under Franco (trans.
J. Stewart) (London 1973); P. Preston, The Politics of Revenge (London 1990); N. Townson
(ed.), Spain Transformed: The Late Franco Dictatorship, 1959–75 (Basingstoke 2007); and
J. Grugel and T. Rees, Franco’s Spain (London 1997).
Three books provide new perspectives on the whole Franco period: A.C. Sanchez, Fear
and Progress: Ordinary Lives in Franco’s Spain 1939–1975 (Chichester 2010); J. Treglown,
Franco’s Crypt: Spanish Culture and Memory Since 1936 (London 2013); and C. Jerez-Farrán
and S. Amago (eds), Unearthing Franco’s Legacy: Mass Graves and the Recovery of Historical
Memory in Spain (Notre Dame, IN 2010).

DICTATORSHIP ELSEWHERE IN EUROPE

I found the most readable books on Salazar’s Portugal to be: J.M. Anderson, The History of
Portugal (Westport, CT 2000); R.A.H. Robinson, Contemporary Portugal: A History (London
1979); T. Gallagher, Portugal: A Twentieth-Century Interpretation (Manchester 1983); H.
Kay, Salazar and Modern Portugal (London 1970); N. Bruce, Portugal: The Last Empire
(London 1975); D. Birmingham, A Concise History of Portugal (Cambridge 1993); L.S.
Graham and H.M. Makler (eds), Contemporary Portugal: The Revolution and its Antecedents
(Austin, TX 1979); G.A. Stone, Spain, Portugal and the Great Powers, 1931–1941
(Basingstoke 2005); T.C. Bruneau, Politics and Nationhood: Post-Revolutionary Portugal (New
York 1974); M. Soares, Portugal’s Struggle for Liberty (trans. London 1975); D.L. Raby,
Fascism and Resistance in Portugal: Communists, Liberals and Military Dissidents in the
Opposition to Salazar, 1941–1974 (Manchester 1988); and A.C. Pinto, The Blue Shirts:
Portuguese Fascists and the New State (New York 2000).
Dictatorships in central and eastern Europe are effectively covered in: R.J Crampton, Eastern
Europe in the Twentieth Century – and After (London 1997); J.C. Swanson, The Remnants
of the Habsburg Monarchy: The Shaping of Modern Austria and Hungary (New York 2001);
R. Steininger, G. Bischof and M. Gehler (eds), Austria in the Twentieth Century (New
Brunswick 2002); E. Barker, Austria 1918–1972 (London 1973); M. Kitchen, The Coming of
Austrian Fascism (London and Montreal 1980); C.E. Richardson, The Heimwehr and Austrian
Politics 1918–1936 (Athens 1978); E.B. Bukey, Hitler’s Austria: Popular Sentiment in the
Nazi Era, 1938–1945 (Chapel Hill and London 2000); G.-K. Kindermann, Hitler’s Defeat in
Austria 1933–1934: Europe’s First Containment of Nazi Expansionism, trans. S. Brough and
D. Taylor (London 1984); P. Ignotus, Hungary (London 1972); E. Pamlényi, A History of
Hungary (London 1975); J.K. Hoensch, A History of Modern Hungary, second edition (London
1996); M. Molnár, A Concise History of Hungary (trans. A Magyar) (Cambridge 2001); L.
Kontler, A History of Hungary (London 2002); D. Sinor, History of Hungary (London 1959);
P.F. Sugar (ed.), A History of Hungary (London 1990); J.K. Hoensch, A History of Modern
Hungary, second edition (London 1996); A.C. Janos, The Politics of Backwardness in Hungary
1825–1945 (Princeton, NJ 1982); J.C. Kun, Hungarian Foreign Policy: The Experience of a
New Democracy (Westport, CT 1993); P. Kenez, Hungary from the Nazis to the Soviets: The
462 Select bibliography

Establishment of the Communist Regime in Hungary, 1944–1948 (Cambridge 2006); A.J.

Prażmowska, A History of Poland (Basingstoke 2004); J. Lukowski and H. Zawadzki,
A Concise History of Poland (Cambridge 2006); N. Davies, God’s Playground, A History of
Poland. Volume II: 1795 to the Present (Oxford 1981); H. Roos, A History of Modern Poland:
From the Foundation of the State in the First World War to the Present Day (trans. J.R.
Foster) (London 1961); K. Syrop, Poland: Between the Hammer and the Anvil (London 1968);
P.D. Stachura, Poland Between the Wars, 1918–1939 (London 1998); A. Polonsky, Politics
in Independent Poland, 1921–1939: The Crisis of Constitutional Government (Oxford 1972);
E.J. Patterson, Pilsudski: Marshal of Poland (Bristol 1935); W.F. Reddaway, Marshal Pilsudski
(London 1939); A. Garlicki, Józef Piłsudski,1867–1935 (trans. and ed. J. Coutouvidis)
(Aldershot 1995); V.S. Vardis and R.J. Misiunas (eds), The Baltic States in Peace and War
1917–1945 (University Park, PA 1978); G. Smith (ed.), The Baltic States (New York 1994);
J. Hiden and P. Salmon, The Baltic Nations and Europe: Estonia, Latvia & Lithuania in the
Twentieth Century (London 1991); G. von Rauch, The Baltic States: The Years of Independence.
Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania 1917–1940 (trans. London 1974); and R. Misiunas and R. Taagepera,
The Baltic States: Years of Dependence 1940–1990 (London 1993).
The Balkans and south-eastern Europe are dealt with in: L.S. Stavrianos, The Balkans since
1453 (New York 1958); B. Jelavich, History of the Balkans, Vol. 2, The Twentieth Century
(Cambridge 1983); M. Biondich, The Balkans, Revolution, War and Political Violence since
1878 (Oxford 2011); T. Gallagher, Outcast Europe: The Balkans, 1789–1989 from the Ottomans
to Milošević (London 2001); D.B. Hupchick, The Balkans from Constantinople to Communism
(New York and Basingstoke 2001); R. Ristelhueber, A History of the Balkan Peoples
(trans. S.D. Spector) (New York 1971); S. Pollo and A. Puto, The History of Albania (trans.
C. Wiseman and G. Cole) (London 1981); K. Frasheri, The History of Albania (Tirana 1964);
B.J. Fischer, King Zog and the Struggle for Stability in Albania (New York 1984); G. Bokov
(compiler), Modern Bulgaria: History, Policy, Economy, Culture (Sofia 1981); V. Dedijer
(ed.), History of Yugoslavia (New York 1974); S. Clissold (ed.), Short History of Yugoslavia
(Cambridge 1966); L. Benson, Yugoslavia: A Concise History (Basingstoke 2001); F. Singleton,
Twentieth-Century Yugoslavia (London 1976); J.R. Lampe, Yugoslavia as History: Twice There
was a Country (Cambridge 2000); J. Ridgeway (ed.), Burn this House: The Making and
Unmaking of Yugoslavia (Durham and London 2000); A.N. Dragnich, The First Yugoslavia:
The Search for a Viable Political System (Stanford, CA 1983); D. Djokić (ed.), Yugoslavism:
Histories of a Failed Idea 1918–1992 (London 2003); J.B. Allcock, Explaining Yugoslavia
(London 2000); C. Bennett, Yugoslavia’s Bloody Collapse: Causes, Course and Consequences
(London 1995); J.K. Cox, The History of Serbia (Westport and London 2002); S. Pavlowitch,
Hitler’s New Disorder: The Second World War in Yugoslavia (London 2008); D.N. Ristić,
Yugoslavia’s Revolution of 1941 (London 1966); K. Hitchins, Rumania 1866–1947 (Oxford
1994); S. Fischer-Galati, Twentieth-Century Rumania (New York 1970); various authors,
Horthyist-Fascist Terror in Northwestern Romania (Bucharest 1986); R. Ioanid, The Sword
of the Archangel: Fascist Ideology in Romania, trans. P. Heinegg (New York 1990); J.V.
Kofas, Authoritarianism in Greece: The Metaxas Regime (New York 1983); M. Petrakis, The
Metaxas Myth: Dictatorship and Propaganda in Greece (London and New York 2006); P.J.
Vatikiotis, Popular Autocracy in Greece 1936–41: A Political Biography of General Ioannis
Metaxas (London and Portland 1998); D.H. Close, The Origins of the Greek Civil War (London
1995); R. Clogg, Greece 1940–1949: Occupation, Resistance, Civil War (Basingstoke 2002).
Twentieth-century Turkey, first included in the third edition of this book, is well covered
by: N. Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (London 1988 edition); R.H. Davison,
Essays in Ottoman and Turkish History, 1774–1923: The Impact of the West (Austin, TX
1990); B. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (New York 2002 edition); D. Quataert,
Social Disintegration and Popular Resistance in the Ottoman Empire, 1881–1908 (New York
1983); and E.J. Zürcher, Turkey: A Modern History (London 1993).
 Select bibliography 463

DICTATORSHIPS vs DEMOCRACIES
This is a new chapter, added to the fourth edition of this book. Its purpose is to reflect the
attitudes of the democracies to their wartime invaders and to explain the methods used by the
dictatorships that occupied or tried to subdue the democracies. The bibliography is therefore
more restricted than in other sections.
For the section ‘Democracies destroyed’, the following were particularly useful: V.S.
Mamatey and R. Luža (eds), A History of the Czechoslovak Republic 1918–1948 (Princeton,
NJ 1973); J. Korbel, Twentieth-Century Czechoslovakia: The Meanings of Its History (New
York 1977); V. Mastny, The Czechs under Nazi Rule: The Failure of National Resistance,
1939–1942 (New York and London 1971); H.S. Nissen (ed.), Scandinavia during the Second
World War (Minneapolis 1983); P.M. Hayes, Quisling: The Career and Political Ideas of
Vidkun Quisling (Newton Abbot 1971); O.K. Hoidal, Quisling: A Study in Treason (Oslo
1989); H.F. Dahl, Quisling: A Study in Treachery (Cambridge 1999); V. Mallinson, Belgium
(London 1969); J. Newcomer, The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg: The Evolution of Nationhood
963 A.D. to 1983 (New York and London 1984); I. Ousby, Occupation: The Ordeal of France
1940–1944 (London 1999); T.R. Christofferson and M.S. Christofferson, France during World
War II: From Defeat to Liberation (New York 2006); J.F. McMillan, Twentieth-Century
France: Politics and Society 1898–1991 (London 1992); and H.R. Kedward, Resistance in
Vichy France (Oxford 1978).
The section ‘Democracies marginalized’ owes a great deal to the following: J. Steinberg,
Why Switzerland? (Cambridge 1996); J. Wraight, The Swiss and the British (Michael Russell
1987); J.-R. De Salis, Switzerland and Europe: Essays and Reflections (London 1971); N.
Kent, A Concise History of Sweden (Cambridge 2008); Sweden, the Swastika and Stalin: The
Swedish Experience in the Second World War (Edinburgh 2011); J. Lydon, The Making of
Ireland (London and New York 1998); G. Morgan and G. Hughes (eds), Southern Ireland
and the Liberation of France (Bern 2008); C.J. Carter, The Shamrock and the Swastika (Palo
Alto, CA 1977); J.P. Duggan, Neutral Ireland and the Third Reich (Dublin 1985); and
C. Wills, That Neutral Island: A Cultural History of Ireland During the Second World War
(London 2007).
For the section ‘Democracies defiant’ the following are directly relevant: R. Pope, War and
Society in Britain 1899–1948 (London 1991); R. Chickering, S. Förster and B. Greiner (eds),
A World at Total War (Cambridge 2005); F. Singleton, A Short History of Finland (Cambridge
1989); and A.F. Upton, Finland 1939–1940 (London 1974).
Index

Page numbers in italic refer to figures. Page numbers in bold refer to tables.

abortions 76 Aryan racial superiority, Hitler and 224–7

Action Française 6, 32 Asian dictatorship 364–6
aerial warfare, in World War II 245–6 Associations Law 270
African dictatorship 366–8 Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal: death of 361;
agriculture: collectivization of under Stalin Greece and 352; leadership of 410;
68–70, 71–2, 105; dictatorships and 420; regime of 3, 357–60
under Mussolini 140–1; overproduction atheism 278–9
in Great Depression 20–1 Austria: anti-Semitism of 254–5; Hitler’s
Albanian dictatorship 337–40 incorporation of 231, 242; Mussolini’s
Alexander I, King of Yugoslavia 343–4, foreign policy and 151–4
347 Austria-Hungary: impact of World War I 9,
Alexander Nevsky (film) 98 10, 11; Treaties of St. Germain 13
Alfonso XIII, King of Spain 266, 269 Austrian dictatorship: Austro-fascism and
Allcock, J.B. 347–8 320–1; development of 318–20;
Amago, S. 303 victimhood/complicity in 321–2
Anderson, E. 313, 334 Austro–German Treaty 319
Anglo–French Guarantee to Poland 284 autarky 292, 295–6, 347, 418
Anglo–German Naval Pact 230 authoritarianism: of Fascist Italy 168–9;
Anglo–Soviet Mutual Assistance Pact 99 ideology of 405; state security and
Anglo–Soviet Treaty of Alliance 99 416–18; totalitarianism vs. 25–7; of
Anschluss, Austria and 318–20 Weimar Republic 178
Anti-Comintern Pact 155 Avanti (newspaper) 114, 118
anti-rationalism, in pre-1914 Europe 6 Aventine Secession 126–7
anti-Semitism: Austria and 254–5, 322; Azaña, Manuel 269–70, 273, 276, 287, 290
Belgium and 382; Czechoslovakia and
371; fascism and 32; Greece and 356; Badoglio, Pietro 162–3, 170
Hungary and 325–6; Luxembourg and Baldwin, Stanley 278, 280–1, 396
383–4; under Mussolini 135–7; of Nazi Balkan Pact of 1934 337
Party 226–7; Netherlands and 380; in Balkan states, dictatorship in 336–7
pre-1914 Europe 7; Romania and 349, Baltic states, dictatorships in 332–6
351; Slovakia and 373; during Vichy Barrio, Martínez 287
regime 386–7; wartime expansion and Bartov, O. 252
422–3; see also Holocaust Basque country 277
Antonescu, Ion (General) 256, 349–51, 351 Battle for Moscow 95
appeasement period, in Britain 396 Baumann, Z. 259–60
April Theses (Lenin) 39, 40, 41 Beck, Józef 329
architecture, Nazi propaganda and 201 Beckett, Samuel 394
Ardennes Offensive 383, 384 Belgium, democracy and 15, 16, 381–3
Arendt, H. 27, 259–60 Ben-Ami, S. 268–9, 365
Arrow Cross regime 3, 32, 326 Beneš, Edvard 372, 374
 Index 465

Bennett, C. 347 Carocci, G. 156–7

Bergson, Henri 6 Carol II, King of Romania 2, 32, 256, 337,
Berlin Treaty 87 349–51
Berneri, Camillo 274 Carr, E.H. 54, 57, 59, 112, 278, 287, 295
Best, Werner 375–6 Casanova, J. 287, 301
Bethlen, István (Count) 324 Castro, Fidel 363–4
Beveridge Report 399 Catalonia, supporting Republicans 276–7
Birmingham, D. 312, 313 Catholic Action 146
Blinkhorn, M. 268, 269 Catholic Church: fascism and 121, 137–8,
Blitzkrieg economic strategy 216, 146; Franco’s association with 272–3,
218–19 297; Nationalist support from 274–6,
Blum, Léon 30, 281, 396 291; Nazism and 205, 211–12; Red
Boak, H. 202 Terror against 290; women and 143
Boldt, H. 185 caudillo regimes 362–3
Bolsheviks: civil war and 41–7; economic Chamber of Fasces and Corporations
changes and 19, 51–2; organization of 127–8
40–1; political changes/terror of 48–51; Chamberlain, Austen 149, 150
in power 47–8; revolution of 1917 Chamberlain, H.S. 6, 226
36–7 Chamberlain, Neville (Prime Minister) 238,
Boris III, King of Bulgaria 2, 337, 341, 396–7
342 charismatic leadership 408–10
Bormann, Martin 205 Charter of Labour (1927) 141
Bosworth, R.J.B. 143, 168–9 Cherry Blossom Society 364
Bracher, K.D. 11, 27, 190, 192, 193, 214, Chiang Kai-shek 365
405; defying Nazi Germany 395–400 Chicherin, Georgy 86
Bräutigam, Otto 98 Childers, T. 183
Britain: Finland vs. 402–4; Hitler’s China, dictatorship in 365
underestimation of 240; Salazar’s alliance Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 365
with 307–8; Spanish Civil War and Christian Socialists (Austria) 318–20
280–2 Christian X, King of Denmark 375–6
Broadberry, S. 398 Christianity: Nazi Party and 204–6,
Brooker, P. 23, 362 211–12; Spanish Civil War and 278–9
Broszat, M. 186, 193, 212, 234, 251, 409 Christofferson, T.R. 387
Browder, G.C. 195 Churchill, Winston: anti-Bolshevik crusade
Browning, C. 252 and 45; on Finland’s defiance 401; on
Broz, Josip (Tito) 345 Ireland 394; Mussolini and 150; on
Bruce, N. 305, 311, 413 Portugal’s islands 308; Stalin and 99; on
Bruneau, T.C. 309 Sweden 393; on Switzerland 390; as war
Brüning, Heinrich 176, 217 leader 398–400, 403–4
Brzezinski, Z.K. 25, 405, 413 Ciano, Galeazzo 155–6, 164
Buccheim, C. 217–18 class divisions 141–2, 307, 358
Buchanan, T. 294 classless society 406
Buchheim, H. 23, 412 Clemenceau, Georges 12
Bukey, E.B. 321 clericalism, dictatorships and 34
Bukharin, Nikolay 54–6 Clogg, R. 355
Bulgarian dictatorship 340–2 Cobban, A. 14
Bullock, A. 182, 234–5 Codreanu, Corneliu 349–51
Bürckel, Joseph 319 coercion: under Mussolini 134–5; of Nazi
Burleigh, M. 197, 205–6, 262, 265 Party 193–4
collective security period, in Britain 396
Caballero, Largo 287, 290 collectivized agriculture, Stalin and 68–70,
Caetano, Marcello 311–13 71–2, 105, 420
Cambodian dictatorship 366 Colonial Act (1933) 310
campaign of terror see terror colonial war, Portugal’s 310–13
Caribbean dictatorship 362–4 Comintern (Communist International) 86
Carlists (Comunión Tradicionalista) 273, Committee of Union and Progress (CUP)
286 357
466 Index

communism: Béla Kun and 323–4; China Deakin, F.W.D. 155

and 365; dictatorships based on 28–9; decolonization, Portugal and 311
Greece and 354–5; Latin America and Dedijer, V. 343, 345
363–4; in minor dictatorships 406–8; dekulakization, Stalin and 63–4
principles of 28; Spanish Civil War issue democracies, defiant: Finland 400–4;
277–8; in Vichy France 387 United Kingdom 395–400, 402–4
Communist Manifesto (Marx) 28 democracies, destroyed: Belgium 381–3;
concentration camps 151, 170, 194, 224, Czechoslovakia 369–74; Denmark 374–6;
417–18, 422 France 384–9; Luxembourg 383–4;
Concordat (1933) 137 Netherlands 378–81; Norway 376–8
conservatism: dictatorships and 34; in democracies, marginalized: Ireland 393–5;
Yugoslavia 348 Sweden 391–3; Switzerland 389–91
conservative right, supporting Nazism democracy(ies): authoritarian regime vs.
184–5 24–5; characteristics of 14–15; European
Constantine I, King of Greece 352 1, 2; inter-war crises of 15–17; Turkish
Constituent Assembly 48–9 361; Weimar 178–80; World War I and
Continuation War 391–2 9
Corfu Incident 149–50 Denmark, democracy and 374–6
corporativism, under Mussolini 139–41 Der Stürmer (Streicher) 226
Corradini, Enrico 7 Deutscher, I. 103
Costa, Gomes da (General) 305 dictatorship of the proletariat 1
Council of Ten 12 dictatorships: African 366–8; Asian 364–6;
Cox, J.M. 259 beyond Europe 361–2; central/eastern
Craig, G.A. 230, 240 European 315–17; communism and 28–9;
Crankshaw, E. 196 comparative timeline xii–xvi; comparison
criminals, Nazi targeting of 224 of 297–9, 314–15; concept of 23–4, 362;
Croatia 343–7 economies and 19–22, 418–20; fascism
Croatian Peasant Party 345–6 and 30–3; fate of minor 406–8; impact of
Croce, Benedetto 6 war on 420–3; influencing factors 33–4;
Crozier, B. 287, 300 Latin American 362–4; modernization
cultural equality, Marxism and 74–5 and 18–19; role of ideology in 405–6;
culture: under Mussolini 133–4; Nazi social control in 412–15; state/party/army
propaganda and 199–201; under Stalin in 410–12; types of leadership in
79–80 408–10; see also specific dictators
CUP (Committee of Union and Progress) Diner, D. 248, 252
357 divorce, Stalin and 76–7
Curtis, M.R. 23 Dollfuss, Engelbert (Chancellor) 1, 32, 151,
Czechoslovakia: Hitler’s incorporation of 230, 318–22, 320
231–2, 242; loss of democracy in domestic policies: of General Franco
369–70; Protectorate of Bohemia and 294–7; under Mussolini 156–7, 168; of
Moravia 370–2; Slovakia 372–4 Salazar 309
Dragnich, A.N. 345–8
Daladier, Édouard 281 Drexler, Anton 173
Danish Nazis (DNSAP) 374–5, 407 Duggan, C. 144
D’Annunzio, Gabriele 118–20, 122 Duggan, J.P. 394
Davies, N. 331 Dülffer, J. 253
Davison, R.H. 360
Dawes Plan 20 Eastern Way Society 364
Dawson, W.H. 12 Ebert, Friedrich 171–2
De Felice, R. 135–7, 148, 156, 168 Economic Problems of Socialism in the
De Grand, A. 116, 120, 123, 140, 143, USSR (Stalin) 109
157, 162–3, 168, 170 economy, Nazi: 1933–1939 216–18, 220–1;
De Marsanich, Augusto 121, 124 1939–1945 218–20, 221–2; development
De Meneses, F.R. 314 of 215–16; overview of 214–15
De Salis, J.-R. 391 economy(ies): Austrian crisis of 318;
De Stefani, Alberto 139, 169 Belgian 381; Bolshevik ideology of
de Valera, Éamon 393–5 51–2; British 398–400; dictatorship and
 Index 467

19–22, 418–20; Dutch 379–80; impact of and 142–3; World War I and 11; in
terror on 66–7; Mussolini’s policies Yugoslavia 348; see also Mussolini,
138–41; post-war Italian 116–17; under Benito
Primo de Rivera 268; Soviet losses in Fascist Grand Council 127–8
World War II 100–1; after Spanish Civil Fascist Italy see Italian dictatorship
War 295–6; under Stalin 68–74, 105; Fascist Party (Partito Nazionale Fascista
Swiss 390 [PNF]) 115; see also Mussolini, Benito
Edelweiss Pirates (Eidelweisspiraten) 211 Fascist School Charter 132
education: under Mussolini 132; Nazi Federazione Universitari Cattolici Italiani
indoctrination and 198–9; for social (FUCI) 138, 146
control 413; under Stalin 79 Ferdinand, King of Romania 349
egalitarianism, Marxism and 74–5 Fermi, L. 166
Eichmann, Adolf 227 film, Nazi propaganda via 200
Eire, democracy in 393–5 financial support, for Nationalists 288–9,
Eisenstein, Sergei 80, 98, 109 291
Eisenwein, G. 284, 290, 291 Finland: Britain vs. 402–4; defying Russia
Emergency Powers (Defence) Act 397 400–2; Russia attacking 391
Enabling Act 187, 189–90 First World War: Belgium and 381;
Engels, Friedrich 28–9 dictatorships following 2; Greece after
Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines 354; impact of 8–11, 10
(Gobineau) 261 Fischer, C. 235, 340
Estonian dictatorship 332–6 Fitzpatrick, S. 81
etatism 406 Foot, M.R.D. 244
The Eternal Jew (film) 200 foreign policy: of Atatürk 359; Hungarian
Ethiopia 135–7, 152–4, 156, 170 325; of King Zog 339; of Salazar 307,
ethnic groups: in Russian Civil War 46–7; 309–10; Soviet 84–91; Stalin’s post-war
under Stalin 82–4, 101–2; see also anti- 105–8
Semitism foreign policy, Franco’s: isolation to
Europe: from 1945–1989 424, 425; Hitler’s acceptance 293–4; World War II
domination of 241–4, 250; map of ‘neutrality’ 292–3
dictatorships in 2; pre-1914 instability foreign policy, German: Hitler’s 229–36; of
5–8; since 1989 425–6, 426 Weimar Republic 227–9
European powers: response to Republicans foreign policy, Mussolini’s: domestic issues
280–2; support of Nationalists 282–4, and 156–7; overview of 146–8; phase 1
288–9 of 149–51; phase 2 of 151–2; phase 3 of
euthanasia 203, 212, 223, 414, 417 152–6
evil, holocaust as 259–60 Forster, Albert (Gauleiter) 329
exclusive approach, to dictatorship 23–4 Foundations of Leninism (Stalin) 109
expansionism, of Italy 161–2 France: democracy destroyed in 384–9;
Eyck, E. 185, 316 German defeat of 239; Spanish Civil
War and 281
Facta, Luigi 115, 117, 122 Franco, Francisco (General) 271; brutality
Falange Española 32 of 290–1; career phases of 297–9;
Falasca-Zamponi, S. 131–2 Church support for 275–6, 279, 291;
family, role of: in dictatorships 413–14; death of 297; foreign policy of 292–4;
under Mussolini 143, 145–6; under Stalin leadership of 3, 409; nationalism of 33;
75–7 negative view of 300–1; positive view of
Farmborough, Florence 278 299–300; regime overview 301–2;
fascism: benefiting Italy 143–4; Catholic repression of 295; Salazar and 304–5,
Church and 121, 137–8; dictatorships and 307; in Spanish Civil War 271–2;
7, 30–3; in France 385–6; ideology of transformation/transition period 295–7;
405–6; Italian Social Republic and unearthing of 302–3; victory of 285–9
163–5; in Japan 364; Metaxas and Frank, Hans 260
355–6; in minor dictatorships 406–8; Frick, Wilhelm 187, 188, 226
modernization and 17–19; in Romania Friedrich, C.J. 25, 405, 413
348–51; Salazar’s regime and 313–14; FUCI (Federazione Universitari Cattolici
Spanish Civil War and 277–8; women Italiani) 138, 146
468 Index

Gallagher, T. 311–12, 314 Greek Civil War 355

Gallo, M. 294 Gregor, A.J. 119, 143, 167, 169
Gatzke, H.W. 229 Grey, Ian 103, 112
Gaulle, Charles de 388–9 Griese, Irma 204
Geer, Jan de 380 Griffin, R. 33, 314
genetic disabilities 223 Gromyko, Andrei 395
Geneva Disarmament Conference 230 Gulag Archipelago (Solzhenitsyn) 54
genocide: dictatorships and 422; of German Gypsies, Nazi targeting of 225–6
Jews 227; of Gypsies 225–6; in pre-1914
Europe 7–8; see also Holocaust Haakon, King of Norway 376–8
Gentile, Emilio 130–1 habitual criminals, Nazi targeting of 224
Gentile, Giovanni 169 Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia 366
George, Lloyd (Prime Minister) 12, 29, 45, Halder, Franz 246–8
206 Halperin, W.W. 166, 168
George II, King of Greece 352 Hamilton, R.F. 182
German Communist Party (KPD) 11, Hart, Liddell 238, 284
212–13 Harvey, E. 199, 203
German Independent Socialists (USPD) 172 Haslam, J. 89
German News Agency 200 Hassell, Ulrich von 155
German Social Democrats (SPD): Nazi Henig, R. 238
opposition from 212–13; Stalin and 87; Heuss, Theodor 178
World War I and 11 Heydrich, Reinhard 196, 255, 371
German Workers’ Party (DAP) 173 Hiden, J.W. 228, 335
Germany: complicity in Holocaust 253–4; Hilberg, R. 251, 257–8
impact of World War I 9, 10, 11; Hildebrand, K. 31, 190, 192
invasion/defeat of Russia 91–5; Hill, Christopher 54
modernization and 17–19; Nazi–Soviet Hillgruber, A. 233, 234, 261
Pact and 90–1; rising authoritarian rule Himmler, Heinrich 194–6, 204, 225, 252–3
in 16; Soviet foreign policy and 86–8; Hindenburg, Paul von 176–7, 184–5, 187–8
Soviet victory 95–9; Spanish Civil War Hippler, F. 200
and 283–4; Treaty of Versailles and Hirohito, Emperor of Japan 364–5
12–13, 19–20; in World War II Historical Controversy 261
(1939–1941) 238–41 Hitler, Adolf: appeal of Nazi Party and
Germany’s Aims in the First World War 180–4; in Austria 319; coercion/terror of
(Fischer) 235 193–4; concentration camps of 417–18,
Gestapo (Geheimestaatspolizei) 169, 192, 422; conservative right and 184–5; defeat
196–7, 210–11 of Third Reich 244–6; early influences
Getty, Arch 62, 65, 69 on 6–7, 11; economic policies of
Gilmour, J. 392 214–22; establishment of 186–8; foreign
Giolitti, Giovanni 116–17, 126 policy of 229–36; government and
Gleeson, A. 25 191–3; Greek resistance to 353–5; in
Gobineau, Arthur comte de 261 Hungary 325; invasion/defeat of Russia
Goebbels, Josef 175, 197, 199–200, 202, 207 91–5; leadership of 409; ‘legality’ of
Goering, Hermann 186, 194, 216, 227 186–8; as military leader 246–8, 247;
Gold Shirts of Mexico 363 modernization and 19; Mussolini and
Goldhagen, D.J. 210, 251, 254, 263, 264 155–6; opposition to 210–14; outbreak of
Golikov, Filipp (General) 93 World War II and 236–8; religion and
Gömbös, Gyula 325 204–6; as revolutionary 190–1; rise of 1,
Gorbachev, Mikhail 425 3, 173–5; role of women and 202–4;
Gramsci, Antonio 120, 126, 127 Romania and 351; Soviet victory 97;
Great Depression: Belgium and 381; Spanish Civil War and 283–4; support
creating Nazi support 183; Germany and for 206–10; Total War period
175–8; Hungary and 324; Italy and (1939–1945) 241–4, 250; unique impact
139–41; Netherlands and 379; political of 264–5; Volksgemeinschaft and 222–7;
effects of 19–22 vulnerable democracy and 178–80; in
Great Japan Youth Party 364 World War II (1939–1941) 238–41;
Greece 352–5, 354 years of crisis 175–8
 Index 469

Hitler as War Lord (Halder) 246 Internal Macedonian Revolutionary

Hitler Youth 198–9, 211 Organisation (IMRO) 341–2
Hitler’s Second Book (Hitler) 233, 236, 237 International Brigades 282
Ho Chi Minh 366 international trade, Great Depression and
Hoare–Laval Pact 153 20, 22
Hoensch, J.K. 373–4 Ireland, democracy and 393–5
Hoess, Rudolf 259–60 Iron Guard, Romanian 349–51
Höhne, H. 196 irredentism 33
Holocaust: banality of evil and 259–60; Islamic religion 358
compliance/complicity in 252–6; Jewish Italian dictatorship: anti-Semitism and
response to 257–9; numbers of Jews 135–7; attitudes to 144–6; church/state
killed in 258; origins/development of relations in 137–8; coercion and 134–5;
249–52; outline of 248–9; wartime early days of 125–6; economic policies
expansion and 422–3 under 138–41; emerging fascism 118–19;
homosexuals, Nazi targeting of 224 establishing radical 127–8; fall of 162–3;
Hondros, J.L. 355 fascist ideology and 123–4; ideology of
Horowitz, I.L. 421 166–7; indoctrination and 131–4; internal
Horthy, Miklós 1, 32, 322–3, 324–5, 327 struggles and 165–6; Italian Social
Hossbach Memorandum 218–19, 231–2, Republic and 163–5; Matteotti crisis
236, 237 126–7; Mussolini’s rise 114–16;
Housden, M. 260 overview of 168–70; personality cult and
Howlett, P. 398 129–30; political confusion and 124–5;
Hughes, J.S. 8 sacralization theory in 130–1; social
human extermination 78, 194, 196, 208, classes under 141–2; stages of 122–3;
224, 243–4 support for fascism 119–21; traditional
Hungarian complicity in Holocaust 256 continuity of 128–9; women and 142–3,
Hungarian dictatorships: development of 145–6
322–3; different styles of 323–6; Italian Futurist Manifesto (Corradini &
instability of 326–7 Marinetti) 7
Hutchings, R. 73, 101 Italian Popular Party (PPI) 117
Italian Socialist Party (PSI) 114–15, 117,
ideology, dictatorships and 405–6 118, 120–1
Il Popolo d’Italia (newspaper) 114, 118 Italy: conquests of 158, 161–2; fascism in
Imperialism, the Highest Stage of 32; instability of 116–18; institutional
Capitalism (Lenin) 28 changes in 410; military weaknesses of
IMRO (Internal Macedonian Revolutionary 159–61; modernization and 17–19;
Organisation) 341–2 overseas empire by 1939 158; Spanish
inclusive approach, to dictatorship 23–4 Civil War and 281–4; in World War II
independence, in pre-1914 Europe 7 157–9
indigenous peoples 7–8 Ivan the Terrible 63, 79, 83, 109, 265
indoctrination: education/youth and 198–9; Ivan the Terrible (film) 98, 109
under Hitler’s regime 197; under
Mussolini 131–4; World War II and 201–2 Jäckel, E. 233–4, 245
Indonesia 366 Jackson, G. 287
industrialists: under Mussolini 141; Nazism James, R. Rhodes 16
benefiting 221; support for Fascism 120 Japanese dictatorship 364–5
industrialization: in Britain 398; in Jarman, T.L. 217
dictatorships 419; Great Depression and Jerez-Farrán, C. 303
20–1; in Italy 161; in Portugal 307; Jews: in Baltic states 335; in Greece 356;
Stalin and 70–1, 72–4 in Hungary 325–6; killed in Holocaust
inflation, in Great Depression 180 258; under Mussolini 135–7; Nazi
Inönü, Ismet 361 persecution of 226–7; opposing Nazi
institutions: dictatorships changing 410–11; regime 214; refuge in Sweden 392;
Spanish Civil War and 274–6 response to persecution 257–9; under
integrationist nationalism 33 Stalin 78–9, 102, 103; in Vichy France
intentionalist–structuralist Holocaust debate 386–7; wartime expansion and 422–3
249–52 Jodl, Alfred 246–7
470 Index

journalism 133, 200 legal systems, in dictatorships 416–17

Joyce, William 394 Lenin, Vladimir: assessment of 52–4; civil
Juan Carlos, King of Spain 297, 302 war and 41–7; communism and 28;
Judenräte 257–8 foreign policy of 84–6; New Economic
Policy 51–2; political changes and
Kallis, A. 161–2 48–51; revolution of 1917 36–41, 38;
Kamenev, Lev 54–6, 85 successor of 54–6; World War I and 8,
Kampf, A. 201 11
Kapp Putsch 173 Leopold III, King of Belgium 382
Karl, Friedrich (Prince of Hessen) 400 Lewin, M. 24
Károlyi, Mihály (Count) 323 Lewis, J. 320
Kedward, R. 169, 387 Liapchev, Andrei 341
Kenney, R. 393 liberalism, German 179
Kerensky, Alexander 36–8, 53 Libya 150–1, 170, 283, 367, 422
Kershaw, I. 24, 32, 193, 206, 210, 224–5, Liebknecht, Karl 172
235–6 Linz, J.J. 23, 24–5, 32
Keynes, J.M. 12, 19 Lipset, S. 31, 120
Khrushchev, Nikita 63, 66, 93, 113 Lipstadt, D. 249
Kim Il Sung 366 literature, as Nazi propaganda 201
Kindermann, G.-K. 321 Lithuanian dictatorship 332–6
Kitchen, M. 195, 235, 321 Little Entente 150, 337
Klein, B.H. 218 Litvinov, Maxim 89
Knox, M. 157 Livezeanu, I. 350
Koch, Ilse 204 Lloyd, Geoffrey 396
Kofas, J.V. 356 Locarno Pact 149–50, 228, 236, 331
Kohn, H. 14 Lukács, J. 29, 264, 265
Kolchak, Alexander 42, 44 Luxembourg, democracy destroyed in
Kollontai, Alexandra 75 383–4
Koonz, C. 204 Luxemburg, Rosa 172
Kornilov, Lavr (General) 37–8 Luža, R. 371
Kotkin, S. 63
Kronstadt Revolt 50, 51 MacDonald, Ramsay (Prime Minister) 230,
Kun, Béla 1, 323–4 396
Kuomintang (KMT) regime 365 Madrid Pact 294
Kuznetzov, Nikolay (Admiral) 93 Mallett, R. 153–4
Mallman, K.M. 210
Labanyi, J. 303 Mandel E. 54
Lannon, F. 276 Mannerheim, Carl Gustaf Emil 400–2, 404
Laqueur, W. 25, 91 Manstein, Erich von 246–7
Lateran Treaty 137–8 Mao Zedong 365
Latin American dictatorship 362–4 Marinetti, Giacomo 7
Latvian dictatorship 332–6 Marshall Plan 106
Lausanne Conference 22 Marx, Karl 28–9
Laval, Pierre 385–7 Marxism 6, 19, 27, 30, 40, 50–1, 74–6
Law for the Prevention of the Hereditarily Marxism and Linguistics (Stalin) 109
Diseased 223 Marxism and the National Question (Stalin)
Law for the Protection of German Blood 82, 109
and Honour 226 Marxism–Leninism 27, 29–30, 59, 106,
Law of Agrarian Reform 270 405–6
Law of Political Reform 297 Mason, T.W. 237–8
Law of the Unification of Education 358 Mastny, V. 371
Law on the Defence of the State 134 Matteotti, Giacomo 126–7
Le Bon, Gustave 6 Mawdsley, E. 44–5, 83, 102
leadership, in dictatorships 408–10 Max, Prince of Baden 171
League of the Archangel Michael, McDermott, K. 104
Romanian 349–51 McDonald, T. 82
League of the Godless 78 McMillan, J.F. 387
 Index 471

medical experiments, of Nazi Party 244 Narkompros (People’s Commissariat for

Mein Kampf (Hitler) 174, 181, 215, 225, Enlightenment) 79
226, 233, 236, 237, 405 National Labour Statute of 1933 306
Mengele, Josef 244 National Revolution (France) 385–6
Mensheviks 6, 36–9, 50 National Socialist German Workers’ Party
Metaxas, Ioannis (General): as (NSDAP) 173–5; see also Nazi Germany
conservative/fascist 355–6; dictatorship National Socialist Movement (Chile) 363
of 337, 352–5, 355 National Union (Portugal) 306, 315
Michael, King of Romania 349–50 national-imperial mission ideology, of
middle classes 183, 208–9, 327 fascism 406
military: destabilized Portuguese 312–13; nationalism, dictatorships and 33
dictatorships and 34, 412; impact of Nationalist Party of Transylvania 349
terror on 67; Nationalist 287–8; Nazi Nationalists (Spain): aims of 272–3;
opposition from 213; Nazi support from Church support for 274–6; European
209–10; political allegiance of 276 powers’ response to 282–4; members of
Ministry of People’s Enlightenment and 270; Spanish Civil War and 271–2;
Propaganda 197, 199 victory of 285–9; White Terror of
minorities, in dictatorships 414, 422–3 289–92
modernization: Atatürk and 359; inter-war nationalities: in Russian Civil War 46–7;
impact of 17–19 under Stalin 82–4, 101–2
Mohammed VI, Sultan of Turkey 357 naval warfare, in World War II 245
Molotov, Vyacheslav 91, 94 Nazi Germany: in Austria 319; in Baltic
Mommsen, H. 193, 234, 251, 260 states 334–6; Belgium invaded by 381–2;
Morgan, P. 134–5, 137–8 Britain’s defiance of 395–400; Bulgaria
Mosca, Gaetano 6 and 342; coercion/terror of 193–4;
Movimento Laureati 146 collective culpability of 261–2;
Mühlberger, D. 183 concentration camps of 417–18, 422;
Müller, Heinrich 16, 21–2, 176 conservative right alliance 184–5; defeat
Munich Agreement 232 of 244–6; Denmark invaded by 375–6;
Munich Putsch 181 early years of 173–5; economic policies
music, Nazi propaganda and 201 of 214–22; establishment of 186–8;
Mussert, Anton 380–1 Finland’s support of 401–2; Gestapo and
Mussolini, Benito: anti-Semitism and 196–7; government/leadership in 191–3;
135–7; attitudes to regime of 144–6; Hitler’s key impact 264–5;
character of 167–8; church/state relations indoctrination/propaganda of 197–201;
under 137–8; coercion of 134–5; ‘legality’ of 189–90; Luxembourg
domestic issues under 156–7, 168; early invaded by 383; Netherlands invaded by
dictatorship of 125, 125–6; economic 379–80; Norway invaded by 376–7;
policies of 138–41; emerging fascism opposition to 210–14; political changes
and 118–19; establishing dictatorship in 410; religion and 204–6; as
127–8; execution of 166; fall of 162–3; revolutionary 190–1; Schutzstaffel and
fascist ideology and 32, 123–4, 166–7; 194–6; strength/appeal of 180–4; support
Greek resistance to 353; indoctrination of for 206–10; Total War period
131–4; Italian Social Republic and (1939–1945) 241–4; as totalitarian 27;
163–5; leadership of 409; Matteotti crisis unique path of 262–4; Volksgemeinschaft
126–7; military weakness and 159–61; and 222–7; vulnerable democracy and
overthrow of Albania 339–40; personality 178–80; women in 202–4; see also
cult of 129–30; political confusion of Holocaust
124–5; regime of 168–70; rise of Nazi Teacher’s Association
114–16; role in Fascism 121–2; (Nationalsozialistische Lehrerbund) 198
sacralization theory and 130–1; social Nazi Women’s Group (NS-Frauenschaft)
classes under 141–2; Spanish Civil War 203
and 283–4; stages of dictatorship 122–3, Nazism, ideology of 405–6
123; traditional continuity of 128–9; Nazi–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact 64,
women under 142–3, 145–6; World War 87–91, 285, 331, 334, 396, 401
II and 157–9; Yugoslavia and 344; see Netherlands, democracy destroyed in
also foreign policy, Mussolini’s 378–81
472 Index

Neurath, Konstantin von 370–1 Peasant Party of Wallachia 349

New Economic Policy (NEP), of Soviet peasantry: under Mussolini 142; revolution
Russia 51–2 of 1917 and 39–40; support for Fascism
The New Morality and the Working Class 120
(Kollontai) 75 People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs
New Plan 215–18 (NKVD) 54; see also Stalin, Joseph
New State (Estado Novo), in Portugal People’s community (Volksgemeinschaft):
305–8, 310–13, 312 genetic exclusion from 223; purpose for
Newcomer, J. 383–4 222–3; racism and 224–7; rejection of
Newman, K.J. 15 ‘asocials’ 223–4
Nicholas II, Tsar 36, 400 People’s Observer (Völkischer Beobachter)
Nietzsche, Friedrich 6 173–5
Noakes, J. 192, 236, 239 People’s Republic of North Korea 366
Noli, Fan S. (Bishop) 338 personality cult: Atatürk’s 359; Kim Il
Nolte, E. 31, 261 Sung’s 366; leadership and 408–9; Mao
Non-Aggression Pact 232, 238–9, 284 Zedong’s 365; Mussolini’s 129–30;
Non-Intervention Committee (NIC) 280, Stalin’s 109–10
281 Pétain, Marshal 385–6, 388
North Atlantic Treaty Organization Petrakis, M. 353
(NATO) 106, 108 Petrograd Soviet 36–9
North Korean dictatorship 366 Peukert, D.J.K. 199, 214
Norway, democracy destroyed in 376–8 Piatakov, Georgiy 54–6
NSDAP (National Socialist German PIDE (Policia Internacional e Defensa do
Workers’ Party) 173–5; see also Nazi Estado) in Portugal 309, 314
Germany Pierlot, Hubert (Prime Minister) 382
Nuremberg Laws 226 Pilsudski, Józef (General) 328–9, 332, 409
Pinto, A.C. 314
O’Connor, Frank 394 Pius XI (Pope) 137–8, 205, 275
October Revolution (Russia): Bolshevik Pol Pot 366
organization in 40–1; events of 36–7; Poland: anti-Semitism and 255; Hitler’s
influence of masses in 39–40; invasion of 242, 248
Provisional Government and 38–9 Poland, dictatorship in: development of
Opera Nazionale Balilla (ONB) 132–3 327–30; problems/achievements of
Opera Voluntaria per la Repressione 330–1; right-wing nature of 331–2
Antifascista (OVRA) 134–5 Policia Internacional e Defensa do Estado
Operation Barbarossa 91–5, 240–1 (PIDE) in Portugal 309, 314
Orff, Carl 201 Political and Social Doctrine of Fascism
Orwell, George 397 (Mussolini) 123–4
Ottoman Empire, Treaty of Sèvres political opponents, Nazi targeting of 224
and 14 politics: opposition to Nazism in 213;
Ousby, I. 386 sacralization of 130–1, 207
Overy, R. 217 Pollard, J. 126, 139, 144, 163, 164
Pollo, S. 339
Pact of Steel 155–6, 232, 284 Polonsky, A. 330
Pamlényi, E. 325 Popular Front see Republicans (Spain)
Papen, Franz von 176–7, 185, 186 Portugal: democratic republic in 305;
Pareto, Vilfredo 6 influence in Africa 367–8; Spanish Civil
Paris Peace Conference 11–14, 120, 147–8, War and 282–3
315–17 Portugal, dictatorship in: comparison of
party influence, in dictatorships 411–12 314–15; Estado Novo and 305–8;
Päts, Konstantin 333–6 fascism and 313–14; overseas empire and
Paul, G. 210 310–13, 312; post-World War II 309–10;
Paul, Prince of Yugoslavia 344, 347 World War II and 308–9
Pavone, C. 166 Prazmowska, A.J. 330
Payne, S.G. 11, 126, 129, 135, 266, 281, Preston, P. 272, 301
285, 305, 320, 351, 355, 364, 413 Preuss, Hugo 228
Peace of Moscow 401, 403 Pridham, G. 192, 236, 239
 Index 473

Primo de Rivera, José Antonio 32, 273 revolution of 1917 see October Revolution
Primo de Rivera, Miguel (General) 266–9, (Russia)
267 Reynaud, Paul (Prime Minister) 385
Procacci, G. 165 Rezun, V. 92
propaganda: of General Franco 291; Rial, J.H. 267, 269
German culture and 199–201; under Ribbentrop, Joachim von 195
Hitler’s regime 197; Hitler’s views on Rich, N. 241–2
181; for social control 413; World War Ridley, J. 168–9
II and 201–2 Riefenstahl, Leni 200, 207
proportional representation 15–16 Ristelhueber, R. 342
Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia Roberts, G. 90, 167
370–2 Robinson, J. 308
Protestant Church, in Nazi Germany 184, Robles, Gill 270
205, 211–12 Rocco Laws 139, 142
Provisional Government of Russia 36–7, Rogge-Berne, Sophie 203–4
38–9 Röhm, Ernst 188, 194
purges: in dictatorships 417; Franco’s 276, Romania 256, 348–51
290; Stalin’s 59–63, 67–8, 78, 103–4; Rome–Berlin Axis 1, 135, 152, 155, 231
Third Reich’s 189, 194, 319 Roos, H. 331
Puto, A. 339 Roosevelt, Franklin D. 388
Rosenberg, Alfred 334
Quataert, D. 360 Rosenfeld, G.D. 254
Quisling, Vidkun 3, 377–8, 378 Rosenfeldt, N.E. 62
Rothschild, J. 332
Raby, D.L. 313 RPP (Republican People’s Party) 357–9
racism 135–7, 224–7; see also anti- RSI (Repubblica Sociale Italiana) 163–6
Semitism Russia: modernization and 18–19;
Radicals of Serbia 345 Operation Barbarossa and 240–1; as
Radich, Stjepan 343, 345–6 totalitarian 27; Treaty of Versailles and
radios, for propaganda 200, 220, 413 13; World War I impacting 8, 10, 11
Ránki, V. 256 Russian Association of Proletarian Writers
RAPP (Russian Association of Proletarian (RAPP) 79
Writers) 79 Russian Civil War: Bolshevik victory in
Reber-Gruber, Auguste 203 43–6; conflicts of 41–2; impact of 11,
Red Terror, of Republicans 289–92 420; nationalities and 46–7; reasons for
Red–Green phase, of Russian Civil War 42–3
42–3 Russian dictatorship see Soviet Russia
Rees, J. 408, 421 Russian Social Democrats 6
Reich Association of German Jews 257
Reich Central Office for the Combating of SA (Sturmabteilung) 174, 187–8, 194
Homosexuality 224 sacralization of politics 130–1, 207
Reich Central Office for the Fight Against Salazar, Dr. Antonio de Oliviera:
the Gypsy Nuisance 225 comparison of 314–15; Estado Novo and
Reich Citizenship Law 226 305–8, 306; fascism and 313–14; Franco
Reich Entailed Farm Law 221 and 304–5, 307–8; leadership of 33, 409;
religion: in dictatorships 414; Nazi Party overseas empire and 310–13, 312; post-
and 194–5, 204–6, 211–12; Stalin and World War II 309–10; Spanish Civil War
77–9 and 282–3; World War II and 308–9
religious opponents, Nazi targeting of 224 Salmon, P. 335
Rempel, G. 199 Salvadó, F.J.R. 270, 281, 283
Repubblica Sociale Italiana (RSI) 163–6 Salvemini, G. 147, 157
Republican People’s Party (RPP) 357–9 Sánchez, A.C. 291, 301
Republicans (Spain): aims of 273–4; Sapir, J. 96
Church opposition to 274–6, 279; defeat Sauer, W. 218, 236
of 285–9; European powers’ response to Schacht, Hjalmar 215–17
280–2; members of 270; Red Terror of Scheidemann, Philipp 171–2
289–92; in Spanish Civil War 271–2 Schleicher, Kurt von 176–7
474 Index

Scholl, Hans 213 Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr 54

Scholl, Sophie 213 Sontag, R.J. 237
Scholtz-Klink, Gertrud 203 Sorel, Georges 6, 7, 139
Schramm, Percy Ernst 246–7 South African regime 367
Schuschnigg, Kurt von 318–22 Soviet foreign policy: 1918–1924 84–6;
Schutzstaffeln (SS) 194–6, 214–15, 227, 1924–1939 87–9; Nazi–Soviet Pact and
252 90–1; post-World War II 105–8
Secessionists 126–7 Soviet Russia: attack on Finland 391; in
Second Reich 9, 171 Baltic states 334–6; Bolshevik
Second Republic (1931–1936) 269–71 organization in 40–1; as Britain’s ally
Second World War: defeat of Third Reich 397; civil war 41–7; concentration camps
244–6; European domination in 241–4; of 418, 422; creating Bolshevik state 46;
expansion of Third Reich in 238–41; economic changes in 51–2; Finland’s
General Franco’s ‘neutrality’ 292–3; as defiance of 400–2; German invasion
Hitler’s war 236–8; impact on Britain 91–5, 240–1, 249; impact of terror on
398–9; impact on dictatorships 421–3; 67; influence of masses in 39–40;
Italy in 155, 157–9, 158; Russian losses institutional changes in 410; Lenin’s
in 100–1; Salazar and 308–9; Spanish successor 54–6; map of, under Stalin
Civil War and 284–5 110; nationalities and 46–7, 101–2;
Secret Pact of Friendship 283 political changes in 48–51; Provisional
Secret Treaty of London (1915) 12, 13 Government and 38–9; relations with
secularism, Atatürk and 358 West 99–100; revival/victory of 95–9;
security forces, in dictatorships 416–18 revolution of 1917 36–7; Spanish Civil
Seipel, Ignaz (Chancellor) 318 War and 281–2; World War II losses
Serbia 343–7 100–1
Serrati, Giacinto 114 Spain, dictatorship in: domestic policy
Service du Travail Obligatoire (STO) 388 294–7; foreign policy 292–4; Franco’s
Seyss-Inquart, Arthur 319, 379–81 death 297; negative view of 300–1;
Shaw, George Bernard 394 overview of 301–2; phases of 297–9;
Shearer, D.R. 73 positive view of 299–300; Primo de
Shirer, W.L. 263 Rivera and 266–9, 267, 299; Second
Sholokhov, Mikhail 80 Republic and 269–71; unearthing of
A Short History of the Communist Party of 302–3
the Soviet Union 101–2 Spanish Civil War (1936–1939):
Shubert, A. 284, 290, 291 Christianity vs. atheism in 278–9;
Slovak National Council (SNR) 373–4 Church/military support 274–6; class
Slovakia 225, 255 divisions and 277; fascism vs.
Smetona, Antanas 333–6 communism in 277–8; impact/terror of
Smith, Jeremy 46 289–92; Nationalist aims in 272–3;
Smith, Mack 122, 157, 162, 166, 167 Nationalist victory in 285–9; outline of
Snyder, L. 178 271–2, 275; regional support in 276–7;
Soares, Mário 309, 313 Republican aims in 273–4; World War II
social changes: in pre-1914 Europe 5–6; and 284–5
under Stalin 74–80 Spanish Communist Party (Partido
social classes: Atatürk and 358; under Comunista de España) 274
Mussolini 141–2; political allegiance of Spartacists, in Germany 172
277; in Portugal 307 Special Tribunal for the Defence of the
social control, in dictatorships 412–15 State 128
social Darwinism 6, 11, 31 Speer, Albert 181, 246
Social Democrats (SPD), German 172, SS see Schutzstaffeln (SS)
179–80 Stabilization Plan 292
social impact, of World War II 398–9 Stachura, P.D. 182, 183, 331
social psychology 6 Stadler, K.R. 318
Socialist Realism 80, 103 Stakhanovites 65, 67, 75
Socialist Revolutionaries: civil war and Stalin, Joseph: basis of power 108–10, 109;
42–3; foreign policy and 84–5; as Churchill’s ally 403; communism and
revolution of 1917 38–9; threat of 50 29; constitution/administration of 60–2;
 Index 475

death of 108; dictatorship of 59–60; Testament (Lenin) 54–5

economy under 68–74, 105; effectiveness Thälmann, Ernst 180
of 110–11; foreign policy of 87–9, Thierack, Otto 194
105–8; German invasion/victory 91–5; Thies, J. 234
leadership of 408; Lenin’s successor Third Reich: coercion/terror of 193–4;
54–6; military revival/victory 95–9; collective culpability of 261–2; defeat of
nationalities under 82–4, 101–2; 244–6; economic policies of 214–22;
Nazi–Soviet Pact and 90–1; necessity of establishment of 186–8; Gestapo and
111–13; post-war dictatorship of 102–4; 196–7; government/leadership in 191–3;
relations with West 99–100; society Hitler’s key impact on 264–5;
under 74–80; Spanish Civil War and indoctrination/propaganda of 197–201;
281–2; strengths of 56–7, 58; support ‘legality’ of 189–90; opposition to
for/opposition to 80–2; terror regime of 210–14; religion and 204–6; as
62–8, 417–18 revolutionary 190–1; SS and 194–6;
Stalinism and Nazism: Dictatorships in support for 206–10; terror of 193–4,
Comparison (Kershaw & Lewin) 23 243–4, 371; Total War period
Stambuliski, Alexander (Prime Minister) (1939–1945) 241–4; unique path of
340–1, 420 262–4; Volksgemeinschaft and 222–7;
state security, in dictatorships 416–18 women in 202–4; World War II and
Stauffenberg, Klaus von 213 238–41
Steinbach, P. 205 Thomas, H. 266
Steininger, R. 322 Thomson, D. 360
Sternhell, Z. 31, 32, 33, 119 Tiso, Jozef (Monsignor) 372–4
Stoyadinovich, Milan 344 Tojo Hideki 364–5
Strasser, Gregor 175 Tomes, J. 338, 339, 340
Streicher, Julius 205, 207, 226, 259 Tormey, S. 26
Stresemann, Gustav 173, 178, 182, 228–30 Total War economic strategy 218–19
Sturmabteilung (SA) 174, 187–8, 194 totalitarianism: authoritarianism vs. 25–7;
Suñer, Ramón Serrano 293 ideology of 405; Mussolini and 131–4;
Swain, G. 44 security and terror in 416–18; Stalin and
Sweden, marginalized democracy in 391–3 110–11
Switzerland, marginalized democracy in tourism, impact on Spain 296
389–91 traditional leadership 408–10
syndicalism: in Fascist ideology 123–4; Treaty for the Organization for Total War
Mussolini and 118–19; revolutionary 373
effect of 6–7 Treaty of Brest–Litovsk 42, 44, 315
Synthesis of War (de Geer) 380 Treaty of Friendship and Co-operation
Syrop, K. 329 334
Szálasi, Ferenc 323, 325–6, 405 Treaty of Lausanne 14, 336, 352, 357
Treaty of Neuilly 340
T-4 euthanasia programme 223 Treaty of Rapallo 88, 228
Talmon, J.L. 25 Treaty of Riga 85, 328
Tannenbaum, E. 129, 139 Treaty of Sèvres 14, 352, 357
Tanzimat era 357, 360 Treaty of St. Germain 13, 147, 149, 318,
Tardofranquismo, in Spain 295–7 336, 369
Taylor, A.J.P. 114, 147, 148, 153–4, 166, Treaty of Trianon 325, 326, 336, 348
234, 237, 263, 285, 316 Treaty of Versailles 12–13, 172–3, 227–31
technology, in pre-1914 Europe 5–6 Trevor-Roper, H. 182, 215, 233, 237, 301
Terboven, Josef 377–8 Triumph of the Will (film) 200, 207
terror: Bolshevik state’s 50; of caudillo Trotsky, Leon: Bolsheviks and 40–1, 45;
regimes 362; in dictatorships 416–18; campaign of terror and 50; foreign policy
Franco’s 295, 301; Metaxas’ 356; of and 84–5; after Lenin’s death 54–6; on
Nazi Party 193–4, 243–4, 371; of war 420; weaknesses of 57–9
Spanish Civil War 289–92 Truman Doctrine 106, 108
Terror, Stalin’s: causes of 63–6; effects of Trunk, I. 258
66–8, 94; overview of 62–3; post-war Tsankov, Aleksandar 341
intensification of 103 Tsereteli, Irakli 38–9
476 Index

Turkey: after Atatürk 361; dictatorship in Wells, H.G. 16

336–7, 357–60; political history of 356–7 Western Allies, Soviet relations with
99–100
Ulam, A. 110, 112 Whealey, R. 284, 289
Ulmanis, Karlis 333–6 White Papers on Health and Employment
Unión Patriótica 267, 268 399
United Kingdom: defying Nazi Germany White Terror 289–92, 324
395–400; Finland vs. 402–4; see also Whittam, J. 135–7
Britain Wilhelm II, Kaiser 171
United States: European loans by 20–1; Wilhelmina, Queen of Netherlands 379–81
involvement in World War II 244–6; Wilson, Woodrow (President) 11–12, 14,
relations with Ireland 394–5 16
upper classes 141–2, 183–4, 208–9 Winter War 401–2, 404
Upton, A.F. 401–2 Winterfelt 257
Utopia, Marxist 405–6 Wippermann, W. 262
Wirth, Joseph 228
women: in dictatorships 413–14; franchise
Vichy regime 3, 385–6 and 389, 396; under Mussolini 142–3,
Victor Emmanuel III, King of Italy 163, 145–6; Nazi support from 184; under
339 Stalin 75–7; in Third Reich 202–4
Vidoni Pact 141 Women’s Labour Service (German) 203
Vinas, A. 284 working class: assertiveness of 7; Nazi
Viola, L. 81–2 support from 183, 209; revolution of
visual arts, Nazi propaganda and 201 1917 and 39–40
Volkogonov, Dmitri 52, 96 World Economic Conference 22
Volksgemeinschaft (people’s community):
genetic exclusion from 223; purpose for Yalta Declaration on Liberated Europe 99
222–3; racism and 224–7; rejection of Young Turks 357, 360
‘asocials’ 223–4 youth groups: under Mussolini 132–3; Nazi
indoctrination of 198–9; opposing
Wachsmann, N. 417 Nazism 211
Wagner, Richard 6, 201 Yugoslavia, dictatorship in:
Wall Street Crash 21 conservatism/fascism and 348;
Wannsee Conference 227, 249 development of 342–5; reasons for
War Communism 51–2, 85 collapse 345–8; Yugoslav
Ward, C. 104 dismemberment 346
Warsaw Pact 106
Weber, E. 405 Zhukov, Marshal Georgi 92–3, 95, 97, 104
Weber, Max 408 Ziegler, A. 201
Weimar Constitution 189–91 Zinoview, Grigory 54–6
Weimar Republic: constitution of 16; Zogu, Ahmed (King Zog of Albania) 2,
economy and 17, 20; foreign policy of 337–40, 338
227–9; formation/development of 171–3; Zürcher E.J. 359, 360
vulnerability of 178–80 Zweites Buch (Hitler) 215