Throughout the fall and winter of 1933 complaints about unruly, brawling Storm Troopers continued to pour in from business leaders, local, state, and party officials, from the Foreign Office and Economics Ministry. Yet, despite widespread SA violence and political abuses by the local party leaders—the “little Führers” as they were derisively called—Hitler’s popularity not only remained strong but grew. After fourteen years of paralysis and ineffectuality, here at last, many Germans felt, was a man of action, a man who would get things done. Ruthless, to be sure, but he was exactly what the nation needed: a populist “people’s chancellor,” not from the traditional elites but an uncompromising nationalist leading the dispirited Volk out of its lethargy and hopelessness. This was the image that Goebbels worked tirelessly to promote, but Hitler’s popularity was not simply a product of propaganda and intimidation. The adoration seemed genuine.
Already by mid-1933 a Hitler cult was effectively woven into the political fabric of the Reich, and Führer worship was widespread and growing. Hitler’s birthday on April 20 turned into a semiofficial national holiday with an authentic outpouring of adulation; garlanded portraits and gold-framed Hitler photographs appeared in shop windows; parades and celebrations in his honor were held across the country. Reverential articles in the press, programs on the radio, and regular appearances in the newsreels offered quasi-religious paeans to Germany’s savior. Poems and songs were written about him, streets and squares, schools and other public buildings were named for him. A village in Thuringia changed its name to Hitler Heights (Hitlerhöhe) in honor of the Führer. Blending politics and commercial opportunity, one café owner unsuccessfully requested permission to lend his shop the patriotic appellation “Café Reich Chancellor Adolf Hitler.” Another entrepreneur, a gardener, asked obsequiously—and also unsuccessfully—if he might “allow myself to bestow on one of my best roses the name ‘Reich Chancellor Hitler’ as a gift and memento of the present great time and if I might be permitted to bring it, with the same name, onto the world market.” Party officials in Gau Düsseldorf-Ost fielded a request from a local man who wanted to name his newborn daughter “Hitlerine.” The request went all the way to the Interior Ministry, where it was denied; as a consolation officials there suggested the mellifluous “Adolfine” instead. Such requests became so numerous that in April Hitler requested his followers to refrain from naming streets and squares after him. To no avail. The trend continued on into the war.
There was, of course, an undercurrent of grumbling about various aspects of the dictatorship, especially as it revealed itself at the local level, but Hitler seemed unaffected by it. No matter what the outrage by the party or the SA, nothing seemed to stick to him. He was, in public perception, inspiring the people to shake off their pessimism and sense of inferiority and reclaim their faith and pride in Germany. His uncompromising idealism, rough as it might be, was reviving the nation, many thought, restoring its confidence, driving it forward once again. Initiatives in two areas proved extremely popular, one domestic, the other in foreign affairs. He had promised to put people back to work, and he had. Hitler inherited a fully funded work creation program from his predecessor Kurt von Schleicher, but the general had not had time to implement his public works agenda when he was sacked in January 1933. Hitler was the fortunate beneficiary. His creation of the Labor Front, which drafted the unemployed off the streets, coupled with a feverish burst of labor-intensive public works projects had reduced unemployment from six million to roughly four million in barely six months. The creation of a vast network of superhighways, the Autobahn, caught the public imagination, and Hitler was photographed shoveling not only the first spade of dirt but filling a whole wheelbarrow. The precipitous drop in unemployment during the first months of the regime could not be sustained, and by fall unemployment figures stabilized, but Hitler had acted decisively in what the Nazis referred to as “the Battle for Work,” and the public was impressed. No one, even his bitterest enemies, could doubt that he had brought a new excitement and enthusiasm to German public life, rallying the people to a common purpose as no one had done in the fourteen years of Germany’s tormented democracy. Within a few short months he had come to symbolize Germany’s rebirth.
Bolstering Hitler’s popularity at home was a dramatic display of defiance to the great powers in the autumn of 1933. A disarmament conference sponsored by the League of Nations had been convened in February 1932, and when Hitler assumed the chancellorship, his opening performance in world politics was to make a typically theatrical offer. He began, as he was to do in every international crisis over the next six years, by wrapping himself in pieties about Germany’s commitment to peace. “Our boundless love for and loyalty to our own national traditions makes us respect the national claims of others and makes us desire from the bottom of our hearts to live with them in peace and friendship.” But Germany alone had been forced to disarm at Versailles, rendering the country defenseless. “The Rhineland was demilitarized, the German fortresses were dismantled, our ships surrendered, our airplanes destroyed, our system of military service abandoned and the training of reserves thus prevented. Even the most indispensable weapons of defense were denied us.” It was time for the other nations of Europe to demonstrate their willingness to end this terrible injustice.
Germany would be willing at any time “to undertake further obligations in regard to international security, if all the other nations are ready on their side to do the same.” In particular, Germany was “perfectly ready to disband her entire military establishment and destroy the small amounts of arms remaining to her, if the neighboring countries will do the same thing with equal thoroughness.” Since Germany was restricted by the Versailles Treaty to a military of only 100,000 troops, had no heavy weapons, no air force, and no battle fleet, it was an easy—and disingenuous—offer to make. If the international community was unprepared for such a radical offer, Hitler suggested more specifically that France might reduce its military down to German levels or alternatively that Germany be allowed to increase its forces to match those of France. When, not surprisingly, France balked, Hitler insisted that all Germany was seeking was to be treated as an equal in matters of international security. Had not Germany, “in her state of defenselessness and disarmament, greater justification in demanding security than the over-armed states bound together in military alliances?” But that, he implied, was apparently not the intention of the French, who seemed determined to maintain their vast military superiority over Germany. In a statement to the public on October 14, Hitler explained that since the powers gathered in Geneva were intent on perpetuating “an unjust and degrading discrimination of the German people,” the Reich government could not “under these circumstances, feel itself able to participate any longer as a second-class nation without rights of its own in negotiations which can only result in further dictates. While professing its unshakable desire for peace, Germany must announce . . . that it is forced to leave the Disarmament Conference. Thus it will also announce its withdrawal from the League of Nations.” In doing so, Germany was declaring its “truly honest will for peace and its willingness to reach an understanding, while maintaining its honor.”
To those abroad—the French in particular—who accused him of harboring aggressive intentions and of attempting to sabotage the armaments restrictions of the Versailles treaty, Hitler replied piously that all he wanted was “to provide work and bread to the German Volk,” and this he could do only if “peace and quiet” prevailed. No one should assume that “I would be so mad as to want a war. . . . I do not know how many foreign statesmen actually took part in the War. I did. I know war. But among those who are agitating against Germany today and slandering the German Volk—this is one thing I do know—not a single one has ever heard the hiss of a traveling bullet.” This aggressive self-righteousness was an attitude he would routinely strike in the crises of coming years, framing acts of aggression in the most pacific language while invoking his experience in the last war an
d platitudes about his commitment to world peace.
Foreign statesmen were unimpressed, but his action played very well in Germany. Here at last was a German leader who would not be pushed around by the great powers. Not only was Hitler confronting Germany’s enemies at home, he was standing up for Germany’s rights on the international scene. Eager to display the public’s enthusiastic support for the Hitler government, the Nazis staged a plebiscite on November 12, summoning the nation to approve the regime’s actions since January 30. Goebbels was back in campaign form, saturating the country in the usual Nazi style. Watching the campaign unfold in Dresden, Viktor Klemperer confided to his diary: “On every commercial vehicle, post office van, mailman’s bicycle, on every house and show window, on broad banners, which are stretched across the street—quotations from Hitler are everywhere and always ‘Yes’ for peace! It is the most monstrous of hypocrisies. . . . Demonstrations and chanting into the night, loudspeakers on the streets, vehicles (with wireless apparatus playing music mounted on top), both cars and trams.” What kind of an election could it be, he asked himself, since “no one believes that the secrecy of the ballot will be protected, no one believes either in a fair counting of votes: so why be a martyr?” It came as no surprise that on November 12, 93 percent of the ballots cast were registered as “yes.” Remarkably, two million had voted “no,” and another 3.5 percent of the ballots were declared “invalid.” Despite the widespread foreign skepticism, even the Social Democratic underground came to the conclusion that, on the whole, the outcome of the election seemed an accurate measure of popular support for the regime. In a report smuggled out of Germany in December, the underground leftist group New Beginning conceded that there was simply no denying that the election had demonstrated just how “rapid and strong the process of Nazifying society was progressing.”
But despite Hitler’s undeniable popularity and the general excitement of the early months of the regime, by early 1934 signs were emerging of a creeping disenchantment with the realities of Nazi rule. The enthusiasm and hope that had swept the party through much of the previous year were melting away. In February the Social Democratic underground reported “a general increase of grumbling, of dissatisfaction in broad strata” of the population, from presumably already coordinated youth to “reactionary groups (monarchists),” and elements of the working class. In spite of the Nazis’ lofty promises, unemployment remained stubbornly high, business continued to stagnate, consumer goods remained scarce, and food expensive. The grumbling, however muffled, was widespread.
Aggravating the disappointment was the arrogant posturing of local Nazi bosses, preening, puffed-up “little Führers” out to exercise their new power and position. Looking daily at these men, with their swaggering, their arbitrariness, petty jealousies, turf battles, nepotism, and corruption, Germans were making the disconcerting discovery that the Nazis, rather than ideological idealists, were politicians of a familiar stripe after all. In Stettin SS men hit upon the idea of seizing prosperous individuals, throwing them into their own private concentration camp, extorting money from them, and then setting them free. This practice went on for months and came to a halt only when they overreached, arresting a leader of the local Conservative party with indirect ties to President Hindenburg. A nervous Göring rushed to Stettin, closed the camp, and sent the guilty parties before a special party tribunal. In Kiel two Nazi officials energetically collected for the Winter Relief charity but decided that charity should begin at home and kept the funds for themselves. Both were arrested, stripped of their party posts, and sent to prison. In Flensburg locals watched as the city’s Nazi treasurer was arrested for embezzlement, only to see his successor follow in his footsteps. Such cases were far from rare. Remarkably, no blame was directed at Hitler. By 1934, the phrase “if the Führer only knew what was going on down here” had become a common refrain in local political discourse.
Most disturbing to the public was the SA and its unruly Storm Troopers, who continued to roam the streets, drinking, brawling, and harassing ordinary citizens. SA commanders also continued to call for a second revolution, though what exactly they had in mind was never really clear. At the close of March, with the pressure to act building, Hitler addressed Röhm and an assembly of SA leaders in Berlin. “I will energetically oppose a second revolutionary wave,” he told them bluntly, “since it would unavoidably produce chaos. Anyone who rises up against the authority of the state will be severely punished, no matter what position he holds.” Hardly chastened by Hitler’s words, Röhm responded by once again invoking the SA’s revolutionary role. “Our revolution is no national revolution; it is a National Socialist revolution,” he wrote to SA commanders. “Our SA battalions represent the only safeguard against the Reaction, for they are the absolute embodiment of the revolutionary idea. . . . From day one, the brown-shirted fighter committed himself to the revolutionary path, and he won’t be diverted away from it until our final goal is reached.”
Matters soon came to a head. Despite Hitler’s orders, Röhm continued his campaign to institutionalize the SA as an essential pillar of the Reich—there was even talk of creating an SA state—and saw himself as something akin to a minister of defense. Initially the army had viewed the SA as a sort of military auxiliary, not unlike the Free Corps of the immediate postwar years. But with the Nazis in power and the SA growing in strength, friction between the SA and the army intensified. Röhm’s ambitions mounted, and he was not bashful about expressing them. He was giving voice to views that he and other SA leaders had held from the earliest days of the NSDAP, only now more openly, more stridently. The SA would not be integrated into the army, he not so discreetly hinted; the army would be absorbed by the SA in a people’s militia. In an effort to appease Röhm, Hitler in December 1933 appointed him minister without portfolio in the Reich cabinet and showered him with warm personal praise as a trusted old comrade, but Röhm was not to be placated.
By 1934 the hostility between the SA and the army reached such an alarming state that in late February Hitler summoned Röhm and General Blomberg, the minister of war, to a meeting at the Reich Chancellery. At that meeting, Hitler emphatically reiterated to Röhm that the army was to be the only military force within the country. The SA would patrol the borders and provide pre-military training, but he repeated his long-held position that the mission of the SA was political, not military. Hitler had made his choice. The SA had played a crucial role in the party’s rise to power and in creating the Nazi dictatorship, but in order to fulfill his expansionist foreign policy objectives, Hitler needed a powerful, well-trained, and well-equipped professional army. It was a refrain Röhm had heard many times before and understood was not a matter for negotiation. At the conclusion of the meeting, Hitler coaxed the two men to sign an agreement in his presence to end the backbiting.
Röhm dutifully signed the document, but he was furious. In a perfunctory show of goodwill, he invited Hitler and the military party to a reception just after the meeting. Hitler did not attend, but Blomberg and other high-ranking officers put in an appearance. It was an awkward occasion, the atmosphere frosty. When finally the generals departed, Röhm could contain his ire no longer. “What that ridiculous corporal says means nothing to me,” he told his followers. “I have not the slightest intention of keeping this agreement. Hitler is a traitor and at the very least must go on leave. . . . If we can’t get there with him, we’ll get there without him.” Never one for caution, he later added: “Adolf is rotten. He’s betraying all of us. He only goes around with reactionaries. His old comrades aren’t good enough for him. So he brings in these East Prussian generals. They’re the ones he pals around with now. . . . Adolf knows perfectly well what I want. . . . Are we a revolution or aren’t we? . . . Something new has to be brought in. . . . A new discipline. A new principle of organization. The generals are old fogeys. They’ll never have a new idea.”
These comments and others like them inevitably made their way back to Hitler and to Blomberg
. Throughout the spring of 1934 tensions mounted as Röhm continued his agitation for a leading military role for the SA, and the reckless talk of a second revolution showed few signs of abating. For months Hitler had been reluctant to discipline Röhm, his old comrade in arms and the leader of the party’s largest and most militant organization. After all, the Storm Troopers were fanatically devoted to Röhm, and a challenge to his leadership carried enormous political risks. But the SA had outlived its usefulness. Secretly he gave orders to Himmler and Göring, both of whom loathed Röhm and hoped to undermine him, to begin an investigation into SA activities. In an effort to reduce Röhm’s power in Prussia, Göring in April agreed to hand over control of the Prussian Gestapo to Himmler and Heydrich, who proceeded to initiate their own secret investigation of Röhm and the SA. Himmler was intent on liberating the SS from the much larger SA, to which it was still technically subordinate, and with control of the Prussian Gestapo, the SS now possessed a nationwide police and surveillance network. The army, too, had been creating its own file on the SA and scrupulously reporting its findings directly to Hitler. Over the years Röhm had managed to make a host of very powerful enemies, and by 1934, those enemies were mobilized and ready to act.
Exacerbating the tension was the fact that for some time Hindenburg’s health had been in steep decline. In April the eighty-seven-year-old Reich President began withdrawing from active participation in government affairs, and in early June he retreated to his Neudeck estate in East Prussia. From there a steady stream of reports of his deteriorating health poured forth, provoking anxiety across the political scene. It was obvious that Hindenburg did not have long to live. Hitler was eager to have the old field marshal out of the way, but was nervous about the attitude of the army once Hindenburg, its supreme commander, was gone. Who would succeed him as Reich President and commander-in-chief, and how? On this, Franz von Papen, virtually forgotten since the previous spring, had ideas of his own.
The Third Reich Page 35