tbf you can make it so that Pakistani and Malaysian politics just don't affect Indonesian politics, with how Malaysia probably would be very muslim-oriented would probably make Indonesia a lot less pro-muslim policy in response.
8mm to the Left: If Hitler Died in 1923
- Thread starter KaiserKatze
- Start date
Unfortunately while i can discout Pakistani influence for Southeast Asia, Malay influence is too big to ignore considering their cultural affinity with the Indonesians. But then again, it really depends on the Japanese performance in the future, whether it managed to upset the existing order too much or not.
Nominal autonomy for the Indies sultanates like the Unfederated Malay States has would certainly subdue the sentiments for the time being.
Assuming that Japan doesn't fight the Pacific war and goes for the USSR instead (probably when the USSR is collapsing) I could see things going differently.
Tbf I could see Malaya influence being lowered if they keep themselves shut out from the rest of the world or something akin to that.
Welcome! I was in Straßburg/Strasbourg a few weeks ago and wrote this chapter shortly after. Based on stuff I've read from various sources, 1930's Alsace seemed to be a region comfortably integrate into France, but also desiring more than it had been given. The older Alsatians, as you pointed out, having a more staunchly anti-German mindset based on the injustices faced in the early 1900's and during the war, but simultaneously a small but not-insignificant movement led by students and certain intellectuals which orients more towards a more Conservative regime like in Germany, especially if they become tempted by the current regime's conciliatory style.
Of course, even with such groups, pro-German sentiment in Alsace is the lowest out of any group of ethnic Germans abroad, hence why Göring hasn't been able to make any true inroads there.
Göring has already established a presence, albeit small, in Riga. The Baltic Germans are generally EXTREMELY pro-Lettow-Vorbeck, as he represents the sort of Conservatism which they miss from.the Russian Empire. However, they are very integrated into Baltic culture so there is no chance of amplifying secessionary movements, so right now they are just serving as an eye into the region
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One also needs to bear in mind that the time of minority-rule in Europe is over for the most part, so the Baltic Germans will, unless L-V goes full authoritarian, never rule the Baltic countries by themselves. However, as long as they are insured to be in a position of privilege I do not think that is even necessary, as that way Germany will continue to have deep ties-ins with the culture and economy of these countries by means of using the local Baltic German minority which as you say is very integrated already. Though, this does not mean that the local Balts were not to some degree resentful of the German wealth and influence.
There are definitely some who envision a German Baltic Duchy akin to what was desired during WW1, but frankly such a thing is impossible to achieve without going super authoritarian, which in turn would probably see them at war with everyone.
The best Germany could hope for is "convincing" the Baltics to give their German minorities special rights and powers disproportionate to their percentage. If Berlin could successfully influence it in the event of war, they could try and convince the 3 to unify to create a stronger anti-Russian buffer which would give the Germans a larger flat number opposite the various Baltics and potentially even a fourth column opposite the other 3 major ethnicities
Just realized this, but what would this TL’s attitude be to people who were born after the POD? Kohl was born in 1930, after the PDO but before things really change ITTL, but still, might as well ask especially with figures born after 1933 and all that.
As it stands, the story won't go farther than the 1950's, when the characters born after the POD would still.be young adults.
My personal policy is that while, yes, it is more realistic for people to have wholly different fates and fir new people to take their place, I also find that horrendously dull to read because there is no feeling of attachment like you can get when you see a known name. So, while post-POD characters may have different experiences or perspectives, I generally endeavour to still keep them as the sort of people that we are aware of
Well, for me, i can see that a certain bank clerk assistant in Central Java would remained so, with not having his surjan ripped up in 1938 and making him jobless and instead tried his luck volunteering in the KNIL. Thus, a bank clerk at Wurjantoro named Soeharto would lead an ordinary life.
And the lack of the Fall of the Netherlands would mean that, if a certain Abdul Haris Nasution does enter politics, he would most likely do so as an intellectual and not a military leader, on that note.
Especially as, for all we know, India's road to freedom is brought about as a single unified India, not a partition between India and the two disjointed pieces of Pakistan.
Does anyone know what precisely caused the split between the Orléanist claimant and the Action Francaise in 1937? I only find teference to it in the English wiki, not French, and my French isn't good enough for more detailed research into the topic, just basic skimming. All the English one mentions is them diverging and Jean III losing the support of Maurras but not why
Pope Pius XI broke the two up in 1926. He, and the Church in general, considered the Action Francaise irreligious and generally too radical (as in, too willing to break with tradition) - the Pope basically condemned them in a speech and subsequently any Catholic participation or the reading of their publications in general (and of Maurras himself in particular) was banned. While plenty of people ignored that particular prohibition, Jean didn't and ultimately broke away from Maurras.
Or that's what I found trawling through the French bits of the internet. French internal political developments aren't exactly my strong point.
This is true, but I also saw this on Wikipedia (which of course isn't always true, but still)
"By 1934, the Action was still a considerable force, with over 60,000 members across France.[41] In that year, they joined other far-right leagues on 6 February demonstrations against political corruption and the Parliament, causing the resignation of Prime Minister Édouard Daladier the day after and provoking fear of a nationalist coup d'état.[42] The papal condemnation, the aggressive tactics, and Maurras's disrespectful attitude toward constitutional monarchists finally ended the organization as a major power. The Orléanist pretender Jean, Duke of Guise, who in 1937 broken ties with the Action."
Orléanist - Wikipedia
Just so everyone knows, I made a mistake at some point in my story planning and swapped the names of Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck's wife, Martha, with his mother, Maria, which I only now saw. I've gone back and fixed all instances of this, but please let me know if you spot any that I might have missed.
15 - Mirror, Mirror
8mm to the Left: A World Without Hitler
"The grand ballet of death which drew to a close the era of peace was not an inevitability, and indeed, when looking at the mirror of public opinion, had little reflection of the happy souls whose lives would be snuffed out in its dance. No, it was not the people for whom the guns of war would blaze; it was for the angry little men in their ivory towers, dreaming their fairytale dreams.” - Excerpt from Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Daisy in Winter’, the story of a French woman from Nice whose love for a fascist Italian artist would expose her to the greatest peaks and darkest excesses of the human soul.
Mirror, Mirror
From the windows of the zeppelin, Engelbert Dollfuß watched the snowy peaks of the Alps pass by beneath him, eyes catching on little towns and sweeping mountains and mentally ticking off their names as he went. Zell am See with its lake, the Großglockner mountain towering high above everything else, the tiny town of Uttendorf which his family had visited one beautiful Summer in his youth… the sight brought him comfort, and upon reaching the line of mountains which marked the southern half of the Tyrol, now under Italian rule, he had to look away, unable to bear the sight.
“It is a beautiful country,” his companion, Miklos Horthy, regent of the Kingdom of Hungary, commented in German. His German held a flawless Austrian accent, and, in a stroke of irony, it was his Hungarian which now held the accent as well.
Miklos Horthy, Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miklós_Horthy#/media/File:Vitéz_nagybányai_Horthy_Miklós_kormányzó.jpg)
“It is, even now,” Dollfuß agreed. “The beauty in Austria-Hungary was always her people, though, and it remains that way today, even with much of her land under foreign rule.”
The Hungarians knew this better than most, with 72% of their country and 64% of their population now displaced and controlled by their neighbours. Even Austria had gained a slice, the German-populated Burgenland along their shared border. The division of the lands of the Crown of St. Stephen was a travesty against European history itself, one which, Dollfuß hoped, the Entente would be made to pay for one day. “I can only hope that the day will come where Hungary will be restored to her place,” Horthy declared, turning and looking out the window. “If the Italians can aid in that, then perhaps this will all have been worth it.”
“Stimmt,” the Austrian Chancellor agreed. Neither of the duo were particularly thrilled with being summoned—for the word “invited” implied a level of choice which was not present—to meet with Benito Mussolini in Venice to discuss their shared plans for Europe. While it was true that they were sovereign nations unbeholden to Italian whims, it was also true that Italian financial backing played a critical role in both economies and that, if either of them sought to take on their enemies in the Balkans, they would need the support of a sympathetic Great Power, of which only Italy fit the bill. With Italian control of Istria and designs on Dalmatia, it was very unlikely that Horthy would ever again have a navy like the Austro-Hungarian one.
Soon the duo diverged from the matter at hand and moved on to other topics, including the recent German rearmament, the Czech’s plans for fortifications along the German and Austrian border modelled on the French’s own defences, and even Hungary’s own petitions to the League of Nations that their rearmament be reexamined much as Germany’s had been, to no avail. It seemed that equality of arms was to be a luxury extended only to the Germans, at least for now.
“The Germans are helping the Bulgarians in secret, though,” Horthy was quick to inform Dollfuß. “Perhaps not men, but guns and tactics. Where is our dear friend Italy, though? Is this how Mussolini treats his allies?”
Dollfuß’s mouth twisted and he could not hold back a scowl. The insult which was reliance on Italy never failed to chafe. He already had a decent idea of what would be demanded from Vienna in their upcoming meeting when discussing claims, and it was very likely that Austrian humiliation would come hand-in-hand with whatever pitiful gains Mussolini would grace them with. Humiliation, though, was preferable to the alternative. “I wish that there was another way.”
Silence descended upon them for several minutes, Horthy peering off into the distance and rubbing his chin contemplatively. “Have you spoken with Otto von Habsburg recently?”
“Only in passing. He and his family have been assigned permanent guards for their own protection, not that they need it. The people love them still. He was present at a ceremony in Graz a few months ago, and we had the chance to speak briefly. He is a brilliant man, cultured and raised to rule.” Dollfuß raised an eyebrow, communicating his curiosity at the direction the conversation had taken.
“Hungary is little different,” Horthy replied. “The Crown of Saint Stephen is theirs by blood. The revocation of their rights in 1921 is seen by most as illegitimate; the people long for the heights of the kaiserlich und königlich regime.”(1)
“Were the choice to be given to me freely, I would see the Kaisertum restored in an instant, but it is simply not to be lest we lose what little we still have to the forces of our own perfidious subjects.”
“Perhaps,” Horthy acknowledged. “Perhaps.” He turned and looked out the window, seemingly contemplating the Adriatic visible on the horizon.
The duo withdrew into silence once more, and this time it lingered, Dollfuß directing his focus to the novel he’d brought with and Horthy watching the scenery pass by, still lost in thought. It was roughly an hour later when a staff member arrived to inform them that they would soon be landing in Venice and requesting that they please remain seated for the descent.
As the dirigible descended, Dollfuß took note of the crowd surrounding the landing pad. Upon closer inspection, he realised that it was not a crowd of onlookers, but instead Mussolini’s famous Blackshirts; thousands of men, most of them younger than thirty if he had to guess, waving Italian flags and cheering. The thick, insulated windows of the zeppelin prevented the sound from coming through but, if he were to guess, the Austrian Chancellor imagined that it would be another one of Mussolini’s blusterous pursuits of prestige and grandeur.
He was proven correct when, upon descending from the flying machine, he was greeting to loud cheers of “Benvenuti piccoli amici di roma! Benvenuti piccoli amici di Mussolini!” (Welcome little friends of Rome! Welcome little friends of Mussolini!) The word choice and its reduction of Austria and Hungary was the farthest thing from subtle, and both of them were fluent in Italian and therefore not blind to it, but what could they really do? Being friendless was as good as death in the modern world, for Austria even more so than for Hungary, so there was nothing to do but smile politely and hold one’s tongue.
Turn the other cheek, like Jesus would do, Dollfuß said to himself.
“My friends.” Mussolini strode forward from the crowd, broad chest glittering from the medals pinned to his uniform, fez perched jauntily atop his head, and a broad smile splitting his face. “Welcome to Venezia!” He clasped Horthy on both biceps and kissed him on each cheek before turning to Dollfußs and doing the same. Neither Dollfuß nor Horthy were keen on the practice but no comment was made beyond polite greetings and thanks. Despite all three speaking German and French, Italian was the language of communication at Mussolini’s insistence—another little boost to his ego and another little humiliation for Rome’s old enemies from Vienna and Budapest.
Benito Mussolini, Prime Minister and Self-Proclaimed “Duce” (Leader) of Italy, 1930
(https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benito_Mussolini#/media/Datei:Duce_Benito_Mussolini.jpg)
The trio passed between the lines of cheering Blackshirts and to a sleek black automobile parked at the edge of the tarmac. The driver, a thin elderly man in a suit, opened their doors for them and, as soon as they were seated, drove them away from the parked dirigible and towards the city itself. The drive was short but felt longer for its tenseness, Mussolini filling the time with jokes and personal anecdotes into which he tried to draw the other two. Dollfuß was reasonably skilled at this sort of game and continuously steered the man into longer stories, thereby preventing them from having to respond. Horthy, however, remained seemingly withdrawn from it all, providing only brief commentary or nods when addressed.
Mussolini brought them to a large palace on the outskirts of the city where they were provided with rooms and a staff to care for them for the duration of their three-day stay. It was a grand gesture, admittedly, and served its purpose of displaying the wealth and power which would come through increased ties with Italy, but Dollfuß, at least, could not find himself feeling wholly comfortable while staying there. “The walls have ears,” the British saying went, and it could not have felt more real here, especially upon his discovery that all of his staff members were fluent in German, meaning that they would understand and be capable of relaying anything suspicious which they heard or read. The maid designated for cleaning his room was a native to South Tyrol, and he would have questioned how she could bear to work for the nation holding her homeland hostage if he had not known that it was assuredly not done under her own free will.
The time allotted for bathing and settling down was brief, for only an hour later they were summoned to meet with Il Duce on the terrace to partake in supper and discuss the futures of their respective nations. It was a beautiful location, one could not deny it; the Adriatic coast glittered in the sunset and the island of Venice proper could be seen in the distance, even from here one of the most beautiful cities in all of Europe. It was not hard to imagine this place as the heart of a sprawling merchant republic feared and respected from Barcelona to Constantinople, and Dollfuß was briefly reminded of Venice’s historic desire to remain independent from all, even Italy herself. Not that he would have dared to voice such a reminder.
Despite every stroke so far happening as the Austrian Chancellor expected, he experienced a jolt of surprise when it was not only Miklos Horthy and Mussolini to join him, but the Tsar of Bulgaria, Boris III, as well. A smug little smile was the response to the querying look he gave Mussolini, and the Tsar deposited himself to the left of Dollfuß (who now sat between Horthy and the Tsar) and wasted no time in ordering a vodka. It would not take long for Dollfuß to wish that he’d had the foresight to do the same.
Like in the car ride, Mussolini began by regaling them with tales of grandeur, though there was a small grace in them now being focused on Italian greatness rather than his own personal diatribes. Nevertheless, Dollfuß did not enjoy them, emphasising as they did Italy’s innate greatness and natural domination of its neighbours in the Balkans, irregardless of the broken, irrelevant peninsula which had been in its place for the last few centuries. Horthy retained his innate skill at cool detachment, not saying a word as Mussolini carelessly insulted centuries of Austrian and Hungarian, playing up Italy’s role in great wars against the Ottomans and diminishing the order and civility which Habsburg rule had brought to what was now Yugoslavia. The Bulgarians were the only ones spared, and it did not seem to be for lack of trying, with the best Mussolini could do being a few passing comments on Rome’s ancestral influence on the region and the Christianising effect of its rule. Dollfuß was not sure if Tsar Boris avoided confrontation through Horthy’s brand of detachment or if he was simply too intoxicated—for he did consume a frankly alarming amount of alcohol—to take notice of it.
“And now look at the tragedy which has been brought down upon our great peoples,” Il Duce concluded, gesturing to the trio as though he had not spent the past hour detailing supposed failings of those same peoples. “Your ancestral lands given to the stitched-together corpse which calls itself Yugoslavia. Does it not inspire anger? Do not your souls burn for revenge? I, alone, can give it to you. Imagine it—a new Roman Alliance, banded together to restore order and at last quench the Balkan flame of instability.”
With you, of course, grabbing the largest piece, Dollfuß thought to himself. Granted, Austria’s enforceable claims on the region were small, confined mainly to Carniola and the regions of Styria lost in the Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, known now as Slovenia. Despite this, he was under no illusions as to Vienna regaining these regions even if Mussolini’s wild plans bore fruit, as Italy’s own interest in the Slovenian Littoral was known. At best, Austria would gain Maribor and a small push Southward, and even that seemed optimistic. Of course, that was better than nothing, which would be what they’d regain if they sat aside and let history pass them by.
“And what of conflicting claims?” Horthy broached, his first time speaking since the car. He, it seemed, was able to read between the lines much like Dollfuß himself, no doubt thinking of Hungarian claims on Croatia which clashed with Italy’s own designs on the coastland. It was no secret that the old Admiral dreamed of the chance to rebuild the mighty navy which he once headed.
Hungarian Claims, 1935
(https://www.reddit.com/media?url=https://i.redd.it/l2g97cqp6v251.jpg)
Mussolini was egotistical, narcissistic, and far too ambitious for his own good, but he was not a fool, much as Dollfuß would like to think otherwise. He had not risen to such a prominent position for no reason, and his smile got a bit sharper when the question was asked. “I believe in creating a new world order, not simply digging up one long-dead,” he said. “Those who support me will be rewarded; those who oppose Italy will be overrun, trampled, and forgotten.”
“We will need guarantees,” Boris spoke up, the first time he’d contributed thus far. “Bulgaria has been scorned and betrayed by promises made in peacetime. I will not throw my lot in without true assurances.”
Mussolini placed a hand over his heart. “I empathise. Italy, too, has been betrayed by would-be allies. But she is neither Britain nor France, greedy and selfish powers consumed with their own gains. I swear it on the honour of my great nation.”
If Boris’s expression was anything to go by, this was not the kind of guarantee which he had imagined. No doubt the actual plans drawn up tomorrow would come with a more concrete offer, tied of course to promises of gains in Macedonia and Thrace, but it was not a terribly promising start, and not for the first time, Dollfuß wondered just what cards Mussolini would be able and willing to play moving forward. The stage was shifting, with German power ascending and French in decline, and Italy had not yet decided where to place its weight. If played right, Dollfuß knew, Italy had the power to tip the scales and gain everything that they had always dreamed of.
Alas, in such a game, Austria was a mere pawn. Glancing over at Horthy, he almost missed the look of unveiled disgust which became visible while Mussolini looked away. The duo’s eyes met, and the Regent of Hungary soon turned aside. This whole process disgusted him, Dollfuß could tell. To be reduced to such begging. Oh, if the great Habsburg kings and emperors could see them now…
The city of Frankfurt had always been a hotbed for liberal thought in Germany, even all the way back before Germany had even existed as a unified nation. After all, it had been here, at the peak of the 1848 Springtime of Nations revolutions sweeping Europe, that the Frankfurt Parliament had proclaimed the Schwarz-Rot-Gold (Black-Red-Gold) as the national flag of Germany and pledged towards the unification of all German-speaking peoples under that same banner. Resistance from the various German monarchs had stopped the formation of a unified Greater Germany then, but there remained hope that such a goal could be achieved now, under the German Republic.
That is what Heinrich Adler would have said had the question been posed to him five or six years ago, when all trends seemed to point towards the SPD and their democratic brethren cementing their hold over the Reich and achieving what not even the King of Prussia had been able to do. Now, though? Sitting here, listening to the leaders of his preferred political party argue, he was not so sure.
“Who’s that man?” asked his neighbour, a young man named Ernst who lived a few doors down from the Adlers. It was his first time coming to one of these political rallies and he was clearly a touch out of his depth, though Heinrich could forgive it given his youth.
“That’s Fritz Selbmann,” Heinrich explained. “He’s one of the ex-Communists who joined the merger.”
“Wow!” Ernst breathed, visibly impressed. Heinrich wouldn’t have tagged him for a Communist sympathiser, and while his own views were nowhere near that extreme, he chose not to mention it.
On-stage, Selbmann continued to loudly deride party leaders Otto Wels and Hans Vogel. “You sit by impotently while the window of possibility to stop Germany’s slide back into the Dark Ages continues!” the man was shouting, gesturing violently with both hands.
“We are not revolutionaries, we are republicans,” Vogel started, before Selbmann cut him off.
“Right now you are neither! Here, in this city, your true republican forefathers fought and died to create a German Republic, and now you turn aside while it lies on its deathbed! Only a fool would stay so willfully blind to what is coming!” He had a fiery, preacher-esque element to his public speaking that neither of the other two could match, and from a glance at his neighbour and many others around him, Heinrich could see many nodding along.
Seeming to sense that victory in this debate would come from the support of the average SPD voters rather than the leadership, Selbmann pivoted to the crowd filling the chamber. “We cannot fight tyranny with just our vote when it is clear that our vote no longer matters! The Conservative puppet masters have already conspired to place themselves in positions of power; how long do you really believe it will be, before they strip us of what little freedoms we still possess? How many of our number have been forced to flee from the Fatherland solely for what they believe? And mark my words, it will not end there.” His gaze circled the crowd. “They won’t stop at the Communists. They will come for the Liberals, next. Then the Moderates. Then finally the Jews and anyone else who does not conform to their Reactionary views. We saw it in Russia; we will see it again, here, if we do not follow Lenin’s example and rise up against it!”
Someone in the front cheered, and others quickly took it up, rising to their feet in a wave of clapping and whooping. Not all followed—Heinrich Adler, for one, remained in his seat, scarcely believing what he was witnessing—but they appeared fewer for the intensity of the participants. He looked over at his neighbour, a boy not that much older than his daughter Edith, and wondered how he could call for something so extreme.
“Has not Germany seen enough of pointless conflict and death?” Party leader Wels demanded, stealing back the limelight. “We have all lost family in the Great War; fathers, sons, and brothers killed for the whims of an indifferent Kaiser. Revolution is not the answer! It will only further destroy what we have built!”
“It will be our salvation!” Selbmann countered loudly. “You have been drawn in by the lies and the oppression! Do not forget how many we were in 1932, and how many we still are! In hiding, perhaps, but if we stand as one, there is nothing which we cannot do!”
“If we had stood as one a decade ago, it would never have come this far to begin with,” Wels countered. “Thälmann called us ‘Social Fascists’ and sat aside while the Conservatives and Reactionaries grew stronger.”
“And you sat aside while our president—” His face took the expression of having bitten into something sour when saying the word. “—stole money from the people to fuel another despotic monarchy and extend his claws into the Rhineland!”
Ah, yes, there it was. The Rhineland Question, the original point of this meeting, to which they continuously circled back before diverging into another shouting match. The more extreme party members, including Selbmann and the ex-Communists, considered von Lettow-Vorbeck’s creation of a new Rhenish State (in direct defiance of Prussian control of the Rhineland) to be little more than a declaration of war against the SPD-dominated Prussia, and called for strikes, protests, and walkouts to force him to undo this. Prussia, they pointed out, was the core of Germany, and even a few days of such extreme measures would cause the central government to buckle and cave to their demands. Party leaders Wels and Vogel, while angry at von Lettow-Vorbeck and Adenauer, had settled on a formal protest submitted to the Reichstag, demanding that the land be restored to its rightful pre-1920 ownership. This had come to nothing, of course; even if they had achieved a clear majority within the Reichstag, something which all knew as impossible on a matter this contentious (with even many SPD members from the Rhineland supporting the action), it would be quickly and mercilessly shot down by the executive branch.
Heinrich had no great investment in the reformation of federal borders or the pissing match (for there was no better name for it) between Braun in Prussia and von Lettow-Vorbeck in Berlin. The economy was in an upturn, he had been able to get a job and provide for his family, and there had even been talk with members of his family about getting his father’s bank up and running once more after bankruptcy had seen it collapse. He had no interest in stirring up conflict, not when life was going so well, and conflict seemed to be the only thing that the SPD—be it the Left- or Right-Wings of it—seemed keen on. In truth, he had begun to wonder if it was not time to make an end of his participation in such politics at all, and instead focus on his family and business.
The meeting went on for another hour, continuing in its circle of argument and counter-argument, before the lateness of the hour forced them to call a truce and bring it to an end, though it was clear that no solution would be reached any time soon, if ever. Selbmann was making waves which Wels did not support, but simultaneously could not outright expel without losing the Communist exiles and their dominance in the Reichstag. Clearly, something would need to change.
“He is incredible,” Ernst declared as they walked towards the Judenstraße, hands in his pockets and face stricken with wonderment. “He’s a visionary.”
“He’s a lunatic,” Heinrich countered, knowing to whom Ernst was referring. “You are too young to remember the Great War, but I promise you that war is not the grand adventure about which young boys are told.”
“Revolution is not war.” Ernst set his jaw stubbornly. “It is liberation.”
“The high ideals of war may sound grand in history books and peace treaties, but in reality they sound like bullets and the screams of your friends as they die pointlessly. I saw what war did to France; I will not bring that hell to our streets and homes.”
“We are Jews! We know what the Reactionaries will bring if we let them stay in power!”
“What Reactionaries?” Heinrich gestured around with one arm to the lit cobblestone street on which they walked, dozens of other people passing by in either direction and completely ignoring the duo. “As you say, we are Jews, yet we walk home unmolested and without fear. We are not being hunted or expelled, and our community here in Frankfurt is one of the largest in Europe. Where is this tyrannical regime we are to fear?”
“It is coming!”
“Based on what evidence? I do not deny that our government has taken a turn for the Conservative, more so than I would like, but it remains leagues beyond what we ever could have expected. My daughters can grow up and go to university, can work, can even vote! If Germany was truly to take the turn Selbmann predicts, would those chances have not been the first to go? No,” he cut Ernst off when the boy made a move to speak, “I do not want to discuss this further. I wash my hands of this nonsense. If Selbmann wishes to lead the SPD down such a path, it is one I will not follow. I have my daughters and wife to care for and I cannot risk throwing my life away.” Having said his piece, he continued down the street, Ernst not following.
“You will regret it!” Heinrich heard the other yell out after him. “When the revolution comes, you will see!”
The older man just shook his head. I dread to imagine it, he thought to himself.
(1) Kaiserlich und königlich, “Imperial and Royal”, a reference to the union between the “imperial” Austrian Empire and the “royal” Kingdom of Hungary
Well, this makes me excited to see what ATL cultural works would be there, especially with how this chapter opens with an excerpt from a novel ITTL.
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Someone is a little bit paranoid. Although given an OTL notorious Nazi is head of the police (even if Goering's a follower of whoever brings him power and not terribly antisemitic at all) one can understand being cautious. Thing is Nazism is a southern ideology by way of the rabble-rousers of turn of the century Vienna and the fears of a minority leadership in a failing multiethnic empire. A conservative government by Prussian elites may not like Jews but will tolerate them (especially assimilated ones whose only real difference from other Germans is going to temple of a Saturday instead of church on Sunday). If they're Othering people it will either be the communist's (who are an easy target) or Poles over the corridor question.
Yep, looks like the SPD is taking the bait. As they lurch further to the far left, how long is it until our favorite safari enthusiast bans them outright?