A Sense of the Enemy
Page 6
By the start of 1925, Stresemann was still frustrated with the Comintern. On January 2, the Foreign Minister sent a sternly worded note to Krestinski, demanding that the Soviet government cease interfering in German domestic affairs. The Soviets continued to insist that they had no control over Comintern calls for worldwide revolution, but no one took this claim seriously. Stresemann reiterated that he viewed the Comintern and Soviet regime as intimately intertwined.30
By June, Stresemann’s fears of Soviet interference had increased. Writing to American Ambassador Houghton, Stresemann expressed deep anxiety over Soviet meddling in Bulgaria, believing that Moscow was behind a recent political assassination and saying, “These events demonstrate in shocking manner the methods they use.” They show, he told Houghton, that the Soviets remain wedded to world revolution.31 Stresemann also assured Houghton that the communists were not likely to make much headway in Germany if the German economy remained stable. Naturally, the Foreign Minister was playing on the Americans’ concerns of a communist takeover in order to keep up pressure on the Western powers to reduce German reparations and ensure American loans to Germany. Despite this, Stresemann’s comments reflected his consistent worry over Moscow’s machinations.
The following week Stresemann held a two-and-a-half-hour discussion of the Russian problem with Brockdorff-Rantzau and two days later discussed the situation with Ambassador Krestinski. On June 11, Stresemann made plain his deep distrust of the Soviets and their attempts at worldwide revolution. Entering into an alliance with the Soviets was like “going to bed with the murderer of one’s own people.” There could be no illusions that the Soviet regime genuinely sought friendly relations with Germany, he declared, while it simultaneously used the Comintern to undermine Germany.32
The complexities of Stresemann’s policies were substantial. On the one hand he feared Soviet-led revolutions and on the other he facilitated secret military cooperation. Though initiated by the Reichswehr, Stresemann knew of the initial attempts at military collaboration as early as September 1923, thanks to Brockdorff-Rantzau’s reports. Stresemann undeniably understood the details of the relationship at least as early as June 18, 1924, when he forwarded to General Seeckt a report from Brockdorff-Rantzau detailing some of the arrangements.33 He denied the existence of this relationship just six months later. On December 30, 1924, Stresemann told foreign journalists:
If there had really been any serious derelictions by Germany in the matter of disarmament, the leading French journals would long since have raised an outcry, and if, as is maintained, the German liaison officers had pursued a policy of deliberate obstruction, the German Government would long since have received a Note from the Allies . . . we possess no gas-masks, no aeroplanes, no artillery, and no tanks.34
Cooperation with the Soviets was intended to address precisely this deficiency. In the same address to reporters, Stresemann masterfully refuted Allied objections to the militarization of German police by invoking Stresemann’s own use of police to put down Hitler’s Munich Putsch in 1923. “What could I then have done if I had not had a couple of thousand police at my disposal, who could, in the event of danger, have protected the Wilhelmstrasse?”
There is no question that early in his tenure as foreign minister Stresemann knew about the Reichswehr’s cooperation with the Red Army. Brockdorff-Rantzau even informed him that the Reichswehr intended to cultivate the military relationship by funding factories inside Russia to produce tanks and poison gas. At the same time, he saw hints that the Soviets were just as anxious as the Germans to keep the matter under wraps. The Russian War Minister allegedly feared loose lips on the part of German generals.35 This and similar signals helped Stresemann to see that Soviet threats to expose their covert deals were probably mere bluffs. He could not be certain until matters reached a turning point.
Yet all the while that Stresemann followed, and indeed actively participated in, these covert military arrangements, he understood that Germany’s secret rearmament in Russia risked derailing the Western-oriented Locarno policy, on which he had staked his reputation and career.36 The aim of fulfillment was to reassure the West that Germany was committed to forging a cooperative peace. A pivotal part of that peace process required no provocative military measures by Germany. The Versailles Treaty stipulated that Germany could not possess an air force or a navy, and its army could not exceed 100,000 men. The covert rearmament, therefore, placed Stresemann’s very public policy in jeopardy.
From periodic embassy reports and through his own discussions with Soviet representatives, Stresemann could see that the Russians were clearly nervous too. Over the next two years, Stresemann would receive conflicting information. On the one hand, there were signs that the Soviets, just like the Germans, feared having their secret military connection exposed. On the other hand, the Soviets repeatedly threatened to expose that relationship themselves. Stresemann’s challenge was to determine what the key Soviet decision-makers actually desired most: military cooperation or the ability to extract concessions by threatening to disclose it. Was there a true signal amidst the noise, and, if so, how could he detect it?
Threats or Bluffs?
As Stresemann strove to stabilize relations with the West, the Soviets grew increasingly fearful of being isolated. If Germany drew too close to Britain and France, then Russia would be facing a hostile coalition of great powers across the continent. The Soviets’ fear of this scenario drove their behavior. If they could not prevent Germany from joining the League of Nations, it was essential that they gain at least some form of security agreement with Berlin. For the moment, they sought to disrupt Stresemann’s Western strategy by any means at their disposal. One tactic they employed was to threaten to expose their two countries’ covert military arrangements. In essence, they had the power to blackmail the Weimar regime.
Soviet pressure had been gradually increasing as German relations with the West improved. Moscow had no wish to see Germany join the League of Nations, which would tie Germany tighter to the West. To forestall German entry, the Soviets employed both carrots and sticks. American military intelligence had been following Russo–German relations and managed to penetrate the Serbian representative37 in Berlin, who in turn had close contact with Soviet Ambassador Krestinski. According to an unnamed source, sometime prior to July 15, 1925, Krestinski wielded the stick. He threatened to expose the secret clauses of the Soviet–German agreement, which provided for “a camouflaged development of German armament on Russian territory.” The best carrot he could muster, however, proved insufficiently enticing. If Germany remained apart from the League of Nations, the Ambassador promised Soviet assistance in undoing the Polish Corridor as well as Polish occupation of Danzig. The Americans subsequently learned that the Germans would continue their military cooperation with the Soviet Union.38 The report continued by detailing German naval and aircraft developments inside Russia, as well as their work on poison gas. Although American officials knew at least some details surrounding Russo–German military cooperation, Stresemann and the Reichswehr could not know exactly how much the Western powers knew, and they were not eager to have any aspect of the relationship publicly revealed.
In the lead up to Locarno, Soviet Foreign Minister Chicherin intensified his efforts to block Stresemann’s cooperation with the West. Just prior to Stresemann’s departure for Locarno in October 1925, Chicherin, along with Ambassador Krestinski, visited Stresemann in Berlin, seeking reassurances that Russo–German military cooperation would continue. Specifically, Chicherin wanted to know that Germany remained committed to dismantling the Polish borders created at Versailles. Implicit in both Chicherin’s comments and the timing of his visit was a not so subtle threat: the Soviets could expose their two countries’ collaboration at any time.
A Russian indiscretion would be more than just an awkward moment. Coming on the eve of Stresemann’s coveted summit with Britain and France, it could wreck his Western strategy. Though Stresemann was not willing to break
off talks with the Western powers, he tried to mollify Chicherin by assuring him that the secret military arrangements between their two countries would continue and that there would be no guarantees of Polish borders.39
The conversation was tense. The German Foreign Minister not only needed to keep quiet on the extent of German–Soviet military relations, but also had to combat Soviet-inspired efforts to spark communist activities inside Germany. Stresemann had not forgotten Moscow’s attempts to overthrow his government in 1923. He reminded Chicherin of Zinoviev’s duplicity during that affair and pointed out that Zinoviev continued to agitate for revolution in a recently published speech in Rote Fahne. Soviet meddling forced him to assume that the German labor unions were being infiltrated and dominated by communists. The unions, he complained, did not shy from expressing their intention to change the leadership of German parties. They boldly called for continuing the struggle for world revolution.40
Chicherin played the standard Soviet card. Zinoviev was merely the mayor of Leningrad, not a high-ranking member of the government. He could not be controlled. Stresemann retorted that he would object just as much if the mayor of London called for revolution inside Germany. How would you feel, Stresemann asked, if the mayor of Munich called for anti-revolution inside Russia?
As Stresemann and Chicherin battled back and forth, the meeting, which had begun at 11 in the evening, dragged on until 1:30. Ambassador Krestinski, exhausted by the discussions and the late hour, occasionally nodded off. Talk turned to Poland, and Stresemann refused to agree to any anti-Polish alliance. At mention of the League of Nations, Stresemann had to pacify Chicherin that Germany had no intention of forging a secret alliance with the West against Russia.41 Eventually, the meeting adjourned. The fear, threats, and innuendos that had charged the air had dissipated, but only slightly. The following day, as Stresemann prepared to leave for Locarno, Stresemann rejected Chicherin’s attempts to agree on a formal secret alliance.42
Stresemann did not succumb to Chicherin’s carrots, though he did take seriously the sticks. He pursued cooperation with the West, brought Germany into the League of Nations, and deflected Soviet threats by continuing talks on a separate Russo–German agreement. The historian Peter Krüger has argued that caution, above all else, characterized Stresemann’s foreign policy. While this may be true on the whole, with respect to the secret rearmament, Stresemann proved more risk-accepting than some of his colleagues.43 The Foreign Minister believed that he could extract more concessions from Britain and France by preserving the threat of closer cooperation with Russia. If this policy succeeded, it offered a means for restoring Germany’s place among the great powers. By dealing with both Russia and the West, Germany could revise both the military as well as the economic aspects of Versailles. Stresemann therefore had to continually balance relations precisely. He resisted Soviet pressure to keep Germany apart from the League, yet he maintained military collaboration for as long as he thought the West would permit it, even as his deputy, Karl Schubert, grew increasingly uneasy about the risks.
At this stage just prior to Locarno, it was useful to keep the extent of Russo–German cooperation ambiguous. Britain, France, and America all had intelligence reports on the nature of Germany’s covert rearmament, but they lacked a complete picture. As it turned out, those secret dealings with the Soviets did not greatly trouble any of those three Western powers. They were willing to ignore it in the hope that they could prevent future German aggression by binding it to the evolving security agreements such as Locarno and the League. What made the possible exposure of Russo–German rearmament matter, of course, is that Stresemann did not know for certain that the Western powers would look the other way. This was something he had to learn over time as he developed a sense of his Western counterparts.
What Stresemann understood was that the Soviets needed German assistance even more than Germany required Soviet ties. For Germany, the actual military advantages were small, though the relationship with the Red Army did help to placate the Reichswehr. Politically, however, threat of closer cooperation with Russia enhanced its leverage with the West. Stresemann perceived a second political benefit to the relationship. Maintaining ties, active communication, and some cooperation with the Soviet regime helped the Wilhelmstrasse to keep a more careful watch on Soviet efforts at domestic German agitation. Schubert stated this view frankly to the American Ambassador, Jacob Gould Schurman, on April 7, 1926. Germany, he explained to Schurman, had a far better chance of combating communism at home if it had good relations with Russia abroad.44
For Russia, in contrast, its collaboration with Germany provided two crucial advantages. First, the collaboration meant access to German technical know-how, which Stalin hoped would help to modernize Russia’s tank and tractor industry, as well as develop the Red Army.45 Second, cooperation with Germany staved off Russia’s political isolation.
More than this, Stresemann also recognized a crucial caveat in the Soviet Union’s dual policy of fostering traditional international relations on the one hand while exporting revolution on the other. He saw that the Soviet leaders’ commitment to revolutions was context dependent, not fundamental to their nature. It could change as circumstances necessitated. The Soviets were not to be trusted, but they could be allies of a kind. Unlike Winston Churchill, who railed against the Bolshevik disease and urged against British dealings with Moscow throughout the 1920s, Stresemann adopted a more flexible view. Each new interaction reinforced his sense that Soviet behavior was not consistently revolutionary. Toward the close of December 1925, Chicherin seemed changed. He visited Stresemann in Berlin for a two-hour conversation. Chicherin explained that when he arrived in Berlin, nearly 100 representatives of the Berlin labor councils were waiting to greet him. He gave a short speech because he knew he had to. Chicherin emphasized that he had not come to Berlin to meddle in German domestic affairs. He said not to place any significance on this event. He had not planned it and had made efforts to keep it out of the press. All of this gave Stresemann the impression that Chicherin was sincere. There was a relaxed feeling in their discussions, and Stresemann concluded that the Soviet representative might now be less fearful of German policy.46 That same month, Leon Trotsky was ousted from the Politburo. Perhaps a shift was underway, one that augured well for the coming year.
Throughout 1926, Stresemann was receiving signs that Kremlin leaders valued cooperation with the German government more than they wanted to overthrow it. Zinoviev was sacked as head of the Leningrad Soviet, and by July he too would be removed from the Politburo. In October, there was a new head of the Comintern.47 Again, Kremlinologists inside the Wilhelmstrasse could not be certain what these signs meant with respect to Russo–German relations, especially since they did not prevent Moscow from continuing to threaten exposing their two countries’ military dealings.
One irony of the covert cooperation was that by 1926 an arrangement was in place that strikingly resembled the plot of 1923. Arms were illicitly shipped from Russia to Germany and advisors were secretly being exchanged. This time, however, Russian arms were sent not to communist revolutionaries but to their nemesis—the very Reichswehr that had crushed the 1923 plot. The reversal from arming revolution to arming the Reichswehr represented a meaningful break in the pattern of Soviet behavior. Although the Comintern remained active, national interests were superseding ideology in Moscow’s relations with Berlin. Stresemann understood that this arrangement was not just mutually beneficial; it could also only be pursued and maintained by a Soviet government that was more concerned with its own survival than with the violent spread of its ideology. He further grasped that neither side in the arrangement desired that their dealings be fully exposed.
Stresemann’s deputy, Karl von Schubert, however, was growing increasingly anxious. During the Soviet-inspired uprisings of October 1923, a Russian general, Peter Skoblevsky, had been arrested and imprisoned. By May 1926, his trial had still not been held. Soviet officials offered to release mo
re than forty Germans currently in Russian jails in exchange for General Skoblevsky’s freedom. One of the German prisoners, an engineer for the Junker corporation, had been engaged in the illegal production of war materiel inside Russia. The Soviets used this to pressure Berlin into giving up Skoblevsky. If Berlin refused, the implicit threat meant that the German engineer’s trial would publicly reveal what the Junker Corporation was manufacturing. The threat caused consternation inside the Foreign Ministry. Brockdorff-Rantzau urged the release of Skoblevsky.48 Shubert was eager to keep the Russians from exposing the secret arrangements. He was beginning to doubt the value of continued military cooperation in light of the risks. The Foreign Ministry agreed to release Skoblevsky, but Stresemann was not ready to end the arrangements with Moscow. Having Skoblevsky tried was an issue of no consequence to the Wilhelmstrasse. His release cost the Ministry nothing. There would have been no point in calling the Soviets’ bluff over this one case. Yet Schubert’s fears steadily mounted.
On July 9, Schubert strongly advised against Reichswehr participation in Soviet military maneuvers inside Russia. Such actions, he believed, could only raise unwanted suspicions in the West.49 On July 23, Schubert’s fears reached a tremulous pitch. The situation was dire, he wrote. The Western powers suspected that Germany was involved in a secret military alliance with the Soviets. He denied any such allegations. But if the truth emerged, he pleaded, “our entire strenuously constructed policy could be ruined.”50
Although Schubert was correct that their business with Russia was getting riskier, Stresemann held firm. In full knowledge of the dangers, he allowed and facilitated the transfer of weapons from Russia into Germany, in flagrant violation of his own assurances to the West that Germany was disarmed. On August 11, he noted that Brockdorff-Rantzau had informed him that 400,000 Russian-produced grenades were stockpiled on the sparsely populated Bear Island (Bäreninsel), soon due to be moved. Brockdorff-Rantzau expressed concern that if this shipment of weapons became known, it could severely compromise German foreign policy. The Reichswehr assured him that the chartered ships would be so carefully selected that no one would suspect a thing.51 Nothing could possibly go wrong.