The Prussian referendum was hardly over when the Nazis were given another important boost by a revival of the anti-Young alliance. Organized by Hugenberg, the alliance was intended to mobilize the “national opposition” under the DNVP’s leadership. Hugenberg, who was determined to project himself as the leader of the anti-system right, invited the Nazis to join the Stahlhelm (Steel Helmet), the largest of the veterans organizations, the Pan-German League, and other right-wing organizations in a mass demonstration of anti-Republican unity at the resort town of Bad Harzburg in October. Hitler played a double game during the gathering—on the one hand he threw his party into the “national opposition,” and a powerful show of strength by the Storm Troopers was the highlight of the event. On the other hand, he made a point of keeping his distance from Hugenberg and the Stahlhelm leaders Franz Seldte and Theodor Duesterberg. He did not join them for the official dinner and refused to be photographed with them, actions that were deeply resented by his “allies.” At that highly publicized event and in the months that followed, it became clear that Hitler, not Hugenberg, was the dominant figure in the antidemocratic alliance.
That preeminent position was underscored just a few weeks after Bad Harzburg, when, in an unparalleled display of the movement’s power, Hitler reviewed a parade of more than 100,000 Storm Troopers in Braunschweig. It was the largest gathering of the SA to date and required more than two hours for the brown-shirted ranks to pass before their leader’s salute. The loose cooperation between the Nazis and their reactionary Harzburg allies lasted only until the presidential election of the following spring and ended in considerable bitterness. But the Harzburg Front had been a success for Hitler, providing him with extensive national exposure and marking another stage in the legitimation of National Socialism in traditional conservative circles.
In spite of Hitler’s repeated efforts to reassure the government, the police, and the conservative public that the NSDAP was committed to a policy of legality, the threat of an SA Putsch just would not go away. In November 1931 state authorities in Hessen came into possession of a set of documents that laid out plans for a Nazi coup in the event of a Communist uprising. The documents were the product of discussions by a small group of Nazis at the Boxheimer Hof, a farm in rural Hessen, and came to be known as the Boxheimer Dokumente. They offered a hair-raising catalogue of virtually every radical idea ever attributed to the Nazis. According to the documents, armed Nazi groups, including the SA, would declare a state of emergency, round up all political opponents and deliver them to concentration camps that would be constructed to house them. “Resistance,” especially by government officials, the document declared, “will be punished by death.” Anyone failing to turn in weapons within twenty-four hours or who participated in strikes or efforts at sabotage would be shot. Among other measures, the documents called for the abolition of the right to private property, the obligation to pay debts, interest on savings, and of private incomes. The SA was also empowered to administer the property of the state, and, in fact, all private property.
Publication of the documents created a sensation. The liberal and leftist press erupted. Vorwärts described them as “the blood plans of Hessen,” declaring that for the Nazis, governing meant shooting others. Hitler vehemently denied all knowledge of such plans, a denial that seems, in this case, to have been true. The Boxheim Documents, he insisted, in no way reflected Nazi policy but were the unofficial, private conjectures of a small group, nothing more. Why, after all, would the NSDAP consider such a project? Looking ahead to the presidential elections in the spring, he explained in a newspaper interview, “A party that can count on 15 million votes doesn’t need to take an illegal step.”
Ultimately, the court agreed with Hitler and dropped the charges, but the Boxheim affair was an embarrassment to Hitler, especially at a time when the party was not only attempting to placate suspicious government authorities but openly courting the business community. The specter of a violent Nazi revolution, combined with the fiery quasi-socialist rhetoric issuing from some elements of the party, had long been a source of deep concern to business circles. With the growing political influence of the NSDAP, business leaders, who had been skeptical of the Nazis and their vague, inconsistent, and apparently radical economic views, thought it prudent to take a fresh look at Hitler. The NSDAP’s rigid anti-Marxist and anti-union stance had long found a receptive audience in business circles, but the party’s strong anticapitalist rhetoric and the “socialist” demands of the party’s Twenty-five Points program—breaking interest slavery, the nationalization of all corporations and trusts—were deeply unsettling. The leaders of German big business, especially in the powerful coal, iron, and steel industries, were hardly champions of the Weimar Republic, convinced as they were that Weimar’s extensive welfare state and its protection of the rights of organized labor had been prime factors in Germany’s economic demise. But what were they to make of the unsystematic, sometimes blatantly contradictory economic pronouncements of the National Socialists? Some industrialists had provided occasional contributions to individual Nazis—to Strasser, Göring, and men they viewed as more reasonable and more moderate, at least in economic matters, than firebrands like Goebbels and Streicher. Just where Hitler stood in all this remained a mystery.
In 1931 contacts between the Nazis and big business multiplied. Nazi leaders were invited to speak before business audiences in Berlin and in the Ruhr, and the Nazis reciprocated by asking important business leaders to attend Nazi forums dealing with economic issues. In mid-October, Walther Funk, Hitler’s top economic advisor, spoke to the exclusive Gentlemen’s Club (Herrenklub) in Berlin; a few weeks later Gottfried Feder, one of Hitler’s economic advisors, addressed an invited audience of coal industry representatives in Essen; in November, Feder and Otto Wagener, head of the party’s Economic Policy Section, appeared in Düsseldorf before an audience of eight hundred, including many business leaders, at a special Nazi conference devoted to economic policy; and in December, Gregor Strasser gave an after-dinner speech to some thirty coal executives in Essen. With this flurry of activity, the Nazis sought to dispel fears in the business community about their presumed radical socialist intentions, while cautious business leaders hoped to cultivate the more moderate elements of the party, or, at the very least, to win friends in a movement that had become a major player in German politics.
The highlight of these efforts came in two appearances by Hitler before audiences of prominent figures in German industry and finance. In December he was invited to address the conservative National Club in Hamburg, and in January Fritz Thyssen, the powerful steel magnate, arranged for him to speak at the influential Düsseldorf Industrial Club. The themes of his Hamburg address were repeated again in Düsseldorf, but his speech there, in the heart of the industrial Ruhr, generated far more interest and news coverage. More than six hundred of the club’s eight hundred members crowded into the grand ballroom to hear Hitler’s views on Germany’s economic future. Instead of his brown party uniform and swastika armband, Hitler appeared at the posh Park Hotel wearing a respectable blue business suit, the proper, understated man of affairs.
His reception was decidedly cool. Many in the room were intrigued by Hitler, but those hoping to learn anything specific about Nazi economic policy were sorely disappointed.
Hitler delivered a rambling two-and-a-half-hour speech that was calculated to reassure business leaders that the party did not harbor radical anticapitalist tendencies, to emphasize its determination to stand as a bulwark against Marxism, and to demonstrate that the NSDAP was a party that could be trusted to provide responsible leadership of the state. He spoke at some length about the rising danger of Communism, a threat that could not be countered by anemic, ineffectual democratic government. It had to be fought mercilessly, day and night, in every corner of the land, and only the NSDAP had the courage, power, and will to carry out this crucial mission. Emergency decrees and their economic palliatives could not save Germany, onl
y the forceful exercise of political power. Politics, not economics, would revitalize the nation. “It was not German business that conquered the world, followed by the development of German power, but the powerful state (Machtstaat) which created for the business world the general conditions for its subsequent prosperity.” There could be no economic life “unless behind this economic life there stands the determined political will of the nation absolutely ready to strike—and to strike hard. . . . The essential thing is the formation of the political will of the nation: that is the starting point for political action.” Unless Germany could overcome its internal divisions, no measures of the Reichstag, no ephemeral foreign policy triumph could halt the decline of the German nation, and only the NSDAP, standing above class, above petty interest politics and driven by an unstoppable political will, could bring that unity.
He went on to assail Versailles, reparations, and the perfidy of the victor states; he spoke vaguely about international trade, markets, the value of the mark, closing with the assertion that in order to sustain itself and ensure growth, Germany must acquire Lebensraum in the East. But the prerequisite for all was the indomitable political will of a united German nation, and that was the goal of the National Socialist movement. About the economy he spoke, as usual, in maddening generalities, eschewing specifics and emphasizing his belief in the primacy of individual initiative, of private enterprise, and of the disastrous effects of weak democratic government. On the whole, the presentation seemed one of calculated ambiguity.
While business leaders may have come away from these encounters somewhat reassured about Nazi radicalism and the party’s commitment to lead the fight against Communism, they were decidedly unimpressed by the Nazi leadership’s feeble grasp of economic matters. Aside from “cheap demagoguery,” as one business leader summarized his impressions, the presentations by the party’s economic experts revealed “an astounding economic dilettantism”; another was struck by the “great shallowness, flaccidity, and primitiveness” of Nazi economic thinking. Some business leaders viewed National Socialism as a passing phenomenon, a product of extreme economic distress that would fade away as economic conditions improved. A handful of business leaders, such as Thyssen and Hjalmar Schacht, the highly respected former head of the Reichsbank, were impressed with Hitler and urged financial support for the NSDAP. But the general conclusion drawn from these interactions was that it might be possible—and prudent—to influence the Nazis, to educate them about economic affairs, and to discourage the party’s radical elements by cultivating contacts with the more reasonable among them. For the most part, however, business leaders, with a few notable exceptions, remained at arm’s length from the party. Despite contemporary accusations, especially by the parties of the left, that big business was bankrolling the NSDAP, the business community continued to be wary of the Nazis and preferred the more predictable center-right parties, especially the DNVP and DVP.
Hitler was not unduly upset with this state of affairs. It was not necessary to convert the leaders of big business to National Socialism, he believed, only to ensure that they did not use their influence to thwart the party’s drive toward power. Modest contributions from business sources were made in 1931 and into 1932, but the Nazis were not in need of their contributions. They were proud of the fact that the party did not rely on donations from special interests to fund its activities but relied almost exclusively on grassroots sources of funding—membership dues, subscriptions to the party press, admission to party events, and so forth. Despite considerable investigation, the police authorities in the Ruhr, for example, could find no evidence of significant donations from big business to the NSDAP in 1931. Nazi propaganda—the dances, the “German Evenings,” the concerts, the speeches—was a moneymaking operation. The party received occasional donations from business sources, but only after the July elections of 1932, with the party treasury exhausted, did the party turn to big business for loans or direct contributions.
As 1931 drew to a close, the Nazis had every reason to feel buoyant about the future. At each municipal and state election, the party was gaining ground. The obscure fringe party of 1928 had captured the public’s attention; even the establishment, however reluctant, however reserved, had come calling. The Nazis had grabbed the spotlight, and they intended to hold it. They were new and energetic, they were exciting, and they were on the move. Elections in Germany’s two largest states would be held in the spring, and there was even the possibility of presidential elections. With the promise of new triumphs and with the prospect of power, the new year beckoned.
5
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MAKING GERMANY GREAT AGAIN
As the new year dawned, Hitler looked forward to what promised to be the year of decision. Elections were scheduled for the spring in Prussia and Bavaria, the country’s two largest states, and the NSDAP was well financed, well organized, and brimming with confidence. The Nazis were riding a wave of inevitability. Every election—shop floor, student government, town council, it didn’t matter—the Nazis contested them all, and in locale after locale, they were scoring spectacular gains. Hitler had every reason to feel optimistic. The NSDAP stood on the threshold of power.
The Nazis opened the year in impressive fashion, winning 30 percent of the vote in the tiny state of Lippe. For the first time, the NSDAP surpassed the combined totals of the center-right parties and exceeded the Social Democratic vote as well. The elections in Bavaria and Prussia were tantamount to a national election, and contests in Anhalt, Hamburg, and Württemberg were also scheduled for the early spring. In fact, elections would be held in virtually every German state before the high days of summer. But beyond those important contests, a much more enticing prize loomed on the near horizon. Hindenburg’s term as Reich President was due to expire in May 1932. In an effort to forestall a new election, Brüning, whose continued presence as Reich Chancellor depended on Hindenburg, appealed to “the Old Gentleman” to stay on. But Hindenburg was reluctant—at eighty-four, he could not face the rigors of a national campaign. Encouraged by General Schleicher, Brüning floated a plan that would allow Hindenburg’s term to be extended for another seven years—in effect, for life. Working the backstairs, Schleicher believed that it would be possible to convince the Nazis to support a rightist government that would have the backing of the Reich President, the army, and big business. With the popular support the Nazis would bring, this constellation of forces could then ditch the Weimar constitution and install the sort of authoritarian system they had long preferred. But extending Hindenburg’s presidency without an election would mean a revision of the constitution and that, in turn, would require passage by a two-thirds majority in the Reichstag. For this Brüning would need the support of the NSDAP.
When first approached in November, Hitler was reluctant to agree—after all, he piously objected, this amounted to a serious breach of the constitution. For weeks in December and January a dazed public was treated to the unlikely spectacle of Adolf Hitler wrapping himself reverently in the constitution, posing as the principled defender of a constitutional order he had publicly pledged to destroy. Behind the scenes, he was more amenable. He held talks with Schleicher, with Brüning, and finally with Hindenburg. He told the Reich President that he would put aside his constitutional scruples if Hindenburg would agree to dismiss Brüning, dissolve the Reichstag, and call for new elections. Hindenburg balked, and in January 1932, with the country mired in the depths of economic despair and political passions running at a fever pitch, a presidential campaign became inevitable.
Hitler did not relish the prospect of challenging the highly venerated Hindenburg. The old field marshal was the most respected figure in German political life. Although a conservative and, in his heart of hearts, a monarchist, he was viewed as a man “above politics,” the last bulwark of stability amid the chaos, violence, and polarization of German politics. He was also a living link with a glorious German past. Opposing him would be an enormous gamble for Hitler. So m
uch of the NSDAP’s rising prestige and Hitler’s mystique rested on an image of unbroken momentum, of a relentlessly rising tide of public support that was sweeping them inexorably into power. Challenging Hindenburg, which Strasser and other party leaders feared would end in certain defeat, risked undoing all that Nazi propaganda had labored so assiduously to create.
Throughout January and much of February Hitler wavered. Although he projected a public image of unswerving resolve and decisive action, Hitler tended to be hesitant, vacillating sometimes for weeks before making important decisions—a tendency that would characterize his leadership throughout his political career. Once he had reached his decision, however, he would cling to it with fanatical resolve, and nothing and no one could change his mind. Goebbels and Röhm strongly favored contesting the election. Hitler had to run. How, after all the clamoring for power, could the Führer of NSDAP sit out the election? Goebbels’s diary entries for January and February bear ample testimony to his mounting frustration. Hitler’s procrastination was maddening; the “eternal waiting [was] creating low morale in the party.” Many in the leadership feared that Hitler had waited too long. “When will Hitler decide,” Goebbels asked on January 30, “does he lack the necessary courage? We must give it to him.”
While Hitler struggled with his decision, Goebbels was already hard at work planning for a presidential campaign. He and his staff were drafting speeches and slogans, creating leaflets and placards, outlining themes and a plan of attack for the campaign. But before a Hitler candidacy could become a reality, there was a small technical problem that demanded his attention: Adolf Hitler was not a German citizen. In 1925, fearing deportation to Austria after his release from Landsberg, he had renounced his Austrian citizenship and had remained officially stateless since. In 1929, he had applied to the Bavarian authorities for naturalization, only to be brusquely denied. But according to a peculiarity of German law, an appointment to a government post, either at the Reich or regional level, brought with it automatic citizenship. The situation was resolved when in March 1932 Hitler was appointed government councilor in the Office of Culture and Measurement in Braunschweig, the only state in which a National Socialist held a position in the government.
The Third Reich Page 18
