The Second Revolution: The Council Movement in Berlin 1919-20 9004337083, 9789004337084

Table of contents :
‎Contents
‎Foreword to the English Edition
‎About the Author
‎Abbreviations
‎Introduction
‎The Subject, Its Historical Context and Its Significance
‎The Present State of Research
‎Methodology and Sources
‎Chapter 1. The March 1919 General Strike in Berlin
‎The Course of Events – a Brief Outline
‎Strikes in the Other Regions
‎Objectives of the Leadership and Measures Taken
‎Cross-Regional Coordination
‎Pressure from below: The Rank and File of the Movement
‎Official Strike Demands
‎Scope and Capacity for Mobilisation
‎Organisation of the Strike Movement
‎Citizens’ Council and General Strike
‎The Role of the Media
‎Street Fighting during the Strike
‎The Response of the Governments
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 2. The Demonstration outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920
‎The Opposition Is Forming
‎The Course of Events at the Demonstration
‎Consequences
‎Contradictory Interpretations
‎The Role of the Security Police and Military
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 3. The Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch and the Council Movement
‎Starting Shot from the Right: The Putsch
‎Backlash from the Left: the General Strike in Germany and Berlin
‎Workers’ Organisations: For and against the Councils
‎A Second Spring for the Councils? Reconstruction and Activities
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 4. The Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils
‎Foundation and Organisational Structure
‎Programme
‎Rivalry with the Trade Unions
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 5. Pupil Councils
‎A Special Case: Gustav Wyneken’s Attempt at Reform
‎The Starting Point: Vocational Schools and the Youth Workers’ Movement
‎Structure of the Pupil Councils
‎The School Strike in the Summer of 1919
‎Relationship to the ‘Actual’ Council Movement
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 6. Unemployed Councils
‎Unemployment in Berlin
‎Organisational Development of the Unemployed Councils
‎Objectives and Activities
‎Relations with the Other Sections of the Workers’ Movement
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 7. The ‘Political Council of Intellectual Workers’
‎Chapter 8. Women and the Council Movement
‎Contemporary Reflections on the Integration of Women into the Councils
‎Women in Council Practice
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 9. The Council Policies of the Left Parties and Trade Unions
‎Origins and Contents of Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution and of the Factory Councils Act
‎Free Trade Unions: General German Trade Union Federation, DMV and AfA
‎SPD
‎KPD
‎USPD
‎Interim Conclusion
‎Chapter 10. Summary and Conclusion
‎Aims and Concepts
‎Organisational Structures
‎Modes of Action
‎Relationship to the State
‎Council Movement and Revolution
‎Bibliography
‎Index

Citation preview

The Second Revolution: The Council Movement in Berlin 1919–20

Historical Materialism Book Series Editorial Board Loren Balhorn (Berlin) David Broder (Rome) Sebastian Budgen (Paris) Steve Edwards (London) Juan Grigera (London) Marcel van der Linden (Amsterdam) Peter Thomas (London) Gavin Walker (Montréal)

volume 284

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/hm

The Second Revolution: The Council Movement in Berlin 1919–20 By

Axel Weipert Translated by

Maciej Zurowski

leiden | boston

The translation of this work was supported by a grant from the Goethe-Institut London. Originally published as Die Zweite Revolution: Rätebewegung in Berlin 1919/1920. © be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin 2015. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov lc record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2023009981

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill‑typeface. issn 1570-1522 isbn 978-90-04-33708-4 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-54648-6 (e-book) Copyright 2023 by be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin. Published by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress and Wageningen Academic. Koninklijke Brill nv reserves the right to protect this publication against unauthorized use. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Foreword to the English Edition About the Author xii Abbreviations xiii

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Introduction 1 The Subject, Its Historical Context and Its Significance The Present State of Research 6 Methodology and Sources 18 1

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The March 1919 General Strike in Berlin 30 The Course of Events – a Brief Outline 31 Strikes in the Other Regions 32 Objectives of the Leadership and Measures Taken 42 Cross-Regional Coordination 61 Pressure from Below: The Rank and File of the Movement Official Strike Demands 89 Scope and Capacity for Mobilisation 99 Organisation of the Strike Movement 106 Citizens’ Council and General Strike 111 The Role of the Media 112 Street Fighting during the Strike 121 The Response of the Governments 134 Interim Conclusion 141

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The Demonstration outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920 146 The Opposition Is Forming 146 The Course of Events at the Demonstration 150 Consequences 157 Contradictory Interpretations 159 The Role of the Security Police and Military 165 Interim Conclusion 170

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The Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch and the Council Movement 174 Starting Shot from the Right: The Putsch 175 Backlash from the Left: The General Strike in Germany and Berlin 179 Workers’ Organisations: For and against the Councils 188 A Second Spring for the Councils? Reconstruction and Activities 198 Interim Conclusion 212

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The Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils 217 Foundation and Organisational Structure 218 Programme 226 Rivalry with the Trade Unions 228 Interim Conclusion 235

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Pupil Councils 238 A Special Case: Gustav Wyneken’s Attempt at Reform 238 The Starting Point: Vocational Schools and the Youth Workers’ Movement 241 Structure of the Pupil Councils 248 The School Strike in the Summer of 1919 251 Relationship to the ‘Actual’ Council Movement 264 Interim Conclusion 267

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Unemployed Councils 270 Unemployment in Berlin 271 Organisational Development of the Unemployed Councils 273 Objectives and Activities 279 Relations with the Other Sections of the Workers’ Movement 292 Interim Conclusion 298

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The ‘Political Council of Intellectual Workers’ 301

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Women and the Council Movement 310 Contemporary Reflections on the Integration of Women into the Councils 310 Women in Council Practice 317 Interim Conclusion 321

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The Council Policies of the Left Parties and Trade Unions 323 Origins and Contents of Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution and of the Factory Councils Act 323 Free Trade Unions: General German Trade Union Federation, dmv and AfA 330 spd 346 kpd 361 uspd 374 Interim Conclusion 396

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Summary and Conclusion 400 Aims and Concepts 402 Organisational Structures 407 Modes of Action 414 Relationship to the State 416 Council Movement and Revolution Bibliography Index 449

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Foreword to the English Edition Seven years have passed since the publication of the original German version of the present work. The 100th anniversary of the German Revolution fell within this period. One may regret that public attention to historical events is strongly focused on such anniversaries, yet it is truly remarkable what a wealth of commemorative events, exhibitions, academic conferences and of course publications we have witnessed in this particular case. Due to my professional commitments – which are now situated completely outside the academic world – it was unfortunately not possible for me to incorporate the latest developments in this field of research into the present translation. This may be forgivable insofar as the council movement played only a rather subordinate role in the debates around the anniversary. The focus of the anniversary was more on the bourgeois interpretation of the revolution as the birth of German democracy than on the councils and the alternative path they pointed towards – democracy not in the sense of a radical socialist council democracy, but in the sense of a parliamentary social-reformist variant. This was mainly the case with the official ceremonies outside the academic sphere. In historical research, on the other hand, numerous aspects have been newly explored or examined in greater depth. For this reason, I would like to refer briefly and without any claim to completeness to some more recent publications, especially such that are available in English.1 Studies of the role of women in the post-war period in general, but especially in the councils, are important and necessary, as is the question of newly introduced women’s suffrage.2 Mark Jones has authored a widely acclaimed volume on the role of the violent conflicts in 1918–19.3 There have been numerous regional studies focusing on the provinces that have previously received less attention than well-known centres such as Kiel or Berlin.4 We should also men1 I should additionally point out a literature review by Gerhard Engel: ‘Einhundert Jahre deutsche Revolution 1918/19. Eine selektive Bücherschau’, Arbeit-Bewegung-Geschichte. Zeitschrift für historische Studien, 2, 2019: 77–92. 2 Ingrid Sharp and Matthew Stibbe (eds), Women Activists between War and Peace. Europe 1918– 1923, London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017 and the double issue on women in the Revolution and the Weimar Republic by Ariadne – Forum für Frauen- und Geschlechtergeschichte, 73–74, 2018. 3 Mark Jones, Founding Weimar. Violence and the German Revolution of 1918–1919, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. 4 See, for example, the two collections of local studies edited by Detlef Lehnert: Detlef Lehnert (ed): Revolution 1918/19 in Norddeutschland, Berlin: Metropol, 2018; Detlef Lehnert (ed), Revolution 1918/19 in Preußen. Großstadtwege in die Demokratiegründung, Berlin: Metropol, 2019.

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tion new overall accounts of the revolution. Two works by Joachim Käppner and Wolfgang Niess respectively follow rather conventional interpretative patterns, while the one by Klaus Gietinger is informed by a more critical, left-wing perspective.5 An edited volume that covers the actual time-frame of the revolution more comprehensively and its thematic breadth more extensively than usual is very worthwhile.6 Two further studies deal more specifically with councils and council theories. Ralf Hoffrogge’s important biography of the Berlin council activist Richard Müller has been available in English since a translation was published as part of Brill’s Historical Materialism series.7 James Muldoon has authored a very well-conceived account of the theoretical foundations of the German council movement in English.8 Lastly, allow me to mention a volume that I have edited together with three colleagues: Eine zweite Revolution? Das Frühjahr 1919 in Deutschland und Europa (‘A Second Revolution? The Spring of 1919 in Germany and Europe’) considers the revolutionary events of 1919 from a superregional and international perspective.9 The present volume could not have been published without the dedicated support of others, and it is a special concern of mine to express my sincere gratitude to them. This applies first and foremost to Maciej Zurowski, whose translation is linguistically precise, stylistically accomplished and informed by an excellent understanding of the historical background. Loren Balhorn deserves credit for his stamina and excellent ideas that helped to make this project a reality. I am very grateful for the financial support from the Toledo Translation Fund and the Goethe Institute. I would also like to thank the editors of the Historical Materialism Book Series for editing the text and, of course, for kindly including this work in the series. Mention must also go to the following historians that I hold in high regard: Arnd Bauerkämper (Friedrich Meinecke Institute, Free University of Berlin), Peter Brandt (Dimitris Tsatsos Institute for European Constitutional Studies, Fernuniversität Hagen), Geoff Eley (Karl

5 Joachim Käppner, 1918. Aufstand für die Freiheit. Die Revolution der Besonnenen, Munich: Piper; Wolfgang Niess, Die Revolution von 1918/19. Der wahre Beginn unserer Demokratie, Munich: Europa Verlag, 2017; Klaus Gietinger, November 1918. Der verpasste Frühling des 20. Jahrhunderts, Hamburg: Edition Nautilus, 2018. 6 Klaus Weinhauer, Anthony McElligott and Kirsten Heinsohn (eds), Germany 1916–23. A Revolution in Context, Bielefeld: Transcript, 2015. 7 Ralf Hoffrogge, Working-Class Politics in the German Revolution. Richard Müller, the Revolutionary Shop Stewards and the Origins of the Council Movement, Leiden: Brill, 2014. 8 James Muldoon, Building Power to Change the World. The Political Thought of the German Council Movements, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020. 9 Weipert, Axel, Stefan Bollinger, Dietmar Lange and Robert Schmieder (eds): Eine zweite Revolution? Das Frühjahr 1919 in Deutschland und Europa, Berlin: Die Buchmacherei, 2020.

foreword to the english edition

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Pohrt Distinguished University Professor of Contemporary History, University of Michigan), Ian Grimmer (Honors College, University of Vermont), and Klaus Weinhauer (Bielefeld Graduate School in History and Sociology, University of Bielefeld). Their support made this translation possible. To cite all the other contributors here would probably go beyond the scope of this volume. I would, however, like to mention two remarkable historians from whom I received support, but who will not live to see the completion of this volume: William A. Pelz (Director, Institute of Working Class History) and especially my doctoral supervisor Wolfgang Wippermann (Friedrich Meinecke Institute, Free University of Berlin). Axel Weipert Berlin, autumn 2022

About the Author Axel Weipert, Dr. phil., born 1980, studied history and philosophy. In 2013 his monograph Das Rote Berlin. A History of the Berlin Labour Movement 1830–1934 was published (2nd edition in 2019). He is the editor of, among others, the 2014 volume Demokratisierung von Wirtschaft und Staat. Studien zum Verhältnis von Ökonomie, Staat und Demokratie vom 19. Jahrhundert bis heute and an editorial member of the periodical Arbeit-Bewegung-Geschichte. Zeitschrift für historische Studien. 2020 saw the publication of a volume that he co-edited with Stefan Bollinger, Dietmar Lange and Robert Schmieder: Eine zweite Revolution? Das Frühjahr 1919 in Deutschland und Europa.

Abbreviations adgb

Allgemeiner Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund [General Federation of German Trade Unions] AfA Allgemeiner Deutscher Angestelltenverband [General Federation of Free Employees] aau Allgemeine Arbeiter-Union (General Workers’ Union) BArch Bundesarchiv Berlin [Federal Archives, Berlin] Bl. / Blatt Page or Sheet in a loose-leaf collection brz Betriebsrätezentrale [Central Office of Factory Councils] Comintern Communist International ddp Deutsche Demokratische Partei [German Democratic Party] dmv Deutscher Metallarbeiter-Verband [German Metalworkers’ Federation] dnvp Deutschnationale Volkspartei [German National People’s Party] dvp Deutsche Volkspartei [German People’s Party] E Evening issue of a newspaper, e.g. Vorwärts, 8 March 1919 E. GStA pk Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz [Secret State Archives Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation] kapd Kommunistische Arbeiterpartei Deutschlands [Communist Workers’ Party of Germany] kpd Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands [Communist Party of Germany] lab Landesarchiv Berlin [Berlin State Archives] M Morning issue of a newspaper, e.g. Vorwärts, 8 March 1919 M. ohl Oberste Heeresleitung [Supreme Army Command] sampo-BArch Stiftung Archiv der Parteien und Massenorganisationen der ddr im Bundesarchiv [Foundation Archives of Parties and Mass Organisations of the gdr in the Federal Archives] Schupo Schutzpolizei [Protection Police] sed Sozialistische Einheitspartei Detuschlands [Socialist Unity Party of Germany] Sipo Sicherheitspolizei [Security Police] uspd Unabhängige Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands [Independent Social Democratic Party of Germany]

Introduction The Subject, Its Historical Context and Its Significance Throughout history, times of great stability have alternated with periods of dramatic change and radical upheaval. This is also true – perhaps particularly true – for German history. The momentous situation that arose after the First World War was possibly unique for the twentieth century in Germany, and the present study is situated in this complex period of conflict and tension. The events of 1919–20 in Berlin illustrate vividly in what different directions society and the state could have developed. The Second Revolution, with its aspirations for a socialist economic order based on grassroots democracy and a strong political role for the councils, represented a clear alternative to the actual course that history subsequently took. The window of opportunity for this alternative closed after 1920, and the council movement largely disappeared from the political stage. Berlin was certainly not the only flashpoint of these events, but the most important one – for it was there that the political affairs of the German Reich converged, and it was Europe’s most important industrial metropolis. Moreover, Berlin had by then been the undisputed capital of the German workers’ movement for decades. The most important offices of almost all political parties and trade unions were located there. Berlin was where widely read newspapers and journals were published, and nowhere else was the mass base of the workers’ movement so broad as in Berlin. It is therefore not surprising that the council movement, too, had a particularly strong presence on the Spree. ‘Revolutions are the locomotives of history’, wrote Karl Marx in reference to the revolution of 1848.1 Undoubtedly, any developments that occur in such turbulent times have a massive impact on the subsequent course of history. The 1918–20 revolution laid the foundations of the Weimar Republic, which in later years proved to be open to revision only to a very limited degree. Therein lies the fundamental historical relevance of the subject matter at hand. Significant in this context is a retrospective statement that the Social Democrat Rudolf Hilferding made to his party comrade Karl Kautsky in September 1933: ‘Our policy in Germany from 1923 was certainly forced on us, by and large, by circumstances and could not have been much different. At that time, a different policy would hardly have yielded a different result. But in the period before 1914, and even

1 Marx 1850, p. 62.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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more so from 1918 until the Kapp Putsch, politics were malleable, and it is then that the worst mistakes were made’.2 It would certainly be too deterministic to explain 1933 solely with reference to the outcome of the revolution. Nevertheless, the question remains whether the Third Reich would have been possible if the upheavals of 1918–20 had ended differently. There is no doubt that German society would have been different had the goals of the council movement won out. This applies not only to the political sphere in the narrow sense, but also to the social and economic foundations. Crucially, a greater influence of the councils would have had political and organisational consequences for the later evolution of the workers’ movement. It is with these aspects in mind – which, however, go far beyond the scope of the present study and cannot be further discussed here – that the revolution must be viewed and evaluated in the broader context of German history. A tangible legacy of the council movement, albeit a very modest one when measured against the aspirations of the time, is the works councils (Betriebsräte) that still exist today.3 Politically, the importance of the issue derives from the fact that many questions that the council movement had to face still remain unresolved. The list of these is long and can only be outlined partially. One might want to consider debates on direct democracy in general, on different concepts relating to the democratisation of the economy or on grassroots decision-making processes in big organisations, such as political parties and trade unions. The council movement’s specific forms of action, such as the political general strike and the form of its concrete organisation, are also part of this. Moreover, today there are still many conflicts around the integration of so-called secondary contradictions into emancipatory movements, be it with respect to the role of women, young people or the unemployed. A much-discussed question was and remains political cooperation between different social groups, such as blue-collar workers, white-collar workers and civil servants – or, to use the terms of the council theorists: between ‘manual workers and brain workers’. Hopefully, the answers of the council movement to these complex questions can still provide a valuable source of inspiration for today. 2 Quoted in Kolb 1978, p. 7. Translator’s note: All quotations from German-language texts, which constitute the vast majority of sources in the present volume, are my translations. 3 Translators’ note: The Betriebsräte of the revolutionary period are usually translated as ‘factory councils’ in historical literature, whereas the term ‘works councils’, also Betriebsräte in German, is normally used in modern literature to denote the shopfloor workplace organs codified into post-war German labour law. Because it makes sense to distinguish between the two, I will use the translation ‘factory councils’ for the Weimar period and ‘works councils’ for modern post-war Germany.

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The revolution in Germany, like those in other European countries, can only be understood against the background of World War i. After more than four years of war, in light of a dramatic food supply situation and an increasingly rigid de facto military dictatorship by the Third Supreme Army Command (Drittes ohl), the indignation of large sections of the population finally erupted. There had already been several large-scale strikes during the war, especially in Berlin, and particularly in January 1918 when about a million workers went on strike. The beginnings of the council movement can already be discerned there with the appearance of the Revolutionary Shop Stewards (Revolutionäre Obleute), who provided an important organisational framework for preparing and carrying out oppositional action.4 The sailors’ revolt in Kiel provided the initial spark for the revolution. Between 4 and 9 November 1918, the revolution had not only taken hold in the army, but had also spread to almost all regions and major cities of the German Reich. The events reached their first climax with the Kaiser’s resignation and the double proclamation of the republic in Berlin. Initially it was a movement against the war and against the old political system, which was blamed for the crisis. Clear objectives and workable concepts for the future hardly existed at that time – this was true for practically all relevant political forces. It is therefore hardly surprising that in the months after the ceasefire, a great number of proposals of very different political provenance was published and discussed. Profound structural changes in the economy after 1914 favoured the emergence of a broad, radical mass movement. For one, accelerated arms production led to an enormous concentration of workers in the metal and electrical industry in Berlin, which was later to become the most important centre of the councils. The social composition of the workforce changed too: more and more unskilled workers, young people and women poured into the factories.5 In addition, there were growing class tensions, a rigid labour regime, a dramatically deteriorating food supply situation and consequentially a massive loss of authority on the part of the state.6 We will barely touch on these socioeconomic developments unfolding in the background of political events. We refer readers to a worthwhile study by Gerald Feldman, however, which in a nuanced fashion links these trends to their intensifying and mitigating effects on the radicalism of the working class.7

4 5 6 7

See Luban 2009. See Feldman, Kolb and Rürup 1971. See Kocka 1978, especially pp. 131–7. Feldman 1984, pp. 69–83.

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It was in the workers’ and soldiers’ councils that spontaneous mass actions were organisationally consolidated. Councils had already emerged in the Russian revolutions of 1905 and 1917 and were later, for the most part independently of the Russian phenomenon, formed in the wartime struggles of German workers. They were the perfect vehicle for the expression of the political will of the masses because they were created locally and in a relatively straightforward manner, allowing for a direct articulation of their interests. The fact that they were so widespread and emerged autonomously of each other shows just how adequate they were to the needs of the time. It was an essential trait of the revolution as a whole that it was not centrally planned, initiated or directed. The discontent that had already erupted several times during the war coalesced with oppositional networks such as Berlin’s Revolutionary Shop Stewards. Only the interaction of these two factors gave the November 1918 revolt its crucial momentum – it is therefore fully justified to speak of a mass movement from below. In Berlin, the General Assembly of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils and their highest body, the Executive Council, formed the core of the council movement. It was only natural that the councils often comprised members and local functionaries of the left parties, i.e. the Social-Democratic Party of Germany (spd), the Independent Social-Democratic Party of Germany (uspd) and later also the Communist Party of Germany (kpd). After all, these were local leaders already known to the workers and soldiers from their daily lives. The central bodies of the socialist parties, however, initially had considerable problems adjusting to the new situation. In some respects, the councils were also a reaction to the general powerlessness of the organisational base even before the war, but especially in the wartime years. The council movement was thus not only directed against the Kaiser’s state and against the entrepreneurs’ entitlement to ‘rule the roost’, but also represented an alternative to the bureaucratised, sometimes also quite authoritarian structures of the organised workers’ movement.8 Even so, the Social Democrats around Friedrich Ebert in particular succeeded through skilful tactics in obtaining revolutionary legitimacy from the Berlin Executive Council for their new government, which they touted as a ‘Council of People’s Deputies’. This proved highly successful, even though the intentions of the spd leadership were anything but revolutionary. In the end, their objective prevailed on key points. The outcome might be described as a parliamentary republic with

8 This latter reason for the emergence of the council movement is also emphasised by Dirk Müller. See Müller 1985.

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a capitalist economic system, supplemented by socio-political reforms. This class compromise was represented and implemented in 1919–20 by the Weimar coalition of Social Democrats (spd), German Democratic Party (ddp) and Centre Party in the governmental sphere and by cooperation between trade unions and employers in the economic sphere. The old elites, i.e. the officers, higher administrative and judicial officials, as well as the big landowners and capital owners, were thus able to maintain their traditional positions of power, albeit with certain limitations. The councils, by contrast, were seen as an onerous disruptive factor that threatened to jeopardise the cautious development already initiated with the October reforms. From this viewpoint, the revolution and especially its radicalisation must have seemed superfluous. In the eyes of influential Social Democrats such as Ebert and Gustav Noske, this in turn justified the use of massive repression, up to and including military force, against those forces that did not want to accept the hitherto outcome of the revolution and pushed for more radical measures. The skirmish at the Berlin Schloss on Christmas Eve 1918 and especially the January uprising of 1919 were important external markers of a process that brought the council movement into ever sharper opposition to the ruling powers. From the point of view of a foreign observer, London’s conservative Pall Mall Gazette, the revolution was not over with the election of the Constituent German National Assembly and the formation of the Weimar coalition. For many, it seemed to the paper, a second revolution was not just possible, but desirable too: German Chaos – another Revolution coming. The state of Germany is passing into another serious phase. Spartacus outbreaks are spreading. The Weimar Government does not seem to have the nerve or power to grapple with them, and confidence in the new regime is falling to an ominously low ebb. The causes of this lie deeper … than any spread of mere Bolshevism. It is beginning to be realized by all who desire a break with the old system of militarism, class tyranny, and foreign aggression that the new ‘Republic’ is only the old autocracy in a new suit of clothes. There has been no real change in the political centre of gravity. … In order to save the future they [the revolutionaries – Translator] will have to make a much deeper excavation of the roots of the past and to break up that social stratification which paralyses all the instincts of self-government. A ‘second revolution’ is being talked of everywhere.9 The present work is about this Second Revolution in Berlin. 9 Pall Mall Gazette, 28 February 1919.

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The Present State of Research Research on the revolution of 1918–20 in general, and on the council movement in particular, has produced an almost overwhelming quantity of papers. However, as the frequently used term ‘November Revolution’ already indicates, the focus has mostly been on the first phase of the upheaval. Moreover, only a few works focus exclusively on the developments in Berlin. For reasons of space, we can neither discuss individual volumes in detail nor provide a comprehensive literature review at all. Our presentation will therefore confine itself to the most important works and approaches in chronological order.10 It goes without saying that research into the council movement is generally closely linked to the study and interpretation of the revolution as a whole. The traditionally national-conservative and bourgeois character of German historiography ensured that many historians during the Weimar Republic saw in the revolution little more than national treason and the collapse of the Kaiserreich (i.e. the German imperial state).11 The judgements of the liberal ‘republicans by reason’ [Vernunftrepublikaner] among them were somewhat more nuanced: they at least recognised the necessity of certain reforms, but ultimately also held a clear distance to the revolution and the council movement.12 We might mention Friedrich Meinecke as an example.13 Such assessments were primarily political value judgements – at that time, there was hardly any genuine, sources-based research, at least not in university history departments. Institutionally and politically a long way from academic historiography, the Berlin council activist Richard Müller published a three-volume account of the revolution and its prehistory in 1924 and 1925, which was located somewhere at the interface between memoir and historical study.14 Drawing on a large number of extensively cited sources, Müller defended the council movement and its aims, contrasting them with the conservative development of the republic in the years after the revolution. We will particularly frequently refer to the last volume.15 Also a long way from the historians’ guild, the kpd published a

10 11 12

13 14 15

We should additionally point out a German-language tome of great merit: Niess 2013 is a voluminous, yet by no means exhaustive, research overview of the revolution. See Thiessenhusen 1969, pp. 3–63; Faulenbach 2013, pp. 401–12. Translator’s note: Vernunftrepublikaner: a term applied to those who supported the Republic out of political necessity rather than moral conviction. The conservative-liberal politician Gustav Stresemann, for instance, was regarded as a typical Vernunftrepublikaner. See Meinecke 1919. This work was recently republished in a single-volume edition – see Müller 2011. Müller 1925.

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party-official account of the revolution in 1929.16 This volume mainly criticised the lack of a strong revolutionary party and was very critical of the councils overall, which it described as dominated by reformists. Eduard Bernstein, by contrast, stressed in his study of the first weeks of the revolution that in a highly developed society such as Germany a radical upheaval was in principle hardly possible.17 He saw the councils primarily as a convenient and indeed successful tool for pacifying the masses. Politically motivated criticism of the revolution and the so-called ‘November criminals’ was even harsher in the Third Reich than in the Weimar Republic.18 Even less than in years past could one now speak of factually-oriented research. To be sure, Adolf Hitler often invoked the 1918 revolution as a negative counterpart to his own ‘national revolution’ in speeches – but his pithy verdicts were not followed by more detailed examinations of the subject matter on the part of historians. In West Germany, it was especially Karl Dietrich Erdmann’s viewpoint that set the tone until the 1960s. According to him, the spd as the dominant party of the time ‘was facing a concrete binary choice: either social revolution in alliance with forces pushing towards a proletarian dictatorship, or a parliamentary republic in alliance with conservative forces such as the old officer corps’.19 Erdmann was certainly the most cited historian on this question, but by no means the only one. Other prominent scholars who all held very similar positions were Werner Conze, Erich Eyck, Theodor Escheburg und – published posthumously – Johannes Haller.20 They equated the social revolution, especially the council movement, quite circumstantially and falsely with the Bolshevism of Russian provenance. Following on from such interpretations, Eckhard Jesse and Henning Köhler later even went so far as to speak of the ‘construction of a council movement’, questioning whether it was a revolution at all.21 Generally speaking, this school of thought has hardly produced any well-sourced studies, and the few exceptions rather dealt with topics of revolutionary history that are only of marginal interest for our purposes.22 Overall, this conservative interpretive approach had an enduring impact both with respect to the history-

16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Authors’ collective 1929. Bernstein 1921. See Niess 2013, pp. 125–49. See Erdmann 1959, p. 88. Erdmann still essentially adhered to his interpretation decades later – see Erdmann 1979. See Niess 2013, pp. 172–7. Jesse and Köhler 1978, pp. 3–23. See e.g. Hürten 1970.

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interested public and through reference books and school textbooks.23 This was not least owed to the hardened political fronts of the Cold War era. Then, from the end of the 1950s, a new research approach won out for the most part. Historiographically, it was based mainly on Arthur Rosenberg’s works from the 1930s, which had been written in exile.24 Very roughly speaking, the basic thesis of this school of thought runs something like as follows: the radical left was far too weak to pose a serious threat to the establishment of the parliamentary republic. The spd reacted unnecessarily harshly to its challenge and, moreover, did not implement further-reaching reforms that would have been possible because it was too fixated on its alliance with the old army and economy leaders. Drawing on extensive research into the political, workplace and military councils, it is noted that the council movement was initially by no means dominated by radicals. In fact, in the first phase of the revolution, it contained a democratic potential that must not be underestimated. The failure of the council movement was therefore a missed opportunity for an enduring democratisation of Germany through the revolution. We can see certain variations of this interpretation in the work of various historians. Walter Tormin’s work is a thoroughly worthwhile, relatively succinct pioneering study.25 However, he focuses almost exclusively on the first phase of the revolution up to the formation of the National Assembly. Sebastian Haffner’s work, which has been reprinted a number of times and translated into different languages, is probably the most widely read account of the revolution.26 But Heffner refrains almost entirely from citing supporting evidence, which is why it is only with great reservations that his volume can be considered scholarly literature. It is more of a detailed essay that offers a polemical, but essentially often accurate critique of the non-revolutionary, over-cautious attitude of the spd around Ebert. Ulrich Kluge and Reinhard Rürup also belong to this school of thought.27 This applies to August Winkler only up to a point.28 While noting an excessive reluctance on the part of the spd leaders with regard to decisive reforms, he, unlike the other authors mentioned here, nonetheless considers the notion that the councils were the harbingers of democratisation a myth. Susanne Miller, too, acknowledged the failures of the spd, but warned 23 24 25 26 27 28

See Niess 2013, p. 199 and pp. 289–303. See Rosenberg 1936. This work was first published in Czechoslovakia in 1935. Tormin 1954. Haffner 1986. See Kluge 1975; Rürup 1983. See Winkler 1998, pp. 600–601. And again along similar lines, ‘Angst vor dem Bürgerkrieg. Warum 1918/19 in Deutschland keine große Revolution stattfand’ in Winkler 2007, pp. 51– 7.

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against overestimating the significance of the council movement.29 Gerhard A. Ritter’s scepticism towards the council system as such was even more pronounced.30 Of particular significance was Eberhard Kolb’s dissertation, which was first published in 1962 and undoubtedly set important standards for subsequent research.31 Kolb exclusively discussed the first phase of the council movement up to the spring of 1919. Not all available works are confined to this time-frame, however: two brief essays by Wolfgang Mommsen, as well as those by Feldman, Kolb and Rürup, extend to about 1920.32 For the cited authors, major structural changes would have been possible: measures, for example, such as the socialisation of some key industries, but above all the control and democratisation of the hitherto thoroughly monarchist-conservative state – a process that would have been temporarily safeguarded by the councils. Only Peter von Oertzen regarded steps beyond this, namely a permanent institutionalisation of the councils, as feasible.33 On account of its deep intellectual pervasion of the material at hand, Oertzen’s study is one of the best published works on the council movement. It is also a good source for facts. Unfortunately, although it contains some theoretical discussions specifically of the Berlin movement, there is hardly anything on its concrete practice. This may also be because he mainly concerned himself with the activities of the Ruhr miners.34 According to this line of interpretation, the reforms would not have culminated in a comprehensively socialist social order, nor therefore in a social revolution, but would have merely limited the influence of the old elites and better integrated the working class into the republic. The explicit narrowing of the scope to democratic and social reforms within a capitalist-parliamentary order is also expressed in the explicit rejection of the notion of a ‘third way’ by the leading exponents of this scholarly view, who instead characterise this path as a ‘different way’.35 Kolb emphasised the transitional nature of the councils, which, in his view, could not even have been maintained as supplementary organs in the long term.36 Similarly, Rürup argued that they could not have been

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

See Miller 1978, p. 140. Kluge 1975; Ritter 1976, pp. 292–315. Kolb 1978. Mommsen 1978. See Oertzen 1976, p. 67. See his worthwhile study Oertzen 1958. See e.g. Matthias 1970, p. 10; compare Kolb 2002, p. 175. Matthias and Kolb both use the same term. See Kolb 2002, p. 175.

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genuine agents of change, but merely safeguards for government policy.37 One can certainly agree with this with regard to the first stage of the council movement. Why it no longer applies to the period relevant for our investigation, the second stage from spring 1919 onwards, will be explained in the course of the present study. The research into revolution and councils that we have just outlined was obviously linked to the general mood of social change in this period: a strong interest in emancipatory aspirations in German history emerged in the context of the 1968 movement. This popularised the council movement as an antiauthoritarian alternative to the present, perceived as oppressive and stifling, far beyond the realm of academia.38 It was not uncommon to see the slogan ‘All power to the councils’ [Alle Macht den Räten] on banners at student demonstrations, and Rudi Dutschke and some of his associates even drew up a rough sketch of a future Council Republic of West Berlin. There was a broad acceptance of council-democratic ideas especially in the Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund (sds), the focus being not only on the German revolution but also on the Russian revolutions and the Paris Commune of 1871. Numerous historical documents of the council movement were reprinted in this period. In terms of interpretation and source base, the school of thought just described has without doubt given important impulses to research on the council movement, leading to the correct observation that there was a very close connection between the council movement and revolution as a whole.39 However, it is hard to ignore that its findings have remained largely at the same level since the 1970s, and that it has scarcely contributed anything new to the topic since then. This circumstance was starkly illustrated by an anthology edited by Helga Grebing in 2008.40 The majority of the texts collected there had been first published by the authors decades prior. Even so, the editor noted in the introduction: ‘Almost all of the authors did not consider it necessary to make corrections to their texts in the form of comments’.41 Interestingly, gdr historiography essentially took the position that the council movement was not a socialist revolution. Two main factors were cited to substantiate this: ‘There was no revolutionary proletarian combat party yet, and the majority of the working class was still under the influence of oppor-

37 38 39 40 41

See Rürup 1983, p. 295. See Allmendinger 2009. This is quite explicit in Kolb 2008, p. 43; compare Kolb 1978, p. 405. Grebing 2008. Grebing 2008, p. 8.

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tunism’.42 Since it was expressly noted that ‘the socio-economic conditions for the socialist revolution had matured’, the limitations and shortcomings were thus located in the organisational and ideological sphere.43 The young and programmatically heterogeneous kpd had been unable to break the mass influence of the Independent Social Democrats (uspd) and above all the spd, it was argued. Ultimately, ‘the November Revolution remained in essence a bourgeois-democratic revolution, carried out to a certain extent by proletarian means and methods’.44 This basic assessment – not to say political instruction – was at best only gradually revised in later works. To be sure, there were opposing views which discussed the aims of socialist revolution and spoke of a struggle for the councils.45 But such divergent positions were rarely ever considered and sometimes even directly suppressed.46 Despite this narrow interpretative framework, however, East German historians wrote numerous studies that were rich in content. Important works include those by Erwin Könnemann and HansJoachim Krusch on the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, by Ingo Materna on the Greater Berlin Executive Council and by Regina Knoll on the general strike of March 1919.47 Jakov Drabkin’s general study of the revolution was also significant.48 As a Soviet expert on Germany, Drabkin played an important role in shaping the interpretation of the revolution by gdr historiography from the 1950s onwards. Along with a number of Anglo-American scholars, he is thus one of the surprisingly few foreign historians to have exerted any notable influence on the research of the German Revolution.49 One cannot but notice that East German accounts underappreciate the autonomous role of the councils while attributing great importance to the parties. In retrospect, Jürgen John summed this up with the phrase that ‘[councils were] perceived less as subjects of revolution than as objects of politics’.50 As organs geared towards grassroots democracy, the councils clearly contra-

42 43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50

Zentralkomitee der sed 1958, p. 21. Ibid. Ibid. See Bauer 1958. See Mario Kessler’s account of this in Kessler 2008. Könneman and Krusch 1972; Materna 1978; Knoll 1957/58. The latter essay was based on a fairly extensive dissertation. Unfortunately, according to a message from Roy Lämmel from the Leipzig University Archives to this author dated 11 October 2011, it has been lost. Drabkin 1983. This is an expanded version of a work originally published in Russian. Important authors include Robert Wheeler, Gerald Feldman, Eric Waldman and David Morgan. Some of their English-language works have also been translated into German. John 2002, p. 69.

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dicted, at any rate, the authoritarian Leninist understanding of revolution and politics, which stressed the central role of the hierarchically structured party. For the sed, the kpd in particular provided a historical reference point that gave the party a sense of identity and ultimately legitimised its rule. The Communists were therefore frequently at the centre of these accounts, despite their generally minor actual influence. This was taken to such lengths that the aforementioned theses of the central committee of the sed hyped up the foundation of the kpd as a ‘fundamental turning point’ in German history.51 The contradiction in this interpretation is unmistakable: on the one hand, the absence of a strong Marxist-Leninist party in the revolution is criticised, but at the same time the founding of the Communist party proclaimed a turning point. All this massively obstructed the possibility of unprejudiced, open-ended research. It is significant that the parameters of how the revolution was interpreted were not set by historians alone, but in the last instance by the central committee of the Socialist Unity Party (sed) with the personal participation of Walter Ulbricht.52 Only in the last years of the gdr did the scope broaden. Werner Bramke and Ulrich Heß, for example, construed the revolution as a failed attempt to create ‘a completely new type of democracy’.53 According to them, this council order represented a concrete alternative to bourgeois democracy, which in their view was ‘repeatedly up for debate’ until 1923.54 Despite its substantial deficits, though, it is hard to agree with Grebing, according to whom gdr research on the subject has left us with ‘almost nothing relevant or useful’.55 In fact, the sheer abundance of material still makes many of these works noteworthy today – so long as the reader can separate the rigorous ideological framework from the actual scientific accomplishment. In the 1980s and 90s, research on the revolution and the council movement slowed down in both East and West Germany, and the number of publications declined rapidly. Even so, four West German works are worth mentioning here. First, the reconstruction of important council theories in the history of ideas by Volker Arnold and, second, an account of the roots of the council movement in the German Kaiserreich and World War i by Dirk Müller.56 Third, a critical Noske biography by Wolfram Wette that is rich in content and, fourth, 51 52

53 54 55 56

Zentralkomitee der sed 1958, p. 15. Much the same can be said about the eight-volume history of the German workers’ movement. Ulbricht also took over the official management of this major project. See Niess 2013, pp. 355–6. Bramke and Heß 1988, p. 1065. Bramke and Heß 1988, p. 1069. Grebing 2008, p. 9. Arnold 1985; Müller 1985.

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a study of the citizens’ councils by Hans-Joachim Bieber.57 Still before the end of the Cold War, West Germany had undergone a conservative turn, which did not leave historical scholarship unaffected. This trend became even more pronounced with the collapse of the Eastern Bloc system of states. Socialism in all its forms finally appeared to have been discredited, and its history was no longer considered a viable canvas onto which to project contemporary politics. As a result, the revolution, and with it the council movement, disappeared from the focus of public attention and research. This development went so far that in 2010 an anthology was titled ‘The forgotten revolution of 1918–19’.58 The editor, Alexander Gallus, noted in his introduction: ‘This ignorance of the German Revolution of 1918/19 [is] almost inexplicable and in fact extremely worthy of critique. The now forgotten revolution deserves a greater degree of public remembrance and scholarly attention than it has received in recent decades. It would be a start if at least historians started to argue about it again’.59 In the public eye, the revolution has indeed not played a prominent role for a long time, and the council movement even less so. The historically significant date of 9 November is almost exclusively associated with the years 1923, 1938 and 1989. This is only half the truth, however: despite the cited historical-political development in the relatively recent past, one can now certainly speak of a cautious renaissance of research on the revolution and the council movement. Beside the aforementioned anthology by Gallus, a number of qualitatively very varied studies are worth mentioning, such as Hoffrogge’s worthwhile biography of the important Berlin council activist Richard Müller.60 Also of interest are the works of Ottokar Luban, Dietmar Lange, Alex Demirovic, Alfred Pesendorfer and the abovementioned Wolfgang Niess.61 An anthology edited by Ulla

57 58 59 60 61

Wette 1987; Bieber 1992. Gallus 2010. Gallus 2010, p. 38. Hoffrogge 2008. Translator’s note: for a translation and expanded edition, see Hoffrogge 2014. Luban 2009 – Luban emphasises the important role of the Revolutionary Shop Stewards in preparing the November Revolution and thus an aspect of the prehistory of the topic discussed here; Lange 2012 – a sound, source-supported study, albeit very focused on the history of events, namely on the armed clashes and the general strike in Berlin in March 1919; Demirovic 2009 – Demirovic takes a critical and nuanced look at the basic ideas and problems of the council order from the point of view of democracy theory; Pesendorfer 2012 – the author summarises the course of events of the revolution quite succinctly, but without using any new sources, and he is not always reliable with regard to the facts; Niess 2013 – on this work, see the comments above.

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Plener for the 90th anniversary of the November Revolution is also of note.62 Although the contributions found therein cover a wide range of topics, some offer information specifically on developments in Berlin. The texts presented in another recent anthology predominantly concern the revolutionary period in the Ruhr region.63 All these publications show that historians have begun to rediscover the council movement. In a certain sense, however, they also reflect a readjustment: in contrast to the Cold War period and the early years after it ended, there is now more freedom of topic selection and interpretation. The present study starts its investigation from the gaps in earlier research: what were the intentions of the participants in the Berlin council movement, and what tactics and strategies did they deem appropriate in order to achieve these aims? The study therefore focuses on the various efforts to help the council system in Greater Berlin achieve a breakthrough after the first revolutionary phase, i.e. from the spring of 1919 until the end of 1920. This will include an examination of the theoretical concepts, but above all the organisational efforts and political activities of the council movement. We will review some particularly significant events and organisational structures in detail, attempting both a reconstruction and analysis of the problems involved. The latter will mainly revolve around the aspirations and practice of the council movement, its ability to mobilise, and its internal and external relations. It was in the German capital, the political centre of the Reich, that the fundaments were laid for the further development of the revolution.64 The most important events that occurred in the course of the council movement are simultaneously crucial milestones of the revolution. The political general strike and the subsequent struggles in March 1919 are of primary importance in this respect, which is why we will present and analyse them in detail. Other points in the chronological sequence are the bloody demonstration of 13 January 1920 outside the Reichstag and the brief revival of the revolutionary councils in connection with the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch two months later. The Central Office of Factory Councils and the student and unemployed councils will be assessed from an organisational perspective as well as from that of a history of events. We will also look at the Political Council of Intellectual Workers and at attempts to integrate women into the movement. The Berlin council movement, which was in one way or another hugely involved in all these instances, will provide the framework for these individual aspects. The history of the central Berlin 62 63 64

Plener 2009. Führer, Mittag, Schildt and Tenfelde 2013. This is also highlighted in Materna 2009, pp. 92–103 and Oertzen 1976, p. 25.

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council bodies, the Executive Council and the General Assembly, will be traced primarily in terms of how it intertwines with the aforementioned events. In this way, the possibilities and limits of these institutions in practice will become most visible. The council movement was not an isolated phenomenon or one that can be sharply demarcated. It will therefore be necessary throughout to apprehend it in its historical context. We will consistently ask about the interplay between the movement and the parties and trade unions of the workers’ movement, but also about the role of the state and other social forces such as the bourgeoisie. We will explore these aspects not least on the basis of concrete discussion, particularly addressing a core question: did the council movement allow itself to be integrated into the existing order, or did it actively strive for a second revolution? This can be examined particularly well by looking at the struggles over the inclusion of the councils in the constitution and in legislation. Our account of the disputes between and within the three parties spd, uspd and kpd as well as within the Free Trade Unions will therefore revolve around this subject matter. The focus in the relevant chapter is primarily on Berlin-based players active in the aforementioned major organisations. We will likewise reconstruct the vivid theoretical debates carried out in Berlin periodicals and in a number of pamphlets. Here, too, a link with the debates around integration into the existing system and revolution suggests itself, even if we do not wish to force the sometimes very different concepts into a Procrustean bed in too schematic a fashion. A focus on local events and activities appeared to be a particularly promising way to bring out the specifics of the movement more clearly and follow its evolution in greater detail. A geographically limited approach is, in any case, appropriate for the strongly grassroots-oriented and localised council movement. The variety of individual events, debates and organisations covered will allow us to gain a new, broader view of the council phenomenon. To date, research has focused heavily on the first phase of the revolution, i.e. the months leading up to the January 1919 election of the National Assembly, which was often even seen as the apex and end of the revolution. Branches of the movement such as the aforementioned student councils, women’s councils, intellectuals’ councils or the Central Office of Factory Councils, in contrast, have only been examined tenuously, if at all. Here too, we can expect new insights that will necessitate a partial correction of our picture of the council movement. We will leave aside or merely touch on a number of topics. These include two branches of the council movement, namely the soldiers’ councils and the municipal councils. The soldiers’ councils rapidly lost significance with the

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disbanding of the old imperial army. Although they played a central role in November 1918, this was hardly the case anymore by early 1919 at the latest, at least in Berlin.65 As to Berlin’s municipal councils, a study is already available.66 More importantly, they played a marginal role at best in the major disputes, and after the city council elections of February 1919 they disappeared into insignificance much like the soldiers’ councils. As such, both branches are important primarily for the first stage of the revolution, which will largely be left out of the picture here. We will also omit another, undoubtedly interesting and relevant aspect: the socio-economic basis of the council movement.67 An exhaustive discussion would require substantial further research that is beyond the scope of this study.68 Looking at the workplaces and industries as well as the leading personalities repeatedly mentioned here, however, it will be possible to draw at least rudimentary conclusions about the social base of the council movement in Berlin: the industrial working class clearly dominated, supplemented by groups of white-collar workers and lower civil servants. Incidentally, this did not only apply to Berlin and the council movement in the strict sense, but to the revolutionaries as a whole.69 There was also a not entirely insignificant trend oriented towards bourgeois left-liberalism that was mainly based on teachers, journalists, lawyers and civil servants.70 Finally, not least because of the poor availability of sources, it will not possible to give a systematic account of the internal situation within the workplaces. We will only address the events and opinion-forming processes within the workforces in a few cases, even if there is great scope for possible enquiries there in principle. An event that features relatively prominently in the public perception will also be left out: the January Uprising of 1919. This is partly because there is

65 66 67 68

69

70

See Kluge 1975, especially pp. 271–351; compare Hürten 1970. Bey-Heard 1969. On the massive social and economic changes during the war and the revolutionary period and their political implications, see Kocka 1978 and Feldman 1984, pp. 69–83. A study by Erhard Lucas based on the two west German towns of Hamborn and Remscheid, succeeds in relating socio-economic conditions to political activities during the revolutionary period. See Erhard 1976. See for example Bramke 1983. Bramke stressed that significant sections of the middle classes were positively disposed towards the revolution, especially at the beginning. However, the majority at best adopted a wait-and-see stance and from the beginning of 1919 increasingly migrated to the enemy camp. See Engel 2004, pp. 157–9.

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already plenty of literature on the subject.71 But the main reason is that it can only be indirectly linked to the council movement. Comparing the situation with developments in other regions such as the Ruhr region or central Germany, but also with international events, could give us great insight. It was not without reason that British prime minister David Lloyd George stated in 1919: ‘The whole of Europe is filled with the spirit of revolution. There is a deep sense not only of discontent, but of anger and revolt among the workmen against prewar conditions. The whole existing order, in its political, social and economic aspects is questioned by the masses of the population from one end of Europe to the other’.72 Unfortunately, no comprehensive history of the European revolutionary and council movements during and after World War i has yet been written.73 This pursuit would go far beyond the scope of the present work, however, which is why we will leave it at a few sketchy references. For the years 1919 and 1920, an all-time high of workers’ revolts can be recorded in all economically developed countries.74 This applies not only to the states that had lost the war, but also for the victorious powers – for example Italy, Great Britain, France, the USA, Japan and Australia – and even some neutral countries such as Switzerland, Spain and parts of Latin America. However, the most severe struggles took place within the former central powers and in Russia. Even so, one could hardly have expected a development like that in Russia to occur in Germany, since the political and social conditions in the two countries were too different. The mere existence of councils and of a revolutionary development suggests more common ground than actually existed.75 To name just a few important differences: in Russia, the peasants played a far more important role overall, especially in the council movement, which in turn points to very different socio-economic structures.76 The Russian February revolution, unlike 71 72 73

74 75

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Some representative examples are: Waldman 1958; Rasmuss 1956; briefly also in Weipert 2013, pp. 147–52. Quoted from Silver 2005, p. 179. Bois and Tosstorff 2009 offer a readable, if very brief, overview. For a summary of the developments in Germany, Italy, Russia and Great Britain, see Gluckstein 1985. However, Gluckstein only discusses the developments in Germany up to February 1919. A comparison between Berlin and Paris spanning over a longer period of time is offered by Wirsching 1999. See Silver 2005, pp. 160–1. A good overview is offered by Anweiler 1958; compare Irosnikov and Potolov 1995. In addition, there is a more recent essay on the Russian factory committees – see Mandel 2011. Geyer discusses some differences in the development and the perception of the German Revolution by the Bolsheviks – see Geyer 1976. There is evidence that these developments were carefully observed by the Berlin council

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the German November revolution, was not followed by an armistice. The ongoing war inevitably fuelled the radicalisation of broad sections of the population in the army and in the hinterlands. There was, however, a higher degree of alignment with events in Austria, in Hungary and with the biennio rosso in 1919–20 Italy. There were sometimes quite astonishing parallels with regard to the forms of action, the concrete formation of councils and their relationship to the traditional organisations of the workers’ movement. One can also identify certain similarities between the German council movement and Britain’s Shop Stewards, who were active at the same time.77

Methodology and Sources The present study follows an empirical approach. This means that the core concepts can be deduced from the material at hand. Let us briefly mention a few ideal-typical features of the council system at the outset: elected councils form bodies designed to combine executive, legislative and judicial functions. Each council is given an imperative mandate by its constituents and is subject to recall at any time. This close, grassroots-democratic link to the will of the constituents is an essential characteristic of the council system. Combined, the councils are then meant to form a horizontally and vertically differentiated system that encompasses and directs the whole of society. This also indicates that council structures can in principle be conceived in many different spheres, as indeed occurred. These spheres included the economy, the state administration, the military, but also the education system and the representation of specific sectional interests, such as those of women, intellectuals and the unemployed. It goes without saying that this required a flexible implementation of the council structure, because very varied conditions prevailed – structurally, organisationally and with regard to the concrete interests of the participants – in the cited sub-sectors of society.

77

movement – see Käthe Pick 1920, ‘Die Arbeiterräte in Deutschösterreich’ in Der ArbeiterRat no. 10, 1920. On Austria, see Carsten 1973. Hans Hautmann’s study of the Austrian council movement is very detailed – see Hautmann 1987. For Turin, the undisputed stronghold of the Italian council movement, see Paola 2011. On the Shop Stewards in Britain, see Pribicevic 1959. The author discusses in detail the concepts of factory democracy and workers’ control developed there, which were propagated particularly in the mining industry. For a comparison between the German and British developments, see Oertzen 1976, pp. 311–29.

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An essential difference between the councils and the representative system is that the councils are not simply meant to be a constitutional structure, i.e. a ‘ready-made’ democratic order. Rather, they are quite consciously conceived as the decisive tools towards building a council order. In a sense, the end and the means thus converge. This means concretely that the councils have a decisive role to play as a forum for decision-making and in organising political activities. This duality, moreover, allows the participants to test their own claims directly in practice. As organs of struggle, councils are in principle flexible to set themselves diverse and by no means exclusively revolutionary goals, depending on the respective situation. The representation of interests in a classic trade-union sense can be one of its areas of activity, and historically this was indeed the case. Thus the council principle as such is open to a variety of developments. It is neither revolutionary nor compliant with the existing system per se – but it represents an alternative to top-down models of organisation and decisionmaking either way. The council movement was a broad-based and consequently heterogeneous social movement.78 A mass in the social sense is a large amorphous collection of people. A mass movement unites a modicum of common interests and practices and often, but not necessarily, common social status. The working class played the most important role in this case, but it was joined by members of other social classes, such as white-collar workers, civil servants, students and intellectuals. Their overarching goal was the implementation of the council order. It is safe to assume, however, that in many cases such a mass movement will become more differentiated beyond its basic objectives. The repertoire of action covered a wide range of political activities, including demonstrations, strikes, political education, and sometimes armed confrontation. The mass of participants was only able to intervene effectively in political processes due to the fundamental commonalities mentioned above. Their organisation, mobilisation and objectives were themselves based on council structures. The council movement in the narrower sense was thus constituted by elected delegates and their constituents. Political effectiveness could only be attained through the interaction of council organs and supporters. Despite its heterogeneous composition, rapid flux and manifold internal contradictions,

78

On social movements in general, see Raschke 1988 – there is also a brief section specifically on the council movement on p. 504 of this work. For a very concise account, see Rucht 2002, pp. 853–6.

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the council movement can and must be understood as an independent historical subject that was more than the sum of the individuals involved, council organs or parties and trade unions associated with it. Because of its openness with respect to composition, political orientation and organisational structure, the term movement is particularly suitable here. A fundamental feature of the council movement was that its concepts, forms of organisation and modes of action represented a multi-layered alternative to the traditional workers’ movement and to contemporary society as a whole. This involved a critique of authoritarian, overly hierarchical structures and at the same time the construction of grassroots-democratic organisations and the will to make these alternative objectives and organisations politically effective in broad-based mass campaigns. It must be stressed, however, that the council movement saw itself as part of the broader socialist workers’ movement. This was evident, for example, in how readily the councils and their supporters adopted many traditional ideas of the workers’ movement and operated with and within its organisations. Within the framework of this study, it will not be possible to address all aspects of the multi-layered concept of revolution and the political and philosophical implications behind it.79 We will have to limit its conceptual definition to a few points that are particularly relevant for our purposes. Revolution in the modern sense of the word represents a comprehensive transformation of the social, economic and political structures of a society. This radical transformation often goes through several phases or stages of radicalisation. This was also the case here: an initial period from November 1918 to the spring of 1919 was followed by a second period, which differed significantly in terms of both radicalism and structure. Even then, contemporaries were aware of this shift. A revolution is fundamentally not to be understood as a determined automatism, but as a process that must be politically desired and made by people, albeit within social structures and substantially shaped by them. It is therefore also possible to speak of subjective and objective aspects of the revolution. However, in the following we will only address the political, but not the socioeconomic side. The contemporary slogan of the Second Revolution, then, denoted the desire to give new forceful momentum to the stagnating or aborted revolutionary process. The goal was to overcome the impasse in a second attempt and con-

79

For detailed information see Johnson 2021, Koselleck 1984 and Langewiesche 1990.

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sistently pursue the political and social revolution that had been begun and, in many ways, had only been hoped for. Among contemporaries, it was undisputed that there prevailed a revolutionary situation not only during the second phase that will be examined in the present work, but during the whole period from 1918 to 1920. The historian’s perception and that of the participants themselves thus coincide. Whether this had affirmative or negative connotations in the contemporaries’ consciousness depended, of course, on the respective political standpoint. Even before the First World War, the Social-Democratic workers’ movement engaged in a wide-ranging and controversial debate about the possibilities and problems of a coming revolution. While we cannot go into this in detail here, we should at least refer to the works of Eduard Bernstein, Karl Kautsky and Rosa Luxemburg, who represented the main currents within the pre-war spd.80 The fact that the concept of revolution often had a positive ring within the socialist-influenced workers’ movement and thus also in the council movement requires no further explanation, but we ought to consider that it was often understood in very different ways. Clearly the history of a revolutionary mass movement is primarily a political matter. The essential instrument for dealing with this topic is therefore political history.81 The assumption that political history only plays a subordinate role in historiography, although widespread for a long time, has been proven to be inaccurate. This shift also required a modification of the sub-discipline, however, particularly a move away from the primacy of ‘big’ (geo) politics. Not only should this change be welcomed in principle, it is even particularly favourable to our subject matter. After all, it is self-evident that a mass movement cannot be adequately investigated if only the leading instances are dealt with. This applies all the more in the case of the council movement, which is by definition committed to involving its grassroots in a crucial fashion. We shall now briefly explain what this approach means in detail, what fundamental problems the present study had to face and how they were solved. The attempt to capture a movement such as the one discussed here historiographically raises a whole series of complex questions. First of all, the researcher has to grapple with the difficulty of defining and delimiting the council movement as a subject. Who were the actors? How homogeneous or heterogeneous were the groups they formed? Did these groups deliberately 80 81

See Bernstein 1899, Kautsky 1902 and Luxemburg 1900. There is a near-unmanageable abundance of literature on questions of historical approaches and methods, and more specifically on political history. We shall cite but a few examples: Borowsky 1998; Meier and Rüsen 1988; Cornelißen 2000; Jordan 2013.

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demarcate themselves from each other or did they intersect? Mass movements, after all, are notable for the fact that they have no clearly defined organisational boundaries. Peter von Oertzen, too, has applied such a flexible, open definition of movement to the council movement, and quite compellingly so – but only for the period from January to April 1919.82 Such an open approach must also apply to the temporal dimension, however: where to locate the beginning, and where exactly to set a plausible end point in the process of dissolution? In view of the research objectives of this study, we must also ask: who could claim that their demands, aims and actions represented the council movement as a whole or in part? In short, the main issue is the complex structure of this movement. In order to be able to understand what motives drove the large number of often nameless participants, who rarely left written sources themselves, the political actions of broad supporter circles must be analysed. What forms of action were used, and what activities proved particularly effective for mobilising? Looking at the practices of broad numbers of activists and supporters will allow us to indirectly reconstruct their motives. This approach is quite distinct from conventional political history, which focuses on governments or party and trade union leaders. Of course, this does not mean that we will ignore the decisions taken by these central bodies. But the main focus will shift, as far as the existing sources allow, to the protagonists at the base, to their actions and intentions. Considering that this movement drew the core of its legitimacy from the extensive involvement of its grassroots, this is also a very appropriate method. We will examine the diverse organisational structures for two reasons: they, as a whole, constituted the historical agent that was the council movement, and it was in their confines that the self-formulated demands were immediately tested in political practice. Relevant from a history-of-ideas perspective are the fundamental concepts for structuring and transforming society that were developed in the movement. So the questions for us are: what objectives did the actors set, and what strategies of action did they follow in their attempts to implement them? The fundamental problem of heterogeneity can only be dealt with through a nuanced approach. This means that we must first examine the individual parts of the council movement as such. This is no less true for the pupil and unemployed councils than for council supporters within the individual parties and trade unions. Although the scope is enormous, the concept of the council system is the framework for all these constituent parts. We will therefore always

82

See Oertzen 2008, especially p. 91.

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have to ask about its specific modes of operation and especially about the interactions between the individual sections. A nuanced approach must also be taken when determining the timeframe. Not all components of the council movement existed from the beginning, and some were still operating when others were already history. Nevertheless, the relevant timeframe can and must be narrowed down to the period between February 1919 and April 1920. This does, of course, not preclude considering the preceding months from November 1918 and the subsequent period up to early 1921 for certain aspects. It is only in the first chapters that the presentation will follow an overarching chronology. They deal with three crucial landmarks of the council movement: the general strike in March 1919, the demonstration outside the Reichstag in January 1920, and the activities during and after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. The sections on individual branches of the council movement and on its relationship to the state, parties and trade unions, by contrast, only follow a chronological progression within the respective chapters. It is relatively easy to determine the geographical boundaries of our object of study: we will set them to Greater Berlin as per the ‘Law on the Formation of a New Municipality of Berlin’, which came into force in October 1920 and which, with insignificant changes, corresponds to the boundaries of today’s Federal State of Berlin [Bundesland Berlin]. This seems appropriate to us because Greater Berlin already constituted a closed settlement area before that and, despite the large number of different administrative units, also moved closer together politically through the ‘Administration Union Greater Berlin’ [Zweckverband Groß-Berlin] as early as 1911. In some individual cases, suburbs not affected by the incorporation – such as Hennigsdorf, Potsdam and Nowawes – will also play a minor role. Beyond that, superregional contexts will occasionally be indispensable for understanding concrete decisions and scope for action. The fundamental importance of Berlin as the capital of Prussia and of the German Reich, and at the same time as Europe’s most important industrial centre at the time, is beyond question. Berlin also played a central role in the council movement. This was already true for the early beginnings during the war when the Revolutionary Shop Stewards emerged. But it applied even more to the Executive Council, which in the first weeks of the revolution considered itself the provisional supreme body of all German councils and in this function convened, for instance the first Reich Council Congress in Berlin, which was later followed by other national congresses. Other events in the capital also repeatedly caused a great stir throughout the Reich, which almost inevitably lent them an exemplary character. The same applies to organisational efforts,

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for example within the framework of the revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils or the Political Council of Intellectual Workers. In addition, Berlin was the headquarters of almost all the parties and trade unions involved, as well as of numerous widely read periodicals.83 Overall, we will try to think of the revolution not only from the perspective of its demise – after all, if the situation was a genuine crossroads with several alternative paths opening up, then this means that certain paths were not taken and were thus buried. In this respect, one must agree with Eberhard Kolb’s assessment that the revolution ‘is and in all probability will remain a field of controversy … When discussing such difficult problems as existing room for manoeuvre and possible alternative decisions in 1918–19, it is always necessary to also argue hypothetically, if within limits’.84 This also means that the present study is primarily a contribution to a history of politics that concedes considerable decision-making autonomy to the intentions and actions of individuals and, above all, groups – i.e. it does not see them merely as the more or less determinate products of social structures. Following Kolb, it is precisely from this perspective that asking about alternatives to the actual course of the revolution makes sense. This does not imply some arbitrary voluntarism: to be sure, the history of the council movement cannot be explained merely on its own terms, but needs to consider the extraneous conditions – i.e. its limits and constraints – just as much. It should be clear from what we have said so far that exploring the topic based on relevant sources is not an easy task. For one, it is in the nature of mass movements that they are heterogeneous. Furthermore, a mass as such does not produce sources – the ‘silence of the grassroots’ has been highlighted in this context before.85 It will therefore be necessary to examine what has been passed on to us through individual actors and observers. Through our selection of sources, we will attempt to get as close as possible to the grassroots of the movement. For this reason, we will consult a broad spectrum of very diverse sources. Due to the wealth of material, it will not be possible to comment on all of it comprehensively or even cite all the individual source materials; only the most important ones will be briefly introduced. A detailed list of printed and unprinted sources can be found in the appendix. For this study, we have evaluated holdings of the Federal Archives, including the special collection of the Found83 84 85

One exception was the Metalworkers’ Federation (dmv), which had its headquarters in Stuttgart. Kolb 2002, p. 175. See also Hans Safrian’s brief remarks on this research problem in Safrian 1984, pp. 285–94.

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ation Archives of Parties and Mass Organisations of the gdr in the Federal Archives (Stiftung Archiv der Parteien und Massenorganisationen der ddr im Bundesarchiv, sampo-BArch), the Berlin State Archives (Landesarchiv Berlin, lab), the Secret State Archives of Prussian Cultural Heritage Berlin (Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz Berlin, GStA pk) and, especially for periodicals, those of the Centre for Berlin Studies (Zentrum für Berlin-Studien) and the newspaper department of the Berlin State Library (Staatsbibliothek Berlin).86 The central significance of the mass media for the study of events and mass movements is obvious and undisputed.87 At the same time, it is important to note that the representations and interpretations of these media themselves often had an impact on the subsequent course of history. Periodicals are therefore an important source category. Of these, we have evaluated a total of 26, covering the period from November 1918 to the end of 1920, and in some cases until the beginning of 1921. These include the Berlin daily newspapers of the left parties: Vorwärts (spd), Freiheit (uspd) and Die Rote Fahne (kpd). The former two in particular were among the most widely read papers in the German capital. All three are indispensable for a thorough reconstruction of many events. Moreover, as platforms for fundamental debates, they also provided an important basis for the goals and tactics of the respective organisations, because all of them were at the same time the central organ of their respective parties. In addition, there were various theoretical periodicals: the venerable Neue Zeit, the Sozialistische Monatshefte (both close to the spd), the Internationale (kpd), the Sozialist (uspd) and most importantly, the Arbeiter-Rat. This paper occupied a special position not least because, despite its closeness to the left wing of the uspd, it was deliberately open to authors of different political tendencies and represented a general forum for debates in and around the council system. Other papers of left-wing provenance analysed here are the daily newspaper Die Republik, the Räte-Zeitung, published with varying frequency, and the Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung of the Metalworkers’ Federation (dmv), the Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände of the General Federation of Free Employees (AfA) and the mouthpiece of the Free Trade Union Confederation, the Correspondenzblatt.88

86 87 88

According to written information provided to the author by the Berlin public prosecutor’s office on 10 September 2009, there are no relevant files on the subject in the archive. See Boris Barth’s brief, unfortunately very general outline of the problem in Barth 2008, pp. 347–66. After the foundation of the General German Trade Union Federation (adgb), the Corres-

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In order to make additional information available while at the same time providing a political counterweight to the periodicals from the workers’ movement, we have also extensively consulted Berlin’s bourgeois daily newspapers. These include the left-liberal Vossische Zeitung, the right-liberal Tägliche Rundschau, the Germania (Centre Party), the conservative papers Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger and Neue Preussische Zeitung – better known as Kreuz-Zeitung – and finally the tabloids b.z. am Mittag and Berliner Illustrierte Zeitung. Leaflets and posters are also contemporary sources that were important for political communication at the time. The same applies to the numerous pamphlets and brochures, authored by individuals or anonymous collectives, which contain, for example, ideas on council models or the respective views on individual concrete events – in some cases they were published immediately afterwards. These sources are scattered across libraries and various archives that we have considered here. The Federal Archives (Bundesarchiv Berlin, BArch), responsible for the administrative bodies of the German Reich, and the Secret State Archives for the Prussian administrative bodies (Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz, GStA pk), also hold the extensive state archival records that have been included in our presentation. These are primarily files of Reich authorities such as the Reich Chancellery (Reichskanzlei), the Office of the Reich President (Büro des Reichspräsidenten), the Information Office of the Reich Government (Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung), various ministries of the Reich and Prussia, as well as the Reich Commissioner for the Supervision of Public Order (Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung) and its Prussian counterpart, the State Commissioner for the Supervision of Public Order (Staatskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung). With the help of these files, the diverse and often very formative interactions between the council movement and the state can be traced, for example, with respect to negotiations, legislative projects or even violent measures taken by the state. Their specific perspectives also make it possible to supplement and, if necessary, correct self-representations. Also important are the records on parties and trade unions in the Federal Archives in the special collections, the sapmo. There we can find information on party-internal decision-making processes as well as agitational material and similar sources.

pondenzblatt was renamed Korrespondenzblatt, but remained the organ of the confederation. In order to avoid misunderstandings, we will only use the name Correspondenzblatt hereafter.

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In the Berlin State Archives, it is the holdings of the police headquarters, the magistrate’s office and the district archives of the Socialist Unity Party (sed) that are of primary importance. Their significance is similar to that of the central offices of the Reich and Prussia. In addition, there are some records from company archives – for example, the aeg group and the Schultheiß brewery. A large number of minutes of council meetings, party congresses, trade union congresses and the proceedings of the National Assembly and the Reich Cabinet are available in print, partly as original copies, partly as reprints or more up-to-date, annotated editions. Sources on various special topics have also been edited, for example on the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch or on military policy.89 Above all, a voluminous three-volume edition on the Berlin Executive Council and the General Assemblies of the Berlin councils should be mentioned here.90 This exquisitely edited edition counts among the most important materials as regards the Berlin council movement. It offers the possibility to follow the issues and disputes within these central general assemblies of the councils for the period from November 1918 to July 1919 in great detail. The memoirs of individual labour movement activists make up an important collection of sources.91 This extensive body of over 2,000 memoirs was collected by the Institute for Marxism-Leninism (Institut für Marxismus-Leninismus, iml) of the sed in the 1950s–60s and has been managed by the sampo in the Federal Archives since 1993. The individual records are of very different quality and quantity. Some merely describe individual episodes in a few pages, others are autobiographies comprising several hundred pages. Only a small fraction of these was published in the gdr, and even then usually only in excerpts. These holdings were very hard to access for Western researchers. Similar collections once held by the sed districts are far less extensive. The Berlin materials can be found in the Berlin State Archives today – these have also been taken into account. In total, we have evaluated well over a hundred of these memoirs, of which we ultimately incorporated 29 archival and six published ones into the presentation. These sources are of considerable interest for us, because they often reflect the viewpoints of grassroots activists or describe individual events that are mentioned only in passing, or not at all, in other sources. Because they are among the few possibilities to hear the voices of grassroots actors and inquire about their intentions, actions and experiences, we will consult them extens89 90 91

Könnemann and Schulze 2002; Hürten 1977. Engel, Holtz and Materna 1993, 1997 & 2002. We will refer to these volumes as Council Minutes 1993, 1997 and 2002 hereafter. The inventory can be found in sapmo-BArch SgY 30.

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ively. However, these memoirs are also problematic. First of all, because they were written at least 30 years after the event, which alone renders many details unreliable or potentially smoothed over in hindsight. What is more, the Institute for Marxism-Leninism determined which authors to consult, almost always encouraged them to write these papers, and in some cases also supported them methodically.92 It is probably due to this that there are disproportionally many former kpd members among them, whereas former Social Democrats and Independents are represented very sparsely. Manuscripts were reviewed by iml staff, especially with a view to publication, and then revised, in some cases together with the authors, i.e. stylistically polished or even revised in terms of content. This was done, on the one hand, to assist authors who were often inexperienced writers and, if necessary, rectify factual errors and clear up ambiguities. On the other hand, the iml also used this process in order to align the accounts with the ‘official’ viewpoint of the gdr. However, this applies less to the archival documents themselves, which is why they have been consulted directly for this volume whenever possible. In addition to the memoirs produced in the gdr, there are a large number of memoirs by individuals involved in the council movement that were published either in the Weimar Republic or in the years after 1945. These fourteen authors are functionaries from the ranks of the spd, uspd and kpd.93 The recollections of four influential military leaders are also of supplementary importance.94 In some respects, similar reservations must be expressed here as with regard to the iml holdings: these reports, too, were in part written many years after the events and, consequently, with the benefit of hindsight and in full knowledge of later developments. Naturally they are all informed to a greater or lesser extent by the respective political predilections and occasionally written with clear justificatory intention. Despite this – and sometimes because of it – they can give important clues to the various positions within and outside the movement. Some very worthwhile remarks

92

93

94

On this issue, see Epstein 1999. The author describes the genesis of the memoirs and their historical-political background. However, she focuses almost exclusively on the years 1933–1945 and on former Communists, as well as on the memoirs of top functionaries, which are, however, only a small part of the total collection. On the uspd side, among others, the aforementioned Richard Müller. Also Dittmann 1995; Ströbel 1922; Prager 1921; Geyer 1976. We have also taken into account the writings of the Communist Karl Retzlaw (see Retzlaw 1976) and Max Hoelz (see Hoelz 1984). A number of spd leaders also published memoirs that were consistently critical of the movement – see e.g. Scheidemann 1930; Noske 1920 and 1947; Müller 1928; Stampfer 1957; Löbe 1990; Grzesinski 2009 and Braun 1949. Maercker 1921; Kessel 1933; Reinhard 1933; Lüttwitz 1934.

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on the methodological problems of objectivity and political bias in eyewitness accounts can be found in the work of Heinz Niemann.95 To sum up, then, we will attempt to portray the council movement from many different perspectives by drawing on a wide range of sources, including the activists, their critics in the workers’ movement, bourgeois observers and state authorities. Comparing these often very different viewpoints takes the diversity of the movement into account and, on the other hand, aims to rectify, as far as possible, one-sidedness and conscious or unconscious misrepresentations on the part of the respective authors. Suffice to say, this does not absolve the historian from the task of subjecting the facts and interpretations thus gathered to a careful, critical analysis. Aside from a few discreet corrections of obvious printing and spelling errors, we will quote sources in line with the original texts. Contemporary spelling – but not emphases of any kind – has been left intact. To avoid confusion, the term ‘Social Democrats’ will be used exclusively to refer to members of the spd. By contrast, we will refer to members of the uspd, as we have in this introduction, as ‘Independents’.

95

See Niemann 2007. Although Niemann was referring to the gdr in his specific examples, his observations can be applied to the Weimar Republic as well.

chapter 1

The March 1919 General Strike in Berlin For the first time in Berlin, a movement has been created by an expression of the will of proletarian masses united in the workers’ councils. Not a single trade union, not a single factory, but the entire proletariat of Greater Berlin stands shoulder to shoulder to ward off injustice and violence, defend its rights and pave the way for socialism’s victory. Now it is imperative for every proletarian, whether brain worker or manual labourer, to practise solidarity, grasp the gravity of the moment and persevere until the final victory. It is not out of selfish motives that the workers have gone on strike – this is not about higher wages. The ruling powers and the anti-working class bourgeoisie must learn that the workers do not want to be disenfranchised and exploited again. They want to fight with all their strength and all their proletarian idealism for their freedom, and thus for the freedom of the whole working people.1

∵ The official publication of the strike, the Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin [Bulletin of the Executive Council of Greater Berlin Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils], thus concisely formulated the aim and significance of the general strike. In this chapter, we will describe and analyse this central event of the Berlin council movement. Our main queries are: how did the council system work in political practice? What specific features did it have, what were its possibilities and limits? To answer these questions, it will be necessary to examine the events in detail, arranged by particularly relevant aspects. Internal and external factors will both be taken into account. Decision-making within the movement is of particular importance because an alternative, grassroots-oriented way of politics was the central promise of the council idea.2 We will scrutinise both the leadership and the 1 Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin, 4 March 1919. 2 Lösche has rightly demanded that more attention be paid to this aspect when researching the council movement – see Lösche 2008, p. 119.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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grassroots level: what were the objectives of the various participants and to what degree did they succeed in achieving them? We will also examine the general capacity for mobilisation since it was there that the strength of support for the council movement really became apparent. Considering a number of important external factors is indispensable if we want to understand and locate this process in the concrete historical situation. These factors include council movements in other parts of the country, the media, government agencies and the military. For a better understanding, we shall precede our analysis by a brief outline of the events.

The Course of Events – a Brief Outline The demand for a general strike was first discussed in the General Assembly [Vollversammlung] of Berlin Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils in late January 1919, though it did not yield any concrete results. Talks in the Executive Council shortly afterwards were equally inconsequential. It was not until the end of February when strikes were already underway in the Ruhr region and in central Germany that the issue was put back on the agenda. The rank and file at workplace level played a crucial role in this, massively pushing for swift and decisive action. After lengthy and fruitless debates, the General Assembly finally voted in favour of the strike on 3 March. The Independents and the Communists voted for, the Democrats against, and the majority of spd councillors abstained. Demands to the government were drafted at that same meeting. The Executive Council constituted the strike leadership, supplemented by ten members each from the spd and uspd. The Communists and the Democrats, however, declined to participate – for different reasons. The strike began to spread all over Berlin: it was mainly the workforces of the big factories that took part, but they were joined by blue-collar and white-collar workers from numerous smaller enterprises. Public traffic broke down almost completely, while gas, electricity and food supplies and health services were specifically sustained. A little later, Berlin’s trade unions joined the strike. Looting and clashes with police began largely independently of the onsetting strike, especially in the city centre around Alexanderplatz. The Prussian government instantly took the opportunity to declare a state of siege over the Greater Berlin area. Minister of Defence Gustav Noske sent a massive contingent of troops into the city and set up courts martial. The first political opponents of the government were arrested. Then the situation escalated. Fighting between rival units broke out – republican militias versus Freikorps – involving also small groups of workers. Ini-

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tially raging mainly around the police headquarters, the conflict later shifted to the eastern parts of town. Under the impression of these skirmishes and the course of action taken by the national and provincial governments, the General Assembly decided to tighten the strike, which was now to comprise the gas, water and electricity supply systems as well. As already threatened earlier, the Social Democrats and trade unions therefore withdrew from the strike front, citing also negotiations between the national government and two delegations that had travelled to Weimar. The government had already made similar concessions in negotiations with the strike leadership of Halle, and in addition it announced further reforms. Press coverage of atrocities committed by insurgents was a significant factor in the escalation of the situation. It was against this background that Noske and the military issued a number of orders stipulating drastic measures against protestors, thus encouraging the uncontrolled use of violence. Generally speaking, it was difficult for all parties to obtain any reliable and detailed information during the strike – for various reasons, the newspapers could not be published some of the time. The role of the battle for public opinion, fought bitterly in this context, can hardly be overstated. When the strike front broke down, council activists from the ranks of the uspd tried to salvage all they could. But even their hurriedly drawn-up minimum conditions in exchange for a prospective end to the strike were overwhelmingly rejected by the government. In the end, on 8 March, the General Assembly decided to terminate the action regardless. Only a few workplaces carried on striking for a little longer, but in general work resumed everywhere from 10 March. The last battles in Friedrichshain and Lichtenberg were not over until a few days later, ending with a complete victory for the government troops. By then, a wave of terror unprecedented in the revolutionary period had already been unleashed. Well over a thousand people were killed in the process.

Strikes in the Other Regions In February and March 1919, there were political struggles and strikes in practically all the industrial centres of the Reich.3 These movements were particularly big in the three mining regions of Upper Silesia, the Ruhr area and central Germany. The protagonists were primarily the councils and the left-wing oppos3 In addition to the sources indicated individually, the following explanations are based on the study by Schubert 1958 and the relevant overviews by Müller 1925, Oertzen 1976, Kolb 1978 and Winkler 1985.

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ition parties. Despite all the regional differences, some key demands quickly transpired. They included the socialisation (Sozialisierung) of the mining and heavy industries at the very least, as well as the preservation or expansion of the existing council system. These two points were closely linked: the factory councils were to prepare and implement socialisation, which in turn was seen as a permanent safeguard for the new power relations. For the most part though, the concrete demands only aimed at creating the preconditions for further activities. Unlike during the January uprising in Berlin, then, the overthrow of the government was explicitly not (yet) on the agenda. One of the leaders of the central German movement, Wilhelm Koenen, stressed in retrospect: ‘It would not have been tactically correct to call for the overthrow of the government at this time. In most parts of Germany, the masses had not seen through the demagoguery of the government yet and still believed its promises. The order of the day was therefore to unite all forces in the struggle against counterrevolution, which was gaining strength, and extract concessions from the government, as would indeed be achieved on the question of factory councils and their monitoring rights’.4 In the following section, our special focus will be on two regions: the Ruhr area and central Germany. They were of enormous economic importance while also boasting the strongest strike movements. In the Ruhr, a strong council movement that had the support of the local workers’ parties and the soldiers’ councils had taken hold.5 Already in December 1918 and then again in January 1919, there had been some fierce strike waves in which up to 80,000 miners took part. The objectives were higher wages and better working conditions, but socialisation also played an important role from the outset. Only in the course of several district-wide council conferences in mid-January was the movement given an organisational framework. The socalled Commission of Nine, composed of three delegates each from the spd, the uspd and the kpd, was central to this process. It was to push ahead with the rapid socialisation of mining in cooperation with a people’s commissioner also appointed by the councils. An appeal of the 14 January council conference elaborated that workers would now ‘take matters into their own hands’, also stating: Socialisation is a term that not everyone is familiar with. It means that the exploitation of workers by employers must end, that the large enter4 sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 55. 5 See the study by Oertzen 1958, which is still authoritative; see also Habedank 1960, pp. 42–61 and Müller 1925, pp. 127–42.

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prises must be taken away from the capitalists and become the property of the people. No-one should be able to enrich himself effortlessly from the work of others … The People’s Commissioner and his advisors should not, however, dictate everything from above as the authorities did in the past. Rather, they need the confidence of the whole working class. This is why we have decided to base the task of socialisation on the council system.6 A close-knit, multi-level network of elected councils to which workers of the individual mines also belonged was established over the next weeks. The supreme body for the whole Ruhr region was the Central Mine Council [Zentralzechenrat]. The government, however, did not recognise these councils and scarcely took any initiative on the socialisation question either. Instead, it merely decreed that the earlier workers’ committees, which had only had minor internal competences, be re-elected. The miners’ accumulated frustration finally erupted into the open when the Corps Soldiers’ Council in Münster, which had been responsible for the industrial region, was dissolved. It had cooperated closely with the workers’ councils and had subjected the newly formed Freikorps to fierce criticism. For this reason it had become the target of General von Watter, the commander of the regional military district command, Wehrkreiskommando vi. On 14 February, a council conference in Essen demanded that the soldiers’ council be reinstated immediately and the responsible military officers penalised. If these demands were not met within three days, a general strike would be called. Now events came thick and fast. When Freikorps units marched into HervestDorsten, some particularly radical miners’ representatives in Mülheim declared a strike – this was on 16 February, i.e. just before the ultimatum expired. However, the Social Democrats and trade unionists did not go along with this. Another conference held a little later saw a clash of opposites within the movement. The moderates withdrew, the rest continued the general strike. At its peak on 20 February, almost 200,000 workers took part, which amounted to about half of the miners. At the same time, there were violent, sometimes bloody clashes between workers in number of mines. As a result of these divisions, but also because of the intensified crackdown by the troops, the struggle was therefore terminated the next day. On 25 February, work was resumed everywhere. This meant that the strike was over in the west before it had even begun in central Germany and in Berlin.

6 Quote in Müller 1925, p. 242.

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A second attempt was made in early April. By then, the spd and the miners’ union – the so-called ‘Old Union’ (Alter Verband) – had lost most of their influence. This time at least three-quarters of the miners went on strike for several weeks. Once again, the goal was the recognition of the council system. Among other points, the demands also included a democratic army reform in line with the seven ‘Hamburg points’ and the introduction of the six-hour shift.7 Once more, military forces put an end to the campaign by force when a state of siege was declared. The most important organ in the central German region was the District Miners’ Council (Bezirks-Bergarbeiterrat) with headquarters in Halle. It was constituted on the basis of the factory councils in the mining industry, which was operating there on a large scale for the extraction of brown coal, copper and potash. Because there had been a general effort to build council structures since January 1919, there was already a system in place to fall back on. Moreover, the metal and railway workers’ unions in particular supported the looming strike, as did all three workers’ parties. The uspd had almost hegemonic influence and could rely on numerous supporters in the greater region between Gotha, Halle and Leipzig, where it had its greatest stronghold, as can be gleaned from the election results. In these territories, then, it had to contend with other forces much less than it did in Berlin and elsewhere. This unusual circumstance was partly owed to the region’s long radical tradition. The workers’ movement there had leaned very far to the left even before 1914, and like the movement in the capital it had a well-developed network of shop stewards. The war brought a massive construction of chemical factories into the region, in particular the Leuna works, which quickly became strongholds for the Independents. Negotiations with the national government on 13 and 14 February and again six days later brought only minor concessions, which the government only wanted to grant as non-binding guidelines without any legal enforcement.8 Consequently, a large district conference of miners’ councils was called for 23 February, which was also attended by representatives of the railways, the metal industry, power plants and chemical factories.9 The government’s policy was harshly criticised – especially the hesitant attitude of Minister of Labour 7 The ‘Hamburg points’ are printed in Allgemeiner Kongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 16. bis 21. Dezember (see primary sources in bibliography), p. 181. These were a series of demands aimed at democratising the army and thus disempowering the old officer corps. 8 sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 53. 9 A detailed report can be found in the Volksblatt Halle of 24 February 1919. The Volksblatt was a high-circulation daily newspaper of the uspd for Halle, Merseburg, Mansfelder Land and other places in the Prussian province of Saxony. The Reich government was well informed

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Gustav Bauer. But the miners’ union was an object of resentment too: after all, it had opposed the councils and any potential strike, and it had refused to participate in the conference to begin with. The miner Peters demanded in a speech, ‘Therefore, the miners must take action to help themselves and push towards victory with all their might’.10 Wilhelm Koenen, for his part, stressed the importance of socialisation, which he considered the ‘linchpin’ of the revolution. In view of the escalating violence in the Ruhr region, he unequivocally rejected any putschism. ‘We are opposed to the use of armed force, and we do not want violence. But we will use all our economic instruments of power – demonstrations, strikes, and so on – to achieve our demands and aims’. In a third speech, the engineer Rausch once more outlined the immediate objectives: ‘A revival of Germany’s economy is only possible through socialisation from the bottom up – that is, through the democratic development and expansion of the council system. In this way, we can get the workers interested in their enterprises and thus also in increasing production … In the planned development of the council system, the will of the workers must ultimately be the determining and critical factor’. This was largely consistent with the ideas of a ‘pure council system’ as developed by the Berliners Richard Müller and Ernst Däumig. If one further takes into account that the councils were not only an end, but also a means, their characteristic dual character once again becomes apparent here. What’s more, the central German council movement aimed at driving the political-economic upheaval towards a Second Revolution. A statement by the delegate Otto Kilian, chairman of the workers’ council of Halle, is indicative of this: ‘The revolution has so far been a half-measure; it must be continued along socialist lines and lead to full victory’. A motion by Bernard Koenen, the brother of Wilhelm Koenen and vice-chair of the Leuna factory council, to re-enter into negotiations with the government was rejected by the delegates. Instead, they unanimously voted in favour of a general strike starting on 24 February. Their demands included the recognition of the councils, particularly of the District Miners’ Council, and the immediate democratisation of the enterprises. There was also a new directive for the factory councils that envisioned comprehensive monitoring and co-determination rights. The strike leadership was entrusted to an action committee which comprised the entire District Miners’ Council, as well as one representative each from the workers’ and soldiers’ councils of the city and region of Halle, the uspd, the German Metalworkers’ Federation (dmv) and the Railway Workers’

10

about these events, as can be seen from the relevant files. See report dated 25 February 1919: BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte vol. 4, B. Volksblatt Halle, 24 February1919. The following quotations are also taken from there.

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Union – but, significantly, no functionary of the Miners’ Federation. This composition clearly shows how central mining was to the regional movement. The decision to strike was widely heeded in central Germany. Apart from the miners, others laid down work too: for example, transport and construction workers and workers in chemical plants and energy production.11 Even the agricultural workers of Mansfeld Land joined in.12 According to unanimous reports, the strike was a complete success in this respect, and its effects were felt even in Berlin: the shutdown of the Golpa power plant resulted in electricity shortages, and the lack of coal supplies affected bakeries and households.13 On 27 February, a big demonstration in the centre of Halle with about 50,000 participants reiterated the demands. The placards bore inscriptions such as, ‘Give us workers’ and soldiers’ councils! Factory councillors, hit the streets! Miners for the council republic! Long live unity! All power to the workers’ and soldiers’ councils! Down with Ebert, Scheidemann and Noske! Long live the world revolution!’14 In the following days, the strike spread to Thuringia and West Saxony. In Leipzig, 40,000 workers voted in favour of the general strike and 5,000 against. This confirmed the assessment of the Leipzig council activist Curt Geyer, who said that the workers were demanding energetic measures – here, too, the grassroots were evidently the driving force of the movement.15 In the Zeitz coalfield, the miners had begun their strike as early as 22 February – i.e. even before the decision to strike was taken at the aforementioned conference.16 At the Leuna works, all but three workers were in favour of the strike.17 The demands of the Erfurt workers were similar to those from Halle, but they additionally wanted the abolition of command decrees in the army.18 This was their way of supporting the soldiers’ councils, whose influence on the troops was steadily waning, not least due to Supreme Army Command (ohl) regulations favouring officers. Workers in the region were pinning their hopes on a possible relief effort by

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Germania, 27 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 2 March 1919. b.z. am Mittag, 27 February 1919 and Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 27 February 1919 M. Mitteilungsblatt des Aktionsausschusses für den Generalstreik in Mitteldeutschland, 27 February 1919. Geyer 1976, p. 98. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 54. Mitteilungsblatt des Aktionsausschusses für den Generalstreik in Mitteldeutschland, 1 March 1919. Mitteilungsblatt des Aktionsausschusses für den Generalstreik in Mitteldeutschland, 28 February 1919.

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their colleagues from Berlin, Bavaria and the Ruhr region.19 The exact scope of the strike movement can no longer be determined. All sources regardless of political orientation agree, however, that it covered the vast majority of the working population.20 The walkout also affected the letterpress printers, which is why newspapers could no longer be published. In their place, the action committee issued a daily newsletter that featured reports on the strike, but also information on upcoming meetings or about the supply situation, while also reporting on political events outside central Germany. In this way, the strike leadership gained sovereignty over the interpretation of events – as we will see later, this was an important difference to Berlin. The government and National Assembly in Weimar were temporarily isolated from the outside world: strikes were taking place all around and train traffic was severely restricted. Telephone and telegraph connections were still working, however, and the city was under the protection of loyal troops.21 Richard Müller remarked: ‘[The government and National Assembly] were simultaneously protected, in shackles and buried’.22 Things began to ferment even in the spd parliamentary group.23 In any case, it was obvious that the movement could not be ignored. The Scheidemann government now responded in a two-pronged fashion. It deployed Major General Maercker’s Freikorps – the Landesjägerkorps, which was stationed in Weimar – to some of the strike centres, especially Zeitz and Halle.24 There, the Landesjägerkorps engaged in skirmishes with workers for several days starting on 1 March but was eventually able to gain control. Looting in the town centre led to the imposition of a state of siege. But, despite announcements to the contrary, the troops cracked down on the strike too. Thus, the chair of the Halle workers’ council, Otto Kilian, was arrested and the soldiers’ council of Halle dissolved. Maercker himself summarised his actions in no uncertain terms:

19 20 21 22 23 24

Ibid. Germania, 27 February 1919 M; Mitteilungsblatt des Aktionsausschusses für den Generalstreik in Mitteldeutschland, 1 March 1919.; Maercker 1921, p. 130; Müller 1925, p. 144. BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Bd. 4, Bl. 4. Müller 1925, p. 144. Geyer 1976, p. 98. Report of 8 March 1919: BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Bd. 4, Bl. 122; see also the detailed account of the officer responsible: Maercker 1921, pp. 128–58, and from the perspective of a Communist involved in the fighting: Pfeiffer 1958, pp. 365–37.

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The national government’s struggle against the left-wing radicals was solely about the preservation of political power. The troops were used for this purely political purpose: as a means of exercising power to pursue domestic policy. But the weakness of the government did not allow it to say so openly. It was afraid to show its colours and proclaim that the volunteer force served to eliminate council rule wherever it still existed – for this is what it ultimately came down to. The government sidestepped saying so by taking military matters as an occasion to intervene.25 Also on 1 March, a political initiative involving a series of reform pledges and negotiations between strikers and bosses was launched. The government’s offer boiled down to limited rights for the factory councils, as later codified in Article 165 of the constitution and in the Factory Councils Act (Betriebsrätegesetz). The socialisation measures promised by the government fell even further short of the demands and fizzled out with almost no results whatsoever. With respect to armed forces policy, nothing changed at all. On the contrary, the government’s clear dependence on the military even strengthened its position. Probably also because the situation was hopeless from a military point of view, however, a delegates’ meeting accepted the results of the negotiations.26 In retrospect Koenen described the strike as a success, citing the concessions made.27 It is difficult to agree with his assessment if one considers that the demands of the workers went very far beyond these concessions, and especially since the primary aim was to create a favourable point of departure for further action. Between 6 and 8 March, work resumed everywhere in central Germany – only Leipzig continued to strike until 10 March. Strikes not only took place in central Germany and the Ruhr region, however. On the contrary, a true wave of walkouts swept the entire country. To this day, we have no comprehensive historiographical account of these events. There are numerous local studies, but the relevant texts that give a general overview usually only reference the movements in Upper Silesia, RhinelandWestphalia, central Germany and Berlin. Although these were undoubtedly the most important centres of the movement, its sweeping character and the massive challenge it posed to the new order is not truly evident from such histories. The following presentation can only begin to broaden our perspective.

25 26

27

Maercker 1921, pp. 161–2. The Principles for the Establishment of Factory Councils and the Instructions for the Factory Councils resulting from the negotiations were valid until these issues were regulated by law. Both documents are reproduced in Schubert 1958, pp. 60–2. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 58.

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In Upper Silesia, the situation was particularly acute: numerous mines and steelworks came to a standstill from 5 March and railway traffic ground to a halt.28 Then the general strike was ‘carried out quite comprehensively’.29 About a week later though, the miners’ shop stewards called it off again.30 At the same time, they organised the election of factory councils and announced further action towards social revolution. The miners of the Heinitz pit near Beuthen demanded, among other measures, extensive political and economic powers for the councils. They also called for a tribunal that would not only try the war criminals, but also the government officials President of Germany Ebert, Minister-President Scheidemann and Minister of Defence Noske.31 In Braunschweig on 19 February, a left-wing government coalition of uspd and spd was formed.32 The factory committees supported this, but also announced that they would monitor it, reserving the right to take further steps if the coalition did not fulfil its obligation to ‘advance the revolution’.33 A nineday general strike followed in mid-April. Eventually, General Maercker’s troops moved into the capital of the former Duchy and put an end to the revolutionary wave. Symbolically, they burned the red flag atop the palace and replaced it with a black-white-red one [the imperial flag of the Kaiserreich – Translator]. Workers at the Daimler factories in Stuttgart went on political strike in late February. In nearby Heilbronn, the workers’ council proclaimed a general strike for 27 February, which was supported by the trade unions.34 Mannheim entered a dramatic period too.35 There, the assassination of the Bavarian MinisterPresident Kurt Eisner (uspd) provoked a general strike and the spontaneous proclamation of the ‘Council Republic of Kurpfalz’ on 22 February. The working class occupied the factories and formed its own militia, while at the same time disarming what had hitherto been the People’s Army (Volkswehr). However, the spd quickly withdrew and the Baden government in Karlsruhe refused any negotiations with the newly formed Executive Committee. Given their isolation, the uspd and kpd terminated the ill-prepared operation after a mere few days. 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Neue Preußische Zeitung, 9 March 1919 M. Germania, 11 March 1919 E. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 14 March 1919 M. The thirteen demands are reproduced in Dokumente und Materialien zur Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung, series ii, volume 3, p. 307. On the events in Braunschweig see Boll 1981 and Roloff 1963, pp. 50–61. Freiheit, 28 February 1919 M. Freiheit, 27 February1919 E. See the recollections of a participant: Heymann 1958; and of one of the leaders of the council republic: Stolzenburg 1958.

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In Königsberg, East Prussia, an ongoing strike was ended and a looming general strike averted through negotiations, as Vorwärts reported.36 In Plauen and Dresden there were no general strikes, but large rallies were held, and in Plauen people also occupied public buildings. After a controversial debate, the shop stewards of Kiel rejected a general strike in early March.37 In Bremen, on the other hand, workers in some industrial enterprises, railways and gas works walked off the job to force the release of political prisoners.38 Following negotiations, they called off the campaign on 6 March. The workers of Bremerhaven threatened a general strike that in the end did not materialise.39 In Potsdam and Nowawes, i.e. in close vicinity to Berlin, a general walkout took place – As in the capital, the spd and uspd formed a joint strike leadership there.40 All the workers from large enterprises, tram workers and letterpress printers participated in the strike. Work resumed on 9 March.41 The events of Bavaria were of special significance.42 The murder of MinisterPresident Eisner by a right-wing assassin on 21 February sparked outrage and protests across all of Germany.43 In Munich, there were further spontaneous acts of violence, and in the following weeks the political situation became very confusing. The uspd initiated a general strike, while a state of siege was imposed at the same time. The Bavarian councils played an important role in this, but for the time being were unable to assert themselves conclusively. spd members exerted a rather restraining influence, especially in the highest organ that was the National Congress of Workers’ Councils (Reichsrätekongress). From mid-March, the government under Minister-President Johannes Hoffmann (spd) was in direct competition with the National Congress of Workers’ Councils. In April, finally, a council republic was proclaimed, but it collapsed after a mere few weeks on account of internal rivalries and due to the extreme military force deployed by its adversaries. The latter began to perse36 37 38 39 40

41 42

43

Vorwärts, 5 March1919 M. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 E. BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Bl. 68– 74. Vorwärts, 8 March 1919 E. BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Bl. 43. Nowawes later became part of Babelsberg and was incorporated into Potsdam in 1939. The name Nowawes is no longer used today. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 8 March 1919 E and 9 March 1919. There is an almost unmanageable wealth of literature on the history of Bavaria in the revolutionary period. We refer here by way of example to Bosl 1969, Kolb 1978 and Hesse 2012 (web text). The autobiographical account by Ernst Toller, one of Bavaria’s leading revolutionaries and later a writer, is also well worth reading: see Toller 2018. Ströbel 1922, pp. 108–9, emphasises the radicalising effect of the assassination.

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cute the left relentlessly, thus laying the foundation for the ‘Bavarian order cell’, which in the subsequent years evolved into a rallying point and refuge for radical right-wing groups of all kinds. Overall, then, it is fair to say that the general strike in Berlin was not an isolated special case, but part of a movement that comprised numerous cities across Germany. For all the local differences, there were remarkable commonalities. In most cases, strikes were a central instrument, and everywhere the councils served as an important means through which protests were articulated and actions launched. The objectives of the movement ultimately always revolved around the intent to push the stalled revolution forward and were therefore also directed against government policy. In spite of this, at least parts of the spd joined the movement, while the party leaders and governments sought to regain control by means of promises and repression.

Objectives of the Leadership and Measures Taken Unlike in central Germany, there was no unified strike leadership in Berlin. It was only with great difficulty that the relevant forces created a formal strike leadership. It only had limited capacity for determined action and collapsed altogether on the fourth day. An important reason for this was the relatively even balance of power between the rival parties: on one side, the spd and the Democrats’ parliamentary groups, on the other, the uspd and kpd. In central Germany, by contrast, the Independents had no difficulty in assuming the leading role. We shall now attempt to work out their respective positions and analyse the actions they took as a result. In the Berlin General Assembly of Workers’ Councils, the Democratic group was numerically the weakest and played a fairly peripheral role during the strike.44 In the run-up to the strike, the Democrats positioned themselves against it, but argued for the preservation of the councils.45 They were still hoping that this could be attained without the need for such massive pressure. Most of all, they feared that the strike might lead to a further disintegration

44

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After the new election of the Executive Council on 28 February, the group comprised 95 delegates. By its own account, the majority consisted of civil servants, white collar workers, teachers and merchants – see Council Minutes 1997, pp. 768 and 823. Its leading representatives, such as Paul Michaelis and Wilhelm Flügel, belonged to the German Democratic Party (ddp). See also Engel 2004 for general information on this fraction. See the statements of its spokesperson Schubert in the General Assembly on 3 March in Council Minutes 1997, p. 823.

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of relations, even to the point of civil war. When it began, they consequently decided not to join the strike leadership even though it was offered to them.46 Later they demanded that the strike be called off as quickly as possible, citing, among other things, the escalation of violence and the uncontrollability of the masses – but the main reason was that they rejected the political strike on principle.47 Besides, they regarded the government’s promises as satisfactory.48 The Berlin leadership of the spd – i.e. the district leadership and the leaders of the Majority Social-Democratic groups in the General Assembly and Executive Council – found itself in an extremely precarious position. The party was heavily involved in the Prussian and national governments, and it constituted the largest parliamentary group in the National Assembly – the spd was therefore the prime target of any criticism of government policy. On the other hand, the Berliners were in close touch with their own base, so they knew about the growing discontent and were aware that members and voters would drift to the left. An anonymous article in the spd daily Vorwärts, entitled ‘Gewitterstimmung’ (stormy atmosphere), levelled harsh criticism at the government and the National Assembly.49 The article argued that the working class was right to be dissatisfied with the results of the revolution thus far: swift measures, especially the democratisation of the factories, were therefore necessary. The piece caused quite a stir in the Weimar cabinet and contributed not insignificantly to the government’s more flexible attitude in the days to come.50 But the functionaries’ behaviour was not solely tactically motivated: some of them demanded more decisive steps towards a new socialist order out of genuine personal conviction. Even so, the officials’ policy was aimed at preventing a general strike. As late as the day before the strike, Otto Frank stated in the Executive Council that he and his colleagues rejected the imminent campaign.51 Instead, they argued for negotiations with the government to achieve measures towards socialisation and the democratic restructuring of the old state apparatus. A meeting of the party’s workers councillors and shop stewards had already elected a negotiating commission to this end, which then actually travelled

46 47 48 49 50 51

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 836–7. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 90–91. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 106–7. Vorwärts, 28 February 1919 E. Oehme 1962, pp. 234–5. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 803–4.

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to Weimar.52 This was not the only initiative to get the situation under control. In the pages of Vorwärts, the officials repeatedly called for action against the massive strike agitation in the factories, while simultaneously expressing understanding for the discontent and promising reforms.53 At a meeting of the Greater Berlin municipal workers’ councils on 1 March, the Social Democrats – with few exceptions, among them the important functionary Hermann Lüdemann – voted to retain these councils.54 Only three days prior, they had called for their dissolution as the generally elected municipal parliaments were to take their place. The ambivalent attitude of the spd also showed in the Central Council (Zentralrat), which was sustained by the Social Democrats alone. In a report on its activities, the Central Council member Heller wrote: The government is expected to take action, which must involve the practical realisation of the socialisation of economic life and democratisation of the administration. Swift action is necessary … Whether the political mass strike is conducive to furthering the cause of socialism at this time is more than questionable. It adds to the deterioration of the situation, which ultimately favours reaction rearing its head.55 At the same time, attempts were made to delay a decision on the general strike at least until the wave of strikes had subsided elsewhere. In the General Assembly of councils on 26 February, the leadership of the Social-Democratic group used a procedural trick to achieve this: it demanded time-consuming roll-call votes, partly successfully, thus paralysing the work of the body.56 In the meeting that took place two days later, it was Richard Müller of the uspd who prevented a decision. Thus, the vote finally took place only on 3 March. In view of the majorities, the outcome of the vote could not be in any doubt, which is why spd parliamentary party leader Strasser hastily introduced a motion to hold a strike ballot in the workplaces instead.57 This would have 52 53 54 55

56 57

Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. See Vorwärts 22 February 1919 E, 27 February 1919 M and 3 March 1919 M. Freiheit 2 March 1919. Hermann Lüdemann was the second chair of the spd district organisation and the parliamentary group chair of his party in the General Assembly. GStA pk, i. ha Rep 77 Ministerium des Innern, Tit. 1373a Nr. 12 Bd. 1, Organisation der Arbeiter- Soldaten- und Bauernräte, Bl. 57. The brochure kept in this collection is titled Vom 1. Rätekongreß zur Nationalversammlung. Die Tätigkeit des Zentralrates der sozialistischen Republik Deutschlands Berlin. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 712–14. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 827–8.

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entailed a further considerable delay and was therefore rejected by the majority.58 It is true that the Social Democrats explicitly stated they would comply with any decision by the General Assembly to go on general strike for reasons of democracy and solidarity.59 This, however, did not prevent them from continuing to campaign for a strike ballot. Indeed, they went even further, arguing that work should continue wherever the ballot was cast against the walkout.60 The Social Democrats now began to organise such ballots in a number of smaller workplaces. Their campaign was not a massive success, though: a total of only 20,720 votes were cast against the strike and 7,908 for it.61 Major companies practically had no part in it at all. In some cases, e.g. at the Printing House of the Reich (Reichsdruckerei), only individual departments or only white-collar workers could be mobilised for the ballot.62 Besides, the figures published in Vorwärts were only moderately reliable. On 6 March, a workers’ councillor reported in the General Assembly that no vote at all had taken place at the Armin Tenner machine factory that he represented – even though Vorwärts had reported that the strike had been rejected there.63 The spd raised no objection to his account. In the Schultheiss brewery, Germany’s largest beer producer at the time, it also came to a strike ballot.64 It apparently resulted in favour of the strike, given that negotiations about payment for the strike days were later held between the workers’ council and the executive board. There was nothing about this in Vorwärts, however. Generally speaking, it seems that only a small fraction of the Berlin workforce participated in the strike ballot, and whether these workers then really resumed work or not is unclear. Such measures earned the party charges of acting as strike-breakers.65 The party vocally objected to this label, arguing that this was a political struggle.66 The poor feedback it received, however, showed that this approach was probably counterproductive for the spd.

58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66

Freiheit later explained that a ballot covering all of Berlin was technically almost impossible – see Freiheit of 9 March 1919. Council Minutes 1997, p. 825. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 M. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 M. The same figures were reported by the Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger on 8 March 1919 M. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 E. Council Minutes 2002, p. 78. See minutes of a meeting of the board of the Schultheiss brewery with the workers’ council and the workers’ and salaried employees’ committees of Berlin companies on 17 March 1919 in lab A Rep. 250-04-07 Nr. 11, Schultheiss-Brauerei ag, Bl. 235. See e.g. Müller 1925, p. 158. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 E.

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Despite this, the party succeeded in moderating the movement as a whole – it subsequently pushed through an official amendment of the objectives, which took a good deal of radicalism out of them: ‘The strike is directed against the government only to the extent that it demands a satisfactory fulfilment of the factual demands made yesterday’.67 This meant that any plans to take the struggle further, potentially also to the point of overthrowing the government, were off the table for the time being – in this respect, the kpd had clearly been put in its place. Both during and after the events, the party leadership stressed that the purpose of its involvement in the leadership was to ‘steer the strike into reasonable, orderly channels’.68 In the end, there was one last option: to end the strike as quickly as possible. As just mentioned, ballots did not prove a fruitful tactic. The district leadership of the Social Democrats tried to obtain concessions through negotiations with the government in Weimar. When the decision was taken to extend the strike to public utility companies, the spd took this as an opportunity to withdraw from the strike leadership, which it did on 6 March.69 Since it had already announced to do so beforehand, the move came as no surprise. It had been preceded by a decision taken at a conference of the party’s functionaries, shop stewards and workers’ councillors the previous day: the spd group in the General Assembly would motion to call off the strike should the negotiations of the Executive Council with the government produce the same results as those reached by the spd delegation. Incidentally, this outcome could be expected with certainty. A rather undemocratic aspect of this decision was the additional clause that obliged the spd representatives to ‘call off the strike on their own accord in the event that the motion is rejected’.70 Thus, the spd openly undermined General Assembly majority decisions. Despite constantly stressing their respect for democratic decision-making processes, the Social Democrats were in certain situations prepared to sacrifice these principles to tactical considerations. Two weeks after the event, the spd functionary Lüdemann drew a preliminary conclusion.71 His account again highlights the dilemma of the leaders. They 67 68

69 70 71

Council Minutes 2002, p. 15. Thus Frank in the General Assembly on 3 March – see Council Minutes 1997, p. 825. See also Vorwärts, 8 March 1919 E and Hermann Lüdemann, ‘Generalstreik in Berlin’ in Die Neue Zeit, 21 March 1919. Council Minutes 2002, p. 82; the announcement is on p. 74. Special issue of Vorwärts, 6 March 1919. This issue can be found in BArch ns 26/2088, Hauptarchiv der nsdap, Revolutionäre Ereignisse in Berlin, no page number. Hermann Lüdemann: ‘Generalstreik in Berlin’ in Die Neue Zeit, 21 March 1919. The subsequent quotes are taken from this article.

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too were unhappy about the timid approach of the government and parliament since they saw that little had changed in the administration and economy since November 1918. For this reason, they were particularly sensitive to concerns voiced at the grassroots level: ‘Doubts were growing in certain circles of the working class in the capital as to whether the political revolution had brought them any advantages at all – and if the hope of liberation from capitalist servitude, which they had held out for decades, would come to fruition’. According to Lüdemann’s account, Scheidemann’s public opposition to the idea of preserving the councils in late February had fanned the flames in particular.72 On the other hand, Lüdemann spoke out against ‘radical ideologues and impatient dreamers’. They, he claimed, had brought about the strike ‘through terrorism and by catching people off guard’ while not playing with open cards. This, solidarity appeals had drawn moderate workers into a movement ultimately aiming to overthrow the government, he said. In conclusion, Lüdemann pleaded for swift and energetic reforms, especially for the incorporation of the councils into the constitution – the ‘revolutionary unrest’ could not be pacified in any other way. Two days after the publication of his article, a conference of the Berlin party functionaries was convened.73 There, harsh criticism was levelled at the actions of the government troops and the reporting in Vorwärts. Those present also spoke out in favour of a council system in the realm of economy. As events unfolded, the spd leaders in Berlin did not find a solution to this dilemma. They tried to approach the matter with tactical manoeuvring, positioning themselves neither for nor against the strike. This led to a paradoxical situation, as they found themselves in charge of a strike they actually opposed and sought to prevent. Rather than doing any service to the strike, then, they only succeeded in fuelling the resentment of the radicals who accused them of betraying the movement. On the other hand, they could no longer fully rely on their own supporters and lost considerable backing from them. The failed strike ballot testified to this just as much as further political developments in the capital. While the strike was still ongoing, several spd workers’ councillors defected to the uspd.74 In the next Executive Council elections in April, the spd group shrunk by almost half: from 271 to 164 members.75 We will see later what direct consequences its base drew from this. From the point of view of the Social Democrat-led governments, the results of the politicking on the ground 72 73 74 75

Berliner Tageblatt, 26 February 1919. Vorwärts, 24 March 1919 M. Council Minutes 2002, p. 39. Council Minutes 1997, p. 761 and Council Minutes 2002, p. 555.

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were unsatisfactory too. ‘Their’ functionaries had neither been able to prevent nor crucially control the strike. And so, they saw themselves compelled to rely instead on the intervention of the military. In any case, the Berlin officials had lost the trust of all parties involved by sitting on the fence for too long. The attitude of the Communist leadership in the council fraction and in the Zentrale of the kpd was ambivalent and to a certain extent determined by tactical considerations.76 In principle, the kpd was radically opposed to the government and the parliamentary system and consequently also to the incorporation of the councils into a parliamentary constitution. At the same time, its support base in Berlin and elsewhere was too weak to allow for an immediate, general revolution. This put the leadership in a quandary of principle and circumstantial considerations, which was clearly reflected in its behaviour during the strike. Indisputably, the Communists were the ones pushing for a general strike most forcefully. In the factories, they had been campaigning for it for weeks.77 From mid-February onward, a Communist faction formed in the General Assembly of Berlin councils and immediately demanded a new election of the Executive Council so as to be able to send representatives there.78 At the same time, the Communist councillors proposed that the General Assembly convene more frequently. All this indicates that the kpd attached great importance to the councils for future political campaigns and sought to mobilise them for strong measures. The councils were to be revolutionised explicitly from within the workplaces.79 The party stated repeatedly and in no uncertain terms that it rejected coups.80 The district leadership even openly threatened its members with expulsion should they not comply with this line. In the longer term, the kpd undoubtedly aspired to a Second Revolution and regarded it as the duty of the Berlin working class in particular:

76

77 78 79 80

Translator’s note: The leading committee of the kpd was then known as Zentrale (roughly ‘centre’ or ‘central office’; usually translated as ‘central committee’ in modern literature). In order to better distinguish this party organ from the later central committee (Zentralkomitee), which was introduced in 1924 in the context of the ‘Bolshevisation’ of the kpd, the term Zentrale will be left untranslated hereafter – Translator. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 11 and Müller 1924, p. 153. Council Minutes 1997, p. 694 and Die Rote Fahne, 21 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 21 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 3 February 1919, 27 February 1919 und 3 March 1919. This anti-putschist stance was also emphasised in retrospect shortly afterwards – see a leaflet from the kpd Zentrale of 10 March 1919 in sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/30, Bl. 4.

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This Second Revolution is not some kind of political theatre fought for or against the Hohenzollern, for or against Ebert and Haase. The issue at stake is socialism and, because it is a different war from the war of 9 November, it is taking place on a different battlefield. The revolution of 9 November was a revolution in the offices, a revolution in the Wilhelmstrasse [the centre of the German government, housing in particular the Reich Chancellery – Translator]. The Second Revolution is the revolution of the proles, a revolution in the factories … The proletarians who already began to go on strike in late November were the vanguard of the Second Revolution. They tackled the real problem of this revolution at its root; they began to lay bare the social foundation of the revolution; they laid the first demolition mines to the edifice of capitalist rule … All of Germany has been swept into its maelstrom, and once again the Berlin proletariat is faced with the question of whether and when it will deepen the second Revolution with another mighty blow – i.e. by means of a general strike. The Berlin proletariat has perhaps suffered the most and fought the hardest in these four revolutionary months … It must advance the second Revolution and must, like the proletarians of the Reich, use the most powerful weapon at its disposal, wipe out the stain of Ebert, Scheidemann and Noske.81 The future party leader Paul Levi declared that the immediate aim of the strike was the political education of the working class.82 The best and quickest way to educate the class, he argued, was in action, especially since the spd would then inevitably reveal its counterrevolutionary character. Only in this way could the workers be won from the spd and brought into the fold of the kpd. This line, which had a rather long-term orientation, sharply contradicted some public rallies of the party. Thus, on the day of the decision to strike, one could read in Die Rote Fahne: The general strike is the weapon that will finally beat moribund capitalism to the ground … Down with Ebert, Scheidemann, Noske! Down with the traitors! … Down with the National Assembly! … All power to the workers’ councils! … That is the goal of your revolution!83

81 82 83

Die Rote Fahne, 2 March 1919. On this and the Levi comments cited subsequently, see a pamphlet written by Levi under the pseudonym ‘Cains’ shortly after the events (see Cains 1919). Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919.

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It took a certain amount of sophistry for Levi to expressly not construe such pronouncements as calls for an immediate revolutionary uprising.84 Nonetheless, the paper stated in the same issue: As a class, the proletariat in its overwhelming majority must be willing and able to seize power: only in this way can the council system, which without the vital participation of the proletariat is but an idle machine, become a constituting reality. But this will and capacity can only be acquired by the proletariat in the revolutionary political struggle: the press, speeches, meetings, demonstrations, strikes, and the general strike are the means to this end. The shooting iron, on the other hand, is not a means to this end … If used by the left against large sections of the proletariat who are not yet with us today, the shooting iron and the hand grenade are not a means of promoting the seizure of power by the proletariat. Rather, they only discredit the revolution among the masses of proletarians whom we must win over to the revolution. Only when this has been achieved is it possible to think of armed struggle against the powerless remnants of the bourgeoisie.85 This reflected the political line that was actually implemented more accurately. It was quite understandable that the Communists welcomed the strike wave across Germany and denounced what they saw as Richard Müller’s overly cautious policy.86 On the day of the crucial session of the General Assembly, they tried to give the anticipated struggle a clear direction. To this end, they published a call for a general strike, combined with demands that could under no circumstances be supported by the spd in this form. The idea was to remove and isolate the Social Democrats from the strike front from the outset. An especially provocative element in this was the call for a revolutionary tribunal to try the ‘traitors of the revolution’ such as Ebert, Scheidemann and Noske in addition to trying those chiefly responsible for the war.87 Vorwärts quite rightly criticised the attempt to create a fait accompli with regard to the strike resolution and denounced its objectives as presumptuous.88 After all, only the General Assembly or the working class as a whole could decide on a general strike, and it was also up to these entities to determine the demands.

84 85 86 87 88

Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 8. Knoll 1958, p. 478, agrees with this dubious assessment. Die Rote Fahne 3 March 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 28 Feb 1919 und 1 March 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919. Vorwärts, 3 March 1919 E.

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When the spd nonetheless became involved in the leadership and the official goals of the strike turned out to be far more moderate than those originally proposed by the Communists, the kpd withdrew from the Executive Council and thus from the strike leadership.89 It formed its own separate leadership, which, as it turned out, was unable to exert any real influence on the course of events. It only made one appearance when the Communists tried to shut down the gas and water works in Berlin-Lichtenberg.90 This occurred even before the General Assembly had made the corresponding decision and was therefore met with indignant rejection on the part of the spd and uspd. The Communists’ compromise offer for the two governing bodies to exchange representatives for information purposes was immediately rejected by the spd and uspd.91 Now the Communists’ aim of permanently unseating the spd was in danger of failing. There was every reason to fear that the Social Democrats would succeed in moderating the strike and settling it quickly. Somewhat helplessly, though rhetorically skilfully, the kpd Zentrale declared in a leaflet: ‘Have you ever, when you were on strike against an employer, invited the authorised signatory of the employer to join the strike leadership? That is exactly what is happening now that the Ebert-Scheidemann creatures have become part of the strike leadership’.92 In the same leaflet, the kpd leadership demanded that there be no negotiations with the government, that the state of siege be lifted and, once again, that all power be transferred to the councils. As we have just seen, however, the Social Democrats were able to take the anti-government spike out of the movement and push through negotiations. When the fighting escalated, the leader of the Communists’ group, Herfurth, proposed on behalf of his party that the Greater Berlin Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council be given command of all troops in Berlin.93 But this initiative was rejected too. It is true that the purpose of the proposal was primarily intended not to organise the struggle itself, but to reassure the masses. However, Richard Müller was not wrong to say that one could not assume the command over troops that one was not in a position to control.94 The kpd simultaneously tried to strike a deal involving negotiations and at least the withdrawal of the Freikorps 89 90 91 92 93 94

Council Minutes 2002, p. 6. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 61–2. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 835–6. lab F Rep. 240, Zeitgeschichtliche Sammlung, A 162, no page number. The leaflet is undated, but must have been written between 3 and 6 March. Council Minutes 2002, p. 70. See Herfurth’s justification in Council Minutes 2002, pp. 74–5 and Müller’s rebuttal in Council Minutes 2002, p. 81.

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units, because it was impossible for the General Assembly to ‘negotiate with an opponent who is putting a gun to its head’.95 Once again, the party was defeated in the relevant vote. After the withdrawal of the spd on 6 March, the formation of a new strike leadership comprising uspd and kpd members was briefly on the agenda. The exact circumstances are not entirely clear – even Richard Müller was poorly informed about the situation, as he himself admitted.96 That same evening, the Independents offered the Communists participation in the leadership, which the Communists did not accept immediately. When they did the following morning, the Independents had already decided to call off the strike. Subsequently, both sides repeatedly blamed each other publicly for the failure of this initiative.97 It is of course a hypothetical question whether this strike leadership could have been more successful than the previous one. If nothing else, it could have relied on a narrow majority in the General Assembly and probably also in the Berlin working class. This might have kept the trade unions in line too. On the other hand, the government could have certainly taken such a development as a pretext to act even more violently. From a military point of view, it was obvious at that time that the whole city would soon be under the control of government troops. Further negotiations with the government in Weimar would be blocked by the Communists, and the spd, for its part, would call for work to resume. Under these circumstances, one wonders what perspectives the strike would have had: a revolutionary uprising would not have stood a chance, and negotiations for further concessions would have been impossible – a disintegration of the hitherto unified strike would have been the most likely outcome. On top of this, it was precisely during those days that work was resumed in central Germany. The room for manoeuvre in the event of such a solution was therefore highly uncertain, which in the last analysis probably explains the hesitant attitude of both sides. When the strike had already largely ended and fighting only continued in the eastern neighbourhoods of Berlin, the kpd Zentrale called for a new general strike on 10 March.98 It was intended to bring an end to the fight95 96 97

98

Council Minutes 2002, p. 77. Council Minutes 2002, p. 86. Däumig did so on behalf of the usps in the General Assembly on 7 March – see Council Minutes 2002, p. 112, as did Müller 1925, p. 159. For a relevant Communist leaflet issued by the kpd Zentrale, see sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 26–7, as well as Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 11. Leaflet from the kpd Zentrale of 10 March 1919 in sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/30, kpd, Flugblätter und Flugschriften des Bezirks Berlin, Bl. 4.

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ing, especially the ‘slaughter’ committed by government forces. The initiative only found resonance in a few workplaces, such as the National Automobile Company in Oberschöneweide and the Oberspree cable factory.99 In both factories, parts of the workforce declared that they would continue to strike until the Freikorps had completely withdrawn from Berlin. The same was written about the Daimler factory in Marienfelde.100 However, the Daimler worker Carl Keuscher reported that by 10 March work had resumed at his plant.101 The Communists’ stance, which was in some respects very principled, ultimately ensured that they were largely sidelined from the strike leadership. They had isolated themselves by refusing to cooperate with the spd in a shared leadership or negotiate with its government representatives, and their provocative demands had only deepened these rifts. They did not even manage to establish closer cooperation with the uspd. The kpd’s agitation in the factories, on the other hand, had certainly helped to strengthen support for the strike among workers. The party had thus helped to create a movement which it abandoned as soon as it actually took off. The key to understanding this contradictory policy lies in the weakness of the kpd at the time. The party was well capable of amplifying moods and channelling discontent. However, it was bound to fail whenever it tried to take charge – whether directly through its separate strike leadership and proposals in the General Assembly, or indirectly through agitation and demands. Its roots in the councils and workplaces were simply too weak. Consequently, it relied on strong allies. But as things stood only the Independents could become such allies – and the Independents preferred to make arrangements with the more powerful spd. Thus, the Communist leadership was confined to playing the role of admonisher and critic. Whether it could achieve its self-set objective of educating the masses in action in this way is highly doubtful. In addition to external factors such as the ongoing repression against the party, the Communists’ own conduct may have contributed to their inability to gain much influence in the capital in the coming months. The leadership of the Free Trade Unions (Freie Gewerkschaften) of Berlin was primarily in the hands of the Berlin Trade-union Commission, chaired by Alwin Körsten of the spd. The day after the strike broke out, Körsten approached the

99 100 101

Tägliche Rundschau, 10.3.1919 E and Neue Preußische Zeitung, 10 March 1919 E. Germania 11 March 1919 E. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 12.

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strike leadership to ask whether the Trade-union Commission could be represented there.102 After negotiations, both sides agreed that two Social Democrats and two Independents each from the Trade-union Commission would be admitted to the strike leadership.103 The General Assembly subsequently confirmed this. Speaking before this plenum, the unionists officially declared that they would call on their members to participate in the walkout and embrace its objectives. Without a doubt, the movement had thus gained in breadth. This was most likely due to pressure from the Independents on the commission, while the spd-affiliated officials tended to oppose participation.104 In any case, Siegfried Aufhäuser, chair of the AfA white-collar worker union and member of the uspd, had already expressed his support in the General Assembly on the day the strike had begun.105 In Freiheit he appealed once again to the solidarity of salaried white-collar workers, stressing that the council system was in their interest too.106 Finally, on 5 March, the Trade-union Commission officially declared itself in favour of the strike by 55 votes to 37.107 As a result of the intensification of the strike, however, and because the demands had been partially met, the Commission then advocated for a termination from 7 March onwards.108 Evidently, the moderate trend had won out again. The corresponding decision, in any case, was taken by an overwhelming majority, with 95 votes for and three against.109 The General Commission of German Trade Unions (Generalkommission der deutschen Gewerkschaften) positioned itself unequivocally as the national leadership of the trade unions. In its organ, Correspondenzblatt, it was sharply critical not least of its Berlin sub-organisation: ‘These strike and riot actions are more likely to completely ruin the national economy and leave nothing worth socialising … The trade unions have no business in such mass strikes’.110 To justify this, it claimed in the same issue that criminals and agitators were involved in the movement and that their demands had already been largely met by the government anyway. More than anything else, the General Commis-

102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110

Council Minutes 2002, pp. 28–9. Council Minutes 2002, p. 35; ibid. for the decision taken; p. 50. No minutes of the Trade-union Commission meetings have survived. However, Däumig later mentioned such disputes, see Council Minutes 2002, p. 110. Council Minutes 1997, p. 827. Siegfried Aufhäuser, ‘Angestellte und Generalstreik’, in Freiheit, 3 March 1919 E. Protokolle der Parteitage der Unabhängigen Sozialdemokratischen Partei Deutschlands, p. 224. Hereafter Minutes uspd Congresses. Freiheit 8 March 1919 E and Council Minutes 2002, p. 112. Tägliche Rundschau, 8 March 1919 E. Correspondenzblatt, 15 March 1919.

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sion thus created a ‘worrying precedent’ for the future, reflecting the traditional reluctance of many trade unionists to become involved in overtly political actions – i.e. it reinforced the traditional division of the worker’s movement into a political and an economic arm. There was also the fear of a blatant loss in importance. If the councils were able to initiate such comprehensive movements, this would obviously reduce the influence of the trade unions in their very own sphere – their core competence, as it were: the strike. Such concerns probably explain the almost defiant statement, according to which it was only through the participation of the General Commission that the strike developed from a minority action into a general walkout. Certainly, the commission’s call had an additional mobilising effect, but it would be a great exaggeration to say that the General Commission was a key agent in the movement. Trade union representatives only played a very minor role in the strike leadership. Generally speaking, the professional organisations largely lagged behind the developments of the day. This was also due to their internal friction and disagreements, which made it impossible to take a clear line. The fundamental power struggle between radicals and moderates generally became more acute during these months. Depending on the prevailing situation, the General Commission was leaning more towards the supporters or towards the opponents of the strike – but in this way it was not able to exert any decisive influence. Not much can be said about the role of anarchists and syndicalists in the strike movement. This is quite astonishing because Berlin was undisputedly one of the strongholds of these movements, especially of their trade union organisation, the Free Association of German Trade Unions (FVdG).111 What’s more, it was precisely the syndicalists who considered the general strike the key means of their struggle. One probable reason for their widespread abstinence is that they were not represented by a group in the General Assembly, which meant that they were nowhere near the centre of the movement from the outset. A FVdG representative nonetheless showed up at the General Assembly on 5 March and demanded participation in the strike leadership for his organisation.112 Richard Müller replied dryly that a motion to that effect would be necessary. At the meeting of the strike leadership on the same day, the topic was briefly raised again.113 Once more, Müller voted against participation without a prior motion and without the consent of the General Assembly, as did the spd’s Strasser. Indeed, they were unwilling to tolerate the syndicalist even as 111 112 113

For more on this topic, see Bock 1993 and Müller 1985. Council Minutes 2002, p. 49. Müller’s reply is on the same page. Council Minutes 2002, p. 53.

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an observer. The unnamed representative pointed out how politically close his organisation was to the general strike as such. He also criticised that the General Commission of German Trade Unions had been admitted without further ado even though it had hitherto always opposed such campaigns. This was undoubtedly a weighty argument, but it did not dissuade the assembled from their decision. After this episode, the FVdG did not appear at any Berlin council meetings anymore – presumably because only two days later, the question of aborting the strike campaign had been settled anyway. It nonetheless has to be said that the rigid bureaucratism of the General Assembly leaders was one reason for some considerable loss of support. The uspd occupied a strong position in the organisation of Berlin councils. Since the end of February it had the largest group in the General Assembly as well as six of the 16 members of the Plenary Council, among them Richard Müller, who was one of its two chairmen. In the new election of the Executive Council by the General Assembly on 28 February, the results for the individual lists were as follows: uspd 305, spd 271, kpd 99 and Democrats 95 votes.114 Therefore, the former two factions had six members each in the Executive Council, while the latter two had two each. Richard Müller (uspd) and Paul Neue (spd) remained the chairmen of the ec. Large-scale actions such as the general strike could therefore only succeed with the support of the uspd. On the other hand, its position in Berlin was nowhere near as hegemonic as in the Halle-Leipzig area, for example. The fundamental aim of the uspd leaders in Berlin was undoubtedly the ‘pure council system’ they had developed.115 Yet in their view, only a lengthy process would make the implementation of this ambitious project possible. In early February, the uspd’s Ernst Däumig stated in a keynote article: ‘We are now living in days of bursting illusions’.116 This was both a warning and a hope: a warning, because the anti-council attitude of the government and of the spd now lay openly exposed and people’s faith in their commitment to socialist reforms was dwindling. A hope, because this implied that a certain elucidation was to be expected among an increasingly dissatisfied working class – specifically in the sense of a shift to the left, which was bound to benefit the uspd first and foremost. According to Däumig, the immediate task was therefore the struggle for the right of the councils to exist – they were on the defensive everywhere. The most important means to this end was to be a new 114 115 116

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 761 and xvi. See the section on the uspd in our last chapter. Ernst Däumig, ‘Kapitulieren oder kämpfen?’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 3, 1919.

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National Congress of Workers’ Councils (Reichsrätekongress), which would give new impetus to revolutionary developments. Initially, the Independents were more interested in small-scale organisational efforts in the workplaces and in gaining broad support than they were in swift mass actions.117 They combined this with a critique of the Communists’ more radical demand to transfer all power to the councils, which the uspd considered, at least for the time being, nothing but a ‘hysterical declamation’. In addition to these considerations, there were short-term tactical concerns. Until the new election of the Executive Council on 28 February, the balance of forces in the capital was unclear.118 Moreover, Müller stressed in retrospect that the disastrous January uprising had made any new initiatives very difficult. In view of the continued strong support for the Democrats and the spd, a general strike could hardly be expected to deal a decisive blow to these parties. It was therefore crucial to involve the Social Democrats at least. The Independents did not advocate a general strike from the outset, neither in the General Assembly nor in the Executive Council – on the contrary, their conduct in these bodies even suggests that they initially wanted to prevent it. Out of consideration for their own base, however, they could hardly say so openly. The overriding subject at the meetings during those weeks was the planned National Congress of Workers’ Councils and the various questions relating to it. Sometimes the delegates would even go as far as to discuss the furnishing of the Executive Council with adequate furniture.119 The general strike in Berlin, meanwhile, was not the topic of debate – despite the fact that it had long since broken out in the Ruhr and central Germany. As late as at the meeting of the Executive Council on 2 March – i.e. one day before the decision to launch the strike was taken – the main topic was electoral regulations for the coming congress.120 At the same time, as the example of a Hennigsdorf council shows, the leading speakers of the uspd were among those most dismissive of relevant initiatives raised at the General Assembly. Heinrich Weber was a workers’ councillor at the aeg aircraft factory and a uspd member. As early as 31 January, he tabled a motion calling to make preparations for a full-scale general strike as soon as possible. In the speech he gave immediately afterwards, Däumig did not address this at all, but instead called for the convening of a

117 118 119 120

This was the tone of another article published shortly afterwards – see Ernst Däumig, ‘Der Entscheidung entgegen’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. On this and the subsequent points, see Müller 1925, pp. 153–4. Council Minutes 1997, p. 735. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 791–805.

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National Congress of Workers’ Councils.121 In the journal Der Arbeiter-Rat, the uspd member Artur Kreft expressed strong scepticism about the prospects of a strike – according to him, the workers could hardly be expected to bear any more burdens.122 Another motion calling for a strike was presented at the General Assembly on 28 February. This time, Müller refused to address the matter on the grounds that it was not on the agenda and was therefore ‘not in keeping with the rules of procedure’.123 It was therefore quite disingenuous of him to state in his later account that the Berlin strike had started too late.124 Only on 3 March did the leadership of the uspd fraction speak out in favour of the strike.125 We will later examine in detail what caused this sudden change of heart. For now, we shall leave it at saying that such an authoritarian approach to one’s own base was in blatant contradiction to the grassroots-democratic ideas at the heart of the ‘pure council system’. In keeping with their line of integrating all tendencies as far as possible, the Independents acted multiple times as mediators between Communists and Social Democrats in the following days – for example, on 5 March, when the basic aims of the strike were discussed.126 Already on the same day, Müller successfully prevented an intensification of the strike even though it had been requested by his own fraction.127 Without a doubt, this was to keep the spd in the strike front. Later, after an intensification had actually been achieved and the Social Democrats had left, Freiheit criticised this escalation.128 Without the spd on the strike leadership, the paper argued, the campaign no longer stood a chance. Efforts to avoid a break with the Social Democrats at all costs was a common thread running through the policy of the uspd leaders in those days. This is also clearly illustrated by the fact that meticulous care was taken to ensure the parity of the two parties was maintained in all relevant bodies. This applied to the strike leadership, the joint negotiating delegation, and the editors of the leadership’s newsletter.

121 122

123 124 125 126 127 128

The motion can be found in Council Minutes 1997, pp. 512–13. Däumig’s speech is in the same volume on pp. 499–501. Artur Kreft, ‘Vorsicht mit dieser Waffe’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. In Lange 2012, p. 59 the article is erroneously attributed to someone called ‘Wilhelm Krest’, who is not traceable to the Berlin council movement. However, the article is signed ‘Kreft’ and Artur Kreft was also the editor of the paper. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 761–2. The motion is on p. 763. Müller 1925, S. 147. Council Minutes 1997, p. 824. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 44–5. On the tensions, see also Müller 1925, pp. 156–7. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 48–9. Freiheit, 9 March 1919.

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The Independent leaders were far from satisfied with the results of the negotiations in Weimar, but eventually they called for a termination of the strike.129 Däumig justified this with the counterproductive activities of the other fractions. He formulated a few more conditions, the main aim of which was to curb the repressions that had already begun. Although these conditions were almost completely rejected the following day, Däumig and other leading Independents continued to advocate that the strike campaign be terminated.130 The defection of the Trade-union Commission, the intense street fighting and the foreseeable end of the strike in central Germany, had all contributed to this. The general strike, at least at that point in time, did quite obviously match the intentions of the leading Independents around Däumig and Müller. They had pinned all their hopes on the forthcoming National Congress of Workers’ Councils. It is, however, extremely doubtful that it would have worked out in their favour. When it did convene in April, it was largely disappointing from their point of view, as Däumig himself admitted.131 One might speculate whether this was really only due to the councils’ fear of Noske’s tyranny, as Müller believed.132 At least outside the left-wing strongholds, the spd still had the far stronger support base after all. What’s more, the extremely progovernment Central Council (Zentralrat) that organised the National Congress was in a position to make some important choices in advance, deciding for example the electoral mode and the agenda. This must have been obvious to any observer of the political scene, even if the exact balance of forces could not be predicted. But even if it had been possible to change the highly controversial electoral mode and convene the National Congress of Workers’ Councils earlier, success would have been highly uncertain. The National Congress simply did not possess the necessary means of power to implement its decisions on its own accord. It could only serve as an agitational platform. Notably, already the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils had shown that the government simply ignored decisions that it did not like. This applied to military policy just as much as to the question of socialisation. Now that the National Assembly had been elected, the Freikorps formed and the government consolidated, the government was in a position to pursue its policies with even greater ease. Having set the wrong priorities, in any case, prevented the Independents from assuming the crucial leadership role they should have had in the coming strike movement, considering their local strength and fundamental 129 130 131 132

Council Minutes 2002, p. 97 and pp. 112–13. See Müller 1925, pp. 160–61. Council Minutes 2002, p. 533. Müller 1925, p. 150.

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political positions. The plain truth was that the Berlin uspd leaders had relied on the wrong strategy for too long. When they finally turned around to support the strike, valuable time had been lost. So the argument that they had to be considerate of the spd is somewhat misleading, for in the decisive days starting in mid-February the uspd had made no attempts in the General Assembly whatsoever to persuade the spd to support the strike. Exemplary of this hesitant stance was a resolution that the spd and uspd jointly introduced in the General Assembly on 28 February, where it was then passed. It stated that the General Assembly ‘staunchly opposes attempts to eliminate the workers’ and soldiers’ councils … The General Assembly imposes on all workers’ councillors the duty to vigorously fight against capitalism and open and covert reaction.’133 However, neither faction tied this verbally radical declaration to any proposal of concrete action – they merely demanded that the National Congress of Workers’ Councils be convened as soon as possible. Just before the strike began, Richard Müller appeared at a Borsig factory meeting.134 But he only spoke in general terms about the future tasks of the workers’ councils, not of the strike. Even when addressing the grassroots directly, then, he pleaded for a politics of restraint. The notion that the struggle could not be successful without the Social Democrats on side cannot be dismissed out of hand. In this sense, the mediating approach was quite understandable and pursued by Richard Müller with great tactical skill. The events in the Ruhr region, where an overly hasty call for a general strike resulted in the abstinence of the spd and trade unions, rapidly leading to failure, may have reinforced this stance. As a consequence, however, the Independents became highly dependent on forces that had no interest in advancing the revolution, which in turn put the Communists off. It was, in any case, unlikely from the outset that all these divergent forces could be held together for any length of time. The Independents knew this and made a choice: they cooperated with the stronger partner that was the spd. This, of course, made concessions from the government more likely. But once it had become apparent how little the government was actually willing to concede, it was no longer possible to switch to a more radical line – the attempt failed on account of the difficult relationship with the Communists, but also because of the deteriorating general conditions: the fighting in the streets of Berlin was

133 134

Council Minutes 1997, p. 764. Vorwärts, 1 March 1919 M.

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escalating, and the central German strike was coming to an end. The narrow window of opportunity for a nationwide movement had closed. This, in turn, points to the great importance of coordinating with forces outside Berlin.

Cross-Regional Coordination There is no question that there was some degree of cross-regional cooperation in the council movement. The usps – or more precisely: its left wing – was the primary organisational framework. At the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils in December 1918, the various protagonists had moved closer to each other, and soon some of them began meeting regularly in the uspd parliamentary group of the National Assembly in Weimar – that is to say, personal connections were established shortly after the emergence of the councils and were maintained thereafter. Curt Geyer, who was directly involved, wrote that they had explicitly agreed on continuing close cooperation at the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils.135 The regional council bodies also cooperated directly with each other, and council and party structures overlapped to some extent. Thus, the Independents made up an important segment in the councils everywhere – in central Germany, they were even the crucial one. Wilhelm Koenen described the emergence of these networks thus: We established close links with the workers’ and soldiers’ councils of Rhineland-Westphalia and Berlin, which then became even more lively between Otto Braß, Düwell, Geyer, Merges and myself in Weimar. We wanted to tackle the task of consolidating the left districts that had been expelled from the spd in 1916 into regional groups. We were determined to turn the semi-revolution into a full revolution. Close cooperation then developed between the revolutionary workers’ councils of RhinelandWestphalia and Halle-Merseburg. In January 1919, the district miners’ council in Halle was formed under the chairmanship of Steiger Peters and Wilhelm Koenen – relevant links were established with the Upper Silesian district. Firm agreements for joint actions were also made with the Berlin Executive Council. They were fulfilled, unfortunately only belatedly, in early March.136 135 136

Geyer 1976, pp. 82–3. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 52. Braß came from Remscheid, Bernhard Düwell from Zeitz, Geyer from Leipzig and August Merges from Braunschweig.

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The cooperation thus covered regions that would actually see major strike movements emerge in February and in March. Koenen claimed in his memoirs that these strikes were linked to a strategy that had been worked out in detail. He wrote, however, that the plan had ultimately failed on account of mistakes made in the Ruhr area and in Berlin: We held the posts of the workers’ and soldiers’ councils firmly in our hands and tried to expand them. We wanted to facilitate a new revolutionary push on the broadest possible basis in the spring of 1919. A general strike prepared according to plan with the other districts (Rhineland, Westphalia, Berlin and Saxony) was to be the means to attain this. We succeeded in our intention of launching the general strike in central Germany on 23 February – and on 25 February, Thuringia, West Saxony and Leipzig, where I was to speak to the railway workers, joined the general strike as planned.137 To say the least, it is highly doubtful that the Berliners really agreed to this. As we have seen, their main interest was to bring about a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils in February after all. They subordinated everything else to this objective. Elsewhere, however, Koenen stressed that the actions had been coordinated with Richard Müller.138 Harbauer reported – without giving any further details – of a meeting in Berlin in mid-February where the course of action was discussed.139 In fact, Richard Müller also took part in a meeting with representatives of the Ruhr region in Kassel on 16 February, i.e. immediately before the outbreak of the strike there.140 Members of the Essen Commission of Nine were present, among others. In his report to the Executive Council shortly afterwards, Müller emphasised that the meeting had been of minor importance and that he had only attended in ‘private capacity’. His real motivation to attend is not entirely clear. Possibly, he merely wanted to find out about the situation in west Germany rather than discuss joint action. In any case, he subsequently stressed before the Executive Council that the looming strike was not in his interest, and that it would inevitably have a dev-

137 138 139 140

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 4. lab C Rep. 902-02-07 Nr. 107, Ottomar Harbauer: Der Generalstreik und die bewaffneten Kämpfe im März 1919 in Berlin. Berliner Arbeiterveteranen berichten, manuscript, Bl. 5. lab C Rep. 902-02-07 Nr. 107, Ottomar Harbauer: Der Generalstreik und die bewaffneten Kämpfe im März 1919 in Berlin. Berliner Arbeiterveteranen berichten, manuscript, Bl. 4. On the following, see Council Minutes 1997, pp. 652–6.

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astating effect on Germany’s economic situation. Instead, he favoured another National Congress of Workers’ Councils. In the same meeting, he received backing from Däumig, who also declared his serious concern for the economic situation: ‘An impending general strike by the miners can in a few days, let alone within a week, cause havoc that we will not be able to redress for decades, and we should also bear in mind that the commotion caused claims human lives every day, whatever the side and whatever the motives’.141 Needless to say, it is hard to reconcile these statements with an intention to launch an general strike in Berlin within days or weeks. Now, he might have said this for tactical reasons, to reassure the Social Democrats in the Executive Council. The Independent Artur Kreft wrote rather ambiguously during those days that his party had no intention of shouting its ‘strategic battle plan’ from the rooftops.142 But the notion that a mere tactical game was being played while the party’s real intentions remained hidden was plainly contradicted by the Independents’ conduct in the following days: they actively opposed all attempts to call a general strike or even discuss it in Berlin’s General Assembly. It is therefore probably inaccurate of Hoffrogge to imply that Richard Müller was involved in Koenen’s plans to provide nationwide strike leadership.143 In late February, the Berlin daily Die Republik reported phone conversations between the Executive Council and the strikers in Leipzig, Erfurt and Jena.144 No connection to Halle or Merseburg could be established. The main purpose of contacting the strikers there was to find out more about their aims – the report does not mention anything that would indicate coordination. Whether there were any last-minute attempts to create a unified movement after the general strike had begun is unclear. In any case, a strike delegation from Halle visited Berlin in early March. Tägliche Rundschau only reported that it had gone there for talks with the government.145 The cabinet, however, was in Weimar at the time, which is where the delegates from Halle went to negotiate their demands. Only Minister of Defence Gustav Noske had been in Berlin since his arrival on 2 March.146 It is at least possible, then, that the delegates wanted to speak with the Berlin councils rather than official bodies in the capital. Oskar Rusch (uspd) and Fritz Brolat (spd), two members of the Berlin Executive Council, travelled in the opposite direction, namely

141 142 143 144 145 146

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 655–6. Artur Kreft, ‘Vorsicht mit dieser Waffe’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. Hoffrogge 2014, p. 117. Die Republik, 27 February 1919. Tägliche Rundschau, 3 March 1919 E. Noske 1920, p. 101.

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to Halle and Leipzig, and returned on the evening of 3 March.147 This trip, however, was most likely made for information purposes only – the participation of a Social Democrat alone would suggest as much. In addition, it is unclear whether a meeting with the Halle strike leadership really took place as shootouts in the city considerably hindered the two councillors’ freedom of movement. In Leipzig, on the other hand, where no government troops had entered, they could gain a clear impression of the situation. But the strike management did not draw any conclusions from the information gained, and there was no further talk on how the events connected with other regions. The events of Berlin, in turn, were of course closely followed outside the capital. In Leipzig, for instance, the onset of the strike was euphorically welcomed – the local strike leadership now viewed the movement as approaching its climax.148 More likely than a coordinated approach is a different course of events. An elaborate plan, such as described by Koenen, only existed for central Germany. There was agreement with the other regions on the basic political line, but not on a concrete tactical approach. Even if the latter had been the case, the Independents in the capital and in west Germany simply did not have sufficient control over the working class. The movement in the Ruhr had started completely independently and against the will of the left uspd on the ground.149 In Berlin, by contrast, the local leaders relied on broader-based and thus longerterm preparatory work – that is to say, on involving the spd and calling for a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils. As far as the Berliners were concerned, a strike was therefore too early and highly inconvenient. In both regions, the initiative did not come from the uspd functionaries, but from radical workers at the grassroots. This, however, meant that an indispensable factor for the success of the project was lacking from the outset: central coordination. In addition, there were the military interventions. It was not even possible to maintain a connection between Leipzig and Halle during the walkout.150 This was because the Halle strike leadership had to flee from Maercker’s troops to Eisleben and not lost contact with Leipzig in addition to becoming isolated from the local movement. Inevitably, coordination with distant regions became

147 148 149 150

See Rusch’s report at the meeting of the strike leadership on the same day, in Council Minutes 1997, p. 84. Call of the Leipzig strike leadership of 4 March 1919 in Dokumente und Materialien zur Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung, series ii, volume 3, p. 293. Gerlinde Lorenz emphasised this – see Lorenz 2010, p. 123. See description in Geyer 1976, pp. 99–102.

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even more complicated as government troops marched in there as well. Müller, for his part, stressed that the great strike movement of the spring did not have a unified leadership: A surplus of revolutionary strength erupted in the months from February until April in a scattered fashion. Combined and unified, this strength would have been sufficient to topple the government, the bourgeois and Social-Democratic coalition. It could have given the National Assembly an objective and destroyed the new militarism. The new Germany would probably have been given a different face and different content. This momentous revolutionary strength was lost. The government succeeded in smashing and destroying it little by little.151 This was consistent with the assessment of the Independents’ Karl Grünberg, who was active in the soldiers’ council of Pankow at the time: ‘Hardly any serious attempt was made to support each other or coordinate military defence. The great strength that the German proletariat possessed got bogged down in unsuccessful “church tower revolutions”’.152 The uspd as a whole was, in any case, divided on how much it should get involved in the general strikes. At its extraordinary party congress taking place in Berlin from 2–6 March – i.e. at the same time as the strike – only a non-binding resolution was agreed. It stated: ‘The party congress expresses its warmest sympathy with the workers striking all over Germany and declares the mass political strike to be the best present means for the proletariat to protest against the counterrevolutionary behaviour of the pseudo-socialist government.’153 In his closing remarks, party leader Hugo Haase appeared similarly concerned to show a gesture of solidarity, but also rather helpless: We have an obligation to give our full attention to these events [the current struggles in Berlin – Author]. We must not be indifferent to them. It is impossible to say at this time what is to be done. In any case, according to the decisions we have taken, we want to bear in mind that we must not remain indifferent, passive spectators of great historical events. What is

151 152 153

Müller 1925, p. 207; see also Müller 1925, pp. 142 and 147. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1116, Erinnerungen Karl Grünberg, Bl. 125. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 269.

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occurring now is but a prelude to the difficult struggles lying ahead. We know that we are living in the midst of the revolution and that it is not over yet.154 A more serious motion calling for a general strike committee to actively take leadership of the movement was rejected. The resolution wanted the committee to ‘transform the local general strikes into a general strike covering all of Germany until the political and economic demands put forward by the Berlin strike leadership, in agreement with comrades from other regions, are realised. A Commission of Ten shall be elected by the party congress, which will arrange everything else’.155 The resolution proposed Richard Müller, Otto Ziska, Emil Barth and Ernst Däumig from Berlin as members of the Commission of Ten. Unfortunately, the minutes do not say who submitted the proposal, nor how exactly the vote turned out in terms of numbers. However, this final attempt to bring about a united approach failed due to the unwillingness of the party congress delegates. Would it have been successful had they supported it? While this remains a matter of speculation, it probably came too late anyway. Moreover, it is highly unlikely that strike participants from other parties would have simply subordinated themselves to this body. It is, in any case, safe to say this: although left Independents from all strike regions shared the same political goals in principle, they clearly disagreed on the way to achieve them and on the timing of the strike. This can be explained by different regional circumstances. In central Germany they were in the strongest position, so it was there that they pushed for action most vigorously. In Halle, Leipzig and Thuringia, they were basically in a position to make decisions all on their own, which probably made it difficult for them to have a realistic view of the limitations of their fellow party members elsewhere. In Berlin they had to be far more considerate of the spd. In the Ruhr region, they similarly placed their hopes for a long time in the Commission of Nine, which was made up of equal numbers of representatives. In Upper Silesia, the uspd generally did not have comparable structures – the development there was more spontaneous anyway.156 The Polish-German conflict there gave it an additional national dimension, which soon overshadowed any social conflicts. Besides these factors, the military operations that were underway everywhere further prevented cooperation. On the whole, the fact that the strikes broke 154 155 156

Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 266. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 33. On Upper Silesia, see Müller 1925, pp. 126–7.

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out almost simultaneously was not so much the result of conscious, coordinated action by local leaderships. The reasons for this are rather to be found in the deteriorating material conditions, high unemployment, and the passivity of the government and parliament with regard to the councils and socialisation. The military policy of the cabinet also provoked great resentment. Besides, a large-scale operation seeking to mobilise several million workers in a coordinated fashion was generally very difficult to carry out. This applied all the more since there was no direct external reason, as in the case of the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch a year later. It was quite predictable from the outset that problems of all kinds might arise, which is why permanent, institutionalised communication between the individual regions, which evidently did not exist, would have been all the more important. The interactions that did take place give the impression of ad hoc emergency measures – assuming for the sake of discussion that there was a detailed plan agreed by everyone, the preparations for its implementation would have been amateurish in the extreme. It is more likely though that no such plan existed. This assumption is supported by another account by Koenen, which is clearly more cautiously worded than his statements cited earlier: ‘It was further decided [by Koenen and Müller – Author] that in the course of this big campaign, if it proceeded as discussed, one could appeal once more to the Berlin proletariat, which had already suffered so terribly’.157 Evidently, then, it was a rather vague arrangement that gave the Berliners considerable tactical leeway. Oehme also stresses that interregional meetings took place but that there was no central leadership.158 It ultimately remains uncertain whether better-coordinated action would have been more successful than the ‘church tower revolutions’ that were in fact carried out, the results of which were completely inadequate from the perspective of the council movement. Some protagonists of the time, including Richard Müller, certainly took this view.159 Koenen, on the other hand, retrospectively viewed the central German strike campaign as a success: ‘The general strike had achieved its goal and was ended as planned. The factory councils of central Germany, especially in the major enterprises, would make very thorough use of their extended rights in the next few years’.160

157

158 159 160

Koenen is thus quoted in lab C Rep. 902-02-07 Nr. 107, Ottomar Harbauer: Der Generalstreik und die bewaffneten Kämpfe im März 1919 in Berlin. Berliner Arbeiterveteranen berichten, manuscript, Bl. 5. Oehme 1962, p. 195. Müller 1925, p. 207. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 58.

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This clearly contradicts his own statement, however, according to which the aim of the movement was ‘to turn the semi-revolution into a full revolution’.161 It goes without saying that united, coordinated action between the regions would have increased pressure on the government and the National Assembly. It might even have generated momentum beyond these centres. As shown in the previous section, similar activities did indeed take place in Braunschweig, Stuttgart, Dresden, Mannheim, Königsberg, Kiel and other places. Shortly afterwards, a council republic was proclaimed in southern Bavaria. Given that Bremen and Hamburg both had a strong and fairly radical working class, these two cities might have joined the movement too. By then at the latest, it would have been almost impossible to suppress the general strike by military means. Moreover, the local leaders would then have been in a position to negotiate with the government. Although this scenario is largely speculative, it was certainly within the realm of possibility. As to the members of the Berlin councils, especially the Independents among them, they were so taken up with their idea of convening a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils that they did not see the opportunities inherent in a general strike movement – or at least they did not think that the time was ripe for such action. By the time they decided to go along with it, it was too late for any meaningful coordination. Müller himself wrote somewhat laconically in his account: ‘On 3 March, the general strike was decided in Berlin. Too late.’162 He did not mention that he shared considerable responsibility for this.

Pressure from below: The Rank and File of the Movement With the exception of the Communists, the leadership sections of the Berlin councils were all against the general strike for different reasons – and the kpd only constituted a small minority of about ten percent in the General Assembly. We therefore yet have to explain why it came to the momentous decision to inaugurate the political strike. To do this, we need to take a closer look at the base of the council movement. The first question is: what exactly do we mean by ‘base’, also referred to as ‘rank and file’ or ‘grassroots’? The councils were based on their constituencies, i.e. the workforces of the Greater Berlin enterprises – yet the organisational structure based on them was not entirely uniform. Typically, workers elected representat-

161 162

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 52. Müller 1925, p. 147.

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ives to the General Assembly as well as workplace councillors or shop stewards. It was not uncommon for both positions to be held by the same person or for the factory councils to delegate representatives from their ranks to the General Assembly. Since the key for the number of delegates was one per 1,000 employees, large companies were able to send several delegates, while the smaller companies were grouped together in joint electoral bodies. All these office-holders were in close touch with their electorate and could also be quickly replaced by them through new elections. When we speak of ‘base’, ‘grassroots’ or ‘rank and file’, we therefore mean both the workers themselves and the delegates drawn directly from their midst. To a degree, party members in the workplaces should also be included in this. After all, they too agitated among their colleagues and tried to mobilise them politically, but this was by no means always done in the spirit of their respective party leaderships or on their instructions. Often, they developed their own initiatives and, in this way, certainly had an influence on the course of events – for example, when elected as delegates to the General Assembly or initiating campaigns in factory meetings. Indeed, the council system offered all these grassroots actors the kind of leeway that was not inherent in other organisational forms. This is what we will try to explore in the following section. At General Assembly of Berlin councillors on 31 January, the subject of a general strike was brough up for the first time. The initiative came not from the Executive Council or the leaders of the party groups, but from the rank and file: Heinrich Weber, chair of the aeg aircraft factory in Hennigsdorf and member of the General Assembly and the uspd, tabled a motion. It is worth taking a closer look as it gives a good glimpse of the mood in the factories: Urgent call to all workers’ councils! For anyone who has closely followed the development of the revolution since 9 November, there is no doubt today that it has been steered further and further into a purely capitalist, reactionary direction … The greatest ‘achievements’ of the revolution today are the resurgence of militarism and a National Assembly born out of a rushed election. We have legitimate concerns that this National Assembly will sweep away the system of workers’ councils, our most important gain. There is no mention of workers’ councils in the draft constitution. In any case, it is clear to us that working class must oppose the abolition of workers’ councils by any means at its disposal. When making use of these means, we must ensure that the whole job is done! So, no partial strikes, no so-called mass strikes! Such patchwork fails against the instruments of power, i.e. the machine guns and cannons of the present government. For the same reasons, street demonstrations, as the last few

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weeks have sufficiently taught us, are utterly futile. Only the general strike in the most sublime sense of the word can be an effective solution! The general strike must be launched everywhere in such a way as to prevent fragmentation and dispersal. A violent suppression will be impossible if the shutdown of the electricity, gas and water supply coincides with the shutdown of factories and transport facilities. To organise and conduct the general strike effectively, it is absolutely necessary to have a head office that issues the right slogan for every worker by hand and by brain at the appropriate time. A system of workers’ councils reaching even into the smallest enterprises and its authority will make this task easy … In the central office, all sectors of the economy, such as industry, transport and municipalities, must be represented by their most outstanding workers’ councillors … It goes without saying that a national central office must be created as soon as possible and without delay!163 Clearly, these concerns were directed against the course of events since November 1918 – i.e. against the lack of socialist policies. Bourgeois parliamentarism and the rise of the Freikorps are seen as the greatest threats here, whereas the councils are presented as both the aim and the tool of an alternative, revolutionary politics. Whether parliamentarism was to be abolished or merely supplemented was left open. At the very least, the councils were to be incorporated into the new constitution. In view of subsequent developments, it is worth noting that the motion anticipated the actual strike, including its aggravation, while also noting the danger of military suppression. Weber proposed the nationwide close cooperation of councils as a means to resist such a crackdown. This is, of course, precisely what was not pursued consistently enough, just as Weber’s motion initially met with no response in the General Assembly. When he took the floor there a month later, on 28 February, the situation had changed fundamentally. This time he arrived from Hennigsdorf with a whole delegation from the aeg factory and declared: ‘There is no stopping our workers anymore’.164 Two other delegates, a Social Democrat and a Communist, also claimed that the workers were pushing for a general strike – according to them, this was true for supporters of all party affiliations. Consequently, they jointly urged for a resolution to call the strike immediately.165 However, no such vote was taken. At the end of the meeting, two unnamed council members came

163 164 165

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 512–13. Council Minutes 1997, p. 754. See also there regarding the following. Ibid.

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forward to express their frustration. One remarked: ‘If the workers’ councillors leave the matter unaddressed, they are no longer worthy of being workers’ councillors’.166 The second one added: ‘If we can fraternise over the heads of our leaders, we can fraternise over the heads of the Executive Council too’. This was an unmistakable threat aimed at the leading council functionaries, urging them to adopt a resolute policy. The events unfolding in the factories during those days showed that these were not isolated opinions. Indeed, a radical change in mood became noticeable in many Berlin workplaces in the second half of February. In meetings of workers, shop stewards and factory councillors, heated debates took place and resolutions of varying content were passed almost everywhere. The focus was almost always on the preservation and expansion of the councils. This was complemented by protests against military policy, the slow pace of socialisation and the murders of Kurt Eisner and other workers’ leaders. Many references were also made to the situation in central Germany and the Ruhr area. One of the first workforces to take action was the staff at the Borsig enterprise in Tegel. On 22 February, a factory meeting demanded the disarmament of the white guards and the ‘immediate recognition of the workers’ and soldiers’ councils, for only the council system can improve German economic life and safeguard the socialist republic’.167 The workers at the Franz Stock machine and tool factory in Treptow declared that they stood united for the council system. Similar statements came from the Aron electricity meter factory in Charlottenburg.168 The factory councillors of the aeg turbine factory raised their voices in protest against the government, especially Noske’s policies.169 They also called for an investigation into the murders of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht. On 23 February, workers at the Riebe ball bearing factory in Weißensee protested against the murders of Eisner, Luxemburg and Liebknecht, demanded that the army be demobilised, and warned against the ‘looming counterrevolution’.170 The artillery workshop of south Spandau went on a one-day protest strike in honour of Eisner on 26 February: after a joint commemoration, 4,000 workers walked out in unison.171 The violent assassination of the popular workers’ leader was seen far beyond Bavaria’s borders as an unmistakable indication of the advance of counterrevolutionary forces and thus served as an additional

166 167 168 169 170 171

This and the following quotation: Council Minutes 1997, p. 761. Die Rote Fahne, 1 March 1919; there was also a report on this in Vorwärts of 1 March 1919 M. Freiheit, 24 February 1919 E. Die Rote Fahne, 26 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 27 February 1919. Freiheit, 27 February 1919.

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driving force for radicalisation.172 The shop stewards at the Rosenthal Electricity Works declared on behalf of the 4,000 workers: ‘[We are] firmly convinced that this act is a blow against the entire proletariat of Germany. By killing one of their best men, they wanted to strike the working people at their very core to help the counterrevolution to victory’.173 On 17 February, the workers at the Max Hasse engineering company stressed that they saw the councils as the legitimate political and economic representation of their interests.174 Moreover, they declared, the councils were the foundation for the unification of the proletariat. White-collar and blue-collar workers at the aeg Apparatus Factory jointly demanded a swift recognition of the Executive Council’s guidelines for the activities of economic councils, which then became an official demand of the strike.175 These guidelines provided for extensive monitoring and co-determination rights and had been officially adopted by the General Assembly some time earlier. After a factory meeting, workers at the Schultheiss brewery, the largest company of its kind in Germany, spoke out in favour of retaining the economic councils.176 The workforce unanimously agreed to this after a speech by a member of the Executive Council, Franz Büchel (spd), on 25 February. Of particular importance was a statement by the so-called Commission of 16, which acted as the overall representation of all 60,000 aeg workers: it unequivocally advocated a strong future role for the councils.177 Carl Keuscher, then a workers’ councillor at the Daimler Motors Corporation, reported extensive agitation by the council members for a general strike.178 The objective was to push for the socialisation of key industries. Workers at the rifle factory in Spandau, like all arms factories in that suburb of Berlin a stronghold of radicals, sharply criticised the government’s action against the strike in the Ruhr.179 They called for a seizure of power by the proletariat and a general strike in all of Germany. At another meeting at the gun factory it came to a remarkable clash: Gustav Heller of the spd, former Executive Council member and now a member of the Central Council, was going to

172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179

This point was also underlined by the Tägliche Rundschau, 8 March 1919 E. Die Rote Fahne, 26 February 1919. Freiheit, 24 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 15 February 1919. Vorwärts, 28 February 1919 M; Freiheit, 27 February 1919 E. Freiheit, 27 February 1919 E and Die Rote Fahne, 28 February 1919. sapmo-BArch, SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 11. Freiheit, 26 February 1919 E. On the general situation in this enterprise during the war and the revolution, see the memoirs of the workers’ council member and revolutionary chairman Gustav Milkuschütz in Milkuschütz 1958, pp. 311–18.

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give a speech at the plant meeting.180 Only a few sentences in, he was shouted down. The organiser asked if the assembled wanted to deny him the floor, to which all but six people present replied in the affirmative. The Spandau state workshops finally set up their own strike committee at the end of February and vehemently demanded the onset of the strike campaign.181 A delegate from these workshops made an appearance at the General Assembly on 3 March, stating, ‘The workers of Spandau already wanted to take steps last week. They are surprised that the Berliners are proceeding in such a lukewarm manner’.182 The 11,000 workers at the Spandau munitions factory were no less radical. On 21 February, a workers’ meeting passed a resolution stating: Workers of all political persuasions protest in the strongest terms against the stifling of the miners’ strike. They express their fullest sympathy with the striking pit slaves and demand the immediate withdrawal of the white guards from the Ruhr district and from all industrial centres, especially Berlin. With every step taken by the government, its ruthless abandonment of the dispossessed and exploited and its extensive accommodation to the capitalists is becoming evident time and again. The National Assembly supports its machinations in every way. This is why the whole working class unanimously demands that all power be given to the workers’ and soldiers’ councils.183 Another incident showed once more just how much support the spd leadership had lost.184 At a large meeting at the Daimler Motors Corporation in Marienfelde, harsh criticism was levelled at the government’s policy and the army and demands were made for the release of political prisoners. The Social Democrat Köhn protested against a resolution to this effect and stressed that politics had no place in the workplace. He then left the hall, followed by only some 50 supporters. 1,500 other workers stayed and unanimously supported the resolution. The workers’ councils of the innkeepers’ assistants also called a public meeting to discuss the future role of the councils.185 The subsequent election of delegates from this sector to the General Assembly resulted in fourteen mandates for the uspd and seven for the kpd – an unmistakable sign of a

180 181 182 183 184 185

Neue Preußische Zeitung, 1 March 1919 M and Vorwärts, 1 March 1919 M. Die Rote Fahne, 1 March 1919. Council Minutes 1997, p. 821. Freiheit, 27 February 1919 E. Freiheit, 26 February 1919 E. Freiheit, 27 February 1919 E.

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leftward shift. On 2 March, a meeting of railway workers was held at the Pharussäle venue in Berlin-Wedding.186 Even the Social Democrats at that meeting criticised the Scheidemann government and the Vorwärts newspaper for their timid policies and for not grasping the tasks of the revolution. The assembled unanimously demanded the expansion of the councils as ‘power factors for the regulation of economic and political questions and thus for the real implementation of socialism’. The bourgeois newspapers of the capital reported extensive agitation by the Independents and Communists in the factories during that period. The newspaper of the Centre Party, Germania, explicitly cited the companies Loewe, Siemens, aeg and Anhaltische Maschinenfabrik.187 According to the papers, the mobilisation was aiming for an imminent general strike.188 There was no clarity as to when exactly it was meant to begin. For example, it was suggested that it might start simultaneously with the planned meeting of the Prussian Constitutional Convention (Preußische Landesversamlung) on 5 March in order to prevent that meeting from taking place.189 Indeed, the first session of the newly elected Prussian parliament (Preußischer Landtag) was postponed until 13 March. This was also due to the uncertain situation in Berlin, but mainly because of traffic problems throughout Prussia.190 In public announcements and in the debates of the General Assembly and Executive Council, on the other hand, the imminent meeting of the Constitutional Convention played no role. Whatever the case, there is no evidence that the strike was aimed at preventing the convention. There was speculation about other possible dates for the beginning of the strike too. At the same time, the Zentrumsblatt reported that in factory meetings the spd was arguing against a political walkout.191 It is significant that the bourgeois papers suspected only the left opposition parties behind these activities. Evidently, their traditional understanding of politics obscured their view of the fact that this was primarily a cross-party grassroots movement. In face of the abundant evidence, there can be little doubt about the mood among Berlin’s workers. Their widespread discontent was also noted by the writer Harry Graf Kessler in his diary when he arrived in Berlin on the evening

186 187 188 189 190 191

Freiheit, 3 March 1919 E. Germania, 27 February 1919 E. Berliner Lokal Anzeiger, 28 February 1919 E and Vossische Zeitung, 27 February 1919 E. Tägliche Rundschau, 27 February 1919 E. In a similar vein, Vorwärts, 1 March 1919 M. Vossische Zeitung, 1 March 1919 M. Germania, 3 March 1919 E.

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of 2 March.192 The Social Democrats claimed that many of the cited declarations and statements of intent had been penned by ‘Spartacist resolutionmongers’, i.e. that they did not correspond to the actual mood in the working class.193 Lüdemann argued along similar lines. He blamed, among other things, the work of ‘radical ideologues and impatient dreamers’ for the passions of the working class.194 Incidentally, this was one of the arguments used by Vorwärts to justify its decision not to print such resolutions in the same issue. The bourgeois papers would not have printed them anyway – hence, it is unsurprising that the resolutions only appeared in Freiheit and Die Rote Fahne. This attitude provoked massive criticism from the factories, as Vorwärts itself admitted with respect to the aeg’s 16-member commission. The commission had insisted that its decisions be published – but the editors offered the unconvincing defence that they had never received the resolution in question, and that they could not print everything that was sent to them for space reasons anyway. The implicit accusation levelled by Vorwärts that the activities in the factories were the fruits of a coordinated operation steered from outside is inaccurate for a number of reasons. Firstly, they were approved by elected shop stewards and usually even directly by the workers in workplace meetings. Secondly, the contents of the resolutions were quite varied, both thematically and in terms of their radicalism. Thirdly, in many instances even spd members supported the initiative. This was apparent especially where delegations with equal representation presented the demands of the grassroots to the General Assembly. Even Vorwärts reported that the Social Democrats in the workers’ councils wanted the council system to be preserved.195 Moreover, the discontent was not directed against the Social-Democratic Party as such but against its government representatives and higher officials. spd members only incurred the wrath of the workforce when they acted directly on behalf of their party leadership or tried to prevent political debate altogether. After all, even the Independent leadership in Berlin was against the general strike. What was emerging was therefore a genuine united front from below. Both Lange and Drabkin fail to see this central role played by the factory workforces in the run-up to the general strike. Their research focuses almost exclusively on the debates taking place in the Executive Council and the General Assembly.196 This approach obscures the crucial characteristic of the council system: the strong position of the grassroots.

192 193 194 195 196

See Kessler, p. 165. Vorwärts, 28 February 1919 M. Hermann Lüdemann, ‘Generalstreik in Berlin’, in Die Neue Zeit, 21 Feb 1919. Vorwärts, 2 February 1919. See Lange 2012, pp. 58–66, Drabkin 1983, pp. 143–9, Materna 1978, pp. 198–200.

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The activities in the workplaces were not the only sign by which the changing mood of the working class became noticeable. The leftward trend in the General Assembly was another indication: since the end of February, the uspd and kpd commanded a majority for the first time. The delegations sent from factories to the General Assembly on the day of the decision to call the general strike, 3 March, were an important and direct influence towards that decision. As previously mentioned, some of them represented workplaces that had already taken a stand in assemblies. They presented their concerns to the assembly verbally and some of them submitted resolutions. Richard Müller was in the chair at the time and, against resistance from the spd, managed to get speaking time for the workplace delegates.197 This was the first time he publicly came out in favour of the strike. Because the statements of the delegates are very characteristic it makes sense to quote some extracts. A representative of the aeg turbine factory said that his 3,000 or so colleagues had gathered in the factory hall in the morning and decided by all against two votes to go on strike. The reason was that they did not ‘regard the National Assembly as a body that is working in the service of socialism, but as one that is acting against socialism and against the proletariat. With respect to the debate surrounding the role of the workers’ councils, [we] see the great danger that our organs, which are intended to represent the working class, will be deprived of their rights in the future. The only guarantee we see is in mass action to safeguard the workers’ councils in every respect, and comrades vow not to rest or rest until these demands are enforced’.198 This direct-action slant also reared its head in the other statements. All workplaces involved had already begun the strike and now expected the General Assembly to make a corresponding decision. A delegate from the R. Stock company in Marienfelde expressed this in a particularly vivid and direct fashion: We are willing to support everything that the workers’ council of Greater Berlin decides, and we have already decided today, in order to lend weight to our demands, to stop working and remain in our workplaces until a final decision is made. For this reason, we do not have a resolution to present – because we are done with all this paper-shuffling. We strongly demand from all the workers’ councillors present here, including those of the spd, that they join forces and stop the idle talk. The colleagues from

197 198

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 819–20. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 820.

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the Stock Company demand that such action be taken. They feel that if this is not done, then the government is right to say that the workers’ councils have no right to exist.199 A representative of the moulders’ professional group commented along similar lines, ‘The colleagues feel that there has been enough talk and that it is vital to act now’.200 Beside such urging for swift action, another aspect was raised a number of times. The speakers stressed that the decisions had been taken almost unanimously – in other words, with the approval of spd supporters. The following was reported from the Loeb car plant: The workers of the Loeb company, 750 strong, have decided this morning that they will join their fellow workers. They are calling on all workers of Berlin to continue striking until their demands are met. The majority of the Majority Social-Democratic workers have also joined in, and they have justified this with the fact that we all have a common interest in this.201 Three resolutions presented to the General Assembly were very similar in tone. The workforces of several Siemens plants had adopted the following with a large majority: Siemens factory workers of all party affiliation, undersigned here, declare their solidarity with their colleagues across Germany, who are on strike as of today … They demand the further expansion of the council system and the creation of legal bases to regulate production and monitor and possibly take over factory management … The workers assembled here vow not to rest until the government has fully recognised its demands, or else it must make way for another government that follows socialist principles. The workers assembled here demand from today’s General Assembly of

199

200 201

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 821. The company Franz Stock from Treptow, which we have already mentioned earlier, is not identical with the company R. Stock from Marienfelde. A third company, Stock Motorpflug, is mentioned in the minutes. All three were ultimately the result of the diverse activities of the entrepreneur Robert Stock, who died in 1912. He had telephone systems, precision drills, cables and motor ploughs manufactured in his Berlin factories. See Eberhardt 1995. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 822. Moulder is no longer in common use as a job title today. It refers to those who construct metal casting moulds. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 800.

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the workers’ councils that they immediately take the movement into their hands so as to facilitate a proletarian united front to help the whole working class to succeed.202 The ‘complete workforce’ of the Knorr-Bremse company in Lichtenberg likewise articulated a clear demand, stressing its non-partisan character: [The workforce of Knorr-Bremse] summons a commission consisting of two spd, two uspd and two kpd comrades to the General Assembly of Workers’ Councils, which is meeting in the trade union halls, to call on them to proclaim the general strike everywhere and join it immediately. The General Assembly should continue to use all its influence to persist in the general strike until the demands are fully accepted, without any compromises. The Knorr-Bremse workers are already on strike.203 These statements, which were sometimes a little clumsily-worded, were nonetheless authentic expressions of the workers’ thoughts and intentions. Above all, they indicated how strong the support for determined action had become. It is clear from the quotations that the goal of implementing a consistently socialist policy with the aid of the councils was deemed more important than questions of detail or party-political rivalries. This mood at the grassroots had already become manifest in the General Assembly three days earlier – now, however, the movement had reached a new quality and grown in scope. Beside the aforementioned companies, the Schwartzkopff-Werke in Wildau and Berlin, the Eisenbahner-Werkstätten, Siemens-Schuckert, Siemens & Halske, the entire electrical industry in Berlin, the Gardekorps clothing repair office, the Spandau State Workshops and other companies not mentioned by name had intervened in the assembly.204 Richard Müller stopped further appearances due to time constraints and asked the representatives who had not been considered to indicate their workplaces in writing. This means that there were more companies in total, but this was not reflected in the minutes. Most importantly, these workforces all started the strike as early as on the morning of 3 March on their own accord, thus adding to the pressure. According to numerous unanimous sources, many workers had already gone on strike

202 203 204

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 839–40. Council Minutes 1997, p. 840. The third resolution came from the Siemens Wernerwerk plant – see pp. 840–41. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 819–22.

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before the General Assembly was convened.205 These included the staff of aeg, Siemens, Schwartzkopff, Knorr-Bremse and the armaments factories in Spandau, i.e. some of the most important companies in the capital. It is interesting that almost all of them were involved in the metal and electrical industries, which was clearly the main focus of the Berlin council movement – unlike in the Ruhr region and in central Germany, where the miners constituted the strongest group. Along with the garment industry, however, those latter industries were the most important ones in Berlin. Now that the workers of numerous factories had gone on strike on their own initiative and were making energetic demands directly to the General Assembly, the movement could no longer be ignored. It is not surprising, then, that the uspd leaders suddenly endorsed its concerns without reservation. Equally importantly, the Social Democrats changed tack in the face of developments as well. While they continued to voice reservations, they explicitly expressed solidarity with the outcome. In fact, they went even further by officially joining the strike leadership. The vote held on this day – perhaps the most important one in the history of the Berlin General Assembly – was already controversial among contemporaries and remains so today among historians. Without a doubt, the majority voted for the general strike. This was and remains recognised by all sides. The question of how the members of the spd parliamentary group behaved, however, is contentious: did they vote in favour or did they abstain? The minutes did not record the exact result. Müller as chair merely stated that a majority of those present was in favour of the walkout and that it was therefore agreed.206 There is no record of how many people participated in the vote either. The election of the Executive Council by the General Assembly three days earlier had resulted in the following balance: 305 votes for the uspd, 271 for the spd, 99 for the kpd and 95 for the Democrats.207 The Independents and the Communists alone had a majority, then. Turning to the Social Democrats, the Independent Heinrich Malzahn declared in the strike leadership meeting on 4 march: Only 125 workers’ councillors voted against. Of these, about 75 votes were Democrats, so that left only 50 for the spd. Ergo, their members did not

205

206 207

See for example: Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 8 March 1919 M; Vossische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 E; Junge Garde, 15 March 1919; Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 3; Freiheit, 9 March 1919; Der ArbeiterRat 6, 1919. Council Minutes 1997, p. 829. Council Minutes 1997, p. 761.

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abstain from the vote, but for the most part complied. This means that the majority of their members voted in favour of the general strike.208 Malzahn’s account was not disputed by the Social Democrats present. However, Strasser, as chair of the spd fraction, replied that ‘it had been our intention from the outset that we would abstain from this vote’.209 This, however, does not answer whether the fraction really followed that decision, and Strasser did not comment on this. A few days later, Freiheit claimed several times that the spd had consented to the general strike.210 Its 9 March issue stated that there had been a three-quarters majority for the strike, with the uspd and kpd voting unanimously and the spd by a majority in its favour.211 Miller and Knoll make a similar assessment, yet without citing any source evidence.212 Kolb/Rürup, Drabkin and Materna write that some 400 votes were cast for the strike and about 120 against, with some 200 abstentions.213 These authors do not cite any sources either – it is plainly unclear where they got their numbers from. The editors of the Council Minutes point to a statement by the Social Democrat Otto Frank according to which a majority abstained. There is no evidence of this in the actual minutes, though.214 The following day, Vorwärts reported exactly the same proportion of votes.215 This report is practically the only contemporary source on the matter. The bulletin (Mitteilungsblatt) of the strike leadership, by contrast, states that the majority of the spd abstained while a small number voted for or against the strike.216 Whether the information given by Vorwärts, Freiheit, Malzahn or the Mitteilungsblatt was correct can no longer be reconstructed with certainty. In the former two cases, it is obvious to begin with that the information suited their parties’ respective intentions. The spd leadership could not possibly have any interest in having its own followers questioning its instruction to abstain. Con-

208 209 210 211 212

213 214 215 216

Council Minutes 2002, p. 23. Council Minutes 2002, p. 25. Freiheit, 11 March 1919 E. Freiheit, 9 March 1919. See Miller 1978, p. 260, where he writes that the strike was decided ‘with the votes of vast sections’ of the spd. Knoll merely noted that the spd had consented – see Knoll 1958, p. 479. Materna 1978, p. 260; Drabkin 1983, p. 152; Kolb/Rürip as editors of the Central Council minutes: see Kolb and Rürip 1968. See the footnote in Council Minutes 1997, p. 829. Lange 2012, p. 72, also relied on this apparently erroneous remark by the editors. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 M. Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin, 4 March 1919.

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versely, this is exactly what would have suited the Independents. There is yet another aspect to it. Even if the distribution of votes cited by Vorwärts is correct, this would mean that out of a total of 271 Social Democrats, about 50 would have voted against the strike, 200 abstained, and another 20 voted in favour. This would correspond to the information given in the Mitteilungsblatt, provided that all delegates were present and the two left groups voted unanimously. Even in that case, the spd’s factional discipline would not have been heeded by all. Another detail deserves attention. The vote was conducted by a show of hands and immediately produced a clear majority, without any objections or recounts. In the past, this had far from been a matter of course when votes were taken in the General Assembly, and the procedure often had to be repeated multiple times until clarity prevailed. The fact that this was not the case despite the enormous importance of the issue only allows for one conclusion: the vote was passed with an indisputable majority. This only supports the assumption of a majority vote by spd representatives for the strike to a limited degree, of course – even if they had abstained, the decision would have been quite clear. Unfortunately, this must remain an open question because the crucial source, the minutes of the General Assembly of 3 March, does not record anything specific on this. Even so, it is undoubtedly an explosive issue, for it would be quite remarkable if the spd councillors had gone against the declared will of their party and fraction leaderships on such a serious matter. In view of the other statements made by Social-Democratic delegates and the mood of the rank and file in that period, though, it is quite likely that this is what happened. Harry Graf Kessler noted in his diary on the evening of 3 March: ‘By this point, a large section of spd workers is said to be against the government. This could be the beginning of the second Revolution’.217 This may seem a little premature. But it does show the explosive potential inherent in the radicalisation of workers previously loyal to the government – without this mass base, the cabinet would have scarcely been able to carry on. The most plausible variant of the story is that at least a section of the Social Democrats did not submit to factional discipline. The twofold pressure created by workplace meetings in the preceding weeks and by direct interventions in the General Assembly on 3 March undoubtedly played a crucial role in the early stages of the general strike in Berlin. Participants also stressed this in retrospect. Paul Eckert (uspd) was present at the meeting in question and later wrote: ‘At the time, the members of the Social-

217

Kessler 2007, p. 165.

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Democratic group took part in the general strike too. They initially raised objections, but the objections were reversed because strike resolutions had already been passed in some large companies and company delegations had been sent to the General Assembly. The result was that the Social-Democratic representatives gave up their opposition too.’218 The Communist Party leader Paul Levi stressed that the strike had not been instigated by the kpd, but had ‘arisen from the elemental discontent of the working masses’.219 Müller, in contrast, claimed that the intervention of the delegations was ‘a carefully orchestrated measure by the Independents and Communists to break the last resistance of the Social-Democratic and Democratic workers’ councillors. Faced with the abundance of facts thus accomplished, the Social-Democratic leaders gave up their resistance’.220 While Müller highlighted the important role of these actions, then, it is not entirely clear who exactly he held responsible – he only speaks of ‘Independents and Communists’ in general. Was he was trying to conceal how much pressure he and his closest associates were under? This, after all, this had already been evident at the previous General Assembly, where blatant threats were made: if necessary, action would be taken over the heads of the Executive Council. Perhaps, though, Müller was merely referring to rank-and-file members of the left parties agitating in the workplaces. Whatever the case, the general strike was not a party affair, nor was it the result of centrally planned or orchestrated campaign. Levi’s characterisation therefore probably captures the essence of the matter best. According to him, it was the ‘elemental discontent of the working masses’ asserting itself, and it could assert itself mainly thanks to the mechanisms of the council system. Neither a strictly representative parliamentary system nor the bureaucratichierarchical traditional workers’ organisations, such as parties and trade unions, would have allowed for such a significant and direct involvement of the grassroots. The strike, then, was to a substantial degree a product of the councils. As we will see in the following section, it also demanded the preservation and expansion of these council structures: the council system was thus both the means and the aim of the movement. The strength of the rank and file was far from exhausted after this initial intervention. On the contrary, the lower strata continued to exert a decisive influence on further developments on several occasions. Our assessment of 218 219 220

Ottomar Harbauer, Der Generalstreik und die bewaffneten Kämpfe im März 1919 in Berlin. Berliner Arbeiterveteranen berichten, manuscript in lab C Rep. 902-02-07 Nr. 107, Bl. 5. Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 3. Müller 1925, p. 154.

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these occasions will focus on three central aspects: the initial conflict erupted over the question whether to negotiate with the national government and how; the second conflict revolved around the expansion of the general strike; thirdly, the grassroots continued to play an important role during the strike campaign and after its termination. All the important groups, even the Communists, addressed their demands to the government. After all, the idea was not to stage a putsch, but to enforce limited demands – even those who merely regarded this as an intermediate step towards a second Revolution and a council republic saw it that way. This being said, it was a matter of great controversy whether there should be negotiations with the government, within what parameters such negotiations were to be held and by whom. On none of this was there any consensus – neither among the leaders nor in the rank and file. The first initiative was launched by the workers’ councillors and shop stewards of the spd.221 Two days before the strike began, they elected a delegation from their ranks that was to hold negotiations. The delegation travelled to Weimar with the twofold aim of winning concessions and averting the strike at the last minute. But this came too late, especially as the government’s promises did not exceed what it had already offered the delegation from central Germany. It was, in any case, far less than what was officially demanded – and the result of the talks only became public after the strike had already begun. The Communists took the opposite stance: the kpd fraction at the General Assembly and the party’s shop stewards in the factories warned against entering into any talks with the government.222 Almost the same arguments reappeared in a leaflet issued by the kpd Zentrale shortly after: here, too, the party warned against negotiations.223 According to the Communists, the cabinet should instead unreservedly concede all demands, which were very moderate to begin with – negotiations would only lead to compromises and further dilution. But the Communists’ line of argument failed to convince. And so, after a short while, they confined themselves to insisting that instead of a strike delegation being sent to Weimar, the government should come to Berlin.224 Suffice to say, such a change of procedure would have merely been a symbolic act. In the end, the General Assembly voted on whether a delegation would go to Weimar or whether the demands were to be sent in writing.225 The result was a

221 222 223 224 225

Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919. lab F Rep. 240, Zeitgeschichtliche Sammlung, A 162, no page number. Council Minutes 2002, p. 9. Council Minutes 2002, p. 15.

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wafer-thin majority in favour of the trip to Weimar: 289 council members voted for and 284 against. This demonstrated just how sceptical many delegates were of the government. Evidently, the intention was not to appear like petitioners but rather to demonstrate strength – the cabinet was to submit to the wishes of the strikers, especially on this symbolic matter. Another controversial point was the thorny question which sectors to exempt from the general strike. On the one hand, making the strike as broad as possible would increase the pressure on the government. In the aforementioned aeg Hennigsdorf motion to the General Assembly – it is significant that the first declaration on this issue came from the base – the rationale was that only a very broad strike could offer protection against violent repression.226 But this was a double-edged sword. After all, an expansion of the strike to basic services would also affect the strikers and their most essential needs. It could therefore hardly be sustained for any length of time. Moreover, it carried the risk of breaking the hitherto united strike front. And indeed, the SocialDemocratic workers’ councillors would later take the expansion of the strike as an opportunity to pull out of the movement. Clearly, the issue touched on a central aspect of the general strike. Immediately after the decision was taken to strike, the General Assembly decided which sectors would be exempted.227 Without any opposition, it was agreed to exempt food supply, fire departments, health services, funeral parlours and gas works. There was less unanimity on the waterworks. A proposal to shut down at least the plants in the west of the city – i.e. the more middleclass neighbourhoods – was quickly rejected. The electricity plants, on the other hand, were not to operate unless the strike leadership explicitly ordered them to. With regard to electricity supply, the situation was somewhat confusing in the following days, however. Müller declared in the General Assembly the following day, 4 March, that the plants would be allowed to operate under restrictions. This was mainly to ensure street lighting and food supplies.228 Two days after the decision to exempt elementary services was taken, a remarkable event occurred in the General Assembly.229 The uspd fraction requested the expansion of the strike to gas, water and electricity plants. This radicalisation of the rank and file was chiefly due to two factors. The first aim was to finally prevent the publication of the bourgeois press in an effective

226 227 228 229

Council Minutes 1997, p. 513. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 829–30. Council Minutes 2002, p. 14. On the following, see Council Minutes 2002, pp. 48–9. The motion itself has not survived, but its content is clear from Richard Müller’s explanations.

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fashion. Moreover, the arrival of the military and resulting street fighting had massively inflamed the workers’ tempers. They were hoping that an intensification of the strike would severely obstruct the troops. The workers of the water and power plants themselves demanded with particular fervour to finally be allowed to join the strike, threatening even to walk out without instructions from the council assembly. Faced with this situation, Müller offered all his authority and powers of persuasion to obstruct his own party group’s motion. He saw the unity of the strike movement jeopardised and feared that the Social Democrats might split off. Having already tried to calm down the utilities workers on the morning of the same day, he now appealed to his own fraction to withdraw the motion. In the end, he reached him aim – not least because he argued that the matter could be reviewed in one to three days. He also cited the negotiations in Weimar, arguing that it was necessary to wait for the outcome of the negotiations before potentially expanding the campaign. This process clearly showed the rift between the strike leadership – i.e. the leaders of the movement – and the grassroots. This rift was yet to deepen. The following day, right at the beginning of the General Assembly session, the railway workers’ councillors again raised the uspd motion calling for an expansion of the strike.230 Their spokesperson Ulrich explained that the ‘railway workers who are now on strike do not want to carry on if the gas and water are not turned off immediately’.231 The railway workers had agreed on this in several factory meetings that morning, including at the Stettin and Lehrter railway stations.232 A similar statement was put forward by the workers of the small-scale enterprises of Wittenau-Nord: they demanded of the councillors, among other things, ‘to ensure that the general strike is carried out with the utmost vigour and by all means at their disposal’.233 The Communists and Independents now also began to campaign for an intensification of the strike on behalf of their council fractions. The Social Democrats, meanwhile, spoke against it and announced that they would resign from the strike leadership if such a decision was taken. In the end, the General Assembly decided by a fairly narrow majority in favour of stepping up the campaign.234 The minutes merely state that the motion was ‘passed by an over-

230 231 232 233 234

On the following, see Council Minutes 2002, pp. 66–83. Council Minutes 2002, p. 66. Council Minutes 2002, p. 77. Council Minutes 2002, p. 83. Council Minutes 2002, p. 81; Müller 1925, p. 159.

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whelming majority’. However, the vote had to be taken twice until the result was beyond dispute, which indicates that the decision was very close. Obviously dismayed, chairman Müller struggled for composure and openly expressed his disappointment about the decision. As threatened in advance, the spd finally resigned from the strike leadership. Moments later, the party’s workers’ councillors also left the meeting – and on top of this, the Berlin Tradeunion Commission demanded an end to the struggle. This was exactly what Müller had always wanted to avert: the strike movement was splitting. The day after, Ernst Däumig requested on behalf of the Independent fraction that the councils agree to his conditions to the government for calling off the strike. When on 8 March it became clear that the government was almost not responding at all, the uspd leaders nonetheless spoke in favour of ending the strike. This was met with opposition in the assembly. One delegate took the floor on the matter: Now that so few concessions have been made you want to call off the general strike? What on earth were you thinking? Did you imagine that the working class would just be meek and mild about it? The Potsdam railway workshop has instructed me to declare here on its behalf: we are all on strike, and we will not go back to work until our demands are met, down to the last dot and comma.235 His workplace colleague, an spd member, expressed his disappointment about the course of the events in striking words: ‘Now that we got our colleagues to the point of joining forces in order to go on strike, it’s sad that the strike is being called off. We will never get them back the way we had them.’236 With these words, the two captured the mood in many Berlin workplaces well: it was a bitter mixture of combativeness, defiance and resignation. Nevertheless, in the end the General Assembly voted ‘against a strong minority’ to end the general strike.237 Once again, the outcome was close and the vote had to be repeated for the avoidance of doubt. Presumably, the Communists voted largely unanimously against the motion, while the majority of Social Democrats voted in favour of it.238 The Democrats had been against the walkout from the outset anyway. Neumann of the uspd explicitly left it up to his colleagues to vote whichever way they wanted, but personally he pleaded against 235 236 237 238

Council Minutes 2002, p. 128. Council Minutes 2002, p. 129. Council Minutes 2002, p. 136. The statements can be found in Council Minutes 2002, pp. 133–5.

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a termination of the strike. It is likely that Independents were found on both sides. There is scarcely any other way to explain the strong minority of opponents to a strike termination, on the one hand, and the majority approval of the motion on the other. A second motion calling for the strike to continue until the Freikorps were withdrawn from Berlin was considered moot after the first one was passed. A storm of indignation erupted in the audience after this outcome: the majority of the younger attendees protested loudly and in some cases with rude words against ending the strike.239 But this was not all – in the factories, many did not want to accept this inglorious end either.240 A number of workers remained on strike. In factory meetings, they decided not to resume work until all government troops were withdrawn from the capital. This is what occurred at Daimler, at the Oberspree cable factory, in the National Automobile Company, at the aeg apparatus factory and in the aeg factories in Hennigsdorf. Workers at Daimler and from the cable factory were still on strike on 12 March. The tramway companies played a vanguard role in this.241 In workers’ meetings at 22 stations, a majority spoke out in favour of continuing the strike, as did their workers’ councillors and shop stewards.242 The following points were cited as preconditions for ending the strike: the withdrawal of the Freikorps; wages paid for all days on strike; reinstatement of colleagues who had been disciplined; release of political prisoners; and the socialisation of the entire transport network. Negotiations with the management were very tough. At first they did not even want to accept the absolute minimum demand, i.e. wages paid for strike days. It was not until the evening of 11 March that an agreement was reached. 4,300 workers consented to it, while some 2,200 wanted to continue fighting. Unfortunately, the content of the agreement is unknown. Presumably, it was agreed that at least some of the strike days would be paid. At eight o’clock on the morning of 12 March, one of the longest transport strikes in the history of Berlin thus came to an end.243

239 240

241

242 243

Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 9 March 1919. For the following see BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Bd. 4, Bl. 123; Germania, 11 March 1919 E; Neue Preußische Zeitung, 10 March 1919 E; 12 March 1919 M; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 10 March 1919 E; Vorwärts, 10 March 1919. At the time of the general strike, numerous tramway companies existed in Greater Berlin – some private, some municipal. In the following, we will be dealing with the two largest companies: the private Grosse Berliner Straßenbahn [Great Berlin Tramway] and the municipal Städtische Straßenbahn in Berlin [Berlin Municipal Tramway]. Vossische Zeitung, 10 March 1919 M, 11 March 1919 E, 12 March 1919 M; b.z. am Mittag, 11 March 1919; Tägliche Rundschau, 10 March 1919 M and 12 March 1919 M. The demand for socialisation of the transport companies was, in a sense, met with a delay

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At several crucial junctures of the general strike, the grassroots of the council movement had played a significant role. Without them, the campaign would probably not have been started in the first place. Much the same can be said of its intensification: Richard Müller was only able to win a one-day deferment. As far as negotiations with the government in Weimar, the decision was very close – so the leaders did not fully control their supporters there either. The decision to call off the strike was made against a strong minority in the General Assembly, although a number of workers did not want to follow this decision and continued to strike independently. All this shows how powerful the grassroots could be in a council system, even in the midst of an action, and despite the fact that executive power had been ceded to an officially constituted strike leadership. While their stance was certainly often consistent with the general sentiments of their respective party organisations, party lines were repeatedly and resolutely disregarded, be it because factional discipline was not observed in the General Assembly or because members directly involved in the enterprises frequently did not act in the interests of their party officials. Only the peculiar structure of the council system made it possible to implement concrete policies so quickly and effectively. We yet have to examine the links between the workplaces and the General Assembly in more detail. This, after all, was the decisive intersection – the one that was indispensable for the functioning of the council system. As the example of the aggravation of the strike shows, however, this direct involvement could have disastrous political consequences. It is safe to assume that the decision was taken out of sheer indignation rather than for carefully considered reasons. The anger over the violent intervention of the military had a devastating effect: the aggravation of the strike led to the disintegration of the unity of the movement and retrospectively provided the troops with a justification for their actions. In Geschichte der deutschen Sozialdemokratie 1918–1920, Susanne Miller called the decision ‘incomprehensible’.244 Incomprehensible it was certainly not – but the sheer fact that there was an explanation did not make it politically sound.

244

of almost ten years in December 1928, when the private and municipal underground, bus and tram companies were merged to form the municipal Berlin Transport Company (bvg). Miller 1978, p. 265.

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Official Strike Demands One key finding of our investigation so far is that the motives of the participants were often very varied, both at the leadership level and in the rank and file of the movement. In spite of this, it was possible to bring all these disparate ideas together, at least briefly, in the officially decided and publicly proclaimed strike demands. It is therefore worthwhile to analyse these demands more closely, for it will allow us to make some statements about the general character of the movement. What we need to examine, especially in relation to the council movement as a whole, is: who articulated, chose, decided and amended the demands, and how was this done, until they assumed their final, binding form? Once more, the question is therefore whether base of the council movement could assert their interests and to what degree. Naturally, the demands give us an idea what it was possible to mobilise Berlin’s blue-collar and white-collar workers for – i.e. their political predilections. In the following section, we will look at both the origin and the contents of the strike programme. The workplace meetings, the resolutions passed there and the interventions of the delegates in the crucial General Assembly of 3 March give a good idea of the aspirations and ideas of the base. They were by no means uniform, neither with regard to the problems raised nor with regard to the proposed solutions. Even so, it is possible to identify some focal points. They include dissatisfaction with the prevalent military policy, especially with the deployment of the new Freikorps. The Freikorps units were labelled counterrevolutionary, and consequently demands were made to replace them with a people’s army or a red guard – entities usually not elaborated in greater detail. Furthermore, it was demanded that any military operations against strikes, demonstrations, etc. are refrained from in the future. The buzzword ‘socialisation’ was also frequently heard. But this was an ambiguous term. Some only wanted to socialise economic sectors that were sufficiently mature, while others wanted to socialise them all. For some, socialisation meant the monitoring of production, while others wanted a complete takeover of the enterprises by the state or by the workforce. There were also demands for a legal reappraisal of the World War and the revolution, in particular with respect to the indictment of leading politicians. Who to prosecute was a matter of dispute: only the imperial and military leadership, or also Social Democrats who had supported the civil peace [Burgfrieden] and later worked against the revolution? There was no dispute about the prosecution of right-wing assassins or about the release of left-wing political prisoners. Occasionally, there were calls for closer ties with revolutionary Soviet Russia.

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Of paramount importance – in a sense, the framework holding all these more specific points together – was the preservation and expansion of the council system. But even on this there was no clarity: how far should the powers of the councils extend – and were they only to be given economic or also political tasks? Obviously, further clarification was needed in order to reach a consensus for the campaign that was acceptable to all participants. Following on from proposals from the workplaces but developing them further, Die Rote Fahne published a list of demands for the coming struggle on its 3 March front page.245 This was a remarkable journalistic coup for the paper. Individual workplaces now referred to the list directly and in agreement, and its proposals were widely discussed in the General Assembly.246 These demands included the unrestricted right of association and assembly, and the disbanding of the ‘white’ troops, in particular the disarming of the officer-students and vigilante groups – all of these units were to be immediately withdrawn from the industrial centres. Moreover, the release of all political prisoners – both those in pre-trial detention and those already convicted. The list also demanded the ‘establishment of a revolutionary tribunal to try the main culprits for the war, i.e. the Hohenzollerns, Ludendorff, Hindenburg and Tirpitz; as well as the traitors to the revolution Ebert, Scheidemann and Noske; the murderers of Liebknecht and Luxemburg; the Vorwärts peace negotiators; the Spandau comrades, etc.’247 ‘Vorwärts peace negotiators’ refers to those fighters in the January uprising who wanted to negotiate the capitulation of the occupiers of the Vorwärts offices, carrying a white flag. They were shot by Freikorps soldiers. The ‘Spandau comrades’, on the other hand, were those who were killed when the government soldiers marched into Spandau during the January uprising, including the chair of the Spandau workers’ council, Robert Pieser, and the chair of the soldiers’ council, Max von Lojewski.248 The foreign policy aspect of the strike programme entailed rapprochement with Soviet Russia. More specifically, a new peace treaty with Russia was to be concluded and diplomatic relations established. The first demand called for the election of factory councils, which alongside the workers’ councils would regulate social affairs within the workplaces, mon-

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Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919. For example, the workers at Stock in Marienfelde and at Knorr-Bremse. See Council Minutes 2002, p. 821; the debate on the demands at the General Assembly of 3 March: Council Minutes 2002, pp. 830–34. Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919. For the events of Spandau, see lab, A Rep. 358–01 Nr. 2029, Gerichtsakten.

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itor production, and in the longer term assume the leadership over production completely. All this came down to socialisation through the councils. In view of the pressing problem of unemployment, the councils were to be given the right to decide on the closure and reopening of enterprises as well as hold further additional powers. A committee elected by the workers was to control a new ‘red guard’, while general police functions were to be exercised by the workers’ councils. The sum of these demands implied a substantial political transformation. The fact that neither the dissolution of parliament nor explicit constitutional questions were discussed could not conceal this. As mentioned earlier, socialisation was to take place gradually – it was a long-term objective. But even so, these arrangements would have given the councils not only economic but crucial executive powers, namely control over a new army and police. Moreover, the fiercest opponents of a further revolutionising of society, the right-wing military formations and managers and owners of the enterprises, would have been disempowered. The idea of putting leading spd politicians on trial alongside the old elites was a particularly explosive aspect. Naturally, not even the most discontented rank-and-file Social Democrat could be expected to stand for such a demand – especially since a revolutionary tribunal would in principle have allowed for the prosecution of all political opponents. Tellingly, the relevant formulation was rather vague: it was not at all clear who would be considered a ‘traitor to the revolution’ in the future, which allowed for all kinds of developments. The possibility of the executive usurping power from the councils – as was occurring in Russia at the time – could not be ruled out. This is certainly an ex post assessment. After all, the development of the Russian revolution was in no way foreseeable, just as the availability of information on the Russian situation was poor. Even so, the question remains how such tribunals were to be controlled and constrained and by whom. Especially if we consider the grassroots-democratic spirit of the council movement, this is a problematic aspect, including from a contemporary point of view. The General Assembly of 3 March held a debate on the demands to be made, followed by a series of votes.249 Müller suggested in his opening remarks that the guidelines on the rights and tasks of the workers’ councils, which had already been drafted and decided in January, should be put to the government again. The Berlin councils had drawn up these guidelines in a multi-stage process, and they had been finalised and approved by deputies from the Berlin

249

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 830–34.

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councils in the General Assembly of 17 January 1919.250 The government had rejected it at the time. Without further discussion, this point was now adopted into a section entitled ‘Economic demands’, which listed the official objectives. Controversy flared up when Müller proposed the ‘recognition of workers’ and soldiers’ councils’.251 Herfurth of the kpd strongly disagreed and instead demanded ‘full economic and political power’ for the councils. Kaliski (spd) strongly urged for moderation. In the end, Müller put all the points from Die Rote Fahne to the vote en bloc, whereupon they were rejected by the General Assembly. The formulation ‘recognition of the workers’ and soldiers’ councils’, by contrast, was voted through, with Communists and Democrats abstaining. Then the following points were passed in succession, each with a few votes against or abstentions by some of the councillors: the implementation of the seven ‘Hamburg points’; the release of all political prisoners, especially Georg Ledebour; the abolition of the summary courts. Georg Ledebour, one of the uspd leaders, had been in prison since the January uprising, charged with sedition among other things – he would be acquitted in June. The seven ‘Hamburg points’ were a programme for an extensive reform of the army, decided at the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils in December 1918. The reform was to involve the free election of officers by soldiers, the preservation of soldiers’ councils, the abolition of rank insignia and medals, and the transformation of the standing army into a popular army.252 The General Assembly also resolved the immediate dissolution of the Freikorps, the formation of a red guard, and a revolutionary tribunal against the instigators of the war and political assassins. However, the delegates rejected a tribunal against traitors to the revolution – apparently by a relatively small majority, because the Communists successfully demanded a second vote on the matter. At the meeting of the Executive Council, which had been transformed into the strike leadership, the demands were briefly discussed again that same evening.253 Some minor things were reworded, but this did not change their meaning. It is therefore inaccurate of Knoll to claim that the Executive Council drafted the demands – in fact, the General Assembly did.254 Only the demand for a

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For this session see Council Minutes 1997, pp. 295–306. The guidelines are reproduced in Council Minutes 1997, pp. 284–7. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 830–34. The subsequent quotations are taken from there. The Hamburg points are printed in: Allgemeiner Kongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 16. bis 21. Dezember 1918 im Abgeordnetenhause zu Berlin (General Congress of the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils of Germany from 16 to 21 December). Council Minutes 1997, pp. 846–7. Knoll 1958, p. 479.

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tribunal for the instigators of the war did not come up in the Executive Council discussion, and it did not reappear in the official strike demands later. It is very unlikely that this was due to deliberate manipulation, though – there is no evidence to support this, and the issue was uncontroversial among everyone involved. More likely, it was simply forgotten. The meeting took place under considerable time pressure anyhow – otherwise, the planned ‘newsletter’ could not have appeared in time. The final wording was: The demands of the strikers. A. Political demands 1. Recognition of the workers’ and soldiers’ councils. 2. Immediate implementation of the Hamburg points concerning the chain of command. 3. Release of all political prisoners, particularly of comrade Ledebour; termination of all political trials; abolition of military jurisdiction; referral of all military offences to the civil courts, in particular immediate abolition of all military tribunals; immediate arrest of all individuals involved in political murders. 4. Immediate creation of a revolutionary workers’ militia. 5. Immediate dissolution of all volunteer associations formed through public recruiting. 6. Immediate establishment of political and economic relations with the Soviet government of Russia. B. Economic Demands … The workers’ councils are the appointed representatives of the working population. Their task is to safeguard and develop the new order in Germany. They must look after the interests of blue-collar workers, white-collar workers and civil servants of both sexes in private, municipal and state enterprises and closely monitor these enterprises. The aim of their activity is to bring about the rapid socialisation of economic and state life … The General Assembly of workers’ councils in conjunction with the soldiers’ councils of Greater Berlin is the highest authority for the workers’ councils and their activity. It is the duty of the working people to enforce their decisions.255 This was followed by detailed regulations, presented as part of the economic demands – separately for large and small enterprises, banks, liberal professions 255

Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin, 4 March 1919.

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and public enterprises. Of particular relevance was a demand for the first group, the big enterprises: the workers’ councils there were to exert ‘decisive influence on production, wage and labour relations’, initially only maintaining production, but ultimately directing ‘their attention and energy to swift socialisation’. At the end of the document, the seven Hamburg points were printed in full. These demands did not come about without friction. Apart from the proposals presented in Die Rote Fahne, no one had apparently bothered to draft a coherent programme in advance. Incidentally, this is further proof of the thesis that Müller and Däumig were not interested in a general strike at that time. David Morgan’s accusation that the points had been hastily and aimlessly adopted from Die Rote Fahne is therefore not entirely wrong.256 Morgan, however, overlooks two crucial aspects. Firstly, the Communist paper had itself borrowed much from resolutions passed in the workplaces. In other words, indirectly the General Assembly discussed what the grassroots really were concerned about: Die Rote Fahne acted mainly as a mediator, not as the originator. Secondly, the General Assembly explicitly refused to adopt the paper’s list of demands as a whole by voting it down. Instead, it endorsed some points while rejecting others – and on two crucial issues it deviated far from the Die Rote Fahne proposals. The editorial interventions of the strike leadership were largely minimal. In the one case where it edited the final list of demands considerably, namely with regard to the tribunal for war instigators, it presumably did so unintentionally. In spite of this, the influence that the leadership exerted on the process by which the demands of 3 March came about should not be understated. After all, Müller skilfully chaired the votes to his advantage. For example, he succeeded in pushing through the economic demands summarised in the second section. Although the General Assembly had already approved them in January, the fact that they were not discussed again or at least voted on again seems a little strange – especially since Müller was otherwise so fastidious about adhering to formal procedures. On the whole, however, it is fair to say that the official demands were largely based on the demands of the grassroots as articulated in workplace resolutions and speeches at the General Assembly. But what did this list of demands mean substantively? It essentially touched on five topics that were closely interlinked. These included general policy (the construction of the state and such), the military, the judiciary, foreign policy and the economic order. These areas all tied in with the council system in dif-

256

Morgan 1975, p. 235.

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ferent ways. To maintain and expand this system can therefore be regarded as a central concern of the general strike. The very first point called for the ‘recognition’ of the councils. As had been rightly pointed out in the debate at the General Assembly, however, this was an extremely vague wording.257 The recognition of the councils could mean many things, after all: for instance, their preservation in their present form or their enshrinement in the constitution. Moreover, the section said nothing about the concrete competences of the councils – this was in need of being clarified by further demands. Another aspect is important: this was primarily a defensive concern. Under the prevalent circumstances, it was the government and the National Assembly – and indirectly also the employers – who had to recognise the councils. It was only logical that a delegation was sent to Weimar to negotiate with the government, then. The second Revolution was not on the immediate agenda – this much was clear from the outset. Or, as Müller put it: This strike cannot be used as a means to gain all political power. (Heckle: We don’t want that!) There you go … This does not mean that you [the Communist delegates – Author] need to drop your more radical demands. We can still take adopt them when the time comes.258 These statements highlight an essential aspect of the whole strike movement: it aimed to create the conditions for further revolutionary steps to be taken in the medium term. This also explains the important role of military policy concerns – it was absolutely clear that the old officers, the Freikorps, and most other armed formations would vehemently oppose any further revolutionising. To remove this obstacle was therefore an obvious immediate task. This is the background against which the demands for the dissolution of the Freikorps, the abolition of the military courts, and the creation of a workers’ army need to be understood. Moreover, the explicit reference to the ‘Hamburg points’ indicates how the new army was to be structured: democratic, less hierarchical than the imperial army, controlled by soldiers’ councils. The conscious rejection of symbols of the old army, such as rank insignia and medals, further emphasised this. At the same time, all of this constituted a resolute counter-proposal to Gustav Noske’s military policy. The entire complex of bodies of armed men obviously related to a central power question on which the further course of

257 258

Council Minutes 1997, p. 831. Council Minutes 1997, p. 832.

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the revolution depended to a substantial degree. It was logical and necessary that this question was raised. The way in which it was ultimately answered, however, dramatically highlighted the weakness of the council movement. Not only was the movement unable to advance its ideas, it also became a casualty of Noske’s military policy, as the outcome of the general strike would show very clearly. The strikers gave a scathing verdict not just to the army and its judiciary, but also to the civilian judiciary – at least with respect to political trials. They saw the judicial system of the republic as steeped in the tradition of the old Kaiserreich. In the short term, they knew no other way to help themselves against its counter-revolutionary stance than by demanding the release of all political prisoners and the termination of all ongoing political trials. This was more than a mere vote of no confidence. It meant: better no justice at all than this. But the strikers also made clear what they expected instead: the punishment of right-wing political assassins from the right, to whom many had fallen victim especially in Berlin. This became particularly pressing issue after the assassination of Kurt Eisner in Munich on 21 February. The murders of the Vorwärts peace negotiators and of the two prominent kpd founders, Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, in Berlin equally caused great consternation. The originally proposed revolutionary tribunals, however – which at least gave an indication as to how the judicial system could be fundamentally restructured – no longer appeared in the demands. While there was the clear notion that political justice was seen as the field in need of the most urgent reform, there was – significantly – no mention of a fundamental restructuring of the civil judicial system. Thus, the revolutionary tribunals would only have complemented the old judicial system rather than superseded it. The demands explicitly called for the transfer of military trials to civilian courts – but this was a glaring contradiction: if there was so little trust in the old judiciary, why not reform or replace it? As in many other cases during the revolution, it is possible that respect for the expertise of lawyers and civil servants came into play here, which was generally thought of as indispensable. But if nothing else, there should at least have been plans for the creation of an effective supervisory body, for example in the form of elected jurors or a judicial inspectorate appointed by the councils. The call to establish close links with Soviet Russia was certainly more than just an appeal for a new workers’ movement internationalism, whose precursor had completely failed at the onset of the world war. One can consider it the potential starting point for a fundamental reorientation in foreign policy: a political-economic alliance of revolutionary countries, of which Germany and Russia would form the core. Of all the objectives of the strike, this one was

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the hardest to calculate in advance: its success obviously depended decisively on factors that were completely outside the control of Berlin’s council movement. How would the civil war in Russia, by no means decided at that time, evolve? What was the political situation in Russia, especially with regard to the councils (called ‘soviets’ there)? What was happening in the countries situated between Germany and Russia – for example in Poland, Czechoslovakia, Austria and Hungary? And what position would the victorious western powers assume? Beyond all these uncertainties, it is remarkable that international politics played a role at all in the demands, for this shows how broad the horizon of the participants was – it was not limited to their own city and country. This perspective also fits into the idea of a Second Revolution and its necessary preconditions. ‘Socialism in one country’, as propagated by Bukharin and Stalin in the Soviet Union a few years later, was evidently not the aim of the council movement. In the enterprises, the councils were to represent the interests of the workers. This of course was also a broad field and therefore subject to interpretation. In principle, the councils would be granted considerable rights of codetermination, for example with regard to lay-offs and wages. But most importantly, they would acquire the skills to take over workplace leadership in the long term. This was after all their explicit destination, at least in the larger enterprises. The demands also envisioned a permanent institutionalisation of interfactory councils. This meant first and foremost the General Assembly in Berlin. The councils’ express claim was to represent all working people, including bluecollar workers, white-collar workers, civil servants and women workers (the latter was by no means a matter of course). In addition, there was the special case of soldiers. The council movement, as can be seen very clearly here, was by no means only a matter for manual workers – it also comprised the so-called ‘brain workers’. In the economic sphere, as in the political sphere, a multi-level concept is discernible. First the foundations were to be secured by interfactory councils acting both in and between the workplaces, so that they could later take over management tasks completely. This was certainly far more than a reform towards a limited degree of co-determination, as later realised as part of the Factory Councils Act (Betriebsrätegesetz). But it was also a more cautious strategy than an immediate, complete transformation of the capitalist economic order into a socialist one would have been. While a council republic was certainly not the immediate goal of the movement, the intention and hope was nonetheless to kickstart a determined shift to the left. This involved both the creation of necessary conditions for fur-

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ther steps and a series of swift reforms. Wolfgang Mommsen disputes this co-existence of short- and long-term goals.259 The only motivating force he can discern behind all the strike movements of spring 1919 is the need for immediate improvements. This, however, blatantly contradicts the often very detailed demands concerning foreign, military, economic and constitutional policy. Swift measures certainly played a role. After all, there was an acute social emergency affecting large sections of the population. But to limit the movement to these points flies in the face of the facts. Another aspect clearly articulated by some protagonists was the general political mobilisation and training of grassroots activists. They would learn to use their power, and their newfound confidence and practical experience gained in political action would help them develop and strengthen their classconsciousness. This is what Paul Levi was getting at in some of his statements.260 Ernst Däumig argued along similar lines in the General Assembly of 7 March – he saw the movement that was about to come to an end as a step forward, and he hoped that it would have a learning effect.261 We cannot go into too much detail about the time-honoured debate on questions of classconsciousness here. Let it suffice to say that Karl Marx had already addressed this issue. A text of his published in 1847 stated: Economic conditions had first transformed the mass of the people of the country into workers. The combination of capital has created for this mass a common situation, common interests. This mass is thus already a class as against capital, but not yet for itself. In the struggle … this mass becomes united, and constitutes itself as a class for itself.262 This was by no means a notion brought into the action from the outside. Rather, it reflected a fundamental concern of the council idea: the self-activity of those involved. Political action was not only seen as a means to enforce certain demands, but as a part of the emancipation process itself. On the whole, it was an open question how exactly the demands were to be implemented in concrete terms. Naturally, a bourgeois/Social-Democratic coalition government could not be expected to implement such a programme voluntarily. There was, on the other hand, neither the will nor the capacity to overturn the existing balance of forces by means of an armed uprising. The only 259 260 261 262

Mommsen 1978, p. 383. Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, pp. 2–4. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 107–8. Marx 1847, p. 79.

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available option, then, was to exert massive pressure on the government and parliament. There were two possible scenarios, then: the enforced implementation of the demands by a government unwilling to do so of its own accord; or the demise of the ruling coalition and the formation of a new government involving the Independents. Miller’s investigation shows that there were at least tentative explorations in this direction.263 In any case, it was clear that there was only a chance of success if the strike movement proceeded in a militant and united fashion.

Scope and Capacity for Mobilisation The scope of the general strike in Berlin allows us to draw conclusions about some questions that were of central importance from the point of view of the council movement. The first question was if the aims of the movement were shared by the blue- and white-collar workers of the capital, i.e. whether they were prepared to take action for their sake. The second: would the councils organisationally succeed in implementing the walkout across the board? We have already seen that a number of factories went on strike on the morning of 3 March, before the relevant decision was taken at the General Assembly. This primarily affected the large plants of the Berlin metal and electrical industry, which included various factories of the Siemens and aeg corporations, as well as Schwartzkopff, Knorr-Bremse, the armaments companies in Spandau and the railway workshops.264 The general strike decision was taken at around 3pm, and the news spread in the streets of the capital that same afternoon.265 By 8pm at the latest, when the bus, underground and tram lines were all shut down, everyone was aware of the situation.266 The following day, the strike began in the other large factories, typically after the breakfast break. This occurred for example at Auer, Borsig, Daimler and Bergmann.267 The situation in the medium-sized and smaller companies was more complicated. Here, the sources are mutually contradictory. For example, the daily press reported that work continued at least in some of these compan-

263 264 265 266 267

Miller 1978, pp. 265–6. They are listed in detail in Council Minutes 1997, pp. 820–22. Tägliche Rundschau, 4 March 1919 E. Council Minutes 2002, p. 1; Germania, 4 March 1919 E; Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E. BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Bd. 4, Bl. 109; Germania, 4 March 1919 E.

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ies.268 The Neue Preußische Zeitung, on the other hand, initially reported that a majority of the small enterprises were not on strike – only to find out later that the opposite was true.269 There are also clear indications that the staff of smaller companies, e.g. in Wittenau, were firmly in favour of the strike.270 This diversity of responses is confirmed by Kurt Nettball, who was an apprentice then: As far as I can remember, the company where I was employed followed the call for a general strike very swiftly, almost immediately. But I also know that the call for a general strike was followed only hesitantly by a number of factories. When our company and other, mainly large companies went on strike, some other enterprises – probably small and mediumsized ones – only joined the strike when the electricity workers did, which was about three days after the call. So this was the situation: the workers in the factories reacted to the strike call in somewhat varied ways.271 The same was true for shops and the hospitality industry, where reports also contradict each other.272 One must keep in mind that the councils had explicitly exempted any businesses linked to the food supply from the campaign – hotels and inns, meanwhile, were to close.273 Accordingly, the waiters and cooks of such establishments went on strike, and at least some department stores remained closed from Tuesday 4 March.274 The distribution of meat and vegetables stalled considerably.275 This was also due to the fact that traffic was largely down: in addition to the local transport workers, between 20,000 and

268 269 270 271

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273 274 275

See Tägliche Rundschau, 5 March 1919 E; Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 E; b.z. am Mittag, 8 March 1919. See Neue Preußische Zeitung, 5 March 1919 E, 10 March 1919 M. Council Minutes 2002, p. 83. Quoted from lab C Rep. 902-02-07 Nr. 107, Ottomar Harbauer: Der Generalstreik und die bewaffneten Kämpfe im März 1919 in Berlin. Berliner Arbeiterveteranen berichten, Manuskript, Bl. 16. See Council Minutes 2002, pp. 18 and 36 and in Neue Preußische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 E for reports indicating that restaurants, bars and amusement arcades were frequently open. In Neue Preußische Zeitung, 10 Mar 1919 M, however, there was talk that hotels and restaurants would reopen after the strike. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E and b.z. am Mittag, 8 March 1919 also reported that pubs and shops were closed. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 829–30. Germania, 5 March 1919 E; Neue Preußische Zeitung, 10 March 1919 M. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 10 March 1919 E.

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26,000 railway workers (out of a total of 30,000) were on strike.276 The strike leadership had tried to maintain railway traffic at least insofar as it involved food transport. This, however, proved almost impossible from an organisational point of view, and it came to several clashes between troops and railwaymen at the stations. The supply of goods from the surrounding countryside was thus severely interrupted. Moreover, those who did want to work had hardly any possibilities to get to their workplaces in other parts of the city. Business-savvy hauliers now saw their opportunity and made private vehicles of all kinds available for passenger transport for a fee.277 They were completely overcrowded and could hardly cope with the rush, though, and their blatant strike-breaking provoked resentment in the General Assembly.278 But the leadership had its hands tied: it was both unable and unwilling to take strong action against this. The same was true for the circular and suburban railways, some of which continued to run.279 They were so overcrowded that passengers tried to sit on the on the running boards, roofs and buffers of the carriages. Postal workers and domestic servants continued to go to work regardless of these difficulties.280 Some smaller ‘yellow’ (read: docile) and liberal workers’ organisations officially called for work to continue.281 All these ingredients added up to a politically explosive mixture, especially when even Vorwärts began to print matching pronouncements. For instance: Railwaymen! Colleagues! The civil servants of the Berlin directorate district are not taking part in the general strike because they want to see order maintained in the interests of the common good, and because they stand with the present government. A corresponding decision has also been taken by the workers’ shop stewards, insofar as they are organised in the General Union of Railway Workers.282 The General Union of Railway Workers (Allgemeiner Eisenbahnerverband) was one of the liberal Hirsch-Dunckersche trade unions and had only a fraction

276 277 278 279 280 281 282

On the railway workers’ strike see BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Bl. 95; Council Minutes 2002, pp. 38 and 64. See Schaede 1919, p. 53; Tägliche Rundschau, 5 March 1919 E; b.z. am Mittag, 8 March 1919. See Council Minutes 2002, p. 80. Germania, 6 March 1919 M; Neue Preußische Zeitung, 5 March 1919 E. Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 3; Tägliche Rundschau, 5 March 1919 M. Tägliche Rundschau, 4 March 1919 E. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 M.

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of the membership of the competing, socialist-leaning Railway Union (Eisenbahnerverband). Many saw the reprint of this call in Vorwärts as a genuine scandal. After all, the socialist workers’ movement had traditionally been very critical of such organisations. Moreover, the leadership of the spd fraction had declared that despite its misgivings it would participate in the general strike for reasons of solidarity. Consequently, harsh attacks were made against Vorwärts in the General Assembly still on the same day.283 Generally speaking, the conduct of the white-collar workers was not uniform. While in certain places they joined the strike, they refused to participate elsewhere – and in some workplaces, only some of the white-collar employees continued to work. In the aeg turbine factory, for example, the majority of the white-collar staff stood in solidarity with the workers, as did the clerks at Schwartzkopff in Wildau.284 At Siemens-Schuckert, some of them continued to perform their jobs, as did their colleagues at the Siemens Wernerwerk.285 The workers in the printing plants were a special case. At the Mosse, Ullstein and Scherl publishing houses, which controlled a large part of the Berlin press, the foremen of the rotary presses had already joined a non-political wage strike that was not linked to the general strike.286 Consequently, some of the papers were not published. The General Assembly, meanwhile, had decreed that the letterpress printers and typesetters were to take part in the movement – only the production of banknotes, ration cards and the strike bulletin (Mitteilungsblatt) was to be exempted. Conflicts erupted as many printers refused to comply with the General Assembly decision.287 This reluctance to get involved was mainly owed to the emphatically nonpolitical character of the Union of German Book Printers (Verband der deutschen Buchdrucker). One of the oldest and best-organised trade unions in Germany, it traditionally steered clear of political matters – even more so than other unions. Its statute at that time stated: ‘The purpose of the Union of

283

284 285 286 287

Council Minutes 2002, p. 2002, p. 38. One of the co-signatories of the cited appeal, the chair of the Berlin Federation of Railway Officials, Alexander Triebel, defended himself in the General Assembly against the accusation of being a strike breaker. He claimed that he had so far been ‘most energetically’ committed to the cause of the general strike. As the appeal shows, however, this was not true. Council Minutes 2002, p. 47. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 820–21. See BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Tagesberichte Vol. 4, Bl. 109–112; Tägliche Rundschau, 5 March 1919 M. See Germania, 2 March 1919 and 3 March 1919 E; Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919; Die Republik, 2 March 1919. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 3–4 and 67.

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German Book Printers is to represent its members’ commercial interests and promote their intellectual and material interests, to the exclusion of all political and religious concerns’.288 Only after an intervention by the strike leadership and the Trade-union Commission did the printers join the walkout after all.289 At least in the case of Vorwärts, we also know that the management threatened its staff with serious consequences if they prevented the spd paper from being published.290 The Social Democrats denied that there had been explicit threats of dismissals. According to them, the managing director Richard Fischer had merely stated that no wages would be paid in that case. Either way, verbal pressure was exerted on employees who were prepared to strike.291 It is therefore at least doubtful that the decision to continue working was made of their own free will. After the decision to involve the gas, water and electricity industries, these operations had now also come to a standstill.292 They included, for instance, the Charlottenburg gasworks and the Rummelsburg and Oberschöneweide power stations. However, the technical departments of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division were able to get at least some utilities in the west of the city up and running again – for example, the Moabit power station.293 The workers there went on strike regardless. In some cases, strikers dragged their colleagues who tried to continue working out of the factories – this is what happened in a furniture factory in Lichtenberg.294 The first signs that the strike was starting to wane were probably becoming apparent on 6 and 7 March.295 The workers of Siemens & Halske, for example, initially went on strike in unison. By the sixth of March 1,080 of them were back at work and 7,000 still on strike.296 The strike effectively ended on 10 March, a Monday. Some workers carried on striking, but the majority resumed operations and the department stores and small shops reopened. The ongoing tramway strike prevented many workers from getting to their work-

288 289 290 291 292 293 294

295 296

Statut des Verbandes der deutschen Buchdrucker. Beschlossen in der Generalsversammlung zu Danzig vom 16. bis 22. Juni 1913. See the account by Däumig in Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 233. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 22–4 and 37. Council Minutes 2002, p. 46; and further accusations see Freiheit, 9 March 1919. See b.z. am Mittag, 8 March 1919. See Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 8 March 1919 E; Vossische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 M. Linke Poot [Alfred Döblin] 1921, p. 14. The noted novelist Döblin ran a medical practice in Lichtenberg at this time. He would later write a four-volume novel about the revolutionary period. See Der Arbeiter-Rat 7, 1919; Council Minutes 2002, p. 123. BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich.

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places, however.297 By 12 March at the latest, this problem had been resolved too – only a few lines were not operational due to technical faults on the overhead lines.298 The eastern parts of town, especially Friedrichshain and Lichtenberg, were an exception: fighting was still going on there, and numerous roadblocks were set up. In Lichtenberg, a meeting of shop stewards from all parties decided to continue striking until government troops were withdrawn from Lichtenberg and from Kaulsdorf further east.299 But the strike in that neighbourhood collapsed when the whole area was occupied. There are no exact figures on the total number of strikers. Der Arbeiter-Rat retrospectively reported that ‘well over a million’ workers had participated.300 Materna and Drabkin also put the participation at over one million, though without providing any evidence.301 The Mitteilungsblatt spoke of about two million.302 It is unclear, however, whether this referred to Berlin or the entire strike wave across Germany. Paul Levi claimed that it had been a general strike, with few exceptions.303 Vorwärts and the bourgeois media, by contrast, stressed that there had been no general walkout.304 Needless to say, the respective political orientation may have influenced the judgement in both cases. Moreover, some papers gave self-contradictory information in their reporting. The most reliable source on this issue is presumably the General Assembly.305 Richard Müller asked all delegates at its 5 March meeting to hand in slips of paper as they left the hall, stating the names and number of workers in their workplaces and the status of the strike there. A day later, he announced the result. These strike statistics did not include all enterprises, however. Müller did not give an exact number, but stressed that ‘almost the entire industry and a large part of trade and transport is, for the most part, completely [sic!] at a standstill’. It is safe to assume that the general strike was not universally observed. The white-collar workers’ response to the call was particularly uneven, and the situation was similar in small workplaces. The large industrial and local transport

297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305

See Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 10 March 1919 E. See Neue Preußische Zeitung, 12 March 1919 E. Council Minutes 2002, p. 137. Der Arbeiter-Rat 7, 1919. Materna 1978, p. 204; Drabkin 1983, p. 159. Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin, 4 March 1919. Cains [Paul Levi] 1919, p. 3. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E; Germania, 6 March 1919 M. Council Minutes 2002, p. 50.

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enterprises, by contrast, lay completely idle, as did the utility companies once the aggravation of the strike had been decided. In all likelihood, then, a clear majority of workers went on strike. However, the general problem arises that the total number of working people cannot be cannot be reliably estimated for this point in time. For this, there are several reasons: Greater Berlin did not come into being as an administrative unit until October 1920. This is why the corresponding statistics were not jointly recorded until then, and it is often not possible to provide detailed figures for the numerous rural municipalities or manor districts. Besides, not only the statistical survey method, but also the general economic situation was subject to considerable changes. Unemployment reached its absolute peak in February and March 1919.306 At the same time, a conversion of the war economy into a peace economy was in process, affecting particularly Berlin with its extensive armament production. What’s more, female and young workers were being replaced by men who had returned from the front. Because to all these factors, it is not possible to give an exact figure for the total number of employees. The 1925 census can serve as a rough guide at best.307 According to its results, Greater Berlin comprised about four million inhabitants – among them, 2.3 million gainfully employed persons. Of these, slightly more than one million were workers, 665,000 were salaried white-collar workers and civil servants, and 130,000 were domestic workers; the rest were self-employed or belonged to the liberal professions. Assuming that Müller’s information is accurate in that a significant proportion of white-collar workers did not go on strike, the total number of participants can be estimated at just over one million. Lange, on the other hand, estimates between 700,000 and 800,000.308 If Müller’s statements are truthful, however, then this is a considerable underestimate since at least two million people were employed in Berlin at that time. We must bear in mind that the strikers were not paid wages or union support for the duration of the struggle.309 The available sources, in any case, contain no evidence that any money was paid out to the movement after the Berlin Trade-union Commission joined it. It would have been an exorbitant burden for their strike funds and is therefore highly unlikely. Thus, the general strike meant great material sacrifice for those involved. While there were in some cases subsequent negotiations with the factory management about payment for the strike period, these negotiations were hardly a resounding success. The 306 307 308 309

See Dettmer 1988, p. 305. See Büsch 1987, p. 21. Lange 2012, p. 87. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 M; Council Minutes 2002, p. 5.

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tram workers were even prepared to stay on strike for a while longer because of this, although the results of their efforts are unknown. The workers’ council of the Schultheiss brewery applied to the management for wage loss compensation.310 However, the management was only prepared to pay if the worker concerned was unable to get to the brewery on account of the difficult traffic situation – and only for the period after the end of the general strike.311 There was no compensation for the strike days. Given that no strike benefits were paid in the vast majority of cases, the large turnout was remarkable. It proved that the demands of the strike were supported by a substantial section of Berlin’s working class. It is therefore not correct for Feldman, Kolb and Rürup to conclude – at least not for Berlin – that the council movement of spring 1919 had lost in breadth compared to November 1918, and that it had lost the backing of spd supporters and of many trade union members in particular.312 By the same token, when the authors go on to claim that spd supporters and vast numbers of trade unionists increasingly steered clear of such actions, this it is only partly a half-truth. In fact, the base of the spd, its councillors, rank-and-file members and voters often disagreed with the party leadership and sometimes pushed it to the left. Moreover, the widespread involvement of workers and the united walkout in many workplaces showed that it was possible to draw in unorganised workers and not a few supporters of bourgeois parties. The mobilisation proved that the councils were able to launch a broad movement. We yet need to investigate in detail how they went about this.

Organisation of the Strike Movement We still need to clarify whether the movement was able to create its own organisational framework and how. We also need to establish how reporting and consultation with the base – an essential feat of any council democracy – was conducted. It is therefore worth examining these aspects in more detail. Fundamentally, we must distinguish between three levels during the general strike. At the top was the strike leadership, which was formed by the Executive Coun-

310

311 312

See lab A Rep. 250-04-07 Nr. 11, Bl. 235: Protokoll Sitzung Vorstand Schultheiss-Brauerei mit dem Arbeiterrat und den Arbeiter- und Angestelltenausschüssen der Berliner Betriebe am 17.3.1919. lab A Rep. 250-04-07 Nr. 11, Schultheiss Brauerei ag. Beschlüsse des Vorstandes der Schultheiss-Brauerei, no page number. Feldman, Kolb and Rürup 1971, p. 99.

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cil – it constituted the executive. All fundamental questions were discussed and decided in the General Assembly, and their implementation was then handed over to the strike leadership. The factories – or more precisely, the workplace meetings – were the base. As late as the 3 March meeting, Richard Müller proposed that the Executive Council be entrusted with leading the strike.313 There was immediate opposition to this – the more radical forces wanted the delegates to elect a new leadership instead. They were hoping that with the support of the majority of Independents and Communists in the General Assembly they would be able to remove the spd and the Democrats. But Müller used all his authority to at least involve the spd, threatening to resign if his proposal was rejected – with success. Then the Democrats and the kpd announced their resignation from the Executive Council – the former because they rejected the strike movement as such, but the Communists formed their own leadership. Hence, it is factually wrong of Mommsen to claim that the kpd withdrew from the strike leadership – it never got involved in it to begin with.314 To be able to cope with the work ahead, the two remaining groups of spd and uspd members now each coopted ten additional people into the strike leadership. The first meeting of the new joint body, held on the same day, decided to set up special commissions.315 A military committee had the task of ensuring peace and order and specifically to prevent looting in food shops. To this end, it was to liaise with the Berlin commandant’s office and the Republican Soldiers’ Guard as well as set up its own workers’ guard. It was also tasked with protecting the General Assembly and strike leadership. The transport committee focused on the railways. This was important for two reasons. Firstly, it was hoped that this would prevent or at least delay the arrival of government troops. Secondly, the food supply had to be ensured while the rest of the railway traffic lay idle – to facilitate this, the committee cooperated with the food committee, which was responsible for further distribution. There was also was a general committee tasked with collecting reports from the other areas and clarifying fundamental questions. Initially, each of these committees comprised three to six members and could co-opt further helpers as needed. Both the spd and the uspd could appoint their representatives themselves – understandably, they usually assigned experts on the respective areas. For example, two railway workers

313 314 315

Council Minutes 1997, pp. 834–7. Mommsen 1978, pp. 382–3. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 846–60 and Council Minutes 2002, pp. 27–35.

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were on the transport committee, and the military committee comprised members of the Executive Council who had dealt with military matters before. The offices were located in the House of Representatives, where the Executive Council already resided. Beyond this organisation, two members were appointed editors of the strike bulletin (Mitteilungsblatt), and later a delegation was chosen to negotiate with the government in Weimar. This constituted, the leadership of the movement immediately commenced its operations. However, the strike leadership only met on two more occasions, namely in the two following days. The meetings took place from around 8pm while the General Assembly met around midday. Then, on 6 March, the spd effectively broke up the committee when it withdrew in response to the expansion of the strike. A new leadership involving the Communists never materialised and efforts to involve the spd again remained unsuccessful.316 The old Executive Council then took the place of the strike leadership again. Its activities up to that point had covered a whole range of areas. For example, it extensively discussed the problems of press coverage and negotiations with the government, especially with Noske. It also addressed the rapid onset of violence and debated which industries were to be exempted from the strike. Other matters included party-political rivalries and relations with the General Assembly and with the grassroots. In those days, the management was faced with an enormous rush of petitioners and complainants. Consequently, access control had to be introduced, and Müller explicitly asked to show up with manageable delegations and only in urgent cases.317 What may appear like a mere detail in fact touches on a central question of the movement as a whole: the connection between the leadership and the base. The restrictive approach also carried the risk of important information not getting through. It is remarkable that, beyond some tactically skilful attempts at exercising influence, the final decision-making authority of the General Assembly was constantly underlined even in the internal discussions of the strike leadership. This required that this ‘council parliament’ convened on a daily basis. The former Revolutionary Shop Steward Paul Eckert (uspd) stressed, ‘The workers’ councils must continue to lead the strike and decide on all measures’.318 And indeed, the essential questions were always decided in the meetings of the General Assembly: the launch of the strike, the setting of objectives, the expansion of the campaign and its termination. Müller highlighted this central function 316 317 318

Council Minutes 2002, pp. 91–2. Council Minutes 2002, p. 62 and p. 35. Council Minutes 1997, p. 849.

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too: ‘The General Assembly of Workers’ Councils was the centre of gravity of the revolutionary movement. Without the consent of the General Assembly, every initiative of Berlin’s workers was lost before it had even begun – the January struggles made for an instructive example’.319 In some cases, there was a communication problem between the General Assembly and the individual plants, which was largely due to technical difficulties. The worker’s councillors were expected to attend the General Assembly sessions, which took up to four and a half hours a day – yet on the other hand, they constantly had to keep in touch with the workers. This was a special challenge for council delegates from the outskirts and those representing several small workplaces at once. After all, public transport had collapsed, which often made hour-long walks unavoidable – and the telephone was only available to military offices. The council delegate Otto Hager reported to the strike leadership: I have to represent 32 workplaces. I also have to cover very long distances: one company is located in Steglitz, another one in Friedenau, and yet another one in Charlottenburg. Of the 985 people invited, 180 turned up the other day. If we now take into account the present traffic conditions, I don’t know how we are going to manage. No matter how duty-driven you are, you can’t achieve anything under such circumstances.320 And so, reality did not always live up to the ideal scenario, where every councillor would be able to keep his constituents up to date before or after attending a General Assembly session. Essentially, though, the system worked well. Workplace meetings were held everywhere and often daily. The workers usually met in the factory halls or in nearby taverns. The railway workers met in the stations.321 In large enterprises, debate normally took place on the factory premises.322 Workers from other companies, such as priteg, used restaurants.323 The local shop stewards organised the meetings, while workers’ councillors reported from the General Assembly.324 By no means did the resolutions only ever earn shouts of acclamation at these meetings. Especially at the begin-

319 320 321 322 323 324

Müller 1925, p. 149. Council Minutes 2002, p. 23. See Tägliche Rundschau, 5 March 1919 E. See Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 39. Der Arbeiter-Rat 6, 1919; Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E.

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ning of the strike, they were places of heated debate between opponents and supporters.325 Only then did the workforces join the strike. The General Assembly’s liaison with workers ran both ways – i.e. the council delegates not only informed their constituents, but brought their concerns and sentiments back to the council assemblies. This process ensured a truly close connection between the two levels, and far-reaching decisions such as the expansion of the strike rested on this legitimacy. It is significant that the agitated mood of the workforce in the water and power plants and in other industries was repeatedly referred to when the topic was debated at the General Assembly.326 Similarly, there was already a massive intervention by factory staff at the very beginning of the movement. As is clear from the Hager statement cited earlier, many workers were no longer able to get to their workplaces or other meeting points on a daily basis when the strike kicked off. This presumably affected all those who lived far from their workplaces: they were now even more dependent on press coverage. Word of mouth also played an important role, especially in the densely populated working-class neighbourhoods, where people met in the streets to discuss the latest events.327 The existence of a strong ‘left-proletarian milieu’ was significant in this context – not only with respect to the distribution of relevant information, but just much for its sense of community.328 It is not difficult to imagine that behaviour perceived as non-solidaric, such as strike-breaking, was not very well received by the working-class communities. The organisation of the general strike can be summarised in the following points. The councils were undoubtedly the backbone of the movement. They made the fundamental decisions and established communication between the leadership ‘above’ and the grassroots ‘below’, and it is through them that the strike leadership and the workers became capable of taking action in the first place. All three levels could draw on already existing structures. The strike leadership was essentially based on the Executive Council, but the General Assembly had also existed beforehand, as was true of system of shop stewards in the factories. This enabled them to initiate all necessary steps quickly and ensure that they were implemented. Within a very short time, specialised committees were formed in order to deal with the expected difficulties. These included food or transport, but also the threat of military intervention and ultimately negotiations with the government. If these activities were partially 325 326 327 328

Germania, 4 March 1919 E; Tägliche Rundschau, 4 March 1919 E. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 48 and 66. Linke Poot [Alfred Döblin] 1921, p. 14; Vorwärts, 4 March 1919 E. On the left-proletarian milieu in general, see Mallmann 1996, especially pp. 252–61.

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unsuccessful, this was not due to poor organisation, but because of the naked violence facing the councils on multiple occasions. Lange’s assessment that the organisational basis of the strike leadership ‘remained stuck in the starting gate’ is inaccurate, then.329 After all, it was based on already existing functional structures and quite capable of efficient action. Lange over-emphasises some deficiencies that certainly existed and in doing so misses the essential: the strike did take place – and it took place precisely because it was based on a functioning council structure. Despite the problems mentioned above, contact between the leadership and the base never broke down. Moreover, the council system provided the necessary framework to ensure not only the permanent flow of information downwards, but also upwards. This close linkage and permanent feedback was a great feat, especially considering the enormous numbers of people involved, let alone external difficulties. The council system had therefore proved in practice that it was organisationally suitable for large-scale actions – and also that it could make good on its claim to grassroots-based democracy.

Citizens’ Council and General Strike The citizens’ council of Greater Berlin played an absolutely exceptional role during the strike and was generally not part of the organisational structures of the council movement.330 It was deliberately set up as a counterweight to the workers’ councils on 19 November 1918. It was also not an organisation of elected delegates, but an assembly of dignitaries. The citizens’ council was a forum where employers, senior civil servants and officers came together to discuss measures against the revolution. The German National People’s Party (dnvp) member Salomon Marx was its leading figure. Some of the capital’s most prominent industrialists, such as Ernst von Borsig and Friedrich von Siemens, contributed substantial sums of money. This money, in turn, was primarily used to build the Freikorps. Just before the general strike started and after it had begun, the citizens’ council held a series of meetings to discuss possible responses.331 Tellingly, the Freikorps leader Colonel Wilhelm Reinhard was present. Marx’s main effort was to prepare a citizens’ strike. Doctors, pharmacists, teachers, lawyers, civil

329 330 331

Lange 2012, p. 92. On the following, see Schmidt 1984, Bieber 1992 and Lange 2012, pp. 44–8. Tägliche Rundschau, 3 March 1919 M.

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servants and merchants were to stop working. The medical profession in particular could have exerted considerable pressure and possibly brought about the termination of the general strike. However, this did not happen because the Hansa Federation of Trade and Industry, the Medical Association, and the civil servants involved all expressed serious concerns.332 A similar project in Leipzig had hardly had any success at all – the citizens’ strike there had only succeeded in agitating the workers further.333 Many of those involved doubted whether such a large-scale action could even be carried out in Berlin. Finally, it was agreed that this measure would only be taken in the case of extreme emergency, which in the end did not happen.334 The citizens’ council continued to agitate for its aims because its members anticipated further working-class action and thought it important to be wellprepared.335 For example, it proposed to set up a support fund, procure its own printing presses for leaflets and continue to cooperate closely with the Freikorps and citizens’ militias. This was seen as the appropriate preparation for the event of another general strike.

The Role of the Media It hardly needs saying that communication through the press and other media is of great importance to a mass movement. For many reasons, this was also true in this case. The daily press was undoubtedly central for the dissemination of information, but posters and leaflets also played an important role. The influence of these media can be summarised in three points: it provided information; it was an important source of impulses for specific action; and it gave an interpretation of events. All this was bound to have an impact on the course of events and therefore requires closer examination. Already in the run-up to the strike, reports on what was happening in the factories played an important role in boosting the movement. The party papers Freiheit (uspd) and Die Rote Fahne (kpd) in particular, and to a lesser extent Vorwärts (spd) and the bourgeois newspapers, reported about workers’ meetings and resolutions for weeks and often in great detail. Thanks to this, the workers made an impact beyond their factory premises, not least on the General Assembly, the Executive Council and the Berlin party leaderships. Ahead of 332 333 334 335

Germania, 11 March 1919 M; Freiheit, 3 March 1919 E. See Geyer 1976, pp. 103–106. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 5 March 1919 E. Die Republik, 24 March 1919.

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the decisive meeting on 3 March, Die Rote Fahne again intensified the pressure vehemently calling for a general strike and articulating concrete objective.336 Conversely, Vorwärts attempted many times to prevent the movement from forming and later to bring it to a quick end. This was obviously a systematic campaign. The day before the decision to strike was taken, for instance, the paper printed a government appeal that read, ‘Get to work! … Every strike brings us one step closer to the abyss.’337 The following Monday, the spd executive and its fraction in the National Assembly authored an appeal entitled ‘Against tyranny’, which stated that mass strikes, while appropriate in times of the Kaiser, now only meant that the workers were hurting themselves.338 On Tuesday, there was talk of the need to quickly reach compromises through negotiations.339 The paper also called for a strike ballot, which ran counter to the decision of the General Assembly. Vorwärts argued that strikes should only take place where the ballots had been cast in favour. The paper was blatantly ignoring the council delegates of its own party: they, after all, had declared that they would recognise the majority decision of the assembly and fight ‘shoulder to shoulder’ with their colleagues despite their reservations. On top of this, the paper indicated that no strike support would be paid. On Wednesday, Vorwärts followed up with the blunt statement that the general strike was a ‘mistake’.340 It also cited a statement by the Medical Association, according to which the stagnation of economic life was putting thousands of people’s lives at risk. A report from the commandant’s office that Vorwärts printed in the same issue was clearly politically motivated: supposedly, there was a danger of epidemics breaking out because the delousing centres might have to close. The paper deliberately omitted the fact that the strike leadership had specifically exempted food and health services from the strike. In the evening edition, the editorial board opined that those not joining the strike were not actually strike-breakers because this was a political struggle.341 The argument could certainly not be dismissed out of hand – but as already mentioned, it plainly contradicted the stance of the Social-Democratic council delegates. The subsequent call of the paper to ‘let bygones be bygones’ – a direct reference to excessive government violence against the workers – was

336 337 338 339 340 341

Die Rote Fahne, 3 March 1919. Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. Vorwärts, 3 March 1919. Vorwärts, 4 March 1919. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 M. Vorwärts, 5 March 1919 E.

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highly questionable.342 In view of the massive terror of the troops, which far exceeded any misdeeds from the other side, this could only be understood as apologetics for the military. Soon afterwards, the paper openly placed the main blame for the bloodshed on the insurgents.343 It was therefore quite truthful of Herfurth to conclude in the General Assembly that ‘from the first day of the decision to strike, Vorwärts did everything it could to sabotage and undermine the strike’.344 Another workers’ councillor also expressed his displeasure at this kind of reporting, remarking that he would not have even expected this from a paper called ‘Backward’, let alone one called ‘Forward’ [Vorwärts].345 In a highly dramatic move, the leader of the Social-Democratic fraction dissociated himself from the paper of his own party.346 At the same time, the spd leadership and the national government tried to influence public opinion with posters and leaflets. One leaflet stated, for instance: Workers, don’t be fooled! The paid agents of the Bolshevik-Spartacist racket are plotting to shut down the factories again … Wherever they operate, they leave a trail of violence and crime. Coups and wildcat strikes systematically paralyse all organised productive activity for the reconstruction of our economy … Think of Russia, where Bolshevik rule has already claimed hundreds of thousands of lives … However, socialisation must come, and socialisation will come … Workers, don’t let yourself be fooled with demagogic tricks. The socialist government is marching on despite all this.347 Here, the Social Democrats used blatantly anti-communist arguments, indiscriminately conflating German leftists with the Russian Bolsheviks, violence and chaos. Concurrently, the government promised energetic measures and concessions – this was matched by the contents of posters seen in the streets of Berlin just before and during the strike. The first poster read: ‘Socialisation is on the march!’ A little later, a second poster read: 342 343 344 345 346 347

Vorwärts, 13 March 1919 E. Vorwärts, 15 March 1919 M. Council Minutes 2002, p. 43. Council Minutes 2002, p. 7. Council Minutes 2002, p. 26. BArch ns 26/2088, Hauptarchiv der nsdap, Revolutionäre Ereignisse in Berlin, no page number. The leaflet is undated, but was probably distributed during the first days of the strike.

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Socialisation is here! The coal syndicate will be socialised immediately … The General Socialisation Law, which has been submitted to the National Assembly, inaugurates the German common economy [Gemeinwirtschaft], which will replace the unrestricted private economy of old. The Reich, i.e. all of us, will regulate this German common economy. The state will see to it that everywhere business is conducted in accordance with the demands of the common interest of all and nowhere in capitalist private interest. And that is socialism! The Reich Ministry348 In the end, the legislative action alluded to in the poster came to nothing. No substantial expropriations or other measures worthy of the label ‘socialisation’ were carried out.349 Tellingly, the Social Democrat Hugo Stuve of the Central Council commented that socialisation ‘should have been initiated earlier. The fact that the posters are appearing now is ridiculous’.350 A leaflet simply titled ‘special issue’ (Extrablatt) stated in response to the aggravation of the strike: In order to enforce one-sided political demands and pursue selfish party politics, a minority of the Berlin working class, supported by rapacious riffraff, has not only condemned the Berlin population to idleness, it has ruthlessly deprived it of the most basic necessities of life. They have taken away Berlin’s lighting, they have decided to cut off its water. No Asian mass murderer has ever acted more brutally and shamelessly even against defeated enemies destined for extermination.351 The leaflet bears no signature, but in almost certainly originates from spd circles: apart from the quoted statement, it replicates official spd announcements and openly sides with the spd and the government. It is not just that the leaflet described the strike is as a criminal act, it also contained a straightforward untruth: the General Assembly, as the recognised representation of the workers, had in fact agreed to the strike by a majority. There is no doubt that the expansion of the strike was a tricky issue on account of its consequences for the general population. But to equate it with mass murder can only be described as clumsy propaganda – quite apart from the racist overtones.

348 349 350 351

Ibid. For detailed information, see Brehme 1960. Kolb and Rürup 1968, p. 762. lab F Rep. 240, Zeitgeschichtliche Sammlung, A 458, no page number.

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Not only the spd and the government used literature against the movement. A poster that appeared in the days after the strike, addressed to the ‘workers of Berlin’, is particularly interesting in this context: We, the undersigned managers of the charitable institutions of Greater Berlin, address you in the name of the sick and wounded, infants and mothers entrusted to our care. On 6 March, the General Assembly of Workers’ Councils decided by a small majority to cut off gas, water and electricity for the population of Greater Berlin. Do you know what such a strike, apart from the misery that would have come upon the entire population of Berlin, means for many hundreds of people in our care? It means certain death for them, that is to say, murder carried out by their own comrades, perhaps by their own fathers, husbands and brothers … It was only thanks to the intervention of the technical detachment of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division that greater harm was prevented … Do not tolerate another such criminal strike … Tell your husband, your father, to think of the helpless people in our care, and to save them from perdition by continuing to work.352 This initiative was in all likelihood launched by the political section of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division. Firstly because the text specifically praises this Freikorps, and secondly because one of the signatories was the former deputy corps doctor of the unit. This was by no means the only journalistic initiative taken by the corps. Even more significant was their involvement in the spectacular false reports about the murder of police officers in Lichtenberg. In association with the Prussian Ministry of the Interior, the unit reported that up to 150 officers had been shot by rioters.353 It was a news story that went through the entire media and provided Noske with the excuse to put down the uprising in the east of the city in an exceptionally drastic manner.354 The alleged murder of the Lichtenberg police officers was certainly the most effective false report in those days. But it was far from the only one. The newspaper Die Republik later reprinted a whole series of reports from other publications – including subsequent retractions printed in the same papers the follow-

352

353 354

lab F Rep. 260–01, Sammlung Plakate bis 1945, C 166. It is also held by the Federal Archives – see BArch ns 26/2088, Hauptarchiv der nsdap, Revolutionäre Ereignisse in Berlin, no page number. b.z. am Mittag, 14 March 1919. Wette 1987, pp. 420–24 and Lange 2012, pp. 137–40.

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ing day.355 For example, Berliner Tagblatt wrote of an occupation of the Bötzow brewery by insurgents. Vorwärts, meanwhile, reported that they had captured the Volksbühne theatre. The renowned Wolffs Telegraphisches Büro even reported that the enemies of the government had used aeroplanes. All these news reports were fake, as the respective papers soon acknowledged. Some of them came directly from the Guards Cavalry Riflemen Division, which had clearly forwarded them to the press with manipulative intent. Despite the retractions, they still had the desired effect, stirring up a real pogrom atmosphere. Citing the alleged events of Lichtenberg, b.z. am Mittag demanded tough action against the Communists, adding that ‘now there are only two sides: animals and humans’.356 Lokal-Anzeiger took the same line, describing the alleged massacre of police officers as an expression of the ‘murderous desire of “freedom fighters” who had completely lost their minds’.357 Vorwärts also used very strong words when reporting the ‘incident’.358 With the onset of military clashes at the latest, the reporting in the bourgeois press took on an altogether more acute tone, which was also true of the strike itself. Even so, different points of view were expressed. Georg Bernhard, editor-in-chief of Vossische Zeitung, showed at least partial understanding for the strikers’ concerns, yet at the same time legitimised military intervention.359 Germania stressed that the skirmishes and the general strike ought to be viewed as completely separate matters.360 The claim that the strike was only a smokescreen for a carefully planned uprising was made multiple times.361 Incidentally, the paper of the Centre Party also reported this, apparently unaware of the contradictory nature of its own claims – after all, the editorial board wanted to keep the strike and the fighting separate shortly afterwards.362 The aim of the uprising, the paper wrote, was the proclamation of the council republic on the fifth day of the campaign – that is, after the conquest of the city centre, the newspaper offices and the government quarter. The assertion that the ‘Spartacists’ were hoping for support from the Freikorps shows just how improbable this scenario was. No evidence whatso-

355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362

Die Republik, 13 March 1919. b.z. am Mittag, 10 March1919. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 10 March 1919 E. Vorwärts, 10 March 1919 M. Georg Bernhard, ‘Geistige Umstellung’, in: Vossische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 E. Germania, 10 March 1919 E. b.z. am Mittag, 8 March 1919; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 8 March 1919 M; Neue Preußische Zeitung, 9 March 1919 M. Germania, 8 March 1919 E.

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ever was provided. A report that claimed the left-wing publicist Franz Pfemfert had been arrested in his flat for preparing a putsch had a similar thrust.363 Neue Preußische Zeitung argued that the general strike amounted to ‘organised mass suicide’.364 Elsewhere, it was dubbed the ‘greatest test of strength between anarchy and the new order’.365 Even the Freikorps Reinhard, which was directly involved in the suppression of the uprising, started its own newspaper during the strike period: Berliner Wacht. It was explicitly intended as a journalistic counterweight to the left-wing papers of the capital and reached a respectable circulation of 5,000 copies.366 On the whole, the reporting was highly critical and in some cases outright slanderous. Undoubtedly, this had a discouraging effect on the participants in the strike while strengthening the opponents of the movement. The postman Gustav Urbschat retrospectively highlighted the important role of the media in the conflict, especially in view of its one-sided reporting.367 The bourgeois newspapers were very widely read especially in white-collar and civil servant circles and probably contributed greatly to the fact that these layers were much more reserved about the strike than the blue-collar workers. All this made things difficult. Because neither Freiheit nor Die Rote Fahne were published during that period, it was scarcely possible to issue direct counter-statements. The General Assembly had exempted some industries from the strike, but not the typesetters and letterpress printers, aiming to prevent all press from being published. Only the strike bulletin (Mitteilungsblatt) edited by one representative each of the spd and uspd was to provide information to the population. When it became clear that many printers were not abiding by the decision to strike, the General Assembly called on them once more to heed the strike call.368 Richard Müller succeeded several times in ensuring that his party’s paper, Freiheit, was not published.369 However, the printers did not join the strike in unison and the leadership had to recognise that it had no means to prevent their strikebreaking.370 As a result, not only Vorwärts, but also some other papers continued to appear, including Tägliche Rundschau, Germania and Neue Preußische Zeitung. The fact that other papers in the capital, some of them with very high circulations, including Vossische Zeitung and b.z. 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370

Neue Preußische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 E. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 5 March 1919 E. Germania, 9 March 1919. Kessel 1933, pp. 215–17. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/2075/1, Erinnerungen Gustav Urbschat, Bl. 133–5. Council Minutes, p. 10. Council Minutes, p. 54. Council Minutes, p. 34.

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am Mittag, did not reappear until 8 March was due to a wages struggle by the press foremen in the printing plants concerned. This was not linked to the general strike. As soon as the first issue was published, Noske banned the Mitteilungsblatt under his new powers as commander-in-chief in the Marches. The imposition of a state of siege by the Prussian government on 3 March gave him the legal grounds for this.371 All negotiations with Noske on this matter remained unsuccessful. Moreover, the printing company refused to continue working for the strike leadership.372 This was probably in no small part due to the fact that soldiers had destroyed the printing plates. Instead of immediately reissuing the party newspapers, the strike leadership now continued to try to get the Mitteilungsblatt published while also persuading the letterpress printers to join the strike. The latter effort only succeeded for a very short time. And so, all newspapers reappeared from 8 March. Two days later, Noske banned Freiheit and Die Republik without giving any reasons. However, he quickly lifted the ban again. Freiheit came out again the following day and Republik reappeared from 13 March. Noske’s close collaborator Major Erich von Gilsa declared that the papers had been banned for inciting the population.373 Although Haase persistently asserted that without the required time limit and immediate statement of reasons the bans were unlawful, he gave no further replies. Even before the decree was issued, on 9 March, the Minister of Defence had sent soldiers to the editorial offices of Freiheit, where they prevented delivery and confiscated the freshly printed edition.374 In general, the struggle for media sovereignty was fought tooth and nail. Vorwärts, for instance, reported physical assaults on its street sellers.375 Die Rote Fahne was hit even harder: immediately after the decision was taken to strike, troops vandalised its editorial offices and printing plates before cordoning off the streets around its printing plant.376 The staff managed to escape in time. Noske banned Die Rote Fahne on 3 March and ordered to arrest the editors

371 372 373

374 375 376

Noske 1920, p. 104. Council Minutes, pp. 16–17. See Verhandlungen der verfassunggebenden Deutschen Nationalversammlung. Stenographische Berichte [Negotiations of the Constituent German National Assembly. Stenographic Reports], Berlin 1920, pp. 787–8. Short title hereafter: Negotiations National Assembly. Freiheit, 11 March 1919 M. Vorwärts, 8 March 1919 E. Council Minutes 2002, p. 4.

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and the signatories of the strike call published on that day.377 The paper could therefore only appear in a makeshift form on 4 March, and then not again until 11 April.378 The kpd leader Paul Levi had already vehemently opposed the decision not to allow the continued publication of revolutionary newspapers at the very first meeting of the strike leadership.379 He announced that he would have his paper and other print media published illegally if necessary. And indeed, the kpd Zentrale distributed a whole series of leaflets in the following days.380 In view of this precarious situation, the behaviour of the General Assembly is surprising. On 4 March, the Communists tabled a motion demanding that only their newspaper and that of the uspd be allowed publication during the strike. This was rejected by a majority.381 On 6 March, the General Assembly rejected another such motion.382 In doing so, however, it practically censored itself. From a journalistic and publicity point of view, the Berlin council movement was in a seriously weak position when compared to the general strike in central Germany. In the Halle region, the letterpress printers had joined the strike without objections, which is why no newspapers appeared there at all. Only the Mitteilungsblatt of the strike action committee was circulated. In Leipzig, a demonstration took place outside the premises of the right-wing Leipziger Neueste Nachrichten, whereupon the workers’ council temporarily banned all bourgeois papers.383 In contrast to Berlin, the difference in both cases was that the strike movement had substantial hegemony in terms of local reporting. It is fair to say that the council movement lost the struggle for public opinion in the general strike quickly and decisively. While the actors were well aware of the immense importance of this aspect, which was evidenced by the ongoing debates, they did not succeed in influencing the development in their favour. The Mitteilungsblatt could only appear once and had little effect. The movement initially failed because of the attitude of letterpress printers, who only took part in the walkout briefly and at a later stage. Of course, one should

377 378 379 380

381 382 383

See Noske’s remarks on this at the meeting of the National Assembly on 13 March: Negotiations National Assembly, p. 740. Die Rote Fahne, 11 April 1919. Council Minutes 1997, p. 851. Two examples can be found in the kpd collection of the Federal Archives: sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/30, kpd, Flugblätter und Flugschriften des Bezirks Berlin, Bl. 4 and sapmoBArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblätter und Flugschriften, Bl. 26. Another one is available in lab F Rep. 240, Contemporary History Collection, A 162, no page number. Council Minutes 2002, p. 10. Council Minutes 2002, p. 80. Geyer 1976, pp. 102–3.

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not forget about the brute force involved: there was simply no way to counter Noske’s bans or his troops, who intervened directly on multiple occasions. Moreover, the councils proved incapable of drawing appropriate conclusions from these experiences. They persistently continued on a path once set, thus manoeuvring themselves into journalistic and public relations oblivion. Without a doubt, this was one of the movement’s most serious mistakes during the general strike, rendering it unable to adequately inform and update its supporters about the situation. This opened the door to false reports, rumours, etc.384 At least as significant, though, was the fact that it lost the interpretative authority over what was occurring. People had to go by the extremely one-sided reporting in the bourgeois media, combined with a similar approach taken by Vorwärts and the government. This was bound to contribute to a disintegration of the strike in the short term as well as discredit the council movement’s general strike campaign in the long term.

Street Fighting during the Strike The general strike was overshadowed by violent clashes practically from the very beginning. Naturally, this could not remain without repercussions for the campaign. However, the precise connection between these two aspects is still unclear: it was already a matter of fierce dispute among contemporaries and, to some extent, remains so to this day. We can confine the chronology of the fighting to a brief summary since a whole series of studies on the subject is readily available.385 The main questions for us are: in what way were these clashes linked to the strike, and what motivated them? Only a few hours after the General Assembly decision to launch the general strike, looting took place in the city centre around Alexanderplatz. This mainly affected food and jewellery shops.386 It is a matter of controversy whether

384 385

386

Linke Poot [Alfred Döblin] reports on these rumours in 1921, pp. 14–15. The best and most up-to-date study is found in Lange 2012 and in condensed form in Lange 2011. Other works also give accounts of the events, though less extensively so. See e.g. Dreetz 1988, pp. 67–72; Wette pp. 410–28; Oeckel, pp. 161–95 and Knoll 1958. Nor is there any shortage of older texts, which give very different assessments depending on the author’s point of view. For the strikers’ perspective, see Müller 1925, pp. 163–90; Die Wahrheit über die Berliner Straßenkämpfe, 1919. For the military men’s point of view, see Die Berliner Spartakus-Unruhen im März, 1919; Reinhard 1933, pp. 89–106; Oertzen 1938, pp. 283–9; Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, pp. 78–103. The former Berlin city commander plays a special role – see Fischer 1922. See an anonymous pamphlet, probably written by a military writer named ‘Balk’:

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these activities were spontaneous or deliberately instigated. Müller, without being specific, suspects provocation. Lange provides evidence of the activity of numerous provocateurs of different backgrounds in Berlin’s workers’ organisations during these months.387 But he too refrains from passing a final judgement on the matter. Moreover, it can no longer be reliably answered. Simultaneously, a total of at least 32 police stations were raided in Berlin and its suburbs and a considerable number of weapons stolen.388 There were also several large gatherings in Alexanderplatz that would ultimately be dispersed by force. The units tasked with this were the Republican Soldiers’ Guard (Republikanische Soldatenwehr, herafter rsw) and its affiliated People’s Marine Division (Volksmarinedivision, hereafter vmd). At the same time, however, government troops also received orders to clear the spacious square, and the police headquarters located there was manned by government soldiers. This resulted in shootouts between the different units. The exact course of events was highly controversial among contemporaries and remains so among historians today. The same applies to whether this was a tragic misunderstanding arising from unclear orders or if a confrontation had been brought about deliberately.389 Soon, an intense battle broke out: sections of the rsw and vmd used machine guns and field guns in an attempt to storm the police headquarters, whose staff was able to fend off the attack. After the arrival of further reinforcements, the government troops went on a full-scale counterattack. First, Spandau was militarily occupied and the Marinehaus near Jannowitzbrücke, where the vmd quarters were located, was captured. There were only minor exchanges of fire in Spandau, Charlottenburg, Neukölln and Tempelhof.390 Further north in the area around Strausberger Platz, government units stormed several barricades. Then the fighting shifted east. Fierce clashes took place especially in Warschauer Strasse and Frankfurter Allee as well as in the centre of Lichtenberg. On 12 March, when the general strike had long since ended, the last scattered fighters surrendered. After the standoff in Alexanderplatz, the insurgents were far outnumbered by the concentrically advancing government troops. Estimates put the total 387 388

389 390

Müller 1925, pp. 168–71; Lange 2012, pp. 103–6. BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Bl. 97; Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, p. 80. The Prussian Minister of the Interior Wolfgang Heine, on the other hand, spoke of 37 raided police stations – see Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 50. A misunderstanding is implied e.g. in BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Vol. 4, Bl. 109; Germania, 4 March 1919 E. BArch R 705/46, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Tagesberichte Vol. 4, Bl. 113–15 and Bl. 119.

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number of armed insurgents at 6,000 to 15,000; in Lichtenberg there were probably only a few hundred left.391 As had already been the case in January, a large part of the rsw had not participated in the fighting anyway.392 There was also no unified leadership on the part of the insurgents: the armed groups acted in isolation, and a provisional command post in the bus station on Proskauer Strasse in Friedrichshain remained largely ineffective.393 It was clearly not a planned uprising, but a spontaneous event. In addition to sections of the rsw and the vmd, workers and other residents of the affected neighbourhoods joined in the fighting too. Karl Grünberg, a soldiers’ council delegate from Pankow, described the situation as follows: Genuine resistance was only put up by small groups of workers fighting spontaneously, without a plan, and without any military or political objective. The counterrevolution took its time to break this elemental resistance. After all, it wanted to drown the general strike in blood because it posed a threat to the counterrevolution, but it also wanted to make the revolution bleed thoroughly. To help creating the conditions, the ‘press of law and order’ [Ordnungspresse] painted these partisan fighters as a large Spartacist army equipped with modern weapons.394 The workers at Schwartzkopff-Werke and Knorr-Bremse, known for their radical political stance, played an important role in this. The majority of the working class, however, remained aloof.395 The lack of broader popular support was a central factor contributing to a swift and unequivocal defeat.396 This aspect was also emphasised in Alfred Döblin’s account: Strangely, you hardly see any defenders. Wherever you go, there are only groups of two or three men standing around. Five is the highest number of men standing together. People say they are staying in taverns and in

391

392 393

394 395 396

Müller 1925, p. 174 estimated the number of insurgents in Lichtenberg at a maximum of 300, citing the local mayor Ziethen. Ernst Broßat estimated the total number – i.e. in all of Berlin – at a ‘maximum of 6,000’, see sapmo-BArch SgY 30/114, Erinnerungen Ernst Broßat, Bl. 14. There is talk of 15,000 in Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, p. 83. Authors’ collective 1929, p. 364. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 43. Beiersdorf also confirmed that the fighting was leaderless: sapmo-BArch SgY 30/52, Erinnerungen Franz Beiersdorf, Bl. 22. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1116, Erinnerungen Karl Grünberg, Bl. 130. sapmo-BArch SgY30/114, Erinnerungen Ernst Broßat, Bl. 14. Fischer 1956, p. 47.

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houses, but nothing was ever seen of it until the last day. And those who make their way along the barricades report the same thing: there are no more of them.397 On the opposing side, the General Command Lüttwitz mobilised 31,400 welltrained, centrally led soldiers.398 The officer Hans von Kessel, who was involved in this mobilisation, wrote in retrospect that ‘this time, there could be no doubt about the outcome of the fighting: the government troops were far superior to the red guards’.399 Their advance was based on a plan that had been drawn up at the end of January, i.e. immediately after the January uprising.400 It is quite possible that the troops even had intelligence about meeting places of the left and the political stance of workers at individual factories.401 They also had an abundance of heavy weaponry ranging from cannons and mine launchers to tanks and aircraft. Soon they had broken all resistance, without any regard for the residents of the densely populated neighbourhoods in which they were operating. In Lichtenberg, for example, four houses in the Landsberg quarter were completely blown to bits by artillery – twenty women’s and children’s bodies were later recovered from the ruins.402 The British Major Bertie likewise mentioned the massive and in his view unnecessary use of cannons.403 However, the high number of casualties – a total of 1,200 dead according to conservative estimates and over 2,000 according to others – was not exclusively the result of artillery fire.404 Rather, a brutalisation typical of such civil war-like conflicts quickly set in, claiming the lives of participants from both sides as well as those of local residents. Hundreds of civilians, including children, were admitted to Berlin’s hospitals and first-aid centres with gunshot wounds.405 We must stress that the levels of violence were not the same on both sides. The insurgents abused government soldiers who fell into their hands only in

397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404

405

Linke Poot [Alfred Döblin] 1921, p. 15. Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, p. 81. Kessel 1933, p. 212. His comparison refers to the January uprising. Oertzen 1938, p. 289; Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, pp. 81–2; Dreetz 1988, p. 70. That is at least what Die Rote Fahne claimed on 13 April 1919. Council Minutes, p. 154. Drabkin 1983, p. 167. Noske 1920, p. 110, puts the number of victims at 1,200, while Müller 1925, p. 188, considers it too low. Retzlaw 1976, p. 126, puts the number of deaths at over 2,000, justifying it by the fact that many relatives, fearing further repression, stated false causes of death such as accidents. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 14 March 1919 M.

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a few isolated cases. The same goes for acts of violence committed by spontaneous crowds – for example, on 7 March, when a soldier separated from his squad was abused by a mob at Senefelder Platz and then shot dead.406 Berliner Illustrierte Zeitung published two photos of the incident.407 Hermann Dill, the tailor presumed to be chiefly responsible, was later convicted of violence against soldiers.408 The sentence was passed in a one-sided trial with three officers acting as assessors and only one witness being heard – namely one of the mistreated soldiers. There was a similar incident when the insurgents stormed the Lichtenberg police headquarters: some of the militants, but mainly angry residents, used violence against police officers who had already surrendered.409 One officer was killed in the process. The other side committed a great many acts of violence, backed up by corresponding orders. This uneven pattern is evident from the number of casualties alone: According to the official military-historical investigations, there were only 75 government soldiers among the 1,200 dead.410 Following the reports of the alleged murder of police officers, Minister of Defence Noske had issued an order that gave his troops considerable leeway: ‘Any person found fighting against government forces with arms in hand is to be shot on sight’.411 This order was not covered by the state of siege and was therefore unlawful. It did not even hand the decision over life and death to a courts martial, but placed it completely in the hands of individuals.412 Moreover, it was complemented by an even farther-reaching instruction to the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division according to which the mere possession of weapons or looting warranted immediate execution by firing squad.413 Extensive searches were carried out in homes and at roadblocks across town.414 The escalation of violence could not be contained by the establishment of military tribunals. Quite the opposite: they only gave the brutal proceedings the appearance of legality. A survivor wrote about one of these tribunals, held on 12 March:

406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414

Noske 1920, pp. 108–9. Berliner Illustrierte Zeitung, 30 March 1919. For details, see the relevant court file: lab A Rep. 358–01 Nr. 2002, Verfahren Hermann Dill. See lab A Pr. Br. Rep. 030–95 Nr. 21767, Erlebnisse des Polizei-Präsidenten Freiherr v. Salmuth vom 3. bis 10. März 1919. Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, p. 103. Noske 1920, p. 109. On this question see Kimmel 1971, pp. 37–8. Freiheit, 18 March 1919. Excerpts quoted in Müller 1925, pp. 177–8. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/148, Erinnerungen Cläre Derfert-Casper, Bl. 26–7.

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A ‘court martial’ was set up in the ‘Schwarzer Adler’ tavern, Gürtelstrasse at the corner of Frankfurter Allee. It comprised only officers from the Lüttwitz and Owen detachment [actually: von Oven – Author] Without much questioning, death sentences were passed – being a member of the navy was reason enough, whether you had personally taken part in the fighting or not. The rich bourgeois scum, factory owners and businessmen acted as informers. If one of them said ‘I recognise him, he was there’ as the shackled sailors and workers were paraded before them, the accused was flogged with the artillerymen’s driving whips. This was carried out by ‘volunteers’ from among the marauding soldiery. Usually it was their faces that were subjected to the whipping. Eleven sailors and workers who refused to recognise the court martial … were severely mistreated and dragged to the Möllendorfstrasse cemetery wall in Frankfurter Allee without any questioning … Because they resisted being executed at the cemetery wall they were simply beaten to death with rifle butts. Bodies still squirming were finished off by trapshots.415 There were about 200 summary executions in total.416 In some cases, the mere possession of a party card was sufficient reason for a summary execution.417 Emil Julius Gumbel cited a high number of arbitrary killings by government troops in his study, which was first published in 1920.418 Leo Jogiches, one of the leaders of the kpd, was among the victims.419 After his arrest in Neukölln, he was ‘shot when trying to escape’ inside a courthouse. The downright scandalous investigation of the case by the public prosecutor is also documented in the text: he clearly had no interest whatsoever in determining what had really happened or in holding the perpetrators accountable. The main culprit, detective constable Ernst Tamschick, was the same man who later shot dead the commander of the People’s Marine Division (vmd), Heinrich Dorrenbach – needless to say, Dorrenbach had also ‘tried to escape’. The most sensational case, which continued to trouble the justice system for a long time, took place in Französische Strasse. The remnants of the vmd had been ordered there for their final pay. However, all the marines who turned

415 416 417 418 419

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/52, Erinnerungen Franz Beiersdorf. Die Wahrheit über die Berliner Straßenkämpfe, 1919, p. 26. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/50, Erinnerungen Helene Behr, Bl. 5. Gumbel, Julius 1980, pp. 17–26. Authors’ collective 1929, pp. 367–8 and sapmo-BArch SgY 30/50, Erinnerungen Helene Behr, Bl. 4. See Tamschick’s own statements and those of some other witnesses: GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 84a Justizministerium Nr. 58545, Spartakusunruhen, Bl. 256–9.

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up were mistreated and robbed, and 30 of them were shot dead in the backyard.420 The officer responsible, First Lieutenant Otto Marloh, was ultimately acquitted.421 After a controversial debate in the Prussian State Assembly (Preußische Landesversamlung), it was decided to set up a commission of enquiry into these violent excesses.422 Because of its obvious political bias, the uspd left the committee soon after the first meeting on 27 March.423 The historian Siegfried Heimann has referred to it as a ‘political-propagandist enquiry’.424 Its work was inconclusive and it never submitted any report on the events. Colonel Reinhard, in charge of the placement of prisoners, reported that a total of 4,500 people had been arrested.425 However, the troops had manifestly not proceeded in a very targeted manner, but had simply arrested anyone who in some way seemed suspicious to them.426 Paul Schäfer, then a member of the vmd, described the conditions in the Lehrter Strasse cell prison thus: ‘Eight of us were crammed into a cell for what must have been three weeks. Here, too, our tormentors were soldiers. Beatings with long strap whips … were the order of the day’.427 The cells in this prison were actually designed for a single prisoner each. The massive violence far exceeded anything that had occurred in Germany since November 1918. This makes it all the more important to examine how it was possible that such an escalation occurred in the first place. Revealing in this context is the state of expectation on the part of the responsible authorities before the outbreak of the fighting. As already mentioned, the military – especially the Lüttwitz General Command, which had been put in charge of Berlin – had been expecting new uprisings for some time. It was for this reason that they had drawn up detailed orders and deployment plans. In addition, numerous Freikorps were newly formed or reinforced after the January uprising.428 But it was not only the officers who anticipated confrontations. The US diplomat Franklin Day, who was in Berlin at the time, sent a report on the political 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/114, Erinnerungen Ernst Broßat, Bl. 15–19 and sapmo-BArch SgY 30/388, Erinnerungen Erich Herzog. Lange 2012, p. 157. Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 316. Heimann 2011, pp. 333–4. Heimann 2011, p. 334. Reinhard 1933, p. 94. Kessler 2007, p. 179. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/809, Erinnerungen Paul Schäfer, Bl. 57. Oertzen 1938, pp. 283–9, and Dreetz 1988, p. 70.

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situation to his superiors: he wrote that the government expected imminent insurrections and that these were to be put down by military means.429 During this period, Minister of Defence Noske was only ever playing the military card anyhow, as he never tired of stressing.430 When Harry Graf Kessler met the Prussian Minister of the Interior and President of the Berlin Police, Eugen Ernst (spd), in Weimar on 25 February, it came to a significant exchange of words that Kessler recorded in his diary: ‘I asked him what he, as police chief of Berlin, expected from Spartacus [meaning ‘the Spartacists’, which had become a catchall term for the revolutionary left – Translator]. He said there would probably be another major coup attempt. Now there were only fleeting fires all across Germany – but one day a real fire would flare up. And then only a massive bloodletting would help’.431 The ‘massive bloodletting’ did occur. Not in response to a coup d’état from the left, however, but as a result of the ongoing rivalries between the various armed forces in Berlin. This requires some further explanation. Since the skirmish of the Berlin Schloss and Marstall on Christmas 1918, when government-loyal troops unsuccessfully fought against the vmd, relations between the militias [Wehren] and vmd, on the one hand, and the government troops and Freikorps on the other had been extremely tense.432 When during a violent military crackdown on the unemployed on 9 February members of the militias were also arrested and harassed, this did not help matters.433 The Wehren largely comprised workers and politically fluctuated between left-wing opposition and spd loyalism. During the January uprising they had remained neutral, but later a shift to the left became noticeable, at least in some cases.434 One reason was that the Freikorps were massively rearmed with government support, while the Republican Soldiers’ Guard (rsw) – by then incorporated into the vmd – was to be reduced from 16,000 to a mere 10,000 men.435 The first steps in this direction were taken just before the strike.436

429 430 431 432 433

434

435 436

Drabkin 1983, p. 148. Oehme 1962, p. 241. Kessler 2007, p. 160. Noske 1920, p. 106. See Die Republik, 9 February 1919; Vorwärts, 9 February 1919; Freiheit, 9 February 1919 and 11 February 1919 M. For more information on this event, see our chapter on unemployed councils. Freiheit, 27 February 1919 E; Vorwärts, 27 February 1919 M. Some Berlin units that were under the control of soldiers’ councils had, however, offered their services to the government during the January uprising – see Hürten 1970, p. 327. Vorwärts, 28 February 1919 E. Tägliche Rundschau, 1 March 1919 M.

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An rsw commander protested energetically against this plan in an open letter to Noske.437 On top of this, continuous administrative measures were taken against the rsw by the leading officers around Lüttwitz and Reinhard.438 The old monarchist military had nothing but open contempt for the republican units. General Lüttwitz would later write: The aim was to reduce the number of soldiers and purge them of undesirable elements. Naturally, the only right thing to do would have been to dissolve these radical bands, which were neither soldiers nor a defence force, altogether. However, for ‘political reasons’ the government could not be won over to this objective.439 Wilhelm Reinhard wrote in a similar vein about the ‘government’s revolutionary gangs’.440 In addition to the clash in Alexanderplatz, which may have been instigated purposefully, there were further events pointing to the possibility of an intentionally provoked escalation to justify the dissolution of the rsw.441 When the rsw’s Neukölln units were ordered to march to the Marstall, for instance, this soon turned out to be a false alarm – even later, it proved impossible to establish who had given the order. The uspd deputy Adolph Hoffmann, in any case, claimed in the Prussian State Assembly that the order had been deliberately given so as to provide a pretext for dissolving the rsw.442 Case in point: when the rsw troops wanted to return to their two barracks, they found them already occupied by the Freikorps Reinhard. The Freikorps had overpowered the guards that had stayed behind and secured the buildings with machine guns and artillery. Later they claimed that this had been done to restore peace and order in Neukölln. But according to Die Republik, there had been no unrest in Neukölln at all – riots only broke out when the Freikorps Reinhard moved in.443 Noske for his part claimed that the Neukölln rsw had wanted to give support to the vmd.444 But in fact, the rsw neither marched to the vmd headquarters nor did it take part in the fighting in the city centre. It is therefore reasonable to assume that the military leadership simply wanted to 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444

Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 28 February 1919 M. Fischer 1922, p. 78. Lüttwitz 1934, pp. 53–4. Reinhard 1933, p. 91. Die Republik, 13 March 1919; see also Adolph Hoffmann’s speech on 14 March in Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, pp. 81–2. Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 81–2. Die Republik, 13 March 1919. Noske 1920, p. 108.

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get rid of an inconvenient unit. Whether the Freikorps deliberately sounded a false alarm or merely jumped at the opportunity is of secondary significance. More important is the result: the expulsion of the rsw from Neukölln and their loss of an important base. Richard Müller reported another clash.445 According to his account, Reinhard first arrested and then released an rsw unit in Hannoversche Strasse. Müller suspects this was done in order to drive the humiliated and mistreated militia into the camp of the insurgents. This way, Reinhard would have a pretext for disbanding them. Whether this is true can no longer be verified. At any rate, this was ultimately a momentous conflict. The primary issue was: on what foundations would the armed organs of the fledgling republic be built? Noske consistently relied on the expertise of the imperial officer corps, tacitly accepting their anti-republican attitude. He also believed that he could do without the militias, whose fighting capacity he considered to be very low anyway.446 One consequence of this policy was that the various military bodies were pushed into sharp rivalry. Both sides feared for their future livelihoods and felt threatened by the prospect of unemployment. But by that time, Noske and others had already passed their verdict with regard to the armed units.447 On 27 February, the National Assembly had passed a Law on the Formation of a Provisional Reich Defence [Reichswehr] that came into force on 6 March. This law, alongside detailed implementing regulations, had been drafted by officers in the Prussian War Ministry largely in the absence of parliament. Even Noske had little influence on it. Given this constellation, the result was foreseeable: the Freikorps now formed the core of the new army while the republican armed units and soldiers’ councils were dissolved. As the fighting in Berlin was still raging, Noske ordered the disbandment of the vmd and a drastic downsizing of the rsw.448 This laid the foundation for an army that would act as a ‘state within the state’ in the future, posing a latent, sometimes even open threat to the fledgling republic. From then on, the armed forces were practically outside democratic control, whether by the soldiers’ councils from below or by parliament and government from above. Despite the strong pressure, the Berlin rsw vehemently resisted its foreseeable dissolution. When the aforementioned shootout at the police

445 446 447 448

Müller 1925, pp. 172–3. Noske 1920, p. 113. On the following, see the excellent account in Wette 1987, pp. 358–68. See Noske’s speech to the National Assembly on 13 March 1919: Negotiations National Assembly, p. 741.

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headquarters occurred, frustration and disappointment erupted into the open. It is a secondary question, then, whether the clash was deliberately provoked by the military with a view to eliminating their rivals for good or based on a genuine misunderstanding. Ultimately, the incident was merely the catalyst, not the underlying cause of the conflict. The armed clashes in March 1919 were an important stage in the military policy of the early Weimar Republic that has so far been somewhat neglected by researchers. Wette, for example, states that the central lines of development of military policy were already clear at the beginning of March.449 But in fact, the militias were still a serious armed force and potential nucleus for an alternative army at the time – while already underway, the future development was by no means irreversible. The Berlin general strike with its military-political demands showed how strong the support for such an alternative army was among the population. It was surely no coincidence that the relevant legislation largely coincided with the fighting. The Freikorps had an opportunity to prove how well-suited and essential they were to the tasks at hand – and at the same time press for the dissolution of their competition. Indeed, in the following days and weeks, many of the militia men were dismissed and the rest were incorporated into the Freikorps. As early as 7 March, the vmd was disbanded, as were some units of the rsw.450 Meanwhile, a Freikorps known as the Detachement von Oven dissolved the local soldiers’ council immediately after entering Spandau.451 The only active troops left in the capital were those that the officers considered reliable. The leaders of the strike did not tire of emphasising that this was a ‘struggle over the food trough’ that primarily concerned the troops but had nothing to do with the strike campaign – those were the literal words of Georg Stolt (usdp) and the Social Democrat Otto Frank, both part of the strike leadership.452 Däumig, too, distanced himself from the rsw, which he did not consider a revolutionary force or sympathetic to his own aims: The present struggle in the military is one based on competition and rivalry rather than a political struggle. The leadership of the Communist Party, likewise, refuses to get involved in this conflict in the military. Of course, you get elements everywhere who think that if shots are fired, they have to be there. They go along with any revolutionary gimmick … The working class steadfastly refuses to be dragged into this. Let us not 449 450 451 452

Wette 1987, p. 359. Vossische Zeitung, 8 March 1919 M. Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, pp. 83–4. Council Minutes 2002, pp. 118 and 134.

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delude ourselves – the Republican Soldiers’ Guard and the Marine Division are no people’s armies. We have no reason to join in. We have not done it so far, and we will not do it now.453 This was consistent with statements made in a kpd leaflet, which also drew a sharp dividing line between the two conflicts: the kpd distinguished what it regarded as a political struggle of the working class from what it considered a military dispute over posts.454 It is certainly true that the conflict was a scramble for social security for soldiers of both types. But at the same time, it was much more than that: a highly political affair. The fact that the militias were not necessarily on the side of the council movement made little difference. From the movement’s point of view, a military that was politically and personally aligned with the left would have been far preferable to a right-wing army that was openly hostile to the revolution and the republic.455 Verbal dissociation, of course, was not enough to settle the problem. After all, neither the invasion of armed forces nor the ensuing fighting could remain without repercussions for the strike. And indeed, bitterness among the workers about the actions of the soldiers ultimately led to its aggravation. Moreover, urgent appeals by the leaders could not prevent small groups of strikers from taking part in the shootouts. This, however, provided the government and the military with a welcome opportunity to crack down on the general strike, the left-wing opposition and its press. Even Social Democrats fell victim to the repression. In some cases, members of the General Assembly were arrested.456 Herfurth reported that he had only narrowly escaped arrest.457 31 soldiers surrounded his house and searched all the flats. Numerous pickets were taken prisoner.458 Clearly, then, the military campaign was a heavy burden for the general strike. The councils were largely helpless in the face of this development. Right after the decision to launch the general strike was taken, Müller called for public demonstrations of all kinds to be avoided and for calm to be maintained. The aim was to avoid giving the military any reason to step in – but this did not 453 454 455 456 457 458

Council Minutes 2002, p. 87. sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/30, kpd, Flugblätter und Flugschriften des Bezirks Berlin, Bl. 4: kpd Zentrale leaflet of 10 March 1919. This was emphasised by several speakers in the General Assembly – see Council Minutes 2002, pp. 68–71. Council Minutes 2002, p. 97. Council Minutes 2002, p. 70. Council Minutes 2002, p. 129.

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stop the looters. Later, the councils failed completely when trying to change Noske’s mind.459 The minister simply refused to withdraw his troops – one of his flimsy excuses was that the military operation could no longer be stopped from an organisational point of view. A few days later, he refused any negotiations and demanded the unconditional surrender of the last Lichtenberg fighters.460 When after the general strike the Executive Council negotiated with the officers in order to prevent at least the worst excesses, the officers reportedly replied: ‘This time we will get the job done. We will put them all down, and we shall not care at all if innocent people suffer’.461 It was equally futile to dissociate the strike movement from the looting and decry the imposition of martial law.462 When the press reported the alleged murder of police offers in Lichtenberg in great detail, the Executive Council immediately sent out its own inquiry commission to investigate what had really happened.463 However, its reports and rectifications remained ineffective because the bourgeois newspapers took no notice of them and the left-wing papers were banned at the time. Clearly, though, the cited efforts by the strike leadership and Executive Council give lie to Lange’s claim that these bodies did nothing to stop the military operation.464 The council movement became the victim of the military in more ways than one. First, it fell victim to the direct physical violence to which its supporters and leaders were subjected. From the imposition of a state of siege to the invasion plan and all the way to shoot-to-kill orders, the officers in charge successfully escalated the violence again and again. In the long term, this was compounded by the political interventions of the military administration: they managed to put an end the end to the soldiers’ councils and render all other plans for the democratisation of the army obsolete. The army had thus become a reliable pillar of the counterrevolution. Some researchers have claimed that the main objective of this violence was to crush the kpd.465 But this was at best one reason among many – after all, other left organisations and individuals were also affected. Ultimately, the operation was aimed against the republican troops, against the strike and against the council movement as a whole. 459 460 461 462 463 464 465

See the accounts from both perspectives in Noske 1920, p. 107 and Müller 1925, p. 174. See also the statement of the former city commander in Fischer 1922, p. 82. Knoll 1958, p. 485. Council Minutes 2002, p. 154. Council Minutes 2002, p. 3. Müller 1925, p. 175. Lange 2012, p. 93. Knoll 1958, p. 488.

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Compared to November 1918, the tone had unmistakably changed. This was particularly evident in the activities of the armed forces. Back then, the troops had joined the revolution in large numbers and in many places had even taken the lead in pushing for it. The officers had been extremely passive, watching on helplessly. Only four months later, they had created a new, extremely loyal force with the Freikorps. Most of the revolutionary units had been demobilised. The militias were relatively weak and politically indecisive at best, and they also lacked the backing of the government. The soldiers’ councils, which had largely lost their base through the demobilisation of the old army, were thus deprived of their influence. In the future, the proponents of a second revolution would have to reckon with a determined and powerful opponent.

The Response of the Governments The course of general strike depended in a multitude of ways on the Prussian and German governments. This was not least because the demands were directly addressed to the national government. But beyond that, it was of great importance whether the state would deploy its instruments of power against the movement – and if so, how. The Prussian government also played an important role in this respect. Just before taking office as Minister for Economic Affairs, Rudolf Wissell penned a lengthy article for Vorwärts that essentially outlined the position of the incoming Scheidemann cabinet.466 It read: ‘Our national economy is craving for work’. The manifold economic problems, according to Wissell, could not be solved through unrest, demonstrations and strikes, but only through greater productivity. Therefore, people should work more, and they should do so for less money. The government, he continued, was aiming to prevent conflicts from escalating in the first place and to settle them amicably. Anyone who still went on strike in this day and age, under a socialist government, was not a socialist. The article was an unmistakable admonition to the working class and to the left-wing opposition. But it also showed how little the political leaders in Weimar knew about the desires and needs of the population. Frankly, a straightforward appeal to work more for less money would not do. Even among spd supporters, there were calls for a coherent reform programme, the rapid and

466

Knoll 1958, p. 488.

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comprehensive implementation of which would deliver a better future. The working class was particularly concerned about preserving the councils. But, as would become evident a few weeks later, the government had absolutely no sympathy for this. Only a few days before the onset of the strike, Minister-President Philipp Scheidemann had publicly announced that ‘no member of the cabinet’ had any intentions to ‘incorporate the council system in any form, be it in the constitution or in the administrative apparatus’.467 This much-cited declaration was quite controversial in the cabinet, but Ebert and Bauer managed to push it through in the end.468 In light of the strike wave in many parts of the German Reich, however, the policy had to be rectified quickly. In Berlin and elsewhere, the statement provoked an uproar of indignation.469 Even the council delegates from the ranks of the spd were very critical and stressed how much it had damaged the party’s reputation. They also demanded a more councilfriendly attitude from the National Assembly, the government and Vorwärts in the future. The cabinet was clearly in a tight spot. The tactics that it adopted in the face of this serious threat was twofold: accommodation and repression. In an appeal, the government promised comprehensive and rapid reforms such as socialisation, expansion of the factory councils, constitutional factory regulations and a uniform socialist labour law.470 Socialisation was also announced in a large-scale billboard campaign – one poster, for instance, bore the title ‘Socialisation has arrived!’471 These were essentially the same concessions that had been made to the strikers in central Germany. But the skilfully chosen wording could not conceal that this was far less than had been demanded in Halle, Leipzig and elsewhere – and a great deal more cautious than the Berliners’ strike programme decided shortly afterwards. Socialisation, for instance, was defined as ‘placing under public or mixed economic management’ or as ‘placing under public supervision’. This primarily concerned mines and energy production. The implication, then, was not a broad expropriation of the means of production or their takeover by the councils, but merely the subjection of certain sectors to state

467 468 469 470 471

Berliner Tageblatt, 26 February 1919. For more context, see Oehme 1962, pp. 239–40. Vorwärts, 12 March 1919 M; Hermann Lüdemann, ‘Generalstreik in Berlin’, in Die Neue Zeit, 21 March 1919. Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. BArch ns 26/2088, Hauptarchiv der nsdap, Revolutionäre Ereignisse in Berlin.

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regulation. Clearly, the slogan of socialisation was used without any intention of implementing its actual content.472 The promised socialist labour law also remained piecemeal. Neither was there a uniform labour code, nor did the individual regulations implemented over the years have a socialist character. The expert commission for the creation of the labour code discontinued its work in 1923. Only partial compensation was provided by a series of laws, ordinances, and the jurisdiction of the Reich Labour Court from 1926 onward. It goes without saying that the measures taken by the bourgeois governments were in no way socialist.473 Only the factory councils were enshrined in the constitution and their competences codified in the factory council law. The government’s appeal of 2 March, however, contained unmistakable threats alongside its promises.474 It said, for instance, that ‘terrorist elements’ were intent on undermining democracy and the economy, and that every strike would lead one step closer to the abyss. The government would therefore resolutely act against any such efforts. In a last-ditch attempt to avert the impending conflict, the Berlin spd appointed a committee to negotiate with the government in Weimar.475 Unsurprisingly, the concessions granted were the same as those that had already been promised – except that Berlin’s Social Democrats now earned themselves the accusation of playing a ‘game behind the scenes’.476 When a joint delegation officially appointed by the strike leadership also went to meet the government, it could not negotiate any further concessions.477 Among those receiving the delegation were Minister-President Scheidemann and the ministers Bauer, Wissell and Giesberts. Scheidemann repeatedly stressed during the talks that the promised reforms had been planned for weeks and were in no way due to pressure from below. Minister for Economic Affairs Wissell made the same claim during the first discussion of the socialisation law in parliament on 7 March 1919.478 But this was a very transparent manoeuvre designed to demonstrate strength. Scheidemann himself had provided the best counter-evidence a mere few days earlier when he unambiguously rejected the demand to incorporate the councils into the constitution. 472 473 474 475 476 477 478

On socialisation legislation in the early years of the Weimar Republic in detail, see Brehme 1960. See Mai 2012, p. 47. Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. Ibid. Council Minutes 2002, p. 63. For the reports on this trip to the General Assembly, see Council Minutes 2002, pp. 93–101. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 560.

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The government’s concession to the Berlin strikers’ demands specifically included an institutionalisation of the workers’ councils complete with the powers of the already existing workers’ and employees’ committees, as well as the consolidation of the working groups (Arbeitsgemeinschaften) of trade unions and employers at the branch and territorial level. The councils were to be integrated into these working groups. Furthermore, the state of siege would not be lifted until order was restored in Berlin. The government announced the same with regard to the release of political prisoners and the withdrawal of the Freikorps. In practice, this amounted to a refusal since it was at the government’s discretion when order was considered restored. Scheidemann also stubbornly refused to promise a dissolution of the Freikorps, but approved the proposal for a communal workers’ militia. The ‘Hamburg points’ were not conceded and the courts martial remained in place. The cabinet considered it more or less impossible to establish relations with Soviet Russia as they feared an unpleasant response from the Western powers. All in all, the promises fell far short of the strike demands. Even Paul Neue, who participated in the talks on behalf of the spd, had to admit this. Unfortunately, the surviving cabinet minutes contain virtually no debates on the strike, and in fact the disputes of spring 1919 were hardly discussed there at all.479 Only once, in the meeting of 19 March, did the events in Berlin come up for discussion.480 The Social-Democratic minister Landsberg expressed concern about the far-reaching orders of the military and the resulting shootings. But Noske immediately rebuffed this, stressing that ‘an overly rigorous investigation of abuses’ would not be beneficial to the morale of his soldiers. In the end, there was only a fairly noncommittal proposal to have the accusations made by the press investigated. A few years later, Scheidemann ascribed full responsibility for the events to the left-wing opposition: ‘In Berlin, wildcat general strikes, during which even the hospitals were cut off from light and water, took on the vilest forms … The Communists, Spartacists and many Independents who were keen on “pushing the revolution further” were the midwifes of the Technische Nothilfe and Reichswehr and the most useful aides of reaction.’481 The Technische Nothilfe [Technical Emergency Aid] had its origins in a creation of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division.482 Early units already existed during the general strike under the name Technische Abteilung [Technical 479 480 481 482

AdR 1971, Scheidemann, p. xxxix. AdR 1971, pp. 66–7. Scheidemann 1930, pp. 361–2. See the comprehensive study by Linhardt 2006.

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Department]. From September 1919 onwards, the Technische Nothilfe was officially active across Germany. Its task at that time was to maintain important infrastructure during the strikes. In March 1919, for example, it operated some gas and power plants in Berlin and was regarded by the workers as a strikebreaking organisation. A successor institution called Technisches Hilfswerk exists to this day. The representatives of the council movement saw the question of responsibility quite differently, of course. As shots were still being fired in the streets of Berlin, Richard Müller wrote a letter to Scheidemann, referencing their common past when they had both been part of the strike leadership in the great Berlin munitions workers’ strike of January 1918: You, Herr Scheidemann, used to share our opinion that a deep-rooted popular movement could not be suppressed by force, that the legitimate demands of the masses had to be considered. Barely a year has passed. Today, Herr Scheidemann, you are Chancellor of the Reich, and under your rule Germans are shooting at Germans. Herr von OldenburgJanuschau would jump for joy, for the Chancellor he wished for is now in place. It is certainly a bitter historical irony, Herr Scheidemann, that you are that Chancellor.483 The letter could hardly have expressed any clearer how deep the rift within the socialist workers’ movement had become. Elard von Oldenburg-Januschau was a big landowner and one of the best-known leaders of the German Conservative Party (and later of the German National People’s Party). Among Social Democrats, he was regarded as the prototype of the reactionary east Elbian Junker. The conspicuously frequent use of the address ‘Herr Scheidemann’ in the letter can only be understood as a sardonic jibe and dissociation – after all, even after the spd had split, the members of the various left parties usually addressed each other as ‘comrade’, not as ‘Herr’. In his reply, Scheidemann highlighted his willingness to negotiate and stressed that the troops would only be used against looters and murderers, but not against the strike.484

483

484

BArch R 43 i/2706, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Aufstandsbewegungen und ihre Unterdrückung, Bl. 20–21. The letter is dated 10 March 1919. Incidentally, Scheidemann’s official title was Minister-President of the Reich (Reichsministerpräsident), not Chancellor of the Reich (Reichskanzler). BArch R 43 i/2706, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Aufstandsbewegungen und ihre Unterdrückung, Bl. 23–4. Scheidemann’s letter of 13 March 1919.

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As is the case with the national government of the German Reich, records with regard to the Ministry of State, i.e. the Prussian government, are sparse. This is regrettable considering that the institution was heavily involved in the events. Only at its recorded meeting of 10 March was the Berlin situation verifiably discussed – on that day, it was decided not to lift the stage of siege just yet.485 The Prussian government had declared a state of siege for Berlin as early as 3 March. First it tried to assign this thankless task to General von Lüttwitz, who refused – and so, it had to declare a state of siege in its own name.486 The decree suspended a whole series of basic civil rights such as freedom of the press, freedom of association, freedom of assembly, inviolability of the home and due process of law.487 At the same time, Noske was given executive power as commander-in-chief in the Marches.488 This occurred within an hour or two of the General Assembly decision to call the strike.489 Due to the lack of minutes from these days, we can only speculate about the reasons.490 The official explanation was that the decree had been issued to ‘protect the working population of Greater Berlin from the terrorist attacks of a minority and prevent famine’.491 Both Heine and Noske later justified the press bans specifically on the grounds that the opposition papers had criticised the government in an inappropriate manner and called for violence.492 However, the Freikorps leader Wilhelm Reinhard claimed that he had successfully pressured the cabinet into declaring a state of siege.493 This is quite possible, although it was denied by the Prussian minister Wolfgang Heine.494 If nothing else, it is supported by the fact that Noske reported on a meeting of the Ministry of State on Sunday 2 March, where the procedure in the event of

485 486 487 488 489

490 491 492 493 494

See Schulze et al 2002 for the minutes of the Prussian Ministry of State edited by Gerhard Schulze. See Lüttwitz 1934, p. 52. On the emergency law in the early Weimar Republic from a legal perspective, see Kimmel 1971, on March 1919 in Berlin particularly pp. 31–9. The corresponding decree is quoted in full by Noske 1920, p. 103; furthermore, all of Berlin’s newspapers printed it. Vossische Zeitung initially claimed that it was imposed two hours later, but subsequently issued a correction stating that it had already happened after one hour. See the issues of 8 March 1919 M and E. A large number of minutes from this period have not survived or were never written, see the explanations by the editor of Schulze 2002, p. 22. Noske 1920, p. 103. Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 44–5. Reinhard 1933, pp. 101–2. Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 44.

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a general strike was discussed.495 According to his report, a state of siege and Noske’s appointment as commander-in-chief in the Marches in the event of coming ‘disturbances of the peace’ were provided for, but not yet put into effect. This gave the Minister of Defence a de facto blank cheque for far-reaching measures, especially with regard to the deployment of troops. The violent escalation, then, was already looming. Without delay, i.e. on the same Sunday, Noske put the units stationed in the Berlin area on alert and made further preparations.496 These provisions included the setting up of courts martial. Both the Prussian government and Noske, however, were highly dependent on information supplied to them by the military.497 This gave the dispute a dangerous internal dynamics that the politicians can hardly control anymore. It is possible that Heine really believed what he said about the courts martial: according to him, they were ‘perfectly proper; an inquiry is held just as in any other court, except that the procedure is more expeditious’.498 It is difficult to ascertain to what degree the violence was intended by the governments involved. In any case, they created the necessary conditions for the army to proceed the way it did – and surely it would have been exceedingly naive to assume that the military men would restrain their power on their own accord. Therefore, the governments shared at least a considerable part of the blame. Looking at the broader context, there is of course the fact that the Minister of Defence had pushed for the creation of the Freikorps in the first place. As his conduct in other disputes also showed, peaceful solutions reached through negotiation were beyond his imagination. When repeatedly approached by strike leaders who demanded an end to the violence in the following days, he was typically intransigent. It was not until 16 March that he lifted martial law. The state of siege remained in force until the beginning of December.499 Even in retrospect, Noske defended his hard line without reservations, as is clear from his statements in the National Assembly and at the spd party congress in June.500

495 496 497 498 499 500

Noske 1920, p. 101. Noske 1920, pp. 104–6. As regards Noske, this was emphasised by Wette 1987, pp. 417–18; but as Reinhard’s intervention proves, it was equally true for the Prussian government. Sitzungsberichte der verfassunggebenden preußischen Landesversammlung, Bl. 52–3. Vorwärts, 17 March 1919 M. For his speech at the National Assembly on 13 March 1919, see Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 739–43; for Noske’s remarks, see Protokoll über die Verhandlungen des

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The reaction of the government authorities to the strike must be viewed very critically. In what was obviously a tactically motivated response, the government did, on the one hand, attempt to calm the situation with promises. One must consider that it was facing enormous discontent and massive protests not only in Berlin, but also in other parts of the country. Even if it had made good on the promised reforms, they would have fallen far short of the demands. In the following months, it transpired that even these modest plans would only be partially realised. Even more problematic was that the challenge was immediately met with drastic responses. This was also true for the approach taken by the Prussian Ministry of State and the Minister of Defence. Once the military machinery was set in motion, it quickly slipped out of control. A hitherto unprecedented use of violence descended on Berlin, accompanied by numerous restrictions on basic democratic rights.

Interim Conclusion ‘We have succeeded in launching a big mass strike based on a manifestation of the will by a body that represents all sections and political tendencies of the working class. And this first textbook example shows how effective the council system can be and will be.’501 This was how Ernst Däumig analysed the campaign on 7 March 1919 as events were still unfolding. The council movement had indeed achieved something impressive: it managed to mobilise a majority of Berlin’s blue- and white-collar workers for its political cause. Moreover, the general strike had not been ordered from above. Rather, the decisive impulses were given by initiatives of the councils’ electorate, the workers in the factories. In the course of the strike campaign, the workers at the grassroots and the middle level (the General Assembly) also succeeded many times in exerting substantial influence. At times, they even acted against the expressed will of the leaders. This illustrates very clearly the peculiar character of the council system, especially in political practice. One must of course not disregard the fact that individuals played an important role – Richard Müller, for example, but also the other Executive Council members, strike leaders and spokesmen for the different General Assembly

501

Parteitages der Sozialdemokratischen Partei Deutschlands abgehalten in Weimar vom 10. bis 15. Juni 1919, pp. 200–207. Short title hereafter: Minutes Weimar. Council Minutes 2002, p. 108.

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fractions. Not only did they intervene directly in the decision-making process – in order to defer the expansion of the strike, for instance – they also initiated or prevented important steps through their suggestions, skilful chairing of meetings and organisational legwork. But their status was not comparable to that of leaders in far more hierarchically structured organisations such as parties and trade unions. Permanent dialogue, consultation and constant feedback prevented power from becoming entrenched. This consistent grassroots orientation was the big strength of the council system. However, it also carried a certain risk in that rushed responses could lead to disastrously wrong decisions. The expansion of the strike is a good example of this. Sparked by indignation over military intervention, it led rapidly and very predictably to the disintegration of unity, which until then had been painstakingly maintained. In action, the councils proved their flexibility at least to some degree. Necessary organisational changes – transforming and expanding the Executive Council, for instance – were made quickly, allowing for swift measures to be taken to support the movement. This was all done in the face of considerable difficulties. Workers and council delegates sometimes had problems coordinating with each other, especially due to disruptions in public transport. In terms of press policy, the strike leadership failed almost completely and was subsequently unable to rectify its initial mistakes. This proved to be a heavy burden for the entire movement. The leadership was similarly helpless in the face of the military threat. Its appeals to its own supporters and negotiations with the state authorities were ultimately unsuccessful. Whether these failures can be blamed on the council system as such, however, is questionable on both counts. Any political movement would have to grapple with these problems regardless of its organisational specifics. Finally, there was the all-important military question: the councils had little chance of prevailing against such a strong front of government actors and troops fully prepared to take drastic measures. There is a certain logic to the fact that a grassroots-democratic organisation might find it difficult to operate across different cities or regions. To the extent that they existed at all, connections between the different locations were limited to small circles of activists. In the decisive moment, coordination between the various regional movements overwhelmingly failed. Naturally, we can only speculate how this problem could have been tackled. In Berlin, after all, the intention was to convene a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils [Reichsrätekongress] as soon as possible. It would certainly have provided a forum for networking, preparations, and exploring the possibilities of closer cooperation. One logical consequence of the experiences of spring 1919 was the founding of

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the Berlin Central Office of Factory Councils [Betriebsrätezentrale] whose tasks indeed included networking across the different regions.502 Another aspect becomes apparent in the analysis of the campaign: in many ways, Berlin’s council system was not a homogenous entity. Other organisations, especially left parties and trade unions, operated within the council structures. For once, it had become possible to bring competing forces together on a common platform. The strike could hardly have reached this scale had not all three parties participated. There were certainly serious reservations in both kpd and spd about joint action – and yet, at least temporarily, they were put aside. Pressure from below certainly played a substantial role, and this was mainly possible thanks to the councils. At the same time, the strong involvement of the parties meant that party struggles were carried into the council system – and to a lesser extent, the same applied to the Berlin Trade-union Commission. It was not by chance that the delegates to the General Assembly were organised into fractions and that the Executive Council and strike leadership were appointed by these party groups. This, combined with the virtual absence of an independent non-party press beholden only to the councils, made the movement highly dependent on the parties. And this in turn meant dependence on bodies that were not themselves directly involved in the council structures and in some cases even openly hostile to them – most clearly so in the case of the spd. The workplaces were the pillars of the council system. It was especially in the large enterprises in the metal and electrical sectors, in the former armaments factories, in local and long-distance transport, and in the power plants and utilities that the councils could count on strong support. This is evidenced both by the near-complete participation in the strike in such places and by the activities of the workers there before the decision for the general strike was taken. In other words, large enterprises organised along Fordist lines was where the council system was especially well rooted. In other industries and in smaller firms, the situation was more uneven. Similar was the case with the whitecollar workers, although it would be mistaken to make a sweeping distinction between wage labourers and salaried employees: there is evidence that many of the latter participated in the strike movement. On the whole, the mobilisation was very successful, making it a general strike in the true sense. We can draw two conclusions from this. First – in the words of Däumig cited earlier – the strike proved ‘how effective the council system can be’ at least for organising a mass movement. Second, the broad support showed

502

See the relevant chapter.

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that the political aims of the councils were also the aims of the working class. It is imprecise of Mommsen to argue regarding the spring 1919 movements that the initiative had come from the working masses rather than from the councils.503 After all, the workers’ initiatives could only unfold effectively thanks to the councils. The strike programme was not an expression of purely reformist partial demands. But neither was it aimed at an immediate revolutionary upheaval – rather, reform and revolution complemented each other. The programme contained, on the one hand, concrete demands that were to bring rapid improvements. These included, for example, a greater say in the workplace, implemented through the councils, and the release of political prisoners. But other points clearly went further. This much was obviously true for the military and foreign policy demands, which aimed to create the necessary conditions for the revolution to continue and get rid of certain obstacles. The long-term perspective, however – at least for large sections of the movement – was undoubtedly the Second Revolution. Nonetheless, the publicly stated objectives were relatively moderate and therefore acceptable to the supporters of the Social Democrats. One clear indication of this was the fact that the programme, on the initiative of the spd, clearly stated that the strike was not aimed at overthrowing the government. Beside these issues, another expectation also played a role. The council movement was hoping that a successful campaign would involve hitherto apolitical or bourgeois-oriented sections of the population, as well as give those already involved in the movement confidence and courage for further actions. What verdict to pass on the outcome of the general strike, then? Along with the movements in other parts of Germany, it put considerable pressure on the government and National Assembly. A whole series of policies that were rapidly rolled out in response can be directly attributed to this pressure. They included the socialisation law and above all the preservation of the councils. In Germany, the legacy of this struggle lives on in the form of the works councils today. However, these gains lagged far behind the original demands of the movement. As their later implementation would show, even these concessions remained largely piecemeal. In light of these long-term consequences, it would certainly be too one-sided to speak of an outright defeat. But that is how those involved in the struggle saw it – and their view was strongly informed by the dramatic circumstances that had accompanied the movement, including the civil war-like fighting and

503

Mommsen 1978, p. 369.

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well over a thousand deaths. The comprehensive counter-offensive, conducted with political, legal, journalistic, and last but not least violent means showed the movement its limits very forcefully. This could hardly be construed as a victory for the councils, even if the participants had only invested limited hopes in the strike to begin with. The general strike was both the apex and the turning point of the Berlin council movement. At no other time did the movement succeed in mobilising such a broad base and winning over so many workers to its aims. Given the evident change in the balance of forces, however, the Second Revolution became an increasingly remote aim. From then on, the focus had to shift even more to preparatory work and defensive actions. The latter also applied to the general strike against the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch a year later, which, as Morgan argues, powerfully demonstrated that the defeat of March 1919 had not exhausted the general strike as a political instrument.504 And in the Ruhr region at least, it became clear in April 1919 and March 1920 that it still had its use as a revolutionary offensive weapon too.505

504 505

Morgan 1975, p. 232. On the general strike in April 1919 see Oertzen 1958; on the general strike in March 1920 the excellent three-volume study by Lucas 1974.

chapter 2

The Demonstration outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920 After the violent clashes of spring 1919, the political situation in Germany had calmed down somewhat for a while, especially since in light of the Treaty of Versailles foreign policy issues dominated public debate. But as early as autumn, new social struggles were looming on the horizon. These included the bitter wage strike in the Berlin metal industry, which lasted for many weeks.1 The Executive Council, by now composed exclusively of Independents and Communists, was prominently involved in it. Noske therefore dissolved it in order to prevent an incipient general strike by Berlin’s working class.2 Then, on 5 January, a large-scale strike of railway workers began in the Ruhr region. In the following days, it also spread to individual mines and the telegraph workers. Here, too, the primary goal was a significant wage rise.3 In the radical stronghold of Hamborn, the town hall was seized, and there were calls for the overthrow of the government and the introduction of a system based on the councils.4 Similar events occurred in Upper Silesia. As in the previous spring, a large wave of strikes was looming. This was undoubtedly an explosive situation, because the paralysis of transport and energy production was bound to have particularly serious consequences for the already tense economic situation. We must take this context into account when assessing the following events.

The Opposition Is Forming No less important for the council movement than the strikes was the final discussion of the Factory Councils Act (Betriebsrätegesetz) in the National

1 Wirsching 1999, pp. 94–107. 2 Ernst Däumig: ‘Aufstieg und Abstieg’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 40, 1919 and Wette 1987, p. 622. 3 BArch R 43 i/2118, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Streikrecht und Streik im Allgemeinen Vol. 1, Bl. 151–205. 4 Telegram from the Reich and State Commissioner Carl Severing to the Chancellor of the Reich, 12 January 1920: BArch R 43 i/2118, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Streikrecht und Streik im Allgemeinen Vol. 1, Bl. 181.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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Assembly, whose second and third readings took place in mid-January. Since the parliament had returned from Weimar at the end of September 1919, the sessions were now held in the Reichstag building in Berlin. The councils question was covered extensively in the bourgeois and socialist press in the run-up, and the parties tried to communicate their positions in numerous public meetings. Given their respective attitudes to the councils to date, it was unsurprising that two distinct camps formed: supporters of the Factory Councils Act from the ranks of the Weimar coalition and opponents from the left-wing opposition. In Berlin, the latter was composed of the uspd, the kpd, the Berlin Trade-union Commission, the newly founded Central Office of Factory Councils (brz) and the ‘red’ Executive Council, which was briefly reactivated on a pro forma basis. These organisations believed that the resistance of blue- and white-collar workers had to be articulated not only within the National Assembly, but primarily outside of it. Curt Geyer and his comrades from the left wing of the uspd emphasised this fundamental approach even against opposition from within their own party: ‘But we replied to the nothing-but-parliamentarians that no successes could be achieved in parliament itself, and that the parliamentary struggle should be seen merely as a means to strengthen and support the extra-parliamentary struggle’.5 The protest outside the Reichstag ended in tragedy: 42 dead and over 100 injured. In this chapter, we shall discuss the course, consequences and significance of this event. Despite unity in opposition to the Factory Councils, there were two different calls for protest in the run-up to the event. One was signed by the district association of the uspd, the Berlin Executive Council and fifteen trade unions, including the German Metal Workers’ Union (Deutscher MetallarbeiterVerband, dmv), which had the largest membership.6 Vorwärts reported that the Union of German Book Printers (Verband der Buchdrucker), among others, had not given its consent and that individual members of the Trade-union Commission had also been unaware of it.7 It is likely that this was in fact due to a questionable effort by the Independents to leave the right-wing Social Democrats out of the equation. However, the majority of the trade unions in Berlin, as well as their local umbrella organisation, the Trade-union Commission, were most definitely in the Independents’ sphere of influence. We can therefore assume that at least the majority of the unions had agreed to participate in the demonstration. Miller does not mention these facts and speaks emphatically of a ‘deceptive manoeuvre’, claiming that ‘numerous’ unions had not agreed – 5 Geyer 1976, p. 140. 6 Freiheit, 13 January 1920 M. 7 Vorwärts, 15 January 1920 M and 17 January 1920 E.

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yet without naming them specifically.8 To this we can add that a few days later the Trade-union Commission clearly sided with the left and against the government.9 A second, more general appeal was signed by the uspd, kpd and the Central Office of Factory Councils.10 The two were similar in terms of content, harshly criticising the Factory Councils Act as completely inadequate and instead calling for ‘full monitoring and co-determination rights’ in the workplaces by ‘revolutionary factory councils’. Resistance, they argued, should be expressed not only in parliament, but also by the proletariat itself through action. While the second appeal only called for ‘mass meetings and marches’ in general terms, however, the first one explicitly urged to stage a demonstration on the same day. To this end, it stated: Show the elected few in the National Assembly that you do not want to be degraded to patient objects of legislation. Leave the factories at noon today! Demonstrate en masse outside the Reichstag! Prove to the government and to dominant society that you do not want to let them rob you of the last remaining gain of the revolution, the revolutionary factory councils. Come out to protest! Down with the Factory Councils Act!11 Despite the far-reaching convergence of the two appeals, the kpd felt compelled to explicitly distance itself from this appeal the day after the demonstration.12 In fact, the party had not signed nor published it, even if the other, jointly issued appeal logically implied that people should take part in the demonstration – which, according to unanimous testimonies, numerous Communists did. And that is not where it stopped: they gave speeches and distributed leaflets there, as was reported even in Die Rote Fahne.13 With this in mind, the kpd’s dissociation must be considered an unconvincing attempt to avoid being linked to the deadly escalation – all the more so since the kpd’s justification was extremely flimsy: according to the party, the uspd’s call had been a ‘halfmeasure’ and only a ‘negative slogan’. But in reality, both parties had called 8 9 10 11 12 13

Miller 1978, p. 358. Vorwärts, 24 January 1920 M. Published in Freiheit, 12 January 1920 M and Die Rote Fahne, 13 January 1920. The following quotations are taken from these issues. Freiheit, 13 January 1920 M. Die Rote Fahne, 14 January 1920. See also similar argumentation by E. Lux in ‘Der Kampf um das Betriebsrätegesetz’ in Die Internationale, 25 February 1920. See Die Rote Fahne, 14 January 1920 as well as Retzlaw 1976, pp. 170–71.; Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 M.

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for the establishment of revolutionary factory councils in addition to protest actions – there can be no talk of an exclusively negative attitude in the sense of only trying to prevent the Factory Councils Act, then. Subsequently, however, due to the general political development, neither the kpd nor the uspd made any effective attempt to establish independent ‘revolutionary factory councils’ in practice. Instead, they tried to revolutionise the legal councils, including with the help of the ‘Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils’.14 The spd, by contrast, did everything in its power to prevent the workers from taking part in the demonstration. The Berlin district executive and the SocialDemocratic workers’ councils issued their own appeal, where they explained that the demonstration was being held under a ‘false flag’ because it was really about political power and not about the Factory Councils Act.15 Such actions and strikes would only lead to more misery, the appeal claimed – therefore, the working class should not participate in them. spd members also spoke to their colleagues in the factories to keep them at work – but apparently, they had little success with this.16 Later the party claimed that numerous people had been forced to participate, that each unwilling participant was flanked by two comrades.17 Vorwärts even speculated that a ‘substantial proportion’ of the participants had ‘only gone along for the sake of form’ and that ‘at least 50 per cent’ had been forced into it under threats.18 This seems implausible, especially since the marches were completely unarmed and extremely calm. However, this seems implausible, especially since the marches were completely unarmed and extremely calm. Such retrospective accounts were clearly a somewhat helpless attempt by the spd to explain the overwhelming response to the calls for demonstrations and the failure of its own efforts. The demonstration was mainly coordinated by the organisation of the more radical Berlin councils, the Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils.19 This was done at the organisation’s explicit request and seemed only logical, as the Factory Councils Act was part of its very own sphere of activity. Apart from the small-scale organisational work of the preceding months, this protest was the first sensational political action of the Central Office of Factory Councils. The decision to call for a large protest against the Factory Councils Act

14 15 16 17 18 19

See our chapter on the Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils. Vorwärts, 13 January 1920 M. Vossische Zeitung, 13 January 1920 E. Ibid. Vorwärts, 15 January 1920 M and E. Geyer 1976, p. 168 and Prager 1921, p. 214.

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had apparently been taken in close coordination between the Central Office of Factory Councils, the kpd and the left wing of the uspd during a factory council conference in Halle a few days earlier.20

The Course of Events at the Demonstration The course of events on 13 January can no longer be reconstructed with absolute certainty. The relevant sources are too contradictory and clearly politically biased. Nevertheless, the rich material available allows us to sketch at least a very plausible version.21 Around noon, workers in practically all large factories of the capital laid down work, including at aeg, Siemens, Schwartzkopff, Knorr-Bremse and Daimler. The power stations, tram and railway workers and those at numerous smaller companies also followed the call to demonstrate.22 As in the case of the general strike in March the previous year, the organisers manifestly succeeded in involving a large number of politically indifferent workers in the campaign. Blue-collar and white-collar workers marched in closed formation in the light rain from their workplaces to the city centre.23 Red flags and placards with slo-

20

21

22

23

Thus the account of Robert Dißmann, a representative of the right wing of the uspd – see Dißmann pp. 38–9. A brief police report was also prepared for this conference and sent to the Reich Chancellery by the president of the Merseburg government, although it does not provide any further details of the negotiations. BArch R 43 i/2118, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Streikrecht und Streik im Allgemeinen Vol. 1. So far there has only been one historiographical study that dealt with these events in some detail, albeit only briefly and in a very partisan fashion – see Wimmer 1957, pp. 18–23. Other authors have discussed them only in passing, relying on a completely inadequate collection of sources. See for example Liang 1977, p. 113; Miller 1978, pp. 358–9; Winkler 1985, pp. 288–9. Morgan 1975, pp. 314–15 is probably the most balanced of all available accounts. A considerably shorter version of this chapter was originally published in Weipert 2012 [in German]. For a chronology of events, see the detailed press reports in Vossische Zeitung, 13 January 1920 E; 14 January 1920 M; Die Rote Fahne, 14 January 1920; Vorwärts, 14 January 1920 M. See also the memoirs of Carl Keuscher, worker and shop steward at the Daimler engine works in Marienfelde, in sapmo-BArch, SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 14– 15. For some supplementary impressions, there is the account of the publishing house employee Thiele: sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1593/2, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Thiele, Bl. 103–5 as well as the uspd pamphlet: Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag, 1919, Berlin. Apparently, spd supporters also took part in the action: sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 89. However, the majority of participants were probably associated with the uspd and kpd.

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gans such as ‘Long live the council organisation’, ‘Ebert, make good on your words’ and ‘Give us full co-determination rights’ were carried at the front of the demonstration. From 1pm onwards, the Königsplatz square between the Reichstag building and the Kroll Opera House filled up, and the access roads were crowded with protesters and onlookers. Depending on source, figures on the number of participants vary widely between a good 30,000 to several hundred thousand.24 Given the size of the square and the partly congested side streets, a number of at least 100,000 seems realistic. There were also many women and youths in the crowd. In the Königsplatz, Independent, Communist and Central Office of Factory Councils functionaries gave speeches from a platform in front of the large flight of steps, but also in various other spots. Big loudspeakers did not exist until the mid-1920s. Apparently, though, the further course of events had not really been thought through. There was a lack of stewards, but most of all the organisers had been overwhelmed by the large number of participants. From about 3pm, the access roads were blocked by new arrivals, which meant that the event could not be finished. The organisers had also failed to arrange for an effective ending – for example, by reading out a resolution and adopting it by acclamation. The socialist white-collar union, General Federation of Free Employees (AfA) had planned to send a large delegation to the deputies to hand them a letter of protest. However, this was not done, presumably because the AfA was denied access to the Reichstag. And so, the crowd remained stuck in front of the building for several hours while the atmosphere became increasingly tense. This was not least because the entrances to the Reichstag were manned by units of the paramilitary Security Police (Sicherheitspolizei or Sipo), who not only had hand grenades and carbines, but machine guns and flame throwers as well. This heavy weaponry was temporarily brought inside the building to calm the demonstrators down – but machine guns were placed in windows of the Reichstag, pointed at the demonstration.25 The person in charge of the security precautions was Prussian Minister of the Interior Wolfgang Heine (spd), who was also on site and gave detailed instructions to the soldiers.26 Contrary to his own self-confident presentation 24

25

26

Geyer 1976, p. 170, estimates the number at just under 200,000; the spd put it at 30,000 to 40,000, see Illustrierte Geschichte, p. 433. The Vossische Zeitung stated, without providing specific details, that an ‘incalculable crowd’ had gathered – an eyewitness report quoted there spoke of ‘many tens of thousands’. sapmo-BArch, SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 15. Martha Globig pointed out the same in her memoirs: sapmo-BArch SgY 30/278, Erinnerungen Martha Globi. Both agree that this caused much resentment and agitation among the demonstrators. See his detailed report to parliament the next day: Negotiations National Assembly,

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on the following day, however, Heine had already been overwhelmed by the situation in advance, as Ministers of the Reich Koch, Schiffer and Noske unanimously concluded.27 According to the report, Heine had misjudged the situation and deployed far too few Security Police. Immediately before and during the events, he was extremely nervous and unable to take any meaningful measures. A total of three hundred Security Police were on site. The majority of them were initially inside the Reichstag, with only a few supervising the four portals of the building as well as the outside staircase and the two-sided ramp leading to the Königsplatz. The actual government quarter in Wilhelmstrasse was completely cordoned off with wire fences. Smaller groups were patrolling around the Reichstag. At about 3.30pm, when the National Assembly session had just begun, the crowd pushed ever closer to the western entrance. The protesters at the front were even pushed up the steps by the crowd behind them.28 Scuffles now broke out between the cornered police officers and demonstrators, during which several uniformed officers were disarmed and beaten, their rifles unloaded and rendered useless. As regards these incidents, sources of all political persuasions unanimously spoke of a so-called Janhagel, i.e. a rabble that had behaved in a particularly aggressive manner – according to the accounts, this mob was by no means identical with the members of the organised and therefore disciplined workers’ movement. While this is not the time or place to review the debate on the role of such groups in political operations of the period, such statements should be treated with a certain scepticism. The intent behind blaming a third party for such incidents might have been an apologetic one on both sides, and indeed this was a frequently used trope. More likely, however, the initial escalation was spontaneous, resulting from the crowding and the generally charged atmosphere. It was during this commotion that the first shot was fired, although it remains a matter of dispute whether it hurt anyone or not. A squad of police officers who had marched into the crowd for unexplained reasons were injured by punches thrown. A similar fate befell a second group that tried to reach the west side from Simsonstrasse as reinforcement, but then had to retreat with several injured. Two Security Police officers also committed assaults, but were

27 28

pp. 4203–13, 4264–5, 4267–8. His party colleague, the Berlin police commissioner Police Commissioner Eugen Ernst, was also in the building. For Koch and Schiffer, see their estates. The relevant sections are reproduced in Akten der Reichskanzlei: Weimarer Republik. Das Kabinett Bauer (Bauer Files hereafter), p. 193. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1593/2, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Thiele, Bl. 104.

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reprimanded by their superior. Shortly afterwards, a sailor used the gun he had just seized to fire a shot at the portal – the second shot overall –, which smashed through the entrance door. However, the sailor was then immediately disarmed and beaten up by members of the metalworkers’ union. Whether he was an agent provocateur, as the uspd claimed, can no longer be determined. The Communist Martha Globig wrote in her memoirs that there were several provocateurs among the demonstrators.29 In any case, the various reports all concur that the vast majority of the demonstrators remained calm or even tried to prevent the assaults on police officers. Nonetheless, a total of fifteen officers were injured, some slightly, some seriously, one fatally.30 The left, meanwhile, claimed that some of the injuries were caused by other police officers firing at them. According to these reports, one soldier had claimed to the nurse treating him that he had been shot in the pelvis thanks to the clumsiness of one of his own comrades. It was further reported that the only dead Security Policeman had been hit by a machine gun. Neither of the latter two claims can be verified any more, but the notion that the majority of injuries were caused by ‘friendly fire’ seems implausible. They were probably inflicted on the police officers during the scuffle described earlier.31 These events all took place in the Königsplatz, i.e. at the western portal. While the situation on the northern and eastern faces of the Reichstag remained completely calm, there was a momentous escalation at Portal ii, the southern entrance on Simsonstrasse. Since this gate was normally used by the deputies, a large group of protesters had gathered nearby to express their anger at the proposed legislation before the session began. It was especially the Social Democrat Hugo Sinzheimer who was jeered on this occasion, for he had provided the ideas for the government’s policy on the council question. His party comrade Hugo Heimann, however, fared worse. Not only was he insulted before made it into the Reichstag, but also spat at and pushed. If the sources largely agree up to this point, the subsequent course of events is highly controversial. Bourgeois and Social-Democratic sources later claimed that the Security Police fired several warning shots because of the massive threats and abuse, and only then fired into the crowd because it failed to keep its distance as requested. Independents and Communists, in contrast, stressed that shooting commenced immediately and without prior warning.

29 30 31

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/278, Erinnerungen Martha Globig, Bl. 116. See also the concise official report of the Security Police printed in Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 M. On the cited cases, see: Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag, pp. 15–16.

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Most sources agree that the result was 42 deaths and over 100 injuries.32 Some of the first reports shortly after the event gave lower figures.33 This discrepancy is probably due to two reasons: First, the information was initially incomplete, and second, some of the seriously injured probably died only in the days that followed. As far as we can reconstruct, almost all of the dead were workers, including one sailor.34 Some of the victims were women. There was one dead Security Police officer on the other side. The number of wounded was also unanimously reported as 105 – but, given that many of the injured were taken away, not treated at all, or treated in hospitals further away, their number may have been much higher. Overall, it was one of the bloodiest events of the revolutionary period and certainly the most tragic demonstration ever to take place in Germany. Whether any warnings were given, verbally or in the form of warning shots, is unclear. It can be said with certainty, however, that the greatest number of victims by far were in Simsonstrasse and Tiergarten, i.e. south of the building. All witnesses agreed on this. The first two shots and the aforementioned fisticuffs were therefore not a direct trigger, because all this happened outside Portal i and at least ten minutes earlier. In Simsonstrasse, however, the demonstrators were four to five metres away from the police officers, as Minister of the Interior Heine himself described.35 The deputies Luise Zietz and Otto Braß (both uspd) also observed that the street between the security guards and the protesters was completely empty.36 This much is also clear from Kessel’s report, according to which the protesters pushed ahead, but were still ‘a few metres’ away from the police officers. Kessel, as an officer of the Security Police, was in command of the squad at Portal ii and gave the order to open fire.37 The eyewitness Carl Keuscher, on the other hand, recalled that the protesters up front wanted to retreat even further, but were unable to because of the dense crowd behind them.38

32 33

34 35 36 37 38

Noske 1920, p. 193; Vorwärts, 15 January 1920 M; Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag, p. 4; Dittmann 1995, p. 697. Only Geyer speaks of 40 dead – see Geyer 1976, p. 167. For example, there was talk of 27 dead ‘so far’ in Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 M. The same newspaper stated shortly afterwards that there had been at least thirty fatalities: Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 E. Chancellor of the Reich Bauer named a total of 21 dead in his parliamentary speech the following day: Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4205. Ten dead were cited in Die Rote Fahne, 14 January 1920. Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 M. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4211. Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag, pp. 11–12. See Kessel 1933, pp. 243–4. sapmo-BArch, SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 15.

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Either way, physical attacks against police officers could not have taken place here because of the large distance between them and the crowd. Moreover, the dead and injured were later lying on the opposite pavement, between the trees of the Tiergarten and in the Königsplatz – not a single one of them directly at the Reichstag building. The assertion that the shots were fired in direct defence against a storm on parliament, as Chancellor of the Reich Bauer and the bourgeois press and spd papers spread the next day, is therefore not tenable. However, this version is still accepted by some scholars today.39 As soon as the shooting started, panic broke out among the demonstrators and people fled to the Tiergarten. The police fired with carbines and machine guns and threw hand grenades into the crowd. One machine gun was placed at Portal ii and one at the corner of Simsonstrasse and Königsplatz. Whether the machine guns that had been withdrawn into the foyer of Portal i were then also used can no longer be reconstructed. Nowhere in the available sources is there any indication that the demonstrators fired back. Even after everyone had begun to run away, the shooting continued for minutes. Kessel, for his part, claimed that only one salvo of 13 rounds was fired from a single machine gun and that he had also given the order to fire overhead.40 Both claims are utterly implausible, if only because of the large number of victims, and all the more so because some other details of his version are patently untrue. It is therefore reasonable to assume that his account was given with apologetic intent. Numerous people fell to the ground and were literally trampled over. After a short time, the area around the Reichstag was completely deserted; only the dead, the injured and helpers who had rushed to the scene remained. Unusually dramatic scenes unfolded not only outside, but also inside the Reichstag.41 At the beginning, Curt Geyer and Alfred Henke protested vehemently on behalf of the uspd faction against the occupation of the house by the Security Police, as this was ‘against all spirit of democracy’. However, the President of the Weimar National Assembly, Constantin Fehrenbach (Centre Party), rejected this on the grounds that he had no right and no reason to intervene against government measures. This was, of course, not correct, because the Weimar constitution, article 28, section 1, clearly stated: ‘The President [of

39

40 41

See Kolb 2009, p. 38; Mergel 2002, p. 71; Miller 1978, p. 358 speaks somewhat ambiguously of a ‘whiff of putschism’ – but even if we accept that the organisers completely failed, there was still no intention to storm the Reichstag. The assessments of Winkler 1985, p. 289 and more recently Tschirbs 2013, p. 276 are similarly ambiguous. See Kessel 1933, p. 244. Accounts to the contrary were given in the press and in sapmoBArch, SgY 30/464, Erinnerungen Carl Keuscher, Bl. 15. See the minutes of the meeting: Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 4195–202.

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the Reichstag, A.W.] exercises the domiciliary right and police powers in the Reichstag’. But since Fehrenbach had no objection to securing the building anyway, the question of authority did not play a crucial role. Then the deputy Gustav Schneider (ddp), as rapporteur of the responsible committee, began the second reading of the Factory Councils Act. After only a few minutes, there were energetic shouts from the uspd faction that shots were being fired outside the building. Great unrest and excited verbal exchanges unfolded between the Independents and the parliamentarians of the governing coalition. Fehrenbach initially wanted to allow the session to continue, but then the tumultuous scenes prompted him to interrupt the session. The spectators in the stands also gave free rein to their indignation. One shouted: ‘You want to be a socialist government? There is shooting outside and you are having a calm debate in here!’42 After a short break, Fehrenbach expressed his sympathy for the victims, but explicitly refrained from any judgement on the question of culpability. He also demanded that the debate be resumed. He justified this by saying that it was important to give a calm impression to people at home and abroad. This in turn was met with staunch opposition from the Independents, who wanted to prevent the meeting from continuing ‘at all costs’. Henke commented: No, gentlemen – I am now strongly reminded of something Karl Marx once said about parliamentary cretinism. What he meant was that the parliamentarians he described consider nothing to be more important than whatever is presently on the parliamentary agenda. If we were to continue our negotiations right now, it would mean that we indeed consider our agenda to be much more important than what has been going on outside.43 Still, the motion to end the session was rejected, whereupon the rapporteur Schneider tried to continue. However, the Independents prevented this ‘with the strongest effort of votes’ and by producing a great noise with their lectern lids, as Geyer vividly describes.44 This resulted in calls to order and reprimands for some deputies. After another short interruption, Fehrenbach ultimately had to adjourn the session.

42 43 44

Vossische Zeitung, 13 January 1920 E. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4199. See also Marx 1852, chapter vi. Geyer 1976, p. 172.

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Consequences Still on 13 January, President of the Reich Ebert declared a general state of emergency for the whole of northern Germany in accordance with article 48 of the constitution.45 This meant a ban not only on public gatherings and processions, but also on the ongoing strikes of railway workers and miners. Minister of Defence Noske, as the new holder of executive power, supplemented this decree with an instruction to the military commanders that ‘all Independent and Communist newspapers are to be banned or confiscated immediately if they contain incitement’.46 Apart from 44 local newspapers, this mainly affected the central organs of the uspd and kpd, Freiheit and Die Rote Fahne. This made it almost impossible for the opposition to present its version of events to the broad public.47 It was mainly periodicals from the Ruhr, central Germany and Saxony – i.e. the most important strike centres and strongholds of the left – that were banned. In order to circumvent the ban, the uspd published its perspective on 13 January in the pamphlet we have already quoted from several times. It was not until February that the papers were allowed to appear again. Such newspaper bans had already occurred several times after the revolution. What was new and dubious, however, was that a newspaper was banned as soon as the state of emergency came into force, without even a single issue having been published. In this sense, they were preventive bans. In addition, the editorial offices of Freiheit were occupied by the military and the whole operation was shut down.48 Moreover, numerous members of left organisations were arrested, including the two party leaders Däumig (uspd) and Levi (kpd), as well as the well-known anarchists Rudolf Rocker and Friedrich Kater. The imprisonment of the two 45

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47

48

The complete decree was published in: Reichsministerium des Innern (ed.) 1920, p. 207, as well as in Vorwärts of 14 January 1920. A state of emergency had already been imposed on the Ruhr region two days earlier and was tightened on 13 January – see Bauer Files, p. 533. However, the events at the Reichstag were not the sole reason given – the ‘necessity to keep the railway operations and the coal supply in order to avoid an economic catastrophe’ were also cited. BArch R 43 i/2699, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Aufrechterhaltung bzw. Wiederherstellung der öffentlichen Sicherheit und Ordnung Vol. 2, Bl. 24. BArch R 43 i/2531, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Zeitungs- und Zeitschriftenverbote Vol. 1, Bl. 46. A few days later, he explicitly recommended the use of protective custody for editors of oppositional papers. See also his own account: Noske 1920, pp. 193–4. The titles of the banned newspapers can be found in a list of the Reich Ministry of Defence – see BArch R 43 i/2531, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Zeitungs- und Zeitschriftenverbote Vol. 1, Bl. 48–9. See Vossische Zeitung, 15 January 1920 M.

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anarchists sheds a revealing light on the character of the proceedings: after all, neither they nor their organisations had any part in the calls for a demonstration outside the Reichstag, a fact that the authorities must have been aware of. The total number of those arrested varies greatly depending on sources. While the Reich Ministry of Defence put the number at 68, there were there were over 400 arrests in the Ruhr region alone according to Dittmann.49 In Berlin, entire Independent party meetings were arrested en bloc and taken away in lorries.50 The Berlin Trade-union Commission called on the government to reverse the bans on newspapers and release prisoners – for the ‘arrests were made so indiscriminately, it is obvious that not certain misdemeanours were the cause of the arrests, but that the intention is to hit the leaders of a certain tendency’.51 A memorial service for the dead was also banned, but still took place on Hermannplatz in Neukölln with about 10,000 participants, despite a strong police presence.52 The day after the escalation, workers from a number of large Berlin enterprises went on a short protest strike.53 When the strike leadership of the Ruhr region was arrested, the railway workers’ strike collapsed within a few days.54 One of the government’s main goals was thus achieved. In the mining sector, it proved impossible to build on the major strikes of the previous year – due to the state of emergency, this was prevented from the outset. In addition to these immediate consequences, a new ‘Law on the pacification of the Reichstag and Landtag buildings’ was passed in May 1920, which made assemblies within the restricted areas outside the parliaments a punishable offence.55 This was explicitly justified with reference to the events of 13 January. Similar regulations concerning pacified areas for the constitutional organs of the Republic are still in place in today’s Germany.

49 50 51 52 53 54 55

BArch R 43 i/2531, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Zeitungs- und Zeitschriftenverbote Vol. 1, Bl. 50–51 and Dittmann 1995, p. 700. uspd Bezirksorganisation Berlin-Stadt: Jahresbericht für die Zeit vom 1. Oktober 1919 bis 31. März 1920, p. 8. Letter from the Berlin Trade-union Commission to Chancellor of the Reich Bauer, BArch R 43 i/2531, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Zeitungs- und Zeitschriftenverbote Vol. 1, Bl. 14. Vorwärts, 16 January 1920 M. Vorwärts, 15 January 1920 E. Vossische Zeitung, 15 January 1920 M. Published in: Reichsministerium des Innern (ed.) 1920, Reichsgesetzblatt.

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Contradictory Interpretations The mutual blaming and finger-pointing began immediately after the protests. Beside the press, the most important forum for this was the session of the of the National Assembly the next day. There, the opposing viewpoints clashed directly. Chancellor of the Reich Gustav Bauer and Prussian Minister of the Interior Minister Heine addressed the house on behalf of the governments. Bauer’s speech in particular contained all the arguments that were frequently voiced in the press and that still have a decisive influence on the picture of events today. It is therefore worth looking at them in more detail. Whether the government spoke differently about the events behind closed doors can unfortunately no longer be determined, because the meetings of the Reich Cabinet from 11 to 13 January were not minuted.56 According to Bauer, the question of blame was very simple to answer: it lay, without a doubt, with the uspd and the Communists.57 Not only had they called for the demonstration, but also ruthlessly masterminded the storming of the parliament, giving the starting signal by waving cloths from the windows of the Reichstag. To satisfy the ambitions of a few leaders, he claimed, they had ‘driven nameless, non-partisan victims in front of the Reichstag, incited them to violence and finally hounded them to their deaths’. Under the given circumstances, clashes were absolutely to be expected. The Security Police, by contrast, had behaved calmly and in an exemplary manner despite numerous ‘animal-like’ assaults, making use of their weapons ‘with full justification and almost too late’. According to him, the police ‘[prevented] the most dreadful Bartholomew’s Night’, which is why his thanks and appreciation went to the police officers. For the victim from the security team’s side, he found the following words: ‘We commemorate the deceased with gratitude. He died in the direct service of democracy, in defence of the most sacred right of the people, the freedom of expression of the people’s representatives’. He did commemorate the dead protesters too – but not without pointing out that the perpetrators of the catastrophe had managed to escape to safety in time. He went on to speak of a downright conspiracy, at the heart of which were

56

57

See Bauer Files, p. 511. In the surviving minutes for the following days, there is no mention of 13 January. The transcript of the next meeting of the Prussian State Assembly on 15 January only briefly states that the Prime Minister reported ‘on the internal situation in Berlin and in the country’. See Schulze et al 2002, p. 144. Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 4203–206. The following quotations are all taken from there.

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the councils and the left opposition parties. Allegedly, they had held a joint ‘secret conference’ in Halle, intending to first bring railway traffic to a standstill with the help of ‘secret organisations’ and messengers, and then plunge the whole country into economic chaos. Bauer was in all likelihood referring to the aforementioned 10 January letter he had received from the district president of Merseburg, which reported of a secret conference of the radical left that had supposedly taken place in Halle on 7 and 8 January.58 According to that letter, the conference had also decided that a general strike would unfold in the wake of the railway strike. There was, however, no mention there of a planned immediate overthrow of the government, nor of any connection between the strikes and the demonstration. Bauer also explicitly blamed the oppositionists for starvation, infant deaths and, in case they had succeeded in implementing this plan, for preventing prisoners of war from returning home. ‘And then they hope … that in the midst of this confusion, in the midst of this mass dying, in this struggle of everyone against everyone, their time will come, that they will smash everything and that a new great Communist society will arise from the ruins.’ This interpretation also provided him with the justification for taking ‘the most severe measures’ – meaning the state of emergency – against the left. He explicitly cited press censorship and the arrest of the ‘intellectual instigators’. Bauer’s speech contains a whole series of false assertions. First of all, there had been neither a plan nor an attempt to storm the Reichstag. Even later, no evidence of such a plan was ever presented. Significantly, there was never an official investigation into the events, nor even a legal review. Bauer’s and Heine’s speeches in the National Assembly and the aforementioned concise report by the Security Police were the only official statements made. Incidentally, the demonstration itself had in no way been illegal. It took place in full accordance with a constitutional democratic right, especially as there had been no restricted area around the Reichstag until then. Article 123, section 1 of the Weimar constitution stated: ‘All Germans have the right to assembly peacefully and unarmed without giving notice and without special permission’. The lawfulness of the demonstration was also conceded by Heine.59 There is a certain irony in the fact that it was the spd that had called for a demonstration outside the Reichstag during the suffrage struggle of 1910.60 The main organiser of those protests had been Eugen Ernst, then chairman 58 59 60

BArch R 43 i/2118, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Streikrecht und Streik im Allgemeinen Vol. 1, Bl. 161. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4210. See also Warneken et al 1986.

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of the Berlin spd. On 13 January 1920, he was in the Reichstag building in his capacity as Berlin’s police chief, leading the deployment of the Security Police together with Heine. It is also not true that the organisers took flight in the face of the imminent danger. During the rally, as Geyer’s memoirs shows, they were among the masses and in the thick of it all.61 At the time in question, the Independents Zietz, Braß and Zubeil were also outside the building, while most of their parliamentary group colleagues were attending the session inside.62 With regard to the alleged secret conference, Geyer remarked during the debate that it had been announced in the press in advance and that there had been numerous reports about it afterwards.63 This was consistent with the facts. Whether a demonstration inevitably had to escalate under the given circumstances is of course difficult to answer. It does not follow, in any case, that the sole responsibility for what occurred should be shifted to the organisers. As we have already seen, the Security Police had behaved violently even before the actual escalation began. We can assume that both sides were guilty of some physical abuse. The crucial point, however, is that the massive use of weapons later on occurred without immediate cause or acute threat and was directed against an unarmed crowd. There can therefore be no talk of a lawful use, even in self-defence – and this is confirmed in no small measure by the fact that the shooting continued for some time after the crowd had already begun to flee. But Bauer was not the only one; the press too praised the Security Police for their selfless fulfilment of duty and the stoic calm with which they had endured the hostilities and assaults of the protesters for so long.64 Vorwärts even went a step further, stating that the police had shown ‘a restraint for which the demonstrators would have every reason to be grateful’.65 In view of the 42 dead and over 100 injured, this stance can only be described as cynical. Like Bauer, Vorwärts interpreted the events not only as an attempt to disrupt or influence the session of the National Assembly, but as the planned beginning of a revolutionary uprising: ‘There can be no doubt that the intention on 13 January was to disperse the National Assembly … in prelude to a large-scale action across the German Reich with the aim of overthrowing the government 61 62 63

64 65

Geyer 1976, p. 171. Their statements are reproduced in Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag: 13. Jan. 1920, pp. 10–13. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4255. For press reports, see Curt Geyer: ‘Der Kampf gegen das Betriebsrätegesetz. Rede gehalten auf der Konferenz der Zentrale der Betriebsräte Deutschlands in Halle am 7.1.1920’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 2, 1920. Vossische Zeitung, 14.1.1920 M and Vorwärts, 14 January 1920 M. Vorwärts, 14 January 1920 M.

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and establishing a council dictatorship’.66 None of this was based on any evidence. Elsewhere, the paper stated that the ‘government and its organs are not in the least to blame for the bloodshed’.67 Georg Bernhard blamed the Independents in particular.68 According to him, however, the events had not resulted from a deliberate plan, but only from ‘gross negligence’: the organisers should have prevented the ‘mob’ from running riot by preparing the event with greater care. Other bourgeois papers also blamed the left.69 They repeatedly stressed that parliament, which represents the people as a whole, must not allow itself to be blackmailed by a minority of the residents of its more or less incidental meeting place. Suffice to say, whether a demonstration constitutes a form of political blackmail is highly questionable. It came as no surprise that the parties of the governing coalition largely adopted the government’s view. This was especially true of the spd, whose spokesperson in the National Assembly only tersely remarked that his parliamentary group shared the Chancellor’s assessment and, for this reason, declined to offer any further comment.70 There was some criticism of the authorities’ crackdown from the party’s rank and file, but it was apparently quickly contained.71 The Centre Party declared that such demonstrations had no purpose or effect anyway, as the deputies were only following their conscience.72 Friedrich Weinhausen (ddp) argued that such forms of pressure would not only damage the dignity of parliament but also Germany’s reputation abroad. As far as he was concerned, the evens of Berlin and the railway workers’ strike movement were reason to call on the government and the state organs to take tough measures. He assured them of the support of his party, arguing that ‘sentimentality is less appropriate than ever in this struggle for the existence of an orderly German state. Soft-hearted negotiation will not accomplish this goal.’73 66 67 68

69 70 71 72

73

Vorwärts, 18 January 1920. Vorwärts, 14 January 1920 M. Bhd [i.e. Georg Bernhard, the editor-in-chief]: ‘Die Verantwortlichen’ in Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 M. Bernhard was a co-founder and board member of the ddp, so he was far from politically neutral on this matter. Thus Germania, Berliner Volkszeitung and Deutsche Tageszeitung. See the quotations taken from these papers in Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 E. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4215. See the report on a large Berlin spd meeting the following day in Vorwärts, 15 January 1920 M. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4219. The Social Democrat Paul Löbe argued similarly in his memoir. According to him, the ‘same result [in the vote – Author] would have been achieved even without the bloodshed.’ See Löbe 1990, p. 97. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4224.

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In light of such unambiguous statements, the doubts of the GermanNational People’s Party (dnvp) delegates that the government might not take suitably resolute action against the impending ‘dictatorship of the street’ seem unfounded.74 In a statement to the news agency wtb, Weinhausen’s party colleague Rudolf Oeser, who was the Prussian minister in charge of the railways, similarly linked the 13 January with the strike movement: ‘Recent events leave no doubt that the railway workers’ movement is only one constituent part of a broad political movement to overthrow the government, prepared for a long time by Communists and syndicalists’.75 The syndicalists, although relatively strong in Berlin, had no involvement at all in the calls for the demonstration – nor did, as shown earlier, the Communists play a central role. Viewed from the left, matters looked very different. We have already mentioned some of the objections to Bauer’s account. The Independents repeatedly stressed that the escalation was the result of a deliberate provocation. For one, because they believed that the first shot had been fired by an agent provocateur. Secondly, because in their view the manning of the Reichstag building with Security Police had been completely unnecessary and the provocative behaviour of these men even more so.76 The Communists’ position was very similar: ‘The provocative behaviour of a group of Noske guards finally gave the desired excuse to let the guns do the talking and clear the square, despite the cool restraint of the masses.’77 One obvious counter-argument to this is that the safeguarding of the National Assembly was in principle lawful and was not carried out against the will of President of the Weimar National Assembly Fehrenbach.78 Moreover, most of the security forces were inside the building, presumably for the very reason that they wanted to avoid provocation. For the same reason, the machine guns were temporarily withdrawn. Eugen Prager and Wilhelm Dittmann, both leading members of the uspd, noted in their later writings that the organisation of the demonstration had been extremely amateurish – and that the organisers were therefore at least partly to blame.79 Prager commented sarcastically that ‘the representatives of the “pure council idea”, the harbingers of the future organisation of the work74 75 76 77 78 79

Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4231. Vossische Zeitung, 14 January 1920 E. Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag: 13. Jan. 1920, p. 4; Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4249. Die Rote Fahne, 14 January 1920. See Fehrenbach’s statement in Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4196. Dittmann 1995, p. 698 and Prager 1921, pp. 214 et seq. Dittmann 1995, p. 698 and Prager 1921, pp. 214 et seq. Both functionaries were on the right wing of the party and therefore had a reserved attitude towards the ‘pure council system’ and its supporters to begin with.

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ing class, showed a complete lack of organisational skills at the time’. From today’s perspective, the downright religious terms sometimes used to describe the events are a little jarring. There is talk of the ‘workers’ road to Golgotha’ and of the ‘martyrs’ whose ‘sacrificial death … was not in vain’.80 This, however, was by no means unusual in the socialist workers’ movement – already in the nineteenth century, Ferdinand Lassalle had frequently drawn on imagery and terminology borrowed from Christianity.81 Overall, it was argued, the events were proof of the ‘intensification of class antagonisms’ and the spd was acting as an accomplice of ‘capitalist and Junker reaction’ in this context.82 The Independents firmly denied that there had been an attempted coup: on the contrary, the government had used the events as a pretext for a state of emergency so as to deal a blow to the opposition.83 Dittmann believed that apart from the government, the military had also been keen to escalate the situation in order to prove its indispensability.84 According to Geyer, there had been ‘no aggressive intentions whatsoever’, which is why people had marched to the Reichstag unarmed.85 The eyewitnesses Retzlaw and Koenen equally denied that a storming of the building had taken place, or that anything of the kind had even been planned.86 As regards arrests, press censorship and slander, multiple parallels were drawn to the Kaiser-era ‘Law against the Publicly Dangerous Aspirations of Social Democracy’, but also to the alleged murder of police officers by leftists in Lichtenberg in the preceding year.87 Interestingly, in the run-up to the demonstration, the kpd had repeatedly and explicitly warned against providing the state authorities with suitable occasions: ‘May the workers beware of giving the government and its Lüttwitz types any pretext for carrying out the planned bloodbaths and declaring a state of emergency for Germany’.88 Even on the day of the demonstration, 13 January, the paper warned once more: ‘The revolutionary workers will continue firmly on their set course. They will not rush at the machine guns when Lüttwitz gives the order’. A kpd leaflet from December 1919

80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87

88

Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag: 13. Jan. 1920, pp. 3 and 6. Walter 2009, p. 12. Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag: 13. Jan. 1920, p. 6. Freiheit, 9 February 1920 E. Dittmann 1995, pp. 699–700. Geyer 1976, p. 168. Retzlaw 1976, p. 171; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 88. See Geyer’s speech in Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4250; Freiheit, 9 February 1920 E; Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag, p. 4. On the false press reports about the murder of policemen in March 1919, see our chapter on the General Strike of 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 11 January 1920.

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read: ‘The state of emergency will come again, and it will come soon. The counterrevolution cannot do without it … It will try to reintroduce it by all means, not least by provocation … Keep discipline! No coups, no riots!’89

The Role of the Security Police and Military No adequate assessment of the events of 13 January is possible without taking into account one of the most important actors: the Security Police (Sicherheitspolizei).90 The relevant research on this formation has consistently paid only peripheral attention, if any, to 13 January 1920, despite the fact that it was the unit’s first operation and one of its bloodiest. Its creation began immediately after the March 1919 struggles at the direct initiative of Waldemar Pabst. Noske and Heine in particular supported the new force at the level of politics. This was also because the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles provided for a reduction of the Reichswehr from 400,000 men at the end of 1919 down to 100,000. However, the Allies watched the establishment of the Security Police with very critical eyes and, on account of its obvious military character, energetically demanded its immediate dissolution.91 Many Security Police officers were transferred to the newly formed Protection Police (Schutzpolizei or SchuPo, the regular police force responsible for public safety), however, which also retained other aspects of its predecessor organisation. This meant that it could also be used in civil war situations, as demonstrated not least during the so-called March Action in 1921.92 In Berlin alone, the Security Police already comprised about 9,000 men in early 1920, was organised militarily in accordance with its mission and equipped with heavy weapons such as armoured cars, guns, mine launchers and aircraft. Following on from the example set in the capital, further units were set up in the other parts of Prussia. Their barracks personnel were recruited exclusively from former soldiers with frontline experience. Members of the Freikorps in particular were coopted, in some cases even complete units, and they also held leadership positions. In Berlin, this particularly applied to members of the Freikorps Reinhard and the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division.93

89 90 91 92 93

sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/30, kpd, Flugblätter und Flugschriften des Bezirks Berlin, Bl. 2. On the Security Police, see Liang 1977, pp. 50–59; Siggemann 1980, pp. 79–150; Leßmann 1989, pp. 44–64; Sauer 2005, pp. 26–45. Schulthess’ Europäischer Geschichtskalender 1919 Vol. 2. Munich 1923, p. 606. Leßmann 1989, pp. 96–119. The Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division became best known for its role in suppressing left-

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Both units had distinguished themselves above all in the battles against the Left in the spring of 1919. The commander of the Berlin unit was Colonel von Schönstedt, formerly a member of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division. The Security Police also resembled the Freikorps in another respect: industrial enterprises and banks were called on to fund it in addition to the state – after all, they too would ‘enjoy special advantages arising from the special protection provided by the new Security Police’, as the organisation’s internal directives put it.94 Apparently, there were large sums of money involved. Even Hugo Stinnes had lobbied for the outfit in industrialist and banker circles.95 The lack of political monitoring in the formation of the new police force soon proved to be a fatal mistake: it became a downright rallying point for antirepublican far-right groups. A whole series of its officers later made careers in the sa and Gestapo.96 Securing the Reichstag building was the first deployment of the Security Police. Even though the protection of the government quarter was explicitly one of its tasks, its deployment on that day still raises questions: after all, the Security Police had been trained for counter-insurgency, but not for this kind of public order task. For this reason, voices from the ranks of the Protection Police (Schuztpolizei) reproached them from the very beginning: A security force of 10,000 young men accustomed to combat and the trenches are given the reigns over Berlin’s street life – professional soldiers, drilled and led by officers, locked in barracks away from civilian life, lacking any knowledge of the big city, its population, its communities, without any idea of police law and tactics, and with no conception of the limits of police powers.97 Their completely disproportionate use of firearms against the demonstrators was therefore possibly also due to the inability of these forces to deal with such situations. At the Brandenburg Gate later in the afternoon, a patrol stabbed an entirely unwitting magistrate with bayonets – apparently because he did not

94 95 96 97

wing insurrections and its assassinations of Liebknecht and Luxemburg. The force had emerged from a whole series of units and merged with the three marine brigades in April 1919 to form the Guards-Cavalry Riflemen Corps. See also Matuschka 1970, p. 306. Quoted by Leßmann 1989, p. 59. Kessel 1933, pp. 224–5. Kessel was himself an officer of the Security Police and directly involved in the collection of the funds. See the detailed evidence in Sauer 2005. Preußische Schutzmannszeitung, 9 August 1919; quoted in Leßmann 1989, p. 56.

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move aside in time.98 This, too, can be seen as evidence of the extraordinarily agitated mood and overstraining of the Security Police. According to Liang, weeks later they still felt humiliated by the ‘mob’, and their ‘bitterness towards the left-wing radicals was boundless’.99 The deputy Brass, on the other hand, recalled a conversation with them immediately after the shooting, in which they had told him in horror that the measures taken against the demonstration had been ‘sheer madness’.100 Chancellor of the Reich Bauer’s assessment that the dead policeman had ‘fallen in the direct service of democracy’, however, was certainly not accurate. The physical protection of parliament cannot, in any event, be equated with a political commitment to democracy. After Bauer’s speech, the Association of Security Police Officers (Verband der Beamten der Sicherheitspolizei) sent the Chancellor of the Reich a telegram, thanking him and declaring that the troops would ‘continue to defend the government elected by the people with unwavering loyalty to their duty, including by putting their lives on the line in the police service’.101 Only two months later, at the outset of the Kapp-Lüttwitz putsch, it no longer showed any such commitment to protect the government, instead subordinating itself to the right-wing putschists without further ado.102 The Security Police were therefore not at all politically neutral but, on the contrary, clearly anti-democratic. It goes without saying that this made them hostile not only to the government, but even more so to its left-wing critics. These fundamental attitudes of the Security Police forces must have been well known, especially in view of its roots in the Freikorps, and particularly among politicians who had played a decisive role in their formation: namely the Social Democrats Noske and Heine. It was therefore was at the very least grossly negligent of Heine to deploy such troops against the demonstration. He may not have directly caused or even ordered a bloody escalation, but at the very least he will have taken the possibility into account and accepted the risk. The role of the Reichswehr on 13 January is more difficult to assess. Although the Security Police was organised along similar lines and had originated from the military also in terms of personnel, it was subordinate to the Prussian Ministry of the Interior rather than to the Reichswehr leadership. Still, some

98 99 100 101 102

Die Wahrheit über das Blutbad vor dem Reichstag: 13. Jan. 1920, p, 10 and Authors’ collective 1929, p. 434. Liang 1977, p. 113. Authors’ collective 1929, p. 434. Vorwärts, 16 January 1920 M. See the detailed report by a Security Police officer who was himself directly involved in carrying out the coup: Kessel 1933, pp. 259–310.

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witnesses claimed to have seen the commander of Reichswehr Group Command i, General Walther Freiherr von Lüttwitz, at the scene – allegedly, he even personally gave the order to fire.103 According to Geyer’s account, Reichswehr troops were also present outside the Reichstag. The latter statement is probably based on a mix-up: the Security Police wore the same grey-green uniforms as the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division. In any case, the involvement of the Reichswehr is very unlikely in view of the institutional separation between the two forces. There is also no reference to Lüttwitz’s presence at the scene in his memoirs, even though at the time of publication, namely in the days of the Third Reich, he certainly had no need to worry that he might be brought to justice for such an action. The memoir simply states with regard to 13 January: ‘If the Security Police had not taken a death-defying stand, it would have probably been a bloodbath for the deputies’.104 No direct responsibility of the military authorities for the events can therefore be proven. What the Reichswehr leadership made of the general political situation and what demands or expectations it drew from its assessment is another question, however. In the week leading up to 13 January, the heads of the Reichswehr Group Commands i and ii sent reports on the political situation to the Reichswehr Ministry. Lieutenant General Roderich von Schoeler warned urgently of an imminent civil war in his letter.105 Only if the government, the bourgeoisie and the army were united in opposing the impending ‘rule of the proletariat’ would there be any chance of success, he warned. His remark that ‘the masses cannot govern’, that they ‘need minds that have learned to govern or seem particularly capable of doing so’ can be read as a special dig at the council system and its grassroots democracy. In summing up, he wrote: ‘The watchword for 1920 therefore remains getting ready for a major struggle, striking with all means at our disposal as soon as the struggle is forced upon us. The state of emergency will probably come into force immediately in such a case, so the leadership will be in the hands of the military until victory is won’. Lüttwitz’s assessment was quite similar. He stressed that the ‘organisational structures created solely against Bolshevism (Reichswehr, Security Police and the citizens’ militias [Einwohnerwehren]) must not be touched’.106 Moreover, 103 104 105

106

Geyer 1976, pp. 168–71; Authors’ collective 1929, p. 434; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 88. Lüttwitz 1934, pp. 109–10. The full report is reproduced in Hürten 1977, pp. 306–8. The following quotations are taken from there. The Reichswehr Group Command ii in Kassel had command of all troops in west and south Germany, while Lüttwitz, operating from Berlin, was commander of the units in north and east Germany. This and the following quotations are taken from Hürten 1977, pp. 310–11.

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he argued, the coming strikes should be seen as political rather than economic movements. They should therefore be dealt with resolutely on the basis of a state of emergency as soon as they begin. The closing paragraph almost had a whiff of blackmail to it: ‘If the government fulfils the abovementioned requests of the vast majority of the nation, on the other hand, it can be confident that the nation … will stand behind the government. There will then be no dangerous reaction from the right, and any unlawful attacks by left-wing radicals will certainly be put down’. This can only be read as an open threat against the government: if it does not take tough action against the left, the troops will withdraw their loyalty. As early as September 1919, Lüttwitz had demanded very similar measures in a letter to Noske. With regard to the left, the letter read: ‘These pests must be ruthlessly destroyed’.107 Interestingly, after 13 January, the government implemented precisely these demands when cracking down on the uspd and kpd, declaring a state of emergency and banning strikes. Even if there is no evidence of any direct involvement of the Reichswehr in the events at the Reichstag, its stance on the leftwing opposition is beyond doubt, as are its ideas on how to respond to the activities of the left. On this point too, there was little divergence between the government and the army. The Reichswehr benefited doubly from the events. For one, the state of emergency transferred executive power to the military district commands. Secondly, the Reichswehr could now demonstrate how necessary a strong army was, especially against internal threats. This seemed a particularly pressing matter in view of the Treaty of Versailles, which came into force on 10 January: it entailed a considerable reduction in troop strength and thus also the dismissal of most officers and enlisted men. The question of extraditing war criminals to the Allies, as provided for in the peace treaty, now also became acute. This was a sensitive matter especially for the officers, who saw Germany’s honour at stake. Esprit de corps certainly played a role here – few wanted to hand over their comrades to the tender mercies of the former enemy. The government then went a long way towards accommodating the military men by refusing to extradite them, referring the charges to the Reichsgericht in Leipzig instead. In consequence, only very few and very lenient sentences were passed, and there were no well-known personalities among the convicted. In the fight against the radical left, political interests thus converged with private interests. For these reasons, an escalation of internal conflicts was very welcome to the Reichswehr in that moment.

107

Lüttwitz 1934, p. 92.

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Interim Conclusion In many ways, 13 January 1920 is an object lesson for the political conditions in Germany at that time. It made particularly apparent how fundamentally divergent the political conceptions were in the council movement and in the established institutions respectively. The events themselves were strongly symbolic of this mutual estrangement: as the delegates were negotiating in the Reichstag, the protesters stood outside – without any direct say, threatened and finally shot at by the armed organs of the state. Evidently, there was a perceived need to protect the people’s representatives against the people – and this was done with a clear conscience too. After all, as the Chancellor of the Reich put it, what was at stake was nothing less than the ‘defence of the most sacred right of the people, namely the freedom of expression of the people’s representatives’. This was a remarkable conception of democracy. Not the freedom of expression of the people was regarded as paramount, but the freedom of expression of parliamentary delegates. This was by no means some ill-considered exaggeration in the heat of the debate. Bauer showed certain inclinations towards authoritarianism on other occasions as well, which is why his biographer Karlludwig Rintelen characterises him as an ‘undemocratic democrat’.108 This detachment of the representatives from the represented was one of the things that the council system intended to counter. Evidently, most delegates in the Reichstag, firmly embedded as they were in a rigid institutional structure, could not imagine any legitimate political action outside their highly regulated parliamentary framework. It is precisely in this sense that Marx’s notion of ‘parliamentary cretinism’ touches on a central aspect. The fact that the President of Parliament simply wanted to continue with the agenda after a brief interruption, notwithstanding the tragic events outside the Reichstag, was symptomatic of this – and apart from the Independents, he had the support of all delegates too. From the point of view of these men, the council movement, epitomised in the demonstration outside, presented itself only as a nuisance that needed to be dealt with by the police – if necessary, by violent means. Their reinterpretation of the actual course of events – the victims of massive violence were made out to be the perpetrators, the perpetrators victims – was only logical. The protest was not only denied political legitimacy, it was criminalised too. This, in turn, had very concrete political consequences.

108

Rintelen 1992, especially pp. 264–5.

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The state authorities responded to the events with extensive restrictions of constitutionally guaranteed rights. True, the measures taken against the leftwing opposition were not exactly new – it had suffered crackdowns several times before. Now, however, the repression had taken on an unusual scale – the uspd in particular had never been suppressed so severely, and it would never be suppressed so severely again. The apparent intention was to stifle any new unrest and any potential strike wave similar to that of last spring, even before they could take on a decidedly political character. Consequently, the government coalition repeatedly stressed the connection between the railway workers’ and miners’ strike and the events in Berlin. This was not entirely unjustified, albeit there had not been any centrally coordinated plan to overthrow the existing order and establish a council republic. The actions of 1919 had already more than clearly revealed the lack of coordination between the individual regions and disunity of the organisations involved – thereafter, cooperation had not at all become more harmonious either. These strikes were in fact movements for higher wages – but that could have changed if they had continued, so the fears were not entirely unfounded. Morgan even argues that the events of 13 January merely served the government as a useful pretext for suppressing the strike, which is, however, not readily apparent from his sources.109 He cites two of them, yet without providing any quotes.110 The first source invokes both the demonstration and the strikes as justification for the state of emergency. The second one is only addressed to authorities in the Ruhr area – it is therefore hardly surprising that it does not also mention the Berlin events. Morgan’s assessment is supported by another statement, however. An officer from Noske’s staff highlighted the political dimension of the events in his appraisal of the situation a little later: ‘The Berlin riots of 13 January 1920 gave the government the desired justification for the harsh measures taken in the state of emergency’.111 Even if a deliberate instrumentalisation of the events on the part of the government cannot be proven with absolute certainty, it is clear that in the face of noticeably growing pressure from the left, it readily resorted to tough measures.

109 110

111

Morgan 1975, p. 316. The documents in question are found in BArch R 43 i/2699, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Aufrechterhaltung bzw. Wiederherstellung der öffentlichen Sicherheit und Ordnung Vol. 2, Bl. 24 and BArch R 43 i/2711, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Mitteldeutschland, Vol. 1, Bl. 28–31. Hürten 1977, p. 320. The assessment is taken from an anonymous memorandum on the political situation dated 24 January 1920. Hürten, as the editor of the edition, assumed that the author was Captain Eugen Hahn, an associate of Noske.

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For the council movement itself, the demonstration was both a sign of its strength and its weakness. The potential of its ideas to mobilise the blue-collar and white-collar workers of the capital had exceeded even the expectations of the organisers. Probably more than 100,000 people responded to the call and marched to the Reichstag to express their opposition to the Factory Councils Act that was being discussed there. One thing became clear: the supporters of the council system were more than a small, insignificant group of radicals. In the capital at least, they were a mass movement to be reckoned with. Coordinated and led by the council bodies themselves, the movement showed what strong popular support, combined with a close-knit organisational apparatus firmly rooted in the workplaces, was capable of. Taking part in a demonstration is, of course, not the same as having a clear political worldview or even a firm organisational commitment. On the other hand, joining the protest showed a strong commitment to the council system precisely because all the other forces, above all the spd, opposed participation and took action in the workplaces just a few hours before the demonstration began. The run-up to the demonstration, however, also showed that the organisation of the council movement depended to a substantial degree on the support of the parties and trade unions. This was especially true for their press, as the councils did not have any newspapers with a large circulation themselves. In many cases, however, there was no clear distinction between party functionaries and council activists. In addition to working hand in hand, the delegates of the Central Office of Factory Councils, for instance, were usually also party members, primarily of the uspd. One can view this as a strength in the sense that oppositional forces were combined. At the same time, it was problematic because the councils, at least in Berlin, were barely capable of independent action. The real decisive factor that contributed to their political weakness, however, was this: in the face of a determined alliance of spd, bourgeoisie and armed executive, the council movement was almost certainly bound to fail. It was simply unable to counter this concentrated political, military, and then also media power. Hence, it is unsurprising that the demonstration had no impact on the course of the legislation. The Factory Councils Act was passed by the National Assembly with a large majority still in that same week. The leaders of the council movement were well aware of this weakness, especially after the experiences of the previous spring, which is why they did not have any aggressive plans in the sense of an imminent overthrow linked to the demonstration. The aim was rather to forcefully show the deputies that a law narrowly limiting the influence of the factory councils did not correspond to the wishes of the blue-collar and white-collar workers. The kpd and the Inde-

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pendents, especially their left wing, certainly opposed the existing order and aspired to a radical system change in the long term. As the Leipzig party congress of the uspd a few weeks earlier had shown, they made no secret of this in public. But in the short term, they lacked the necessary clout to implement any such plans. Storming the Reichstag would not only have made little sense as a prelude to a revolutionary uprising from a general point of view, it would have been particularly inopportune at that time. There is no substantial evidence of any such plans in the available sources, and a reconstruction of events shows that no such attempt was made. Such accusations were therefore either based on insufficient information or, more likely, motivated by the need to justify the high cost of blood and shift the blame onto the demonstrators. For those who had still been hoping that steps would be taken in a socialist direction, the outcome of the demonstration was yet another reason to turn their backs on the Social-Democratic government and ultimately on the parliamentary system as such. It is not surprising that in the following elections, the spd lost massive numbers of voters who migrated to the left, especially in Berlin. The demonstration outside the Reichstag was an expression of discontent – and the reaction of the state further intensified this discontent. An issue of the kpd paper Die Rote Fahne – already printed, but now banned – captured this double significance in vivid terms: ‘For the first time, the proletariat of Berlin and democracy’s elect few stood face to face. The march of the proletarian masses outside parliament is more than a protest against the Factory Councils Act, it is a declaration of war against the bourgeois parliament … The shots … have also torn open a deep rift between parliament and the broad masses of workers and employees, which can no longer be bridged’.112

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Die Rote Fahne 14 January 1920.

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The Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch and the Council Movement Naturally, gentlemen, a revolution is not finished until all the needs that gave rise to it in the first place are satisfied. And so, the revolution that began in November 1918 has not ended with what we have seen in the last few days … You can trust me that the proletariat will not stop at what it has just achieved with the victory over Kapp and Lüttwitz. It will push forward, and indeed it must push forward if it is to liberate itself.1

∵ These are the words that the uspd delegate and former chair of the Bremen soldiers’ and workers’ council Alfred Henke used at the meeting of the National Assembly in Stuttgart on 18 March 1920 to outline his immediate expectations after the end of the Kapp-Lüttwitz putsch. In Berlin and across the German Reich, the question of another revolutionary wave now raised its head. The March 1920 putsch and the massive resistance put up against it are among the best-known events in the history of the Weimar Republic – but the role of the council movement in these events is much less known. Insofar as historians have regarded this phase as part of the revolution at all, they have almost exclusively focused on the events in the Ruhr region.2 The developments in Berlin have been almost completely ignored, on the other hand. In this chapter, we will first present the essential aspects of the historical context. This is necessary because the putsch and the general strike made the actions of the council movement possible in the first place and crucially helped shape them. We will then go on to describe and analyse in more detail the activities that took place during this ‘second spring’ of councils: what efforts were

1 Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4919. 2 As pars pro toto, see Winkler 2008, p. 275.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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made to give the councils new impulses, who made them, and in what ways did these new impulses influence the political events?

Starting Shot from the Right: The Putsch In the early morning of 13 March 1920, the 5,000-strong Marinebrigade Erhardt Freikorps marched from its quarters in Döberitz into the centre of Berlin.3 Equipped for battle, the elite unit was ready for open combat with the Berlin garrison. The swastikas on their helmets and their imperial war flag indicated what the Freikorps and the putsch represented overall: a combination of conservative-monarchist and far-right antisemitic forces.4 In 1919, the troops had been particularly active against the revolution and the council movement in Wilhelmshaven, Braunschweig and Munich. Some gentlemen who were to play a decisive role in the coming days arrived at the Brandenburg Gate to inspect of the parade. One of them was the East Prussian politician Wolfgang Kapp. During the war he had become known as the founder of the Fatherland Party (Deutsche Vaterlandspartei or dvlp), and in the past few months, he had been a leading activist of the far-right National Association (Nationale Vereinigung). Now, for the next five days, he would hold office as the self-appointed Chancellor of the Reich and Prime Minister of Prussia. At his side was General Walther Freiherr von Lüttwitz, until then head of the Reichswehr Group Command i and a patron of the Freikorps. As the short-lived Minister of Defence, he was one of the two namesakes of the coup. Also present was General Erich Ludendorff – according to his own later statement, his morning walk had only accidentally brought him there. Although Ludendorff was involved in the plans, he remained rather in the background.

3 There exists extensive research literature on the course of events and the background to the putsch. For our presentation, we have drawn on the following works: Erger 1967; Weipert 2013, pp. 157–62; Könnemann/Krusch 1972; Winkler 1985, pp. 295–324; Schönhoven 1989, pp. 9–38; and two memoirs by directly involved persons: Lüttwitz 1934; Kessel 1933, pp. 259–310. Numerous photos and posters are printed in an exhibition catalogue of the Berlin State Archive – see Reichardt 1990. 4 The Imperial battle flag had been replaced by a Republican battle flag with a black-red-gold canton by decree of Reich President Ebert on 27 September 1919. However, Chief of Admiralty Adolf von Trotha had delayed the introduction of the new flag by means of a supplementary executive order. Formally, therefore, the use of the old flag was correct, but the political symbolism in the sense of an anti-republican orientation of the troops was nonetheless obvious – especially since Von Trotha then openly supported the putsch.

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The aims of the putschists were by no means uniform.5 Lüttwitz mainly wanted to prevent the dismantling of the Freikorps and the numerical reduction of the Reichswehr stipulated by the Treaty of Versailles. He also called for prompt new parliamentary elections, the direct election of the President of Germany and the appointment of specialised ministers who would act independently of party politics – on the whole, he favoured a strong executive. All this was broadly consistent with the intentions of the right-wing opposition parties. Kapp, by contrast, was planning a comprehensive reorganisation of the state under reactionary auspices, which is to say, he wanted to bring about a corporative state and a return to the conditions of the Kaiserreich (i.e. the German imperial state order). The restoration of the monarchy was to be undertaken only after a protracted transitional period. It was a contentious question what would be done about the spd. Lüttwitz argued that some Social Democrats from the right wing of the party should be coopted so as to appease the working class. Kapp, for his part, vehemently rejected any such collaboration. Since the Reichswehr and the Security Police (Sicherheitspolizei) refused to take action against the Marinebrigade Erhardt, and in some cases even cooperated with it closely, Berlin fell under the control of the putschists quickly and without putting up a fight. The government quarter and other strategically important points of Berlin were occupied, as were newspaper publishing houses. Patrols were marching in the streets. A quickly convened residents’ militia supported the soldiers in safeguarding ‘peace and order’. Kapp went to the Reich Chancellery and assumed his duties as self-proclaimed Chancellor. His first measures included the dissolution of the Prussian parliament and National Assembly. The impending winding up of Ehrhardt’s squad, however, had pushed Lüttwitz into a hasty offensive, which he initially embarked on without as much as notifying Kapp or others involved. In reality, the preparations were still completely inadequate. Not even a complete list of ministers had been drawn up by that point, and in order to find a printing house which would supply the new government’s public rallies, the telephone directory had to be consulted. From a military point of view, the putsch had been successful, especially since the troops in East Prussia, Silesia, Brandenburg, Pomerania and large parts of the navy declared their support too. The Reichswehr units and commanders in Saxony, west and south Germany tried to be tactical – they wanted to wait and see how things would develop, keeping at least the possibility of

5 Erger 1967, pp. 97–107. Numerous documents on the divergent political intentions can be found in a very extensive source edition on the putsch – see Könnemann and Schulze 2002.

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cooperation open. Politically, however, the uprising quickly turned into a disaster. Even the right-wing newspapers, while conceding that Kapp’s men had honourable intentions, highlighted their dilettantish approach.6 The old government was able to escape to Stuttgart via Dresden and the higher officials refused to cooperate in the face of a momentous general strike. The right-wing parties, dvp and dnvp, took a cautious stance. They criticised the previous cabinet, speaking unanimously about the ‘new government’ and the need to ensure peace and order ‘now’ – i.e. after the putsch, which they presented as a fait accompli.7 While they shared some of the putschists’ aims in principle, they rejected their methods – and, considering that success was uncertain, they did not want to unduly compromise themselves. Under the given circumstances, however, their positioning amounted to indirect support for the coup. The coup government pursued a policy that courted approval from the population, especially from the working class. An undated leaflet read: Not a monarchist putsch! … This is not a reactionary or monarchist putsch … Consultations with the working class on the new situation have been initiated. The government wants to turn the promise of ‘peace, freedom, bread’ from a hollow phrase into reality. Chancellor of the Reich Kapp8 However, the ‘consultations’ quickly came to nothing as the trade union tops rejected all offers to negotiate.9 Exploratory talks were only held with uspd member and trade unionist William Wauer.10 Wauer was an artist, director and publicist. He acted without any mandate or knowledge of his organisations, completely isolating himself through his conduct. Shortly after the coup, he was consequently relieved of his posts in the film and cinema union. In another leaflet, dated 16 March, Kapp demanded the end of the general strike and promised concessions in return: ‘To the workers! All workers’ rights

6 7

8 9 10

See Tägliche Rundschau, 24 March 1920 E; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March 1920 E. On the attitude of the dnvp, see its appeal of 14 March, reprinted in Könnemann and Schulze, pp. 176–7. A similarly worded statement by the dvp of the same day can be found in Krüger 1920, pp. 12–13. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 90 A Staatsministerium Jüngere Registratur Nr. 3735 Kapp-Putsch und die durch ihn hervorgerufenen Aufstände und Unruhen im Jahre 1920, Bl. 3. Correspondenzblatt, 27 March 1920. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/691, Erinnerungen Walter Oehme, Bl. 13–14. Vorwärts, 22 March 1920 E; Correspondenzblatt, 27 March 1920.

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shall remain untouched. Everybody can therefore return to work with confidence. There is no intention of repealing the Factory Councils Act’.11 However, the new government was unsuccessful with this – it would appear that such statements simply lacked any credibility, which was not least due to Kapp’s personnel roster. He envisaged, for example, the German-National People’s Party delegate Gottfried Traub as Minister of Culture, and he appointed Traugott von Jagow – of all people – as Prussian Minister of the Interior. The latter had gained a reputation as an uncompromising adversary of the workers’ movement when he was Berlin’s police commissioner in the days of the Kaiser. As such, he had demonstrated his feelings particularly forcefully during the 1908–10 struggles for suffrage by the Berlin spd and during the Moabit riots of 1910.12 Another factor was that the coup government complemented its promises with a repressive approach, openly threatening to take drastic measures. A statement of 14 March read: ‘The government will protect all vital enterprises and all those willing to work, but it will resolutely suppress any resistance’.13 What this meant in concrete terms was exemplified by a decree issued by Kapp the following day: ‘Ringleaders guilty of acts punishable by the Ordinance for the Protection of Economically Important Enterprises and the Ordinance for the Protection of Industrial Peace shall be punished by death, as shall pickets’.14 The day before their resignation, the putschists tried their luck with antisemitic demagogy: ‘The flour that the old government had reserved for the Jews for Easter has been confiscated and will be distributed to the workers’.15 In view of the strong resistance and the dilettantism of the uprising, it was soon clear to every observer that the putsch was destined to fail. When leading Reichswehr officers and the Security Police openly broke with the putschists, Kapp resigned on 17 March, followed by Lüttwitz on the same day. Yet they still attempted to build a golden bridge for themselves and the troops involved. Kapp’s resignation statement, disseminated by the official news agency wtb, is characteristic of this. Among other things, it claimed with respect to his motives: ‘He is guided by the conviction that the extreme need of the father-

11 12 13 14

15

lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 15 Flugblätter Kapp-Putsch Berlin, no page number. Weipert 2013, pp. 101–9. lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 15 Flugblätter Kapp-Putsch Berlin, no page number. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 84a Justizministerium Nr. 11760 Generalakten, Bl. 64. This decree can also be found in BArch R 601/620, Präsidialkanzlei, Kapp-Putsch Bd. 1, Bl. 96. The Ordinance for the Protection of Economically Important Enterprises is reproduced in Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 201–11. Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 225.

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land calls for the unity of all against the devastating danger of Bolshevism’.16 A few hours later, the Reich Ministry of Defence made an announcement along the same lines: The political struggle of the last few days has been brought to an end. Dr Kapp, the Director General of the Reich, who has been conducting the affairs of the Chancellor of the Reich in Berlin, has resigned in order to facilitate a settlement. The Independents and Communists are now trying to stir up an uprising, the aim of which is general Bolshevism. Only the unified action of the entire Reichswehr and its unanimous cooperation with the Security Police and citizens’ militias can save Germany from imminent collapse.17 In this way, the compromised armed forces were to be politically exonerated and their preservation secured.18 The second aim was to prevent the radical workers’ movement’s anticipated increase in power – for the workers, employees and civil servants had successfully defeated the putschists, and now they did not want to simply return to the status quo ante. Immediately after the putschists’ defeat, the army’s new strongman, Hans von Seeckt, took up their slogan and proclaimed on 18 March: ‘We are in the midst of a struggle for the existence of the German people, facing a large-scale attempt to implement a council republic … The fatherland can only be can only be saved by a ruthless deployment of troops and determined, vigorous leadership’.19 This involved a further tightening of the already effective state of emergency on 19 March and the setting up of summary courts.20 The intensified state of emergency was gradually lifted by 26 March, while the basic state of emergency was not revoked until the end of May.

Backlash from the Left: the General Strike in Germany and Berlin On 13 March, the morning papers reported extensively that a putsch was on the cards. This was based on information gathered the previous day – Bauer’s

16 17 18 19 20

Brammer 1920, p. 36. Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 255. The Berlin district chairman of the spd, Franz Krüger, also emphasised the instrumental character of what he called the ‘Bolshevik chimera’ – see Krüger 1920, p. 20. Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, p. 141. Kimmel 1971, pp. 124–51.

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government had issued relevant information and also outlined the measures it would take against a coup.21 However, there was great uncertainty on what had really happened since. Rumours began to circulate – for example, that the old government had fled abroad.22 In Berlin’s neighbourhoods and workplaces, further news about the putsch only arrived in the course of the day. People gathered in the streets and squares to discuss the events.23 Street speakers from the ranks of the workers’ movement played a considerable role in this – there were reportedly up to 2,000 of them.24 Franz Liebing described the development in the south of the capital thus: Although we were at home in Neukölln, right in Berlin, it was not until the morning hours of 13 March 1920 that we learned what had occurred in the centre of the capital. Our party, the kpd, immediately summoned all the comrades in the district who could be reached. It was reported that a detachment of Ehrhardt mercenaries had arrived at Hermannplatz in Neukölln. The first protest chants were heard, informing the workers in Ziethenstrasse, Steinmetzstrasse, Prinz-Handjery-Strasse and in the neighbouring streets about the putsch of the militarists. We called on the workers to come to Hermannplatz to join a protest demonstration. When I reached Hermannplatz a little later, I was faced with the following situation. In Hasenheide, facing Hermannplatz, where the large Karstadt department store stood, the Ehrhardt mercenaries had assembled in about the size of a company. They were equipped for battle, and they had swastikas on their steel helmets. When I arrived at the square, they were already surrounded by countless workers who made it unmistakably clear to the Kapp bandits that they were in red Neukölln. The putschists became increasingly unsure of themselves in the face of the steadily growing demonstration and the protesters’ united stance. The officer could not decide on any action against us.25 As had been the case during the general strike a year earlier, the political importance of the left-wing milieu in Berlin’s working-class neighbourhoods 21 22

23 24 25

Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 13 March 1920 M; Freiheit, 13 March 1920 M. BArch R 43 i/1945 Akten der Reichskanzlei, betreffend Bürgerräte, Bl. 13–14. The confusing information flow was also emphasised, for example, in the Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March 1920 E. Vorwärts, 22 March 1920 E. ‘A’ [Adolf Stein]1920, p. 17. Stein was a journalist for the Tägliche Rundschau, while his son was directly involved in the coup as a soldier. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/574, Erinnerungen Franz Liebing, Bl. 4–5.

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once again became evident here. In many factories, the workforces gathered for meetings on the same day, organised by shop stewards and factory councillors.26 Soon, calls for a full-scale general strike were made. However, the coup had begun on a Saturday, so numerous factories stopped working in the early afternoon anyway. At the Lichtenberg gasworks, on the other hand, where workers were supposed to stay on duty seven days a week, the assembly decided at the behest of the workers’ representatives to go on strike immediately.27 Historical research has so far not acknowledged the important independent grassroots initiative taken by the factory councils and shop stewards towards the successful launch of the general strike. Winkler does not acknowledge their actions in a single line. Könnemann and Krusch briefly mention the initiatives of the rank and file in the factories, but they view the role of the central bodies of the workers’ organisations as crucial.28 The importance of grassroots impulses must not be underestimated in this context, however, all the more so since reliable news and instructions from above were hard to come by in the turmoil of the putsch days. Much depended on the actions of actors on the ground. On Sunday, all traffic came to a standstill – no trams, trains or overhead trains were in service.29 The restaurants, theatres and cinemas also closed. There was no running water, electricity or gas: Chancellor of the Reich Kapp was compelled to dictate his instructions by candlelight. On Monday 15 March, all economic life ground to a halt. Only the hospitals remained partially and the fire brigade and police completely exempt.30 The report in Vossische Zeitung further stated that crime had not increased at all during the strike days. In this respect, the movement differed from the one a year earlier, when there had been a series of lootings, especially at Alexanderplatz. The strike was not limited to Berlin – in many parts of the country, the situation was quite similar. According to one estimate, twelve million workers laid down work, making the general strike largest one in German history.31 In rural regions and in south Germany, however, it lasted only a few days, in some cases

26 27 28

29 30 31

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 92. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/52, Erinnerungen Franz Beiersdorf, Bl. 37–9. Beiersdorf was a factory council member at the Lichtenberg gasworks at the time. Winkler 1985; Könnemann/Krusch 1972, pp. 162–84. Oertzen 1976 does not provide more detailed information on the coup – he only mentions the connection in one sentence and without any further explanation, p. 66. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March1920 E. Vossische Zeitung, 24 March 1920 E. Correspondenzblatt, 3 April 1920.

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even a mere 24 hours.32 In Berlin, the typical accompanying symptoms of a general strike reappeared: there was a rush for the grocery shops in the first few hours after it started and, as in the previous year, numerous private carts ferried passengers around the city in return for a fee.33 Just before fleeing the capital, the government Social Democrats and the spd party executive jointly addressed the workers, availing themselves of the language of class struggle.34 When calling for resistance against the challengers, they now endorsed a recourse they had firmly rejected time and again in the past: ‘General strike across the board’. Truth be told, there would have been no need for their cry for help since all other left organisations were calling for a general strike as well. Noske himself said in retrospect that the strike would have kicked off even without a government appeal.35 The trade union leader Carl Legien later remembered that he had not even been aware of the Social Democrats’ proclamation.36 Among historians, there seems to be broad consensus that these centrally issued calls were of decisive importance for the success of the strike.37 Their view is not fully convincing: after all, the information situation was very chaotic during the first days of the coup. All newspapers were banned, and most of the large printing houses were on strike. In many cases, news had to be laboriously printed with hand presses.38 In all likelihood, the calls therefore only reached some of the population. The spontaneous reaction of the grassroots – that is, the party and trade union members on the ground – was therefore at least as important. It was obvious to every supporter of the workers’ movement, from the most moderate Social Democrat to the most radical leftist, that the putsch posed a grave danger. Resistance, then, was almost a given. The Zentrale [central committee] of the kpd was the only workers’ organisation to publish a statement on the first day of the coup, declaring that it would refuse to take up the struggle against Kapp on behalf of the old government,

32 33 34 35 36 37

38

Vossische Zeitung, 24 March 1920 M. b.z. am Mittag, 25 March 1920; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March 1920 E. The complete appeal can be found as a facsimile in Könnemann and Krusch 1972, p. 165. Noske 1947, p. 160. See his speech in the National Assembly on 29 March 1920: Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4954. Erger 1967, p. 195 and Könnemann and Krusch 1972, pp. 166–7 refer to the joint call by the adgb and AfA. Miller 1978, p. 380 and Ludewig 1978, p. 152, on the other hand, attribute the greatest relevance to the spd call. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/330, Erinnerungen Willy Gütschow, Bl. 24–5.

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and that it believed the working class was not ready to fight.39 Jacob Walcher, who was directly involved in the decisions, attributed this initial hesitation to the fact that Levi and other moderate members of the Zentrale were either in prison or not in Berlin. It was only for this reason, he argued, that the position of refusing to lift a finger for the old government could prevail, proclaimed with reference to the unwillingness of Neukölln’s emergency workers and individually approached kpd shop stewards to go on strike.40 But the statement, made by the few members of the Zentrale who were present, contradicted their own rank and file as well as the majority of the leadership. The very next day, the Zentrale corrected its position and called for resistance against the putschists. It came to spontaneous acts of resistance all across the Reich, which usually involved local party organisations coming together and forming joint action committees. This was the case in Spandau, for instance. A leaflet there read: Proletarians! Workers by hand and by brain! The Spandau proletariat stands united in defence against the military coup. The three socialist parties have jointly decided to use the most severe methods of defence. The general strike must be heeded across the board! … It is to be or not to be! Proletarians, only your unity can help socialism to victory! ‘Never waver, but persevere unconditionally’ is our slogan! Meeting today at noon in the market square. Come out en masse.41 A similar action committee involving workers from Borsig was formed in Tegel.42 In Köpenick it named itself the Socialist Defence Committee [Sozialistisches Verteidigungskomitee] and was led by uspd member Alexander Futran.43 Futran, like a number of others involved, was tried and shot by a military court martial a few days later. Similar committees were set up in the surroundings of Berlin, for example in Potsdam, Nowawes, Brandenburg and Eberswalde.44 In their equal composition and in the way they were set up, there were unmistakable parallels between these action committees and the very 39 40

41 42 43 44

The statement is printed in: Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 158–60. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 127–30. The meeting took place in Neukölln – apparently there had been an exchange of views with the workers involved in the construction of the U-Bahn right before the meeting. Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 165. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/985, Erinnerungen Jakob Weber, Bl. 49. Freiheit, 23 March 1920 E. See the brief sketch in a report on the situation from the kpd Zentrale: sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/3/376, kpd, Zentralkomitee, Bl. 21. For a detailed account of political and military developments in this region during the putsch and the days after, see Finker 1960.

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first councils of the revolution. Beside the strike, there were also other forms of passive resistance in which the workers engaged. At the Berlin Retail Cooperative (Konsumgenossenschaft Berlin), for instance, they removed one wheel from each truck, so as to render them all unusable.45 Despite threats of violence, the coup soldiers had to leave empty-handed when trying to confiscate the vehicles. The attempt to create a unified strike leadership, on the other hand, failed. In the trade union building on Engelufer, a leadership organised the walkout across Germany under the auspices of the General German Trade Union Federation (adgb) and the General Federation of Free Employees (AfA).46 In their dilettantism, the putschists had simply forgotten to send troops there. Two days later, the German Civil Servants’ Association (Deutscher Beamtenbund) also joined the unions, though its members at the railway and postal services had already laid down work anyhow.47 A second leadership christened itself the Central Strike Leadership of Greater Berlin (Zentral-Streikleitung von GroßBerlin) and was composed of the Berlin Trade-union Commission, the uspd and the Central Office of Factory Councils (brz). Finally, there was even a third strike leadership, consisting of the spd district executive of Greater Berlin and a few other Social Democrats.48 This division was not an important issue at first. It was much more important that the strike would be a resounding success. However, things did not remain peaceful everywhere. Immediately after the start of the putsch, the new authorities began using violence against demonstrators and residents, including in Charlottenburg, Steglitz and Kreuzberg.49 Later, barricades were erected at Kottbusser Tor and individual patrols were disarmed, as occurred for example in Brunnenstraße. The troops responded by deploying heavy weaponry. They fired machine guns and mine launchers into the crowds, leaving dozens dead. In the suburbs, the situation was somewhat different. There, the workers managed to assemble several big armed units and temporarily took control, for example in Hennigsdorf, Spandau, Oberschöneweide and Adlershof.50 According to the account of the War History Research Institute (Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt), the troops that 45 46 47 48 49 50

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/853, Erinnerungen Carl Schubart, Bl. 4. Their joint appeal of 13 March is printed in Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 155–6. On the two strike leaders, see also Correspondenzblatt, 27 March 2002. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/691, Erinnerungen Walter Oehme, Bl. 37. Krüger 1920, p. 17. Tägliche Rundschau, 24 March 1920 E. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/682, Erinnerungen Erich Noack, Bl. 1–2. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/606, Erinnerungen Karl Mannigel, Bl. 1–2.; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/85, Erinnerungen Willy Bolte, Bl. 3.

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suffered defeats against the left were mainly temporary volunteer units (Zeitfreiwillige) who had been called up at short notice and possessed rather modest fighting strength.51 Whether this was consistent with the truth or merely an attempt to make the fiasco more bearable must remain an open question. These efforts were only partly based on already existing conspiratorial fighting organisations of the uspd and kpd. As participants and opponents later unanimously judged, their role was fairly marginal,52 mainly because no unified leadership ever came about and because they were lacking weapons.53 In his reminiscences, Karl Grünberg reported of an extensive secret apparatus who he had built for the uspd in Pankow around late 1919 and early 1920: according to him, each leadership level rallied its subordinates; since everyone knew only his immediate superior, complete exposure of the apparatus was practically impossible. On 13 March, he set this apparatus in motion and almost everyone turned up at the meeting points – but the overall management for Berlin, based in Reinickendorf, behaved very hesitantly and turned out to be incompetent. Wilhelm Thiele was a member of the fighting organisation of the kpdOpposition54 at the time.55 He, too, reported the passivity of the combat leadership, a lack of weapons and a complete lack of coordination. In Moabit, he was involved in individual shootouts against the Security Police and then arrested. A local fighting staff in Lichtenberg led about 200 Independents and Communists.56 After a nighttime skirmish with government units, the troops had to abort an advance towards Köpenick and apparently never reappeared. An ‘Executive Committee of Revolutionary Workers’ then made several appearances and announced the formation of a Red Army.57 In all likelihood, the

51

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Kriegsgeschichtliche Forschungsanstalt 1940, pp. 138–50. The temporary volunteers (Zeitfreiwillige) were a militia called upon only in acute emergencies to support the regular troops. Politically, their members clearly stood on the right, and they were frequently deployed against left-wing movements. Even General Seeckt had to admit that he had overestimated the danger of an armed uprising – see Neue Preußische Zeitung, 27 March1920 M. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1116, Erinnerungen Karl Grünberg, Bl. 171–5. Translator’s note: kpd-Opposition was the ‘ultra-left’ tendency that would later constitute itself as the Communist Workers’ Party of Germany (kapd) at its first congress on 4–5 April 1920. Not to be confused with Heinrich Brandler and August Thalheimer’s Communist Party of Germany (Opposition), founded in 1929 and generally abbreviated as kpo or kpd (O). sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1593/2, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Thiele, Bl. 100–125. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/2169, Erinnerungen Heinz Hentschke, Bl. 61–3. See two posters of the Executive Committee, one dated 19 March and the other one without date: sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 146 and 148.

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kpd-Opposition was behind this, which was probably also true of the quickly launched recruitment offices for this troupe that were raided by the police.58 A shop steward at the German state railways’ mending plant in Revaler Strasse, Willy Jentsch, reported how he and some colleagues captured the weapons from the nearby Traveplatz police station.59 Jentsch was a member of the spd and succeeded in negotiating the handover of the rifles without force since there were supporters of his party among the police. Especially in the inner city, then, there were only isolated initiatives that could not significantly influence the course of events. The number of dead in Berlin and the surrounding area amounted to over a hundred, with only a fraction being accounted for by the putschist troops.60 In addition, there were several times as many injured. After five days, the coup d’état collapsed and Kapp and Lüttwitz resigned. The Ehrhardt Brigade gradually withdrew from the capital, but not without carrying out massacres of opponents who had been demonstrating at the Brandenburg Gate and in Steglitz. The workers of Berlin and other places, however, were not satisfied with their victory against the putschists.61 They wanted permanent guarantees that no such event could happen again – and secondly, they finally wanted the promises of November 1918 to be fulfilled. Rosenberg emphasises that the resistance was not put up in defence of the old government, but that it was aiming to finally ‘turn the ebbing tide of the revolution’.62 There was also the fact that some of the putsch troops remained stationed in Berlin for another few days and were only withdrawn at the insistence of the workers’ leaders – besides, the summary courts were still in place too. As a result of the pressure from below, both strike leaderships expressly decided not to end the strike just yet. In negotiations with the government, Legien explicitly cited pressure from the grassroots and the impending loss of control by the leadership to justify the demands of his trade unions.63 At this point, the old government tried to regain the political initiative from its refuge in Stuttgart. To this end, the National Assembly had also been con58 59 60

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M.J. Braun, ‘Die Lehren des Kapp-Putsches’, in Die Internationale, 1 June 1920. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1326, Erinnerungen Willy Jentsch, Bl. 6–7. Vossische Zeitung, 24 March 1920 M. The Security Police officially declared that they had suffered one fatality and 23 wounded during the strike: see Tägliche Rundschau, 25 March 1920 M. However, the military units also suffered losses. For the adgb president’s point of view, see Carl Legien: ‘Der Militärputsch’ in Vorwärts, 8 April 1920 E and 9 April 1920. Rosenberg 1936, chapter 5. Protokolle Albert Südekums aus den Tagen nach dem Kapp-Putsch, p. 272.

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vened there. The session of 18 March, the day after the putschists had stepped down, turned into a demonstration of strength on the part of the Weimar Coalition. Chancellor Bauer confidently declared ‘Victory for democracy all the way!’64 The Centre Party deputy Eduard Burlage spoke openly about a new course for the coalition parties: ‘We can safely assume that the attack from the right has been roundly defeated. If new attacks come from the extreme left, we will deal with them too’.65 Apart from the ongoing general strike, the political background to this new turn against the left were armed clashes in many parts of Germany, especially in the Ruhr area, Thuringia, Saxony and the East Elbian regions. A ‘Red Ruhr Army’ numbering about 100,000 members took shape in the western mining region and quickly gained control of the whole territory between Lippe and Bergisches Land.66 The Reichswehr and the Security Police were beaten back in fierce battles in the process. Concurrently, the parties set up action committees as well as a Central Council in Essen to coordinate the struggles. The Ruhr region became the most important bulwark of the left – it would keep Berlin busy on several occasions in the future. A council conference with 400 representatives from across Saxony and Thuringia met in Chemnitz on 18 March.67 In the city itself, the workers, 78,000 in total, had already elected new councils on 15 March, which then held a General Assembly and put an Executive Council in charge.68 The 21-member Executive Council comprised ten Communists, nine Social Democrats, an Independent and a Democrat. Walcher called the events of Chemnitz a ‘textbook example of correct Communist policy in the situation at the time’.69 Chemnitz, however, was a special case – one of the very few cities in which the kpd exercised real influence in that period. This was evident not only in the atypical balance of forces in the council elections, but also later from the Reichstag election results in June 1920. Some of the first measures taken by the councils were the creation of an armed division of workers and the disarming of the local right-wing units.

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66 67 68 69

Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4903. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4910. Scheidemann’s speech went in the same direction: ‘We do not want Junker rule, but we do not want Spartacist rule either’. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 4908. On the events in the Ruhr, see the excellent three-volume study by Lucas 1974, 1983, 1978, as well as Eliasberg 1974, and Colm 1921. BArch R 601/620, Präsidialkanzlei, Kapp-Putsch Bd. 1, Bl. 70. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 120–27. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 120.

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The trade union strike leadership now drew up a list of demands – the idea was not to allow the old government to return without implementing them.70 These points, initially nine and later eight, envisioned a reorganisation of the army and state administration – that is, their respective democratisation and socialisation – as well as socio-political measures. Moreover, certain particularly compromised ministers were called on to resign: first and foremost Noske. The unions wanted to see their important role in putting down the attempted coup rewarded by being officially given crucial influence over future government formation and legislation. After several rounds of negotiations between the adgb strike leadership and the government, the latter granted some concessions, albeit with considerable reservations.71 On 20 March, the trade union leadership declared the general strike over, followed two days later by the left-wing Berlin strike leadership after further concessions. Nonetheless, in the following months it became clear that the old policy was essentially still being pursued. Apart from the personnel issues, practically none of the demands contained in the ‘eight points’ were implemented. The new Müller government merely represented a partial change of staff, but not a change of direction. Given the imminent Reichstag elections it was, in any case, a cabinet on call. Even the promised punishment of the putschists was handled in a tentative fashion at best. Apart from Von Jagow, who was later released early from prison, nobody was convicted. Thus, the determined effort of the strikers to defeat the putsch swiftly was scarcely honoured.

Workers’ Organisations: For and against the Councils As already shown, the workers’ councils played an important role in launching the general strike. They organised it spontaneously and often without instructions from above as soon as the putsch began. There were also the action committees, which, albeit unelected, had local significance in the individual city neighbourhoods and suburbs. In the midst of all this activity, there soon emerged the idea of harnessing the general politicisation of the strike in order

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On this, see Könnemann/Krusch 1972, pp. 349–73; Lucas 1983, pp. 111–30. The original demands and the final version of the ‘eight points’ as it stood after the negotiations with the with the government are both printed in Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 271 and 323–5 respectively. On the negotiations, see among other sources the account by Krüger, a Social Democrat who was directly involved: Krüger 1920, pp. 25–8.

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to rebuild the councils. In the following section, we will examine the various organisations of the Berlin workers’ movement and their policies from the start of the putsch to the day when the newly elected councils were convened. This will allow us to grasp the concrete circumstances under which they emerged and the driving forces that had facilitated this. The kpd had already expected a right-wing coup for some time and had prepared instructions for such an emergency. Central to these was its orientation towards the councils as a linchpin both for both defence and for further revolutionary attempts. A leaflet issued in late 1919 stated: Should it come to a military coup d’état, you must counter it not with a struggle for the Ebert republic, but with a struggle for the council republic. Use the struggle to conquer new positions of power on the road to the proletarian dictatorship! … The next stages and positions to be conquered on your path towards the proletarian dictatorship are necessarily the reconstruction of the factory councils and of the political workers’ councils as vital organs of the revolution … You must seek to place the political workers’ councils, which Scheidemann and Co. have managed to reduce to shadows of their former selves, at the centre of all your struggles.72 Subsequently, the party did try to act in this spirit, although it faced some serious obstacles. The first major difficulty was the organisational weakness of the kpd itself, which was in the midst of a crippling internal dispute between its left and right wings. In Berlin, the radicals clearly dominated – and almost the entire local organisation switched to the kapd (Communist Workers’ Party of Germany) shortly afterwards.73 In the Moabit district, for instance, only 15 out of 500 members stayed with the kpd.74 Moreover, the leader of the party, Paul Levi, was in custody and a large proportion of Zentrale members were not in Berlin. It goes without saying that under such circumstances the kpd was dependent on cooperation with other forces. It therefore tried, not entirely without success, to push the uspd forward and win in for energetic measures. 72 73

74

Kapp-Lüttwitz-Ludendorff Putsch, p. 75. Bock 1993, p. 227, states that of the 8,000 Berlin Communists, only 500 remained loyal to the Zentrale; Winkler 1985, p. 304, on the other hand, cites 12,000 members in Berlin in total, 800 of whom remained with the kpd. Regardless of which concrete figures are correct, the overall trend is clear. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1593/2, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Thiele, Bl. 94. The organisational weakness was also openly admitted by the party leadership in an internal report shortly after the events, see sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/3/376, kpd, Zentralkomitee, Bl. 20.

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In this, it fundamentally followed the plan cited above, which implied transforming the defensive struggle against the right into an offensive action for the councils. The Zentrale therefore repeatedly called for a new election of political councils. In a leaflet of 15 March, the kpd leadership wrote: Down with the military dictatorship! For the dictatorship of the proletariat! … You all know whom we have to fight against. We must now become clear whom and what we want to fight for … We must finally put an end to the grave and fatal error of the past, which is the belief in bourgeois democracy … The Ebert republic is dead, the belief in bourgeois democracy has been extinguished in the workers’ minds, they are cursing its grave … Now the German proletariat must finally open the struggle for power, the struggle for the proletarian dictatorship and the Communist council republic. To open this struggle, launch the general strike! To wage the struggle, form factory councils immediately, unite the factory councils into workers’ councils and into General Assemblies that can lead the struggle. Create organs within the workers’ councils through which you can affirm your intentions and lead joint actions … No return of the National Assembly! No return of Ebert, Noske and their ilk! No return of the fraudulent socialist government with a bourgeois structure, no to state bureaucracy and parliaments. Your goal is for the Congress of Workers’ Councils to become the central political organ in which the power of the workers is concentrated, and the Council of People’s Commissars its executive organ … It will depend on how quickly the German working class comes together, guided by this iron will and clarity of purpose, that it will be able to deliver the decisive blow to the rule of capital.75 The demands were supplemented by an appeal to arm the working class and place these workers’ militias under the control of the councils. Clearly, the existing system was not simply to be defended against the right – a strong shift to the left was expected. The structure was to be three-tiered: factory councils, local General Assemblies, and a National Congress of Workers’ Councils. As radical as the call may sound, it was at least somewhat unclear how soon these goals were meant to be implemented. A new election of councils, after all, was not tantamount to the immediate inauguration of a council republic. 75

lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 15 Flugblätter Kapp-Putsch Berlin, no pag. lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 15 Flugblätter Kapp-Putsch Berlin, no page number. Another party leaflet in the same vein, also dated 15 March: sapmo BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 171.

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Initially, the role of the councils was to serve the struggle against the putsch and contribute to the radicalisation of the working class. This is very clear from a statement made by the kpd on 14 March to the left-wing central strike leadership in Berlin. The party offered its cooperation if eight conditions were met, including: … 2. joint struggle can be waged only through common organs of the working class, not through special party organs. 3. The first act of every revolutionary party must therefore be to call upon the workers to elect workers’ councils and factory councils, which are the appropriate organs to lead this struggle … 6. A real council republic can only come into being and endure if it is clearly and consciously wanted by the majority of the working class. This conscious will can only be formed, expressed, and become effective through the workers’ councils.76 After the resignation of the putschists, the Berlin kpd had scored a partial success: the uspd, just like the kpd, was now calling for the election of revolutionary factory councils. The Communists wanted to continue the general strike in order to carry out the arming of the organised working class, depose the officers and prevent the government from returning.77 The councils were to be elected on a shop-floor basis and then assume leadership. The Free Socialist Youth (Freie Sozialistische Jugend), an organisation that stood close to the kpd, also called for the constitution of revolutionary councils.78 Three days later, the party leadership even agreed to tolerate a purely socialist workers’ government as a transitional measure since it did not consider the workers mature enough to implement a council republic immediately.79 By then it was obvious that the old government was gaining ground again – so for the Communists, any left government had to be preferable to the return of the Weimar coalition. The question of a workers’ government that could have been formed after the putsch has been widely and passionately discussed in research. The first problem is to define what this term means to begin with. Winkler named three possible variants: a government composed only of the uspd and spd; a re-run of the Weimar coalition, but supplemented by uspd delegates; or a re-run of

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sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/3/376, kpd, Zentralkomitee, Bl. 6. The declaration bears the handwritten note ‘delivered on Sunday 14’. This obviously refers to 14 March 1920, a Sunday. kpd Zentrale leaflet of 18 March, Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 273. Junge Garde, 17 April 1920. Statement of the kpd Zentrale of 21 March, Die Rote Fahne, 26 March 1920.

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the Weimar coalition modified in that the two bourgeois parties would send only representatives of their employee wings. Like Miller, Winkler considers all these forms of a potential workers’ government a ‘chimera’, since they would not have found support from the ddp and the Centre Party and therefore not enjoyed a majority in the National Assembly.80 Könnemann and Krusch, by contrast, argue that there was leeway for such a government constellation, as does Wilhelm Koenen.81 Koenen, who was directly involved in the negotiations at the time, later continued to defend the possibility of a workers’ government, by which he meant a coalition of trade unionists and the uspd, tolerated by the kpd – i.e. obviously not a parliamentary government. Indeed, there were several exploratory meetings between the uspd, the trade unions and others about a potential workers’ government. Carl Legien was at times considered for the post of Chancellor of the Reich. What was formed in the end, however, was only a partially reshuffled new edition of the old coalition with Hermann Müller as the new Chancellor. The kpd criticised the union leaders for calling off the strike just as sharply as it criticised the concessions negotiated from the government in return.82 In factual terms, the party considered the ‘eight points’ to be far from sufficient, and it pointed out that they existed ‘only on paper’ while not offering any real guarantees. This, it argued, applied particularly to the question of arming the workers and disarming the counterrevolutionaries. Once more, the party urged the formation of a workers’ council to lead the struggle and push through working-class demands. Fundamentally, it now hoped for a revival of the revolution, even if it set rather limited objectives for the forthcoming stages: And now the winds of March have awakened it [the revolution – Author] from its winter slumber. It has reappeared on the scene with a spontaneous mass movement unparalleled in the history of the world in its scope, unity and resilience. It has taken hold of proletarians, as well as civil servant strata that have hitherto been strangers to revolution. That leisurely afternoon stroll of 9 November, the exultation and the bonfires – this was not the revolution. But the exuberance towards the other side, the ‘proclamation of the council republic’, the ‘seizure of power’ in the fair confines of a five-mile heroic [sic! – Translator] – that was not the revolution either. The revolution has gained something serious, something manly … 80 81 82

Winkler 1985, pp. 316–17.; Miller 1978, p. 388. Könnemann and Krusch 1972, p. 373; Koenen 1962. kpd Zentrale appeal of 20 March, Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 337–8.

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The Communists know that the council republic can only be the work of a united working class which desires a council republic and that has therefore become Communist.83 Because of its numerical strength in Berlin, the uspd played a central role there. Several organisational bodies must be considered: The central committee (cc) as the leading organ of the party as a whole; the Berlin Trade-union Commission, which was essentially led by Independents; and the Berlin strike leadership, to which the same applied. From the outset, the uspd left no doubt that it would oppose the putsch with all its might. Like the kpd, it had been warning for months of an imminent right-wing coup.84 Yet at the same time, the party had quite a few reservations about the spd, which is why a joint strike leadership of all left organisations never materialised.85 The central strike leadership was formed specifically for Berlin, comprising the uspd leadership, the Berlin Trade-union Commission and the Central Office of Factory Councils. The kpd and kpd-Opposition were at least in close contact with this leadership.86 Its first appeal, on 14 March, called for a ‘general strike across the board’.87 The leadership also distanced itself from the old government, which it said was largely to blame for the crisis. However, there was no mention of a new election of workers’ councils. In this respect, the call was consistent with a proclamation of the uspd central committee issued the following day, which likewise failed to articulate a concrete objective. It was not until 18 March that a new direction was taken. Now the central committee demanded: Workers! White-collar employees! Elect revolutionary workers’ councils independently and without delay! The situation forces all white-collar and blue-collar workers to act on their own accord … The insolent putsch by Kapp and his comrades has made one thing perfectly clear to every-

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87

Die Rote Fahne, 26 March 1920. Call of the central committee of the uspd of 10 December 1919: Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 76–7. On the negotiations on the first day of the putsch and their outcome, see Krüger 1920, pp. 7–9. The kpd Zentrale stated in a circular that it had joined on 17 March: see Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 343. According to a report by the district leadership of the kpdOpposition, two of its representatives were coopted into the strike leadership on 21 March. The kpd opposed this, but eventually had to bow to Däumig’s advocacy: sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/3/376 kpd, Zentralkomitee, Bl. 107. sapmo-BArch ry 19/ii 143/17, uspd, Zusammenarbeit mit den Bezirken, Bl. 10.

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one: the revolution that had its breakthrough in November 1918 has not yet been completed, but has only now entered a rapid pace of development. This revolutionary situation requires that revolutionary means are deployed. The general strike, carried out with overwhelming unanimity, continues. It must secure a new decisive position of power for the creative forces of the working people. Win and defend monitoring and co-determination rights in all factories. In this way, you will prepare for the planned socialist management and order of all production. Workers and employees! Elect revolutionary factory councils in all factories on your own accord and immediately. Combine them into General Assemblies and commit them first to the following demands: disarmament of the Baltic troops, Reichswehr and Security Police, temporary volunteer guards [Zeitfreiwillige] and citizens’ militias [Einwohnerwehren]. Creation of a workers’ militia. Release of all political prisoners. Immediate onset of socialisation. Factory councils have the right to fully monitor the factory management.88 These lines illustrate just how much the general strike, with its resounding success, contributed to a general radicalisation. The stagnant development of the past months gained new momentum – a new ‘revolutionary situation’ arose. Now the uspd sought to win as many additional positions of power as possible, and the newly elected revolutionary workers’ councils were to serve as means to this end. They were to gain more competencies in the enterprises than was provided for in the Factory Councils Act.89 But above all, they were to enforce resolutely political goals, for example with regard to socialisation, the armed organs and the legal system. However, the call was preceded by fierce disputes within the central committee. While the left wing around Däumig and Koenen pushed for offensive action and wanted to pose the decisive question of power, the right wing, with Arthur Crispien at the helm, hesitated.90 According to Pieck, the uspd leftwinger Stoecker had advocated a very radical position just after the beginning of the general strike: ‘For the time being, it is necessary to choose a slogan

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sapmo-BArch ry 19/ii 143/17, uspd, Zusammenarbeit mit den Bezirken, Bl. 17. On the right-wing Baltic troops, who were generally very unpopular in the labour movement, see Sauer 1995. It was precisely this point that party leader Crispien later stressed in particular – see Freiheit, 3 April 1920 M. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 93–4.

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that the Majority Social-Democrats can support. Once we have put down the marauding soldiery, no one will be able to prevent us from erecting the council republic’.91 The result was a compromise, represented by the call quoted above. On the one hand, it went much further than the trade union demands reflected in the ‘eight points’ – the strong focus on the councils is of particular note. On the other hand, it was not a call to overthrow the government, so the question of power was not posed directly. The central strike leadership immediately took up this initiative of the central committee and likewise called for the election of revolutionary factory councils.92 It explicitly distanced itself from the provisions of the Factory Councils Act and proposed a very simple electoral system whereby all workers over the age of 18 would have the right to vote and stand for election. Workplaces with up to 50 employees would elect three factory councillors, those with up to 100 employees five and one additional representative for every additional 200. The leaflet concluded: ‘Fight for the victory of the proletariat, for the socialist economic and social order!’ The Berlin Trade-union Commission initially took a very similar line to the uspd – consequently, the two formed the central strike leadership.93 However, when the highest authorities of the adgb and the AfA called for the general strike to be suspended, it followed their line and also called for work to be resumed.94 In a move that marked a shift away from the Independents and closer towards the spd, it also sharply opposed new elections of revolutionary workers’ councils.95 Oskar Rusch as Chairman of the Berlin Trade-union Commission and three other trade unionists resigned from the central strike leadership. This was after a large majority there had spoken out in favour of continuing the strike, while intending to leave the final decision to the revolutionary factory councils.96

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93 94 95 96

sapmo-BArch ny 4036, Nachlass Wilhelm Pieck, Bl. 6. See on this and the subsequent section a leaflet entitled ‘Nachrichtenblatt der ZentralStreikleitung von Groß-Berlin’ (Newsletter of the Central Strike Management of Greater Berlin), probably published on 18 March: apmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 145. See the first appeal of the Trade-union Commission after the beginning of the putsch on 14 March: Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 172–3. See leaflet of 20 March in Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 325–6. Vorwärts, 24 March 1920 M. Krüger 1920, p. 29 and a report from the kpd Zentrale to the imprisoned Paul Levi – see Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 340. The departure of the trade unionists from the central strike leadership was mentioned by the Prussian State Commissioner in his daily report

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The supporters of the Berlin councils were now faced with the prospect of becoming isolated from the working class if it decided to follow the line of the unions and resume work. Left-wing circles within the uspd considered the concessions offered by the government in exchange for terminating the strike far too small. Speaking at a meeting on 20 March, just after the unions had announced the end of the strike, Richard Müller stated: ‘We don’t want a National Assembly, we want the council republic … It is not the masses that have to carry out the will of the government authorities, it is the other way round … We did not go on strike against the Kapp-Lüttwitz government, we went on strike in order to change the system’.97 A growing number of voices within the trade unions in Berlin did not agree with the termination of the strike.98 There was also indignation about the fact that it had been decreed from above, which is also evident in Müller’s writing. It was not possible to change the line of the Trade-union Commission, however, even if a number of small unions were in favour of continuing the strike.99 The attitude of the trade unions in Berlin and across the Reich led to further sharp disputes within the uspd central committee. While the left wanted to sustain the general strike, the right highlighted the danger of a disintegration of the movement. After further discussions with the government and the unions, the central committee agreed to call off the strike on the late evening of 22 March.100 In addition to the ‘eight points’, the government had given assurances to withdraw troops from Berlin’s suburbs, lift the aggravated state of emergency and not attack the insurgents in the Ruhr area.101 However, this decision was made against the will of the council supporters on the central committee, such as Däumig, Koenen and Geyer.102 There is no reason to doubt the Prussian State Commissioner’s account with respect to this – for until then, Däumig and Koenen had spoken out in favour of continuing the strike and were, in any case, at odds with the right wing of the party on many issues. The Communists considered their threats with new general strike to be ‘pure

97 98 99 100 101 102

of 24 March: GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern Nr. 7329, Lageberichte des Staatskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 3. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 24 March 1920 M. Freiheit, 12 April 1920 E; Räte-Zeitung, No. 11, 1920. The central strike leadership, together with these federations, issued a statement calling for further strike action – see sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 144. Freiheit, 24 March 1920 M. Kruger 1920, p. 31. This is how the Prussian State Commissioner described it in his daily report of 25 March: GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern Nr. 7329, Lageberichte des Staatskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 42.

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bluster and calculated to deceive and mislead the strikers. A general strike cannot be turned on and off at will like a water tap’.103 The old government, represented in Berlin by Vice-Chancellor Eugen Schiffer, had already demanded an end to the general strike on 17 March on the grounds that the putsch had been defeated and serious economic difficulties were looming.104 Ebert and Bauer, both still in Stuttgart, also demanded on the same day that the strike be called off.105 On top of this, the government put up a poster pointing out the dangers to the food supply in case the strike continued.106 Berlin’s spd was similarly striving to end the walkout and spoke out fervently ‘against the nonsense of the revolutionary factory councils’, as its leader Krüger put it.107 In a leaflet, the Social-Democratic district branch called on people to go to back work and sternly warned against ‘radical-left hotheads’ whose policies would bring about a ‘catastrophe’ affecting primarily ‘workers and little people with their wives and children’.108 Elsewhere, the district executive warned that another strike and revolutionary factory councils would not bring help, but only create disunity and fragmentation.109 He also pointed out that the government was prepared to grant concessions. It is noteworthy in this context that at least a few voices among the supporters of the Weimar coalition were positively disposed towards a reconstruction of the councils. The ddp executive and former Social Democrat Georg Bernhard, for example, advocated a ‘refinement of the council idea’.110 According to him, this would ‘help to create the synthesis of capitalism and socialism that is the economic form of tomorrow’. Bernhard argued for a Chamber of Labour that would serve as an economic parliament. The concept and aim behind this was recognisably based on the ideas of the spd’s Max Cohen and Julius Kaliski.111 It was not surprising that the government and the spd were pushing for a swift end to the strike. After all, now that the putsch had been defeated, the strike was no longer of any use to the party while clearly carrying the danger of 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 111. BArch R 601/620, Präsidialkanzlei, Kapp-Putsch Bd. 1, Bl. 43. BArch ns 26/2083, Hauptarchiv der nsdap, Kapp-Putsch, no page number. lab F Rep. 260–01 Sammlung Plakate bis 1945, B 190. Krüger 1920, p. 29. lab F Rep. 240, Zeitgeschichtliche Sammlung, B 236, no page number. BArch R 601/620, Präsidialkanzlei, Kapp-Putsch Bd. 1, Bl. 116; call of the District Executive of 21 March. Georg Bernhard: ‘Der Weg aus der Not’ in Vossische Zeitung, 27 March 1920 E. See the section on the spd in our last chapter.

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a radicalisation of workers and salaried employees – and this threat was growing with every day that the strike continued. Berlin spd leader Krüger explicitly cited this aspect in a discussion with government representatives.112 The adgb and AfA leaderships, on the other hand, were not inclined to simply return to the status quo ante after 17 March – this was partly on their own accord, and partly because they had to channel pressure from their grassroots. It was for this reason that they sustained the strike, demanding a distinct shift to the left in the form of the ‘eight points’. As further radicalisation in Berlin and elsewhere became apparent, however, they quickly settled for lesser concessions, evidently also starting to fear that they might lose control of the movement. Like the Social Democrats, they unambigiously turned their back on the councils. This was even true for the Berlin Trade-union Commission, where the uspd set the tone. The Communists had been pushing for the revival of the councils from the beginning, but they depended on the Independents for support. Their own appeals may have put some pressure on the uspd, but no more than that. The uspd found it hard to agree on a line because its different political wings were too divided. Valuable time was lost in the process. When it finally called for a new councils election, the unions countered by calling off the strike, thus retaining at least part of the initiative. Nevertheless, there would certainly not have been a new election without the support of the Independents. Now the question was what role the councils would play. We will examine this in the upcoming section.

A Second Spring for the Councils? Reconstruction and Activities The Central Office of Factory Councils (brz) had tried to revive Berlin’s councils for months. It was also involved in the central strike leadership and in very close touch with the uspd and the workplaces. At that time, it enjoyed great support especially in the factories, as even critics had to acknowledge.113 It was therefore absolutely logical that it would assume a prominent role in the process of renewal. It was in all likelihood the brz that had worked out the mode of election for the revolutionary factory councils, published by the central strike leadership on 18 March.114 This suggests itself because the uspd’s 112 113 114

‘Protokolle Albert Südekums aus den Tagen nach dem Kapp-Putsch’, p. 266. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 139. See Nachrichtenblatt der Zentral-Streikleitung von Groß-Berlin: sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 2/8/2, kpd, Flugblattsammlung, Bl. 145.

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council experts, who had been dealing with such questions in detail for some time, were working in the brz. Prominent brz representatives such as Neumann, Malzahn, Däumig and Müller always spoke in the subsequent General Assemblies, and the brz was also strongly represented in the Action Committee set up by the General Assembly.115 It is therefore accurate to speak of blurred boundaries between the central strike leadership, the Action Committee and the brz, which reflected not only in their political aims but also in overlaps of personnel. After the decision for a new councils election fell on 17 and 18 March, preparations for the event began.116 The organisers encountered considerable difficulties in the process. Numerous printing works, especially those belonging to left-wing parties, were still occupied or had been damaged by Reichswehr units, which meant that only limited publicity could be generated for the election. The ongoing strike had shut down all public transport, making it difficult for many workers to get to their factories and vote in workplace meetings. Because of this, and because there was a need to hurry, some workforces simply appointed their previous factory councillors as their representatives.117 On 21 and 22 March, the elected councillors attended meetings of their respective industry groups (Industriegruppen), where they chose a total of 1,000 delegates for the General Assembly of the factory councils of Greater Berlin. The intermediate level of industry groups was based on the organisational structure of the Central Office of Factory Councils and corresponded to its specialist groups.118 There were twelve in total, including for the construction, metal and textile industries and for trade, banks and municipal enterprises.119 The introduction of industry groups was fiercely criticised by the kpd on the grounds that it would promote an outdated ‘guild mentality’ – i.e. a traditional orientation towards occupational groups.120 Even more problematic from a Communist point of view, however, was the fact that the General Assembly

115

116 117

118 119 120

See also an appeal by the Action Committee signed ‘Der Aktionsausschuss (Zentrale der Betriebsräte.)’ in Die Rote Fahne, 26 March 1920. The kpd Zentrale, on the other hand, reported in a circular that the Action Committee was the previous Berlin central strike leadership: Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 399. Der Arbeiter-Rat, 1920, No. 12/13; uspd Bezirksorganisation Berlin-Stadt, Jahresbericht für die Zeit vom 1. Oktober 1919 bis 31. März 1920, p. 17. See a report by the kpd Zentrale in Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 343; also uspd Bezirksverband Berlin-Brandenburg: Jahresbericht für die Zeit vom 1. April 1919 bis zum 31. März 1920, p. 17. See our chapter on the Central Office of Factory Councils. Freiheit, 28 March 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 7 April 1920.

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only convened with delay because of it.121 Walcher held the Central Office of Factory Councils primarily responsible for this: The members of this body [i.e. the brz – Author] have again proved to be quite vocal but not very influential. A good deal of the blame for the unsatisfactory outcome of the general strike falls on them. It was they, more than anyone else, who resisted the kpd’s demand to issue the slogan: for the election of new workers’ councils. Only after tiring negotiations that lasted several days did they relent somewhat … What came out of the elections called on Thursday 18 March was nothing but one of the usual General Assemblies of workers’ councils, consolidated in industry groups … The General Assembly of Greater Berlin workers’ councils only met for the first time on 23 March – that’s 11 days (!) after the beginning of the general strike – because the left Independents in particular had resisted the election of workers’ councils for so long.122 This delay would indeed turn out to be a serious problem. The delegates designated the Berlin Central Strike Committee as the provisional governing body of the General Assembly, which now operated under the name Action Committee.123 Only fragmentary information exists on the composition of the General Assembly. It is certain, however, that the majority of the delegates were uspd supporters or members.124 The spd district leadership had rejected the election on principle, and the Social Democrats largely adhered to this. However, there were exceptions. At Borsig, for instance, 17 of the elected delegates were uspd members, seven kpd members, and seven spd members.125 Discontent had evidently spread to parts of the Social-Democratic rank and file too, as can be gleaned from various sources. At political meetings held in Berlin in early April, spd factory councillors were among those criticising the government and demanding that the ‘eight points’ be respected.126 A number of Social Democrats attended a district meeting of the uspd on 2 April as guests. There, they asked the other attendees not to ‘hold the sins of our party bigwigs against

121 122 123 124 125 126

E. Ludwig, ‘Die Entwicklung der Arbeiterräte’, Die Internationale, 1 June 1920. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1301, Erinnerungen Jacob Walcher, Bl. 116–18. Freiheit, 24 March 1920 M. Koenen 1962, p. 350. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 30 March 1920 E. Freiheit, 2 April 1920 M.

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us, for we want to unite over the heads of our leaders’.127 In late April, the spd shop stewards of Berlin’s factories passed a resolution complaining to the government about its passivity towards reactionary officers and officials. They too demanded that the ‘eight points’ be implemented.128 There were, in any case, increasing signs that the authority of the party leadership was waning. Nowhere, however, is there any indication that spd members attended General Assemblies as speakers. The other large group beside the Independents were the Communists. However, the balance between supporters of the party leadership and opposition is not entirely clear. The Zentrale reported in a circular on 25 March that the kpd had formed a party group of 22 delegates.129 The kpd-Opposition, however, which was much stronger in Berlin than the political trend represented by the Zentrale, probably sent many more representatives. In any case, the two wings acted separately during these meetings. From 23 March onwards, the General Assembly met a total of seven times. There is evidence of meetings on 23, 26, 27, 28, 30 and 31 March and 8 April. The industry groups met at least twice, namely on 21–22 and 29 March. All Berlin newspapers (which reappeared after the end of the general strike, mostly from 24 March) reported on the meetings and their decisions, in some cases in great detail. Since the minutes of the meetings minutes have not survived, our account is essentially based on these newspaper reports. At their very first meeting on the morning of 23 March in the Bötzow brewery, the 1,000 delegates were facing a weighty decision: should the general strike in Berlin be terminated or continued?130 The strike leadership appointed Däumig as speaker, with Wilhelm Pieck of the kpd as co-speaker. Däumig began his speech by paying tribute to the resistance against the putsch. But he also referred to the military strength of the counterrevolution in Berlin, which had made it impossible from the outset to score similar successes as in the Ruhr area and elsewhere. On the whole, he said, the time was not yet ripe for a council republic. He stressed that the Berlin strike leadership had vehemently opposed the termination of the strike by the trade unions and uspd central committee – an important consideration informed by the need to protect the other radical centres, especially the Ruhr area, against a Reichswehr invasion.

127 128 129 130

lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 33. Protokolle des 6. Distrikts der uspd Berlin, Bl. 35. BArch R 43 i/2662 Akten der Reichkanzlei, betreffend Sozialdemokratie, Bl. 169–70. Könnemann and Schulze 2002, p. 399. Der Arbeiter-Rat, 1920, No. 12/13; Rote Fahne, 27 March 1920, Freiheit, 23 March 1920 and 24 March 1920 M; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March 1920 M; Vossische Zeitung, 25 March 1920 M. The following verbatim quotations are taken from Freiheit, 24 March 1920 M.

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However, he continued, he and his friends could not have prevented the resolutions of 20 and 22 March. In view of the broad phalanx of opponents, Däumig recommended that the delegates call off the strike too. To continue the struggle on one’s own this would only add ‘pointless skirmishes’ at the end. Besides, he said, this was but a reprieve – the general strike could be resumed immediately if the government violated its promises. Wilhelm Pieck declared: ‘We as Communists demand the dictatorship of the proletariat, the council republic, but we also know that this demand still has to face the resistance of the vast majority of the proletariat today’. Therefore, he said, the council republic was not was not on the immediate agenda. Pieck also sharply criticised the decision to call off the strike, drawing, however, a different conclusion than Däumig: the general strike was to be maintained until the organised working class was armed and the political workers’ councils constituted. A partial strike, he argued, was better than no strike at all: it would at least put some pressure on the government to ensure that promises were kept. Representatives of the individual industry groups then took the floor. Almost universally, they stressed that the majority of their voters were in favour of calling off the strike. The kpd-Opposition then demanded with reference to the far too cautious behaviour of the trade unions that they be ‘smashed’. In the end, a vote was taken. A narrow majority voted in favour of returning to work and simultaneously for the option of resuming the strike in due course. Moreover, the delegates appointed the existing Berlin strike leadership to act as the Action Committee. With these decisions, the uspd tendency had prevailed at the General Assembly: the delegates had followed its advice, designating the strike leadership – where the Independents dominated – as the Executive Committee. However, the decision was a narrow one, testifying to the radical sentiment of a good part of the factory council delegates present. Although the trade unions, the government, the spd and finally also the uspd had argued in favour of calling off the strike, the walkout largely continued when the General Assembly met in the morning of 23 March. A report to President Ebert, for example, stated that in Berlin only about 20 to 25 per cent of the workforce of the large factories were at work.131 The same was true for public transport companies and smaller workshops.132 Shops, on the other hand, had mostly reopened and many people were working in the offices too.

131 132

BArch R 601/620, Präsidialkanzlei, Kapp-Putsch Vol. 1, Bl. 143. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 24 March 1920 M; Vossische Zeitung, 24 March 1920 M.

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On the whole, the decision of the revolutionary councils to suspend the strike was therefore not simply the retrospective confirmation of an already completed development. Three days later, on 26 March, the delegates met again.133 Again, Däumig gave the main speech, supplemented by remarks from kpd leader Levi, who had just been released from prison. Däumig emphasised once more that the trade unions’ decision to call off the strike had been a mistake. At noon, he said, negotiations had been held with the union leaders: there, the Berlin council representatives had demanded a new general strike because the government was not implementing the promised ‘eight points’ and the military in Berlin and across the Reich was cracking down on the workers. With the exception of the Berlin Trade-union Commission, he continued, the trade unions had rejected any new strike campaign for the time being – but they had at least agreed to an ultimatum demanding the immediate withdrawal of troops from the Ruhr region. The unions, however, promptly contradicted Däumig’s account, stating that they had only agreed to new negotiations with the government – without any ultimatum.134 Further negotiations with President Ebert on the withdrawal of troops from the Ruhr region had also failed to produce any tangible results. Moreover, negotiations on the establishment of workers’ militias were to be held with the Prussian government. Levi stressed that every possibility must be used to win additional instruments of power and explicitly mentioned the formation of workers’ militias in this context. He described the general political situation as an unstable equilibrium between the working class and the bourgeoisie. After a short debate, the meeting unanimously adopted a resolution, which stated, among other things: The reprieve given to the counterrevolution by the suspension of the general strike is being used to have the victorious workers massacred by the soldiery, especially in Rhineland-Westphalia. In view of this monstrous attack on the whole working class of Germany, and in view of the new dangers looming, the General Assembly of Berlin workers’ councils calls on the proletariat to prepare itself for another show of strength. The General Assembly instructs the Action Committee to take all necessary measures for another general strike without delay. The general strike must be continued until the following demands have been successfully 133

134

Tägliche Rundschau, 27 March 1920 M; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 27 March 1920 M; Vorwärts, 27 March 1920 M, Neue Preußische Zeitung, 27 March 1920 M; Freiheit, 27 March 1920 M and 28 March 1920. Neue Preußische Zeitung, 29 March 1920 M.

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implemented: 1. Immediately disarm and disband the counterrevolutionary troops – i.e. the troops that have fought against the working class. 2. Arrest the officers and try them in a workers’ court. 3. Immediately confiscate all arms held by the bourgeoisie and hand them over to the workers’ councils. 4. Issue arms to organised workers, salaried employees and civil servants in the workplaces. 5. Form workers’ militias under the central leadership of the workers’ councils. 6. Rapid convene a National Congress of Workers’ Councils. 7. Finalise the elections of the revolutionary workers’ councils.135 The intention, then, was merely to prepare for a new general strike, not to call one yet. This decision clearly served as a means of exerting pressure on the trade unions and the government and meant to demonstrate the Berliners’ willingness to fight. Of particular relevance was the question of arming – that is, who would have arms and under whose control. In view of the unabated civil war-like conflicts in Germany, this was a pressing problem. The idea was to solve it in favour of the councils. What is also interesting here is the classification of units as counterrevolutionary. As far as the factory councils were concerned, all troops that had fought against the working class belonged in that category. For the government and the central union leaderships, on the other hand, the term referred only to those who had directly supported the putsch. Inevitably, then, the proposed solutions varied in radicalism. The relevant section of the final version of the ‘eight points’, which both the government and the trade unions had agreed to, read: ‘Disband all counterrevolutionary military formations that have not been loyal to the constitution … The acquired legal rights of troops and security forces that have remained loyal to the constitution must not be affected by this reorganisation’.136 How generously the state then proceeded with awarding such legal rights is illustrated by the fact that all the putschists, including Lüttwitz, were awarded their pensions.137 On 27 March, the Communist group tabled a motion at the General Assembly demanding information from the trade unions and the uspd on the implementation of the ‘eight points’.138 The motion demanded that a decision to launch a new general strike be taken in case the answer was not satisfactory.

135 136 137 138

Freiheit, 28 March 1920. The last demand referred to the fact that the new election of the workers’ councils had not yet taken place everywhere. Könnemann and Schulze 2002, pp. 324–5. Erger 1967, p. 296. Die Rote Fahne, 28 March 1920; Freiheit, 28 March 1920.

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However, the assembly toned down the motion and only threatened in quite general terms that it reserved the right to take action if necessary. Levi and Wegmann had insistently pointed to the military escalation in Thuringia and elsewhere. The following day’s meeting produced no new decisions.139 Because the delivery of the ultimatum to the trade unions had been delayed, no reply had been received yet. Moreover, an argument on how the councils should be organised erupted between Walcher and Malzahn. Malzahn thought that the existing form was appropriate and only needed to be expanded in breadth. But his Communist opponent demanded additional political workers’ councils: he argued that they should be directly elected and removable at any time, which would be impossible in the indirect mode, i.e. through industry groups. In the end, they both agreed to leave the final decision to a planned National Congress of Workers’ Councils. In the twelve meetings of the industry groups on 29 March, a growing concern about the development in the Ruhr area was manifest, as was strong distrust of the government.140 At the metalworkers’ meeting, individual speakers called for the formation of militias and the removal of all trade union officials. However, no concrete decisions were taken. The General Assembly on 30 March proved fairly stormy.141 Reports from factories and industry groups indicated that the workers of Berlin were ready for a new struggle and another strike. The authorities also considered the situation to be tense, but expected only partial strikes or similar limited actions. A further escalation was not ruled out, of course.142 The fact that the representatives of the Action Committee, Wegmann and Malzahn, had not been admitted to negotiations between the trade unions and the government caused indignation among the delegates. adgb president Legien had simply refused to sit at the table with them. The agitated atmosphere was tempered, however, by the second piece of news arriving from the negotiations, namely that the Reichswehr commander for the Ruhr region, General Oskar von Watter, would be joined by the Social Democrat

139 140 141

142

Die Rote Fahne, 29 March 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 29 March 1920. Vossische Zeitung, 31 March 1920 E; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 31 March 1920 M; Tägliche Rundschau, 31 March 1920 M; Vorwärts, 31 March 1920 M; Freiheit, 31 March 1920 E; Rote Fahne, 31 March 1920. See the daily report of the Prussian State Commissioner: GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern Nr. 7329, Lageberichte des Staatskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 5.

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Carl Severing. This seemed to guarantee that there would be no encroachments or high-handedness on the part of the troops there. Also, the government gave assurances that it would postpone a potential invasion by 48 hours, thus allowing for a voluntary disarmament of the ‘Red Ruhr Army’. It was probably because of these reports that the factory councils then passed another resolution only providing for preparations for a general strike. The final decision on a new walkout was to be taken at the General Assembly the following day. The Assembly was also completely under the spell of the events in the Ruhr.143 The fact that the advance of the Reichswehr had been stalled, and the optimism of the Essen Central Council resulting from this, set the majority of the delegates against a general strike. The Esseners had declared that there were realistic chances of averting a bloodbath through negotiations with the government. Because of this, Däumig argued in his speech that there was no acute danger. He added, however, that the situation could quickly deteriorate, and that vigilance was of the essence in the coming days. His remarks were echoed by Walcher, who spoke for the kpd. Both speakers pointed out that many workers believed the government’s promises and were therefore not ready for determined action. They added that there was no point in launching a large movement in an uncoordinated fashion and against the will of the Central Council in the Ruhr district. The Independent Berger reported of his investigations in a number of big factories in Berlin, where, according to him, the workforces were not in favour of a strike. Only the kpd-Opposition begged to differ: its group regretted that the struggle had not yet begun and called on all council delegates who were against a strike to return their mandates. After a lengthy debate, Däumig moved a resolution on behalf of the Action Committee that was unanimously adopted: The General Assembly of the factory councils of Greater Berlin commits itself, in view of the continuing threat, to ensure that the workers are in ready fighting condition. It instructs the Action Committee to do everything possible to maintain contact with the class comrades in Rhineland-Westphalia and in all other industrial areas, so as to be able to

143

Bericht an den Unterstaatssekretär Albert in der Reichskanzlei vom 31 March 1920: BArch R 43 i/2728, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Umsturzbestrebungen durch Kapp-Lüttwitz, Bl. 91; GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 90 A Staatsministerium Jüngere Registratur Nr. 3735 Kapp-Putsch und die durch ihn hervorgerufenen Aufstände und Unruhen im Jahre 1920, Bl. 306; Freiheit, 1 April 1920 M; Rote Fahne, 1 April 1920; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 1 April 1920 M; Neue Preußische Zeitung, 1 April 1920 M.

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launch an all-out united struggle if necessary. The Action Committee is instructed to convene the General Assembly of factory councils as soon as the situation changes.144 The strike was thus adjourned, as was the General Assembly. It did not reconvene again until a good week later – this, despite the fact that the troops resumed their advance on the Ruhr region at the beginning of April. The last meeting of the revolutionary factory councils took place on 8 April 1920.145 Däumig referred to the general strike as a last-resort option and demanded that all other possibilities be exhausted first. The meeting, he argued, did not represent the whole proletariat in any case, and a general strike could only be successful if the spd and the trade unions were also taking part. Consequently, he once more advised against it, hinting instead at later struggles. The Communists, by contrast, wanted to launch a new strike. They openly declared, however, that this would be hopeless without the uspd and that its cooperation was therefore necessary. The third speaker was Jung of the kapd, which had just been founded. The kapd – Communist Workers’ Party of Germany – was set up on 4 and 5 April in Berlin, comprising essentially the breakaway left wing of the kpd.146 This tendency, hitherto known as the kpdOpposition, was particularly strong in Berlin, where the district leadership had taken the initiative of founding the party. Jung now read out a motion calling for ‘immediate action’ and a ‘continuation of the general strike until the government is overthrown, the National Assembly dissolved, and the revolutionary councils have taken political power’. This maximum programme was vehemently rejected by Richard Müller and others. In the end, the delegates adopted the uspd motion, which reflected Däumig’s position and therefore had no immediate consequences. We have already referred several times to a subcurrent of the Berlin council movement that was organisationally based primarily on the left wing of the kpd and, since April 1920, entirely on the kapd. In the General Assemblies, this tendency was represented by its own group of delegates and stood out mainly for its unconditional actionism. We shall therefore briefly introduce this current. In a leaflet, the group outlined its programme in forceful words: 1. The maturity and strength of the proletariat manifests itself in the creation and preservation of councils. 2. The councils are an expression of 144 145 146

Freiheit, 1 April 1920 M. Vorwärts, 9 April 1920 E; Rote Fahne, 9 April 1920; Freiheit, 9 April 1920 M and E. On the kapd in detail, see: Bock 1993, pp. 225–87.

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the will to lead the class struggle over and above all leadership interests, ruthlessly, by all means appropriate to the political situation, and focused exclusively on the objective of establishing the dictatorship of the proletariat. 3. The counterrevolutionary danger has not been eliminated; it has even increased. 4. The leniency with which he Kapp-Lüttwitz riffraff of officers and civil servants is treated by the entire bourgeoisie, including by Social Democracy, makes new coups possible. The trade-union bureaucracy, which is caught up between capitalist democracy and the radicalised masses, is prone to any betrayal. It is fighting for its continued existence and for its leadership posts. The trade-union bureaucracy is loyal not to the council republic, but to the capitalist state. 4. Only a German council republic offers the necessary guarantees for the prosperous development of our political and economic life. 5. The demand to maintain the formal democratic principle is nonsensical … 10. What must the revolutionary councils fight for in the present situation? They must fight: 1. for all power. 2. for the arming of the working class; for the Red Army; for the disarmament of all non-proletarian military formations and of the bourgeoisie. 3. for the congress of German workers’ councils as the constitutional supreme political power 4. for the abolition of bourgeois parliaments, which are the ultimate expression of democracy 5. for the seizure and management of production by factory councils, which must be based on the organisation of the working strata that is the General Workers’ Union 6. for the ultimate goal of the revolutionary struggle: the socialist workers’ council republic.147 No original copy of the leaflet has been archived; there is only a copy in the Prussian State Commissioner’s daily report of 6 April 1920. It can be considered absolutely authentic, since it corresponds to the statements of the kpdOpposition in the General Assemblies, as can be seen from other sources. A date of creation of the leaflet is not mentioned in the transcript. It can be dated to the time between the first meeting of the General Assembly on 23 March and the founding of the kapd on 4–5 April, since it is still signed by General Workers’ Union (aau) and the Berlin district of the kpd. The text articulated a particularly uncompromising revolutionary purism. The very first point highlighted the central role of the councils, which were proclaimed the decisive indicators of the political development of the working

147

GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern Nr. 7329, Lageberichte des Staatskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 78–80.

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class as a whole. The authors repeatedly criticised bureaucratic structures in the workers’ movement and in the state, and indeed the existence of leaders as such. The latter aspect in particular has a certain anarcho-syndicalist flavour. The pamphlet demanded that bourgeois democracy, as manifested in parliamentarism, be rejected altogether, that all non-proletarian troops disbanded and all arms put into workers’ hands. The factory councils, for their part, were to fully take over the economy in cooperation with the interfactory council organisation, the General Workers’ Union (aau).148 The aau had only been founded in February 1920 and was neither organisationally nor programmatically consolidated at that point. Especially in Berlin kpd-Opposition circles around Karl Schröder, the idea of a division of labour between party and unionist council organisation was very popular, while other activists generally rejected parties and advocated the union as a unitary organisation. As a final goal, this conception probably met with broad approval in the revolutionary council movement on important points. However, considerable reservations were expressed with regard to the time frame: the outlined council republic and all the measures associated with it were to be won immediately. The revolutionary purists thus not only set themselves against the bourgeoisie, the state, the army and the entrepreneurs – they also summarily designated the reformist sections of the workers’ movement as their enemies. Recent developments in Berlin in particular had shown that the other radical forces were assessing very carefully and cautiously whether the majority of the working class, including its more moderate sections, would support their moves. If in doubt, they refrained from acting so as not to isolate themselves. In the quoted leaflet, by contrast, there is no question of such considerations: the final revolutionary goal is on the immediate agenda, regardless of all external conditions or the situation outside the capital. Characteristically, the latter factor is not addressed in the document at all. On the whole, it is an out-and-out maximum programme and one of the most uncompromising proclamations of the council system ever issued, even if the desired future order is almost entirely reduced to catchphrases and therefore remains rather vague. The understanding of democracy that informs the document is strangely one-sided in that it associates democracy exclusively with the capitalist state. Democracy, according to the text, is nothing but a more or less concealed form of elite rule. The councils in the future state and economy are not seen as an

148

On the aau in detail, see Bock 1993, pp. 188–224; complementarily Oertzen 1976, pp. 212– 18.

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alternative form of democracy, but as something completely different: the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ – i.e. the rule of the working class, constituted in the councils. Rosenberg articulated a fierce and much-cited critique of this tendency and its proponents, who were first found among the ranks of the kpd and after their expulsion to the left of that party – he called them ‘radical utopians’.149 His critique did not, however, target the quoted pamphlet, but rather the tendency in general. There is no clear evidence for his assertion that it was composed of particularly impoverished sections of the working class. Rosenberg’s claim that the tendency was only capable of destruction and ‘fundamentally opposed to any leadership and any organisation’ is similarly inaccurate – after all, the cited appeal contained at least the rough outline of an alternative social order, and it called for a transfer of power rather than for the universal dissolution of all power structures. Rosenberg was correct, however, on the group’s maximalism, which was completely untroubled by any tactical considerations, and on its sharp rejection of all and any reformism. Independently of this, there was an initiative for a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils, which aimed at consolidating the upswing of the council movement during and after the putsch. In some ways, this attempt was a counter-programme to revolutionary purism. On 14 March, during the general strike, the kpd had first introduced the idea into the debate – and in the General Assembly on 26 March, the Berlin factory councils proclaimed that the congress was an official aim. But it was not until mid-April that the Action Committee issued an appeal to all existing council bodies in Germany. It stated: The workers’ councils, which were pushed back or eliminated by the growing power of the bourgeoisie after the November Revolution, were given a new lease of life in the revolutionary struggles triggered by the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. Almost everywhere in Germany, workers’ councils or revolutionary factory councils were elected during the strike days. Where the working class succeeded in creating real workers’ councils as organs of struggle, as in central Germany, Rhineland-Westphalia and large parts of Saxony, the workers’ struggle was at its most successful. It is now necessary to hold on to the great success that the workers have achieved through the revival of the councils and build on it. The councils across all of Germany must be united and based on uniform foundations … The events that occurred after the trade unions prematurely called off the

149

Rosenberg 1961, pp. 23–4.

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strike, such as the onset of white terror in central Germany; the invasion of the Ruhr by Watter in spite of the government’s solemn promises; the intimidation of the proletariat of Saxony; the complete impotence of the government in the face of the generals, who are growing more insolent every day – all this clearly show that the fighting is not over yet. Soon the proletariat will be forced to fight anew. If it wants to achieve more than promises on paper in this struggle, it must build a central fighting body that represents its collective will … All council organisations that already exist, as well as those formed by the date on which the delegations are made by the districts, shall be entitled to delegate to the congress … From the outset, every effort must be made to ensure that the congress is as faithful a reflection as possible of all the political trends within the German working class. Only if this is achieved, only if the Majority Socialist, Independent and Communist organisations are represented at the congress in the right proportion, only then can the congress speak on behalf of the entire working class, and only then will its slogans be universally followed.150 The congress was to be held in Halle and the number of delegates from the individual districts based on the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils. For the agenda, the Action Committee proposed to examine the present situation and activities and tasks of the councils and elect a national Executive Council. The Berliners thus once again made an attempt to initiate nationwide cooperation in the same way as in November 1918. Like then, the driving force behind the effort was the leadership of the General Assembly. There was also a certain continuity in terms of personnel between the former Executive Council and the Action Committee. Part of the reason was probably the fact that the response from the other parts of the country was modest – in all centres of the council movement, the newly created institutions had been violently suppressed. The upswing thus remained a flash in the pan, in Berlin and elsewhere. Only the Central Office of Factory Councils survived this development and stubbornly continued to work towards a national congress. The congress finally took place, with considerable delay, in October 1920. However, it was confined to the factory councils affiliated to the Free Trade Unions and was largely under the control of the trade union organs.151

150 151

9 sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 1/2/1 kpd, historisches Archiv, Bl. 63–6. Also reproduced in Der Arbeiter-Rat, 1920, Nr. 12/13. For details, see our chapter on the Central Office of Factory Councils.

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Interim Conclusion The radical left as a whole, and with it the council movement too, had been anticipating a ferocious attack from the right for some time. Even so, only patchy preparatory arrangements and strategies had been put in place for such a case. It was partly for this reason that the initiative for defensive measures initially fell to the trade unionists and grassroots activists in the factories. The interfactory council structures had been hugely devastated for months and now had to be rebuilt under extremely difficult conditions. The intelligence situation was unclear. The military and Security Police controlled the capital. There were frequent bloody clashes on the streets and traffic was largely paralysed. Under such circumstances, it was a remarkable achievement that a new election of factory councils was held at all, let alone that these councils were then combined into industry groups and a General Assembly was organised. Both conceptually and practically, this was to a large extent the work of the Central Office of Factory Councils and its leaders. Concrete actions commenced late, however, which severely impaired their political effectiveness. The Communists had already called for the creation of councils the day after the putsch, but they were far too weak on their own to put this demand into practice. The uspd hesitated for a long time before it finally decided to take the initiative. The main reason for this serious loss of time was its deepening split. The right wing, which had many supporters especially in the Berlin Tradeunion Commission, was opposed to a new election of councils. The left wing was only able to push through a call in favour of revolutionary factory councils after sharp internal party disputes. In Berlin, the radical forces in the uspd relied considerably on the Central Office of Factory Councils, which now organised the establishment of the new councils. The intermediate stage of industry groups was rightly criticised by the Communists for delaying the General Assembly by one or two days. On this important question, the leading protagonists of the Berlin council movement had simply not understood how to adapt their conception of a council system to the immediate requirements – instead, they schematically fell back on a readymade blueprint. This was most likely due to the generally confusing situation in Berlin, but also because the efforts were an ad hoc reaction to the right-wing putsch and could not be thoroughly thought-through or prepared. The loss of time caused by the cumbersome modus operandi proved to be an important factor in the further course of events – for only a few hours before the first General Assembly, the Independents’ central committee joined the trade unions and the spd in their calls for ending the strike. Had the General Assembly met earlier, this might have put sufficient pressure on the uspd

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and could have had a knock-on effect beyond Berlin. The final stages of the strike show that the workers were quite ready for this: despite numerous urgent appeals from the government, trade union leaders and spd to suspend the struggle, the general strike continued almost unabated. This reflected the willingness of the grassroots to fight and, secondly, the loss of authority suffered by the moderate leadership bodies inside and outside the Berlin workers’ movement. The question of a general strike became central for a second time when the government and the Reichswehr used massive force against the strongholds of the left, especially in the Ruhr district. On several occasions, the General Assembly and the Action Committee allowed themselves to be stalled by promises from the government, therefore only issuing repeated announcements to prepare for (and possibly launch) a general strike. None were implemented. This was owed in no small part to the complex situation in west Germany: whether the government troops were violating the Bielefeld Agreement, and to what extent, was difficult for the Berliners to assess.152 The Bielefeld Agreement of 24 March was meant to secure the disarmament of the Red Ruhr Army and guarantee some concessions from the Prussian and Reich governments. In return, it was agreed that no troops would be allowed to enter the Ruhr. Even the Essen Central Council attempted to pacify and reassure the Berliners. Essentially, this situation also shows that the councils had difficulties with cross-regional cooperation. Connections, contacts and information were patchy even now, and there was no coordinated action whatsoever. The planned National Congress of Workers’ Councils was supposed to solve this problem, but it could not directly change the far-reaching isolation of the individual regional centres. This is remarkable not least because the explosive situation in the Ruhr district was debated several times in the General Assembly – those involved did not draw any concrete or effective conclusions. The kpd usually tried to push things forward in those days, and the kpdOpposition even more so. The Independents could not decide on any major action, pointing to the trade unions’ hesitation in order to justify their own passivity. Although the Action Committee was expressly instructed to reconvene the General Assembly in the event of an escalation of the situation in the west, it only did so after considerable delay. By the time it met on 8 April, most of the Ruhr region was already under military occupation and the repressive measures were in full swing there.

152

See the comprehensive account by Lucas 1983; also Eliasberg 1974, pp. 173–258.

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Forced by external imperatives, the Berlin council movement initially focused largely on repelling the putsch. Once it had successfully defeated the coup, it tentatively set its sights on further-reaching goals. In many cases, it lagged behind the central trade union bodies, which set the course with their ‘eight points’. After their adoption, pressure was exerted several times to ensure their implementation. On some important issues, however, the councils went further than the unions. This was especially true of the question of military policy, which in light of the military coup was a much-discussed subject. The councils did not want to settle for Noske’s resignation, nor for the incorporation of workers into the security forces – they wanted to push through a radical restructuring of the army from top to bottom. Such aspirations were fuelled by the continuing acts of violence across the country, which showed in a drastic fashion that the problem of right-wing armed formations was by no means solved after the coup, and that it posed a more than latent danger both to the councils and to the Republic. The institutionalisation of the councils, especially their centralisation for Berlin and the entire German Reich, was another objective. The General Assembly and the planned National Congress of Workers’ Councils were to serve this purpose. Only a minority of councillors put the council republic on the immediate agenda. Most of them stressed that this was only a desirable long-term aspiration in view of the political situation. In the short term, new and improved starting positions towards this final goal were to be created. With this in mind, it becomes clear why so much attention was paid to the events in Saxony, central Germany and the Ruhr region: because hard-won positions had to be defended there that could be of decisive importance in future battles. Comparing the events of March 1920 with those of March 1919 shows some significant differences. Most crucially, the workers’ movement was recognisably on the defensive in 1920. In the previous year, it had set its own agenda and chosen the time of the fight itself. The struggle of March 1920 was first and foremost about fending off an advance from the right – further demands were only added in the course of the conflict. This especially applied to the council movement, which in 1919 had wanted, initiated and organised the strike. A year later, it acted more or less in the shadow of the trade unions and was unable to make a large impact on the general strike. A big part of the reason was that the organisational foundations of the Berlin councils had in the meantime largely collapsed and had to be painstakingly and time-consumingly rebuilt. In Berlin, unlike in the other strongholds of the council movement, there was also a massive military presence from the outset. A development comparable to that in the western indus-

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trial area or in Saxony was almost impossible, as Däumig rightly pointed out. On top of this, there was the reserved attitude of the spd, which, unlike in 1919, hardly participated in the campaign. The same was true of the Trade-union Commission, which fervently supported the strike, but not a new election of councils. Thus, the General Assembly remained essentially confined to the Independents and both party varieties of Communist, which was not a sufficient basis for going it alone. When on top of this the uspd party leadership positioned itself against another strike, there was no alternative but for the General Assembly to call it off. A partial strike could have delayed the suppression of the uprising in the Ruhr and other regions at best, but it could not have prevented it – and it would certainly have intensified the already fierce repression of the Berlin movement. Taking such a massive risk with foreseeably little chance of success was simply not justifiable. That the revolution had been in a state of serious stagnation for a year is particularly evident from one point: the objectives of the councils – expansion and consolidation of council structures, a different military policy, socialisation and democratisation of the administration and judiciary – had remained essentially the same. In fact, the developments since March 1919 underlined how critically important it was to finally attain these goals – not only from the point of view of a future council republic, but even to merely secure a stable and social republican democracy. Representing the moderate tendency within the uspd, Rudolf Breitscheid stated to this effect: ‘The task is now to turn the partial revolution into a complete revolution’.153 Breitscheid’s assessment matched that of the Arbeiterjugend (Workers’ Youth), an organisation that was close to the spd. It stated in very similar terms in its journal: Once again, it [the putsch, A.W.] has inculcated in us, in blood and flames, what the revolution of 9 November is for the German proletariat and what it is not. We knew that it was a political revolution, a historical event that overturned the conditions of our people’s existence under constitutional law, removed the medieval muck and junk from our political system, turned us from subjects of an authoritarian state into citizens of a people’s state. But we also knew that the November Revolution was no social transformation, that the old injustices had remained entrenched in the economy and in the structure of society – this shameful injustice

153

Freiheit, 12 April 1920 M.

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of man’s exploitation by man, the absurdity of the class system … Thus [with the victory over the putsch – Author], 9 November has been reaffirmed, proving irrefutably that Wilhelmine Germany is buried for good. For the proletariat, however, the harvest of this promptly and splendidly delivered evidence lies in the mighty boost that it has given to its sense of strength. It has reassured the proletariat that it will also succeed in turning the partial revolution of November into a complete revolution.154 In the further course of its existence, the Berlin council movement was largely unable to advance any significant initiatives. Its plan for a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils failed just as much as its attempt to make the General Assembly a permanent feature. The same was true of its other efforts with both limited and extensive aims. The new revolutionary wave originally triggered by the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch had proven to be an exceedingly shortlived ‘second spring’.

154

Arbeiter-Jugend, 15 April 1920.

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The Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils After the termination of the general strike in March 1919, the council movement came under further pressure. The government argued more and more openly for the dissolution of the remaining councils with political ambitions and did not shy away from using repressive means. This applied to many parts of Germany, but especially to the capital. Council supporters tried to counter this development with a reorientation: whereas they had previously focused on political matters, they now increasingly shifted their attention to the factory councils, which had initially been more oriented towards economic matters. Under the difficult new conditions, they were to be developed into a solid base and, in the long term, made serviceable for a new revolutionary wave. Given this objective, it was necessary to learn lessons from the largely unsuccessful strike wave of the past spring, which had failed in no small part due to inadequate coordination between the different regions. One task of the new organisation was therefore to establish an effective network with other council strongholds. To this end, it was a logical step to reorganise the existing council structures in Berlin, especially since the left opposition of Independents and Communists could count a steadily growing majority in the councils of the capital among its supporters. The focal point of the development was the revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils (Betriebsrätezentrale, hereafter brz), which will be examined in more detail in this chapter. Because previous research on the council movement has only dealt with the brz in passing, knowledge about this organisation has been extremely scarce until now.1

1 See the brief comments in Potthoff 1979, pp. 152–7; Opel 1980, pp. 110–13; Morgan 1975, pp. 268–9; Winkler 1985, pp. 286–8; Hoffrogge 2014, pp. 89–90, 128 and 140–53; Meisel 1966, pp. 216–25; Oertzen 1976, p. 87. General remarks on radical attempts to organise factory councils can be found in Brigl-Matthiaß 1978. A much shorter version of this chapter has been published in an anthology – see Weipert 2014.

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Foundation and Organisational Structure Since the beginning of the revolution, the most important bodies of the local council movement were the Berlin Executive Council and the General Assembly of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils that elected it. On 16 July 1919, however, the spd and the left-liberal Democratic group withdrew from the Executive Council and General Assembly and formed new bodies with the same names and similar structures. Thus, after the fierce disputes leading up to the split, especially over the general strike in March, it was now also completed formally. However, the moderate Executive Council barely made any further appearances and largely vanished after a few meetings.2 The remaining majority of the body, now called the ‘red Executive Council’, developed a lively activity, on the other hand. About 700 of the General Assembly’s delegates, which numbered 1,000 until the split, and 16 of the 23 members of the Executive Council belonged to the radical tendency.3 Their endeavours continued despite increasing obstructions from the state authorities. On the very day of the split, the Prussian Minister of Finance Albert Südekum (spd) blocked further financial support, which he justified – rather flimsily – by citing excessive expenditure on office furniture and typewriters.4 Shortly afterwards, the Executive Council also had to leave its offices in Tiergarten, In den Zelten 23. Südekum offered by way of explanation that due to the split, the Executive Council could now no longer speak for the entirety of the Berlin working class.5 The new offices at Münzstraße 24 were occupied by the military twice, some members were arrested and documents and other property were confiscated. In November, the Executive Council was finally banned because of its leading role in the metalworkers’ strike.6 Although it made several more appearances thereafter, it was no longer capable of regaining its former significance.7 The transition from ‘red Executive Council’ to brz was a seamless process over an extended period of time – they existed in parallel, as it were, for several months. In terms of personnel, organisation and politics, the Central Office of Factory Councils largely emerged from the Executive Council. Their first leaders, Heinrich Malzahn and Paul Neumann, had already been members of

2 3 4 5 6 7

Council Minutes 2002, pp. xix–xxi. See Ernst Däumig, ‘Kesseltreiben!’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 28, 1919. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern, Tit. 1373a Nr. 12a, Vollzugsrat Berlin, Bl. 30. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern, Tit. 1373a Nr. 12a, Vollzugsrat Berlin, Bl. 34. Ernst Däumig, ‘Abstieg und Aufstieg’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 40, 1919. Materna 1978, pp. 225–6; Council Minutes 2002, pp. xxi–xxiv.

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the Executive Council, the rooms at Münzstraße 24 were still in use, and the eminent council activists Richard Müller and Ernst Däumig were still the key thinkers. Opel writes that in January 1920 the Central Office was under Müller’s leadership.8 Formally speaking, this is was not true, as he was not officially integrated into the leadership until mid-1920. Nonetheless, he was without a doubt one of its best-known and most active collaborators from the outset. The brz was formally founded at a cross-regional conference in Halle on 27 and 28 July 1919,9 where a variety council organisations convened, including the Berlin Executive Council, the Essen Central Councils and other already existing district councils from Hamburg, central Germany and Saxony. Although the Independents clearly set the tone there, a number of syndicalists, Communists and Social Democrats were also present. At first, the new Central Office was located in Halle. After another conference in August with a very similar composition, it finally moved to Berlin. These conferences were intended to give the participants an overview of the existing structures and gather them under a common organisational umbrella.10 The official name of the organisation changed over time. In Halle it operated under the name Central Department of Factory Councils of Germany (Zentralstelle der Betriebsräte Deutschlands), whereas in Berlin it resurfaced as the Central Office of Factory Councils of Germany (Zentrale der Betriebsräte Deutschlands).11 The regional branch of the brz was called the Revolutionary Councils’ Association, Economic District of Greater Berlin (Revolutionäre Rätevereinigung, Wirtschaftsbezirk Groß-Berlin) and shortly afterwards the Central Office of the Greater Berlin Factory Councils (Zentrale der GroßBerliner Betriebsräte). In some regions, interfactory councils had been formed before the Central Office was founded, especially in the strongholds of the council movement in Berlin, the Ruhr area and the Halle-Merseburg region. In the latter region in particular, a comprehensive system had been built up from early 1919 onwards. It was primarily based on the miners and the workers of the chemical industry, i.e. the most important sectors that boasted biggest factories there. A district

8 9 10 11

Opel 1980, S. 112. Freiheit, 28 August 1919 M. See the appeal of the Central Office in: Der Arbeiter-Rat 27; Geyer 1976, pp. 143–4. Geyer 1976, p. 243, on the other hand, uses the name Reich Central Office of the Revolutionary Factory Councils of Germany (Reichszentrale der revolutionären Betriebsräte Deutschlands) in his memoirs. However, this name is not found in any sources from the relevant period.

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economic council coordinated the councils of the individual sectors and set up a council school.12 A lively exchange with these regional branches was to ensue. Outside the cited regional strongholds, the general organisational development of new council structures was very slow. It proved a very difficult task to gain a foothold in other sectors and districts. Factory councillors from central Germany estimated at the turn of 1919–20 that revolutionary councils existed in only about ten to 15 per cent of the Reich.13 This was reflected in repeated calls to deepen organisational work, which were an indication that so far a considerable part of the structures only existed on the paper.14 By August 1920, this had not changed significantly – most cities still had no local Central Office of Factory Councils.15 In the same year, however, General Assemblies of revolutionary factory councils took place in some larger cities and elected local executive committees.16 But it does not seem that this was done systematically in all regions – generally speaking, for example in central Germany, the district offices acted more or less autonomously and thus inconsistently. The brz was weak outside Berlin anyway. It was able to influence the political and organisational orientation of other local Central Offices mainly through its publication Der Arbeiter-Rat and through personal contacts, but at no time did it have any direct authority to issue directives. We must therefore assume that there was a loose connection between the regional Central Offices rather than a strictly hierarchical organisation. This question was also to be settled at a new National Congress of Workers’ Councils. When the congress was held in October 1920, however, the trade unions had a tight grip on it. As will be explained later, it was near-impossible for the revolutionary factory councils to get their ideas across there. The Berlin Central Office was, in fact, practically identical to the brz – it is difficult to distinguish between regional and wider activities, which testifies to Berlin’s prominent role in the German council movement. Immediately after the November Revolution, the Berlin Executive Council also conceived

12 13 14

15 16

Der Arbeiter-Rat 2, 1920. Meisel 1966, p. 221. See e.g. Paul Wegmann, ‘Räte, Partei und Gewerkschaften’, in Freiheit, 24 April 1920 E. In a similar vein, Richard Müller in Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 3 January 1920, or Max Sievers, ‘Zu den Betriebsrätewahlen’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 8, 1920. Freiheit, 7 August 1920 E. Der Arbeiter-Rat 16, 1920.

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of itself as the provisional representative of all German councils until the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils appointed a new body, the Central Council. The brz firmly rejected any council organisation under the leadership of the moderate Central Council, to which it counterposed its revolutionary system.17 There had been a rift between the spd-dominated Central Council and the ‘red Executive Council’ in the summer of 1919. The core of the dispute was the future role of the councils in general, and the specific point of contention was the two different electoral regulations for the new election of the councils, which the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils had already decided on in April.18 The organisational structure of the Berlin district office was relatively complex. The councils in the individual enterprises, elected by the staff, first determined the members of the sectoral group councils according to their sectoral affiliation, the respective size being based on the size of the sector.19 The corresponding committee for the metalworkers comprised 73 people, and there were also a number of sub-groups to differentiate the metal sector even further. In the wood industry, the leading committee consisted of 38 persons and was formally elected for the first time in January 1920. These branch representatives, in turn, elected the district Central Office – again, taking into account the size of the individual branches. Then it was up to the General Assembly of all councils to confirm this Central Office.20 In Berlin the brz comprised, according to its own figures, a total of about 26,000 factory councillors in autumn 1920, who in turn represented 750,000 voters.21 It thus comprised a similarly large electorate as the former General Assemblies of the Berlin workers’ councils, but it by no means captured all of Berlins industrial workers. By necessity, it initially had to draw on delegates from the existing, rather heterogeneous council bodies. Depending on enterprise, these were factory councillors or members of the old that had emerged during the war and after the revolution, or which were based on the company17 18

19 20 21

Der Arbeiter-Rat 33, 1919. See the statement of the Executive Council in Freiheit, 30 August, 1919 E. The reply of the Central Council and the statement of the General Assembly of Berlin workers’ councils in favour of the Executive Council are both printed in Der Arbeiter-Rat 31, 1919. Der Arbeiter-Rat 7, 1920. Der Arbeiter-Rat 28, 1920. Protokoll der Verhandlungen des Ersten Reichskongresses der Betriebsräte Deutschlands. Abgehalten vom 5.–7. Oktober 1920 zu Berlin (Minutes of the Proceedings of the First Reich Congress of the Factory Councils of Germany. Held in Berlin, 5–7 October 1920). Hereafter: National Congress Factory Councils.

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specific regulations.22 After the Factory Councils Act was passed, the Central Office called for participation in the elections, but with the stipulation that only revolutionary-minded representatives be delegated to the statutory councils.23 During the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, the factory councils found themselves confronted with a situation of dual upheaval, which had a strong negative impact on their activity in the decisive final days of the general strike. In those weeks, the factory councils had been newly elected in line with the provisions of the Factory Councils Act. However, these elections and the establishment of the new factory councils had not yet been completed in many Berlin factories at the time of the coup. In addition, their officials adopted an overly complicated mode of constituting the interfactory councils, which cost valuable time. The new General Assembly and the Action Committee only succeeded to a limited degree in reestablishing structures comparable to the old General Assembly and the Executive Council. Their real influence was in any case considerably smaller. For the organisation of the councils, maintaining contact with the grassroots in the factories was tremendously important. This is why several largescale conferences of radical factory councillors took place, for example in midJanuary 1920 in Berlin, where well over 2,000 convened. This was followed in May by another meeting attended by more than 5,000 factory councillors.24 In southern Germany, too, radical factory councillors met at conferences on the initiative of the brz, for example in late February 1920 Stuttgart. The delegates at this meeting, under the influence of Curt Geyer and Richard Müller, spoke energetically in favour of the council system and socialisation, and also against the syndicates (Arbeitsgemeinschaften) comprising both trade unions and employers.25 Controversy between Independents and Communists erupted too, however. The latter, who made up about one fifth of the assembly, left the event en masse. In March 1920, the brz took over the journal Der Arbeiter-Rat, whose editorial staff had previously cooperated closely with the Executive Council, and which was the most important publication organ of the council movement.26

22 23 24 25 26

Der Arbeiter-Rat 7, 1920. Heinrich Malzahn, ‘Der Kampf um die Betriebsräte’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 8, 1920. Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 24 January 1920 and Die Rote Fahne, 11 May 1920; Der Arbeiter-Rat 17, 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 4 March 1920; Opel 1980, p. 112. See editor’s note in Der Arbeiter-Rat 11, 1920. Däumig was a member of both the Editorial Board and the Executive Council.

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Like its predecessor body, the Executive Council, the brz was also subject to state coercion. After the demonstration against the Factory Councils Act that it had led outside the Reichstag in mid-January 1920, its leaders had to go into hiding due to the state of emergency.27 As in central Germany, a council school was also established in Berlin in close cooperation with the brz. The first initiatives in this direction were taken by some socialist intellectuals as early as March 1919. Albert Fister and Alexander Schwab approached the Executive Council and the General Assembly and presented a relevant conception.28 Both council institutions responded sympathetically, and the Executive Council formed a commission for permanent consultation.29 Later, contact was maintained through Ernst Däumig, who served on the school’s advisory board, and the Executive Council and brz provided limited financial support.30 Schwab, a member of the left wing of the kpd, donated a considerable share of his private fortune to the school.31 In the first few months the project was called Free University Community for Proletarians (Freie Hochschulgemeinde für Proletarier), then from October 1919 Council School of Greater Berlin Workers (Räteschule der Groß-Berliner Arbeiterschaft).32 The name change also reflected a change in the intended tasks: originally, the school was not mainly geared towards factory councils or councils in general.33 Rather, the initial, very general plan was to train ‘gifted young proletarians in a course lasting several years to become socialist economists’, as Fricke recalled.34 Classes were held in public school buildings.35 The Executive Council also provided office space.36 The courses were advertised, for example, in the journal Der Arbeiter-Rat, which is further evidence of the close cooperation between the school and the Berlin council movement. The Council School clearly stated its political orientation and the motives behind its work in an appeal: ‘The Council School of Greater Berlin Workers is your school. All its work is orientated towards the conduct and aims of the class

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

See the brief remarks in Geyer 1976, p. 174. For a detailed account of the demonstration, see the relevant chapter. Der Arbeiter-Rat 7, 1920; Freiheit, 2 October 1920 M. See the detailed account by the longtime headmaster Fricke 1932, pp. 82–97. Also: Blidon 1984. Council Protocols pp. 205–9, 212, 325–8. Fricke 1932, p. 92. See biographical sketch by Kerbs 2005, p. 491. Freiheit, 26 October 1919. Council Minutes 2002, p. 209. Fricke 1932, p. 83. Freiheit, 11 September 1919 M. Council Minutes 2002, p. 209, Fricke 1932, p. 87.

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struggle. If you want to conquer [the means of – Translator] production, you must learn how to use the power that you want to take in your hands effectively.’37 The Council School organised evening courses on practical subjects such as accounting, commercial law and economics. Some teachers came directly from the workers’ movement, others had an academic background. Generally speaking, the factory councils were to be enabled first to monitor and then to manage their companies. Accordingly, the lecturer Fritz Fricke put the emphasis on directly applicable knowledge. Lessons were to be didactically based as closely as possible on the workers’ experiences.38 Although the council members were the main target group of the courses, the school was in principle open to all waged workers. Some courses were specifically geared to individual sectors. There were political seminars preparing people for government tasks, and finally, there were courses on more general topics such as the socialisation of the economy. The theories of Karl Korsch, Otto Neurath and Rudolf Wissell, among others, were discussed at the school – the curricula changed a number of times, however. The school operated autonomously and, as its statute explicitly stated, its mode of self-administration was guided by grassroots-democratic council principles.39 All those directly involved were to work together as a ‘community of equals’. The most important body was the General Assembly of all students and teachers, which in turn elected the governing bodies. All functions were assigned on demand. The institution was meant to work closely with other parts of the council movement such as the factory councils, other regional council schools, and the revolutionary socialist organisations. The internal council structure was not free of friction, however, and the complex decisionmaking processes sometimes made it difficult to implement a consistent pedagogical concept.40 Nonetheless, the representatives of the course participants had a considerable say, for example with respect to the curriculum.41 As the brz disintegrated, the Council School also disappeared in this form. From November 1920, its teachers, among them the aforementioned Fricke, oriented themselves towards the Free Trade Unions in their educational work for the factory councils. Organisationally, the school was now subordinate to the

37 38 39 40 41

Freiheit, 2 September 1920 M. Some organisational and didactic considerations on this can be found in Fritz Fricke, ‘Unterrichtsmethoden’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 26, 1920. Der Arbeiter-Rat 8, 1920. Fricke 1932, pp. 88–9. Fricke 1932, p. 90.

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local Berlin branches of the General German Trade Union Federation (adgb) and General Federation of Free Employees (AfA) and in the next few years served in particular to train trade union officials.42 This was linked to their funding by the trade unions. It was probably not least material security that prompted the teachers to take this drastic step. Significantly, the course participants had no say in this matter, contrary to what the statute stipulated. In 1924, the school once again changed its name to the Berlin Trade Union School. As such, it served as a model for similar institutions in other parts of Germany.43 In Berlin, the brz featured several times during political campaigns. One example was its mobilisation against the Factory Councils Act on 13 January 1920, another was its part in the local strike leadership against the KappLüttwitz Putsch two months later. Since these activities are dealt with in detail in the relevant chapters, we can omit them here. In both cases, however, the brz was merely part of a broader movement – and it was the driving force only in the first instance. In July 1920, the brz called for a large demonstration in Berlin’s Lustgarten park in cooperation with the left-wing parties, trade unions and unemployed councils.44 The aim of the event was to draw attention to the plight of the unemployed and demand that the workers monitor production in the factories. Several tens of thousands of workers assembled, some of them the complete workforces of specific enterprises. It was not the last time that the brz sought to forge ties with the plentiful unemployed of the capital. The attempt to organise them in its structures, however, failed miserably.45 The Polish–Soviet War prompted a political intervention of a special kind.46 The brz repeatedly called for German neutrality to be guaranteed in this context, because there were concerns that the Fehrenbach government wanted to support Poland unofficially. The factory councils in the metal industry, on the railways, and elsewhere were therefore called on to refuse possible deliveries of weapons and food to Poland and, in case of suspicion, to report immediately to the Central Office. This stance had the unanimous support of the factory councils, as their General Assembly in September 1920 showed.47

42 43 44 45 46 47

Fricke 1932, pp. 7 and 97. Fricke 1932, pp. 7 and 25–6. Die Rote Fahne, 6 July 1920. See our chapter on unemployed councils. Freiheit, August 7, 1920 M. Die Rote Fahne, 14 September 1920.

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Programme The Central Office of Factory Councils was the last large-scale attempt to build an organisation of the council movement that cut across political parties and was independent of the trade unions. The declared aim was to unite all revolutionary factory councils in Germany. Initially, the brz was to carry out the necessary organisational preparatory work for this and disseminate the idea of the ‘pure council system’ among the workers through brochures and training courses. Its first guidelines, issued in August 1919, explicitly diverged from those of the government’s Factory Councils Act, which was already known in draft form.48 Unequivocal commitment to revolutionary action was made a prerequisite for participation. The brz thus opposed the Central Council and its electoral regulations for factory councils, which were guided by the limits set by the government draft. Instead, it demanded a withdrawal from the syndicates (Arbeitsgemeinschaften), the ‘recognition of the council system as the foundation of socialisation’, and ‘mass strikes as a means of economic and political struggle’.49 All this combined was intended to trigger a new revolutionary wave.50 The programme essentially corresponded to that of the uspd adopted at the party congress in Leipzig in late 1919, then, and in fact the leaders of the brz, Malzahn and Neumann, belonged to the left wing of that party.51 Nonetheless, the nonparty character was emphasised again and again. The councils were held to represent the working class as a whole, not any one party.52 Elsewhere in the same document, three steps were cited as the foundations for future policies: first, a revolutionary council structure was to be built that would ‘permeate capitalist production in all its branches’, fighting for monitoring and co-determination rights.53 Secondly, this organisation would then serve the struggle for political and economic power. At a third level, the same structure would become the ‘indispensable organisation on the basis of which the manual and intellectual workers … carry out socialist production’. The eco-

48 49 50 51 52 53

See the appeal of the Central Office adopted at the conference in Halle in August, printed in Der Arbeiter-Rat 29, 1919. Freiheit, 29 October, 1919 M. Geyer 1976, p. 165. Geyer 1976, p. 144. Ernst Däumig, ‘Kesseltreiben!’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 28, 1919. Similarly, Paul Wegmann. ‘Revolutionäre oder u.s.p.-Betriebsräte’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 8, 1920. This and the following quotations are taken from Material zum Aufbau der sozialistischen Rätevereinigung Deutschlands [no year], pp. 3–4.

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nomic unification of the council system would have to be ‘supplemented and extended by a political association of councils’. Clearly, it was no longer the political councils but the factory councils that were seen as the starting point of the revolution. The latter were to be formed only during and after a new revolutionary struggle. Despite this reorientation, the three classic elements of the council system are still present: it was to serve the struggle for more rights under capitalism, be the principal vehicle of the social and political revolution, and constitute the foundation of the socialist society of the future. The brz representatives evidently presumed that the preparations for these struggles would be very thorough and take place over a prolonged period of time. In their view, the organisational preparatory work of the brz was also necessary because it was not the case that all workers were already converts to the council system. Education, enlightenment and the founding of council schools therefore played an important role in their reflections.54 The councils were also to work closely with the revolutionary parties of the left – i.e. the uspd and kpd – and trade unions, which were to be transformed into industrial associations.55 The Central Office explicitly stated: ‘There is no rivalry between the council organisation and the trade unions – rather, they must support each other and work hand-in-hand. The precondition is that the trade unions be genuinely democratically restructured and that the rule of the old trade union bureaucracy be eliminated’. Therefore, ‘just like the parties, the trade unions must be kept operational as important factors of the proletarian liberation struggle until the full implementation of socialism’.56 Conversely, this meant that the brz took over some aspects of small-scale trade union work as far as they concerned the factory councils. For example, it formulated work regulations and guidelines for hiring and firing that the councils could follow.57 In the long term, the German Reich was to be re-divided into administrative districts on the basis of economic considerations. Here, too, the parallels to the ‘pure council system’ are unmistakable.58

54 55 56 57 58

Material zum Aufbau der sozialistischen Rätevereinigung Deutschlands [no year], p. 5. Material zum Aufbau der sozialistischen Rätevereinigung Deutschlands [no year], pp. 5–6. Material zum Aufbau der sozialistischen Rätevereinigung Deutschlands [no year], pp. 5–6. Freiheit, 16 November, 1920 M. Der Arbeiter-Rat 32, 1919. See also Freiheit, 18 September 1919 M.

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Rivalry with the Trade Unions After the Factory Councils Act came into force, the first elections for the new factory councils were held in spring 1920. In the run-up to the elections and afterwards, a tough struggle over the organisational consolidation of these bodies began. The radical brz competed with the Free Trade Unions, whose functionaries wanted the councils to be largely subordinated to their own federations.59 The former antagonist of the brz, the Central Council, no longer played a relevant role at this point, even if it still formally existed until May 1920.60 As early as February 1920, a factory council congress called by the Textile Workers’ Union had, for instance, criticised the inadequate provisions of the Factory Councils Act, but at the same time called for the factory councils to be combined under the umbrella of the trade unions.61 Richard Müller, by contrast, called for a variety of electoral lists to be drawn up, thus leaving it up to the workforce to decide in what way the factory councils were to be consolidated.62 After the elections, the adgb, together with the AfA salaried employees’ association, had set up its own central office in May 1920, which had the explicit mandate to ‘undermine agitation for the establishment of independent central offices of factory councils’.63 Until its forced dissolution in 1933, it was led by the two Social Democrats Fritz Brolat and Clemens Nörpel. When it was founded, the organisation primarily targeted the brz and its supporters. The adgb had already stated that the resolutions and guidelines of the radicals would not carry ‘the slightest binding force’ for trade unionists.64 Moreover, the trade unions also took up the idea of factory council training. In this field, too, it soon became apparent that they were exclusively pursuing reforms embedded in the existing system. Characteristic was a voluminous presentation by Nörpel, in which he provided the factory councils with concrete material to assist them in exercising their powers within the legal framework.65 Completely absent were any more radical prospects for the future. 59 60 61 62 63

64 65

Freiheit, 16 November 1920 M. See introductory remarks in Kolb and Rürup 1968. Correspondenzblatt, 27 March 1920. Richard Müller, ‘The struggle for the factory councils’, in Freiheit, 11 March 1920 E. Geschäfts- und Kassenbericht des Vorstandes des Allgemeinen Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes für 1920, p. 23. See also Vorwärts, 21 May 1920 E. In addition, there were other attempts to organise the councils in an interfactory framework, for example through the federations (Unionen), which played an important role especially in the Ruhr region. Correspondenzblatt, 27 March 1920. See Nörpel 1922.

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Probably because the brz depended on allies to contend with the rival trade unions, it joined forces with the spd’s office for factory councils, the kpd, and the Berlin Trade-union Commission to form a joint ‘Provisional Central Office for the Reich’.66 Later, Robert Dißmann alleged that this cooperation had only come about through considerable pressure on the Berlin trade union officials. He did not provide any evidence in this context, however. Richard Müller energetically rejected such accusations, pointing to the workers’ repeated, almost unanimous approval of this initiative.67 The regional Berlin umbrella organisation of the Free Trade Unions, the Trade-union Commission, was clearly more radical than the adgb and was largely under the influence of the uspd. It is therefore not surprising that on the question of factory councils, it followed a different path than the associations in the Reich. The unification was preceded by lengthy and difficult negotiations, however.68 Apart from technical issues, there were three main points of contention. First, the future financing was unclear.69 In the end, it was agreed that the costs would be raised through the Berlin trade union federations, bur the Central Office reserved the right to dispose of the money. Second, no agreement could be reached on whether the Central Office would be authorised to take political action independently or whether the left parties should have a say in it.70 The third aspect was the role of the general assembly: the representatives of the revolutionary brz demanded that it be sovereign on all fundamental questions, so that the new Central Office would only serve as an executive organ.71 Originally, the Berlin trade unions had opposed this – but in the end they gave their agreement. The Berlin trade unionists’ independent policy incurred fierce criticism from the adgb, which did not want to give up its claim to leadership on this important issue at any price: ‘Once again we seriously warn the Berlin council politicians not to thwart the peaceful trade union work with their special efforts …’72 The adgb particularly disapproved of the Berliners’ cooperation with the brz, the predictable politicisation of the factory councils that occurred in the course of this cooperation, and their overall greater autonomy in relation to the trade unions. In the same breath, the union leadership issued threats to 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

Correspondenzblatt, 19 June 1920 and Der Arbeiter-Rat 31, 1920. The statements of both opponents can be found in National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 265 and 269–70. Der Arbeiter-Rat 28, 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 24 July 1920. Vorwärts, 28 May 1920 M. Vorwärts, 29 May 1920 M. Correspondenzblatt, 19 June 1920.

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Trade-union Commission sympathisers in order to dissuade them from participating in its Central Office of councils. It can no longer be clearly established why the Berlin spd participated in the reconstitution. Conceivably its district leadership feared further isolation in the capital if it did not. The factory councils secretariat of the spd originated in the Central Council and, like the latter, had its headquarters in BerlinTiergarten, In den Zelten 23. The provisional Central Office was then composed of three representatives each from the Trade-union Commission and the brz, and one delegate each from the spd, kpd and AfA. The brz appointed Müller, Wegmann and Neumann, its most prominent activists. The kpd sent one of its experts on factory councils, Heinrich Brandler.73 Barely two months later, a regular General Assembly elected an Executive Committee as new leadership.74 There, Flesch and Ottomar Geschke served as chairmen beside Neumann.75 The four working committees give a good indication of the priorities that had been set. There was one each for employee matters, education, unemployment and monitoring of production. De facto, there were now two organisations in Germany trying to unite the factory councils, namely the one run by the adgb, on the one hand, and the brz in Berlin. Not least to clear up this situation, which was unsatisfactory for all sides, the Free Trade Unions convened a factory councils congress in Berlin, which took place in early October 1920 with over 900 participants. By and large, the trade union leaders won the day there, thanks in no small part to their tactical skill and thorough preparatory work.76 The election rules stated that only delegates who had been members of an adgb union for at least one year could be elected. In addition, moderate associations such as the Agricultural Workers’ Union got a disproportionate share. The brz protested against these provisions, especially since so many factory councils were excluded from the outset – but it had to bow to the overwhelming competition, all the more so as even the kpd and uspd were calling for participation.77 Already in the run-up to the congress, a certain resignation was evident due to the obviously weak position of the radicals.78 If nothing else, they con73 74 75 76 77 78

Die Rote Fahne, 30 July 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 14 September 1920; Freiheit, 17 September, 1920 M. It has not been possible to establish Flesch’s first name or party affiliation. See Legien’s remarks to the Federal Committee of the General German Trade Union Federation on 17 August 1920 in Ruck 1985, vol. 2, pp. 203–5. Heinrich Malzahn, ‘Der Reichsbetriebsrätekongreß des A.d.G.B’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 35, 1920. Ernst Däumig, ‘Vor dem Rätekongreß’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 36, 1920.

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vened a pre-congress meeting in an effort to commit their own supporters to a common line.79 Despite the resistance of the Social Democrats, Wegmann succeeded in winning Berlin transport workers’ factory councillors to his line at one of their meeting.80 Their strong standing among Berlin’s factory councils could hardly compensate for the far better roots of the trade unions in many other parts of the country, however. The key question at the congress, in the unanimous view of all participants, was this: should all factory councils be combined into an independent organisation, or should only the Free Trade Union councils be merged into a structure subordinate to the trade unions? After a controversial debate, the delegates voted by a large majority for the latter. The resolution presented by Robert Dißmann that was then adopted established a clear primacy of trade unions over councils. True, there was talk about the councils as ‘organs of the proletarian class struggle’ – but this was little more than a rhetorical concession to the radicals. Ultimately, the main point was to subordinate the councils to the trade unions – this was the meaning behind the resolution calling for councillors to be delegated ‘from their midst’ and also to serve as the representatives of the unions in the production process.81 Another motion also adopted by a majority stated that ‘the factory councils are to be organically combined within the trade unions’, arguing that a ‘special organisation of factory councils is of no use either locally or centrally’.82 All this had been made possible by the close cooperation between Social Democrats and moderate Independents at the congress. The split in the uspd, which was to come in the same month, was already foreshadowed there. Together, the two groups formed the majority at the congress, and the supporters of the ‘pure council system’ around Däumig and Müller, allied with the Communists, could do little to challenge this. Unfortunately, the balance of power can no longer be determined, as the exact voting results were not recorded in the minutes. The minutes merely state that the two motions were adopted ‘by a large majority’ and ‘against a few votes’ respectively. The opposition proposals were declared defeated.83 The left resolutely rejected the charge that it wanted to disempower or even smash the trade unions, not least by pointing to the close cooperation

79 80 81 82 83

Freiheit, 16 September 1920 M. Freiheit, 29 September 1920 M. National Congress Factory Councils, p. 68. National Congress Factory Councils, p. 74. National Congress Factory Councils, p. 266.

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between its Central Office and the trade unions in Berlin.84 From the left’s point of view, however, there were two main reasons for an independent council organisation. First, it wanted to comprise factory councillors that were not members of a Free Trade Union. This was a logical conclusion from its understanding of the council system as a comprehensive class organisation of all workers and employees. In the medium term, it hoped to win the Christian, liberal and unorganised factory councillors to its side. The second argument of the left was that the political tasks of the factory councils, which went beyond the narrow social framework, could only be carried out if they had sufficient room for manoeuvre, which was not given if they were tied to an inflexible and reformist trade union bureaucracy. Of course, the fact that the council supporters were only a minority in the trade unions played a significant role. And after the predictable split of the uspd, this also applied to its previous stronghold, the metalworkers’ federation. Richard Müller, in particular, pleaded for a structure that would take into account the different regional conditions. Heinrich Brandler, spokesman for the Communist delegates, added that since the end of the war a completely new historical situation had arisen. It was therefore wrong to cling too rigidly to the old forms of organisation, which were based on the conditions of the pre-war period. Probably because they expected their ideas to be rejected, the opposition representatives introduced yet another motion.85 It proposed to have a thirtymember Central Office of Factory Councils elected at the congress on the basis of proportional representation, with an additional five members each from the adgb and the AfA. In this way, the opposition wanted to secure at least a certain say in the body – but their compromise proposal was also unsuccessful. Hoffrogge has quite aptly noted on the decisions of the congress: ‘The delegates could hardly grasp the far-reaching consequences of their decision: it was, in fact, the end of an independent council movement in Germany’.86 The members of the brz had foreseen this result, but were unable to prevent it. What remained was a combination of disappointment and defiance: ‘The German workers’ movement has held three Congresses of Workers’ Councils in the last two years: three congresses at which the adversaries were the victors and

84

85 86

See the speeches by Heinrich Brandler and Richard Müller at the congress: National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 210–39. See also the motions of the brz and the kpd: National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 54–5, 50–2. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 55 and 260. Hoffrogge 2014, p. 144.

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he partisans of the council idea the defeated. By stating this fact, we are saying that we are far from deluding ourselves, but also that we are far from limply laying down our arms.’87 Further developments, however, showed that the council movement was not to recover from this final defeat. Shortly after the congress, the Berlin Tradeunion Commission resigned again from the brz.88 It met on 15 November 1920 and, after an extremely controversial debate, passed a resolution to this effect by 94:30 votes.89 This also meant that the focus was now on a purely tradeunion central office. Likewise, the right wing of the uspd spoke out in favour of breaking away and joined the trade-union led launch.90 This further weakened and isolated the radical supporters of the councils, as is evident from a 22 November 1920 resolution of the brz, which was now acting on its own again: the delegates to the General Assembly decided to retain their own organisation, yet the same time, they wanted to cooperate in the trade-union council structures, proclaiming that they were aiming to ‘assume the leadership’ there.91 Richard Müller, meanwhile, had called for a boycott of the trade-union council organisation as late as in the last days of October.92 He soon had to revise this intention. The new two-pronged policy clearly recognised the importance of the trade unions’ factory council organisation. After the unification of the uspd left with the kpd in December 1920, the brz was transformed into a purely Communist organisation.93 This came hand in hand with a further loss of importance. A concrete case illustrated the fundamental ability of the trade unions to assert themselves: in the 1921 factory council election in Berlin, the candidates of the Free Trade Unions won almost 79 percent of the seats, while the Communists won only 17 percent.94 A pre-formulated statement issued by the German Metal Workers’ Union in Berlin was characteristic of the fierce rivalry.95 By signing the document, the

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95

Der Arbeiter-Rat 42, 1920. Müller’s verdict was similar – see Richard Müller, ‘Die Komödie der Gewerkschaftsbürokraten’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 43/44, 1920. It is very likely that the representatives of the spd did the same, although there is no evidence of this. Freiheit, 16 November 1920 E; Correspondenzblatt, 27 November 1920. Report of 7 December 1920, BArch R 1507/2003, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 149. Correspondenzblatt, 27 November 1920. Hoffrogge 2008, p. 141. Correspondenzblatt, 15 January 1921. Brigl-Matthiaß 1978, p. 42. The remaining seven of the 179 seats were given to representatives of the Hirsch-Duncker and ‘yellow’ organisations. sapmo-BArch ry 35/32, Deutscher Metallarbeiterverband, no page number.

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respective member declared that he regretted his own behaviour – namely, that he had allowed himself to be placed on an opposition list for factory council elections, contrary to the resolutions of the National Congress of Factory Councils. The accused also promised to work in future ‘in particular to ensure that only a single, Free-Trade-Union list is drawn up for factory council elections’. Overall, the Free Trade Unions in the metal industry managed to achieve stable majorities of over 80 percent until the final stages of the Weimar Republic,.96 The Communists therefore focused more and more on taking over the trade-union central office.97 The brz’s most important sister organisation, the Central Office of Factory Councils in Halle, dissolved in early 1921 too.98 Later, the kpd tried several times to use the factory councils as a lever for its political actions. In August 1922, for example, a so-called ‘fifteen committee’ called for a meeting of Berlin’s revolutionary factory councils. Against the resistance of the union leadership, several thousand of them came together, but this had few tangible consequences.99 The kpd launched a partially successful campaign for a political general strike against the government of Wilhelm Cuno, however. Especially in Berlin, the workers followed suit. Willi Hünecke, factory council member at Osram, was directly involved in the organisation of the strike: In August 1923, the kpd is calling on all Berlin factory councils to come to Hasenheide. Four of the largest halls are packed solely with factory councillors, including all the Social-Democratic ones. There is unanimous agreement on a general strike, whose immediate outcome is the resignation of the Cuno government. As a member of the enlarged strike leadership, I stand next to Fritz Heckert in one of the halls, having to call after three days for the strike to be suspended, with the assurance that this only means a respite from the struggle.100 Hünecke also reported that he had travelled to Paris in mid-October with a delegation led by Bernard Koenen. There, they canvassed French workers for support in the event of a revolution in Germany. The ‘Cuno strikes’ succeeded in forcing the resignation of the government, but the actual goal of triggering

96 97 98 99 100

König 1920. Report of 3 January 1921, BArch R 1507/2004, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 85–6. Brigl-Matthiaß 1978, p. 40. Ruck 1985, pp. 620–21. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/419, Erinnerungen Willi Hünecke, Bl. 12.

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a new revolutionary wave was not attained.101 Also during the crisis of 1923, a national conference of factory councils was to decide whether to trigger the revolution. No such decision came to pass, however, as the meeting was banned by the government. Then, a regional conference of trade unionists and factory councils in Chemnitz demonstrated that the Communists could not count on sufficient support for their planned ‘German October’. It was one of the decisive factors for the party leadership to drop its ambitious plans.

Interim Conclusion The Revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils was the last serious attempt to give the council movement an independent organisational framework and a permanent structure capable of winning out. But it remained only an attempt. Although it launched some political initiatives, it could not live up to the hopes for a Second Revolution that its activists held. The brz was nonetheless an integral part of the council movement, even if historians have not recognised its significance yet – to the extent they have taken note of it at all. Certainly the brz could have developed some traction. Firmly anchored in the Berlin workplaces and endowed with considerable support among blueand white-collar workers, it was a potentially serious challenge to the existing order. The experience of spring 1919 had shown the explosive power that a political general strike could develop. It was only logical, then, to create an organisation that could focus these regional movements on a common goal and coordinate them. After all, one of the reasons why previous efforts had failed was that they lacked such a ‘revolutionary general staff’. The intention was not, however, to make good on this by introducing ‘democratic centralism’ along Leninist lines, but to legitimise the leadership through grassrootsdemocratic decision-making and consultation. Or as Richard Müller put it: ‘All organs of this independent council organisation must be recallable at any time. No authoritarianism, no bureaucratism must be allowed to develop. An organisation like this must be constituted in such a way that all impulses coming from the ranks of the workers’ masses tremble through the entire organisational apparatus right up to the top.’102 It is noteworthy that the brz did not envisage such a grassroots-democratic structure only for a future organisation or even for the coming socialist social order. Instead, there were clear efforts to

101 102

For details, see Bayerlein and Babicenko 2003; also Jentsch 2005. National Congress Factory Councils, p. 236.

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implement these ideas immediately. This applied to the brz itself after its first provisional phase, but also for its council school. On the whole, the brz had no lasting political impact, which can be attributed to a number of internal and external reasons. The support of the regional factory council associations, which in addition to Berlin included those from central Germany and the Ruhr region, could not conceal the fact that the base of the brz was quite narrow from the beginning. It had little support in other regions. In its strongholds, it mainly represented the more radical sections of the working class, even if they were very numerous there. To some extent, this reflects the special role of Berlin, where the more radical forces of the labour movement were traditionally more prevalent than in most other places. Many moderate Social Democrats and virtually all Christian or liberal workers, however, as well as many without any trade-union or party affiliation, steered clear of the brz. The fact that the brz made a commitment to its radical positions a condition of membership certainly contributed to this. Moreover, even within this political framework there was often no unity: the federations (Unionen) pursued their goal of a united organisation beyond party and trade union separately. The Communists clung to the leading role of the party, and the Independents split into a right wing and a left wing in 1920. The fact that the brz rarely went beyond organisational work was equally key. In important political campaigns, such as the struggle against the Factory Councils Act and the resistance to the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, it always depended on cooperation with other forces and almost never acted truly independently. If it did, it was quickly isolated and was unable to assert itself – for example, in March 1920, when its leadership considered it premature to call off the general strike. With regard to this particular case, however, it should be noted that in the days following the coup the factory councils were in a state of organisational upheaval, which limited their political effectiveness. Moreover, the regional branches had a very high degree of independence, which made coordination difficult time and again. The indispensable precondition for an assertive policy, namely the construction of a comprehensive council system across the Reich, was increasingly lost from view. This, however, meant that the brz lacked direct roots outside its strongholds. Only in Berlin and in central Germany was it able to achieve brief successes. After the National Congress of Factory Councils in October 1920 at the latest, this position was lost too. In addition to such internal factors, there were external ones as well. The trade unions, as we have already shown, were the most dangerous adversaries of the brz. Despite their distinctly sceptical attitude towards the councils at the beginning of the revolution, they largely succeeded in making the fact-

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ory councils their instruments in the enterprises. This was hardly surprising given that the end of the revolutionary period was becoming apparent in the course of 1920. Under such conditions, the moderate trade unionists’ attitude largely oriented towards limited reforms and wage struggles prevailed. Consistently revolutionary councils obviously only made sense if there was reason to assume that the Second Revolution was imminent and a radical transformation of the economic and political system on the horizon. Now that this was no longer the case, the small needs and concerns of the workforce once again came to the fore. The intransigent attitude of the state authorities had a complicating effect, which manifested itself in different ways. Sometimes this occurred in a direct fashion – for example, when the radical press was banned, their leaders arrested and their work obstructed. In some cases, naked violence was used. But in parallel, the government tried to steer the councils in a moderate direction through legislative measures. The Factory Councils Act and interfactory council institutions close to the state, such as the provisional Reich Economic Council (Reichswirtschaftsrat), must be viewed in this light. These institutions were geared towards ‘social partnership’ and cooperation with the bosses by virtue of their equal representation of both sides alone. The brz was in many ways a perfect reflection of the council movement as a whole: it failed as a result of a whole series of internal and external factors, even if there were certainly moments when it gave a real idea of its potential.

chapter 5

Pupil Councils During a few weeks in the summer of 1919, a large-scale school student strike in Berlin caused quite a stir. It was organised by pupil councils at the capital’s compulsory further education schools (Pflichtfortbildungsschulen), and one of its aims was to gain official recognition for these councils. Previously, there had already been various initiatives to introduce the principles of the councils to young people, which included Gustav Wyneken’s attempt to reform the secondary schools. In this chapter, we will reconstruct the relevant events and inquire for the causes, activities and aims of the pupil council movement. Its relationship to Berlin’s other councils will be one of the key aspects, and our investigation will serve to reinforce the thesis that the council movement was much broader than previously assumed by historians. The pupil councils have hardly been noticed in historiography: in works on the 1918–1920 revolution in general and in those specifically on the council movement, there is no mention of the subject.1 Even authors who dealt with the Berlin school system of the Weimar period devoted only a few lines, if any, to the pupil councils.2

A Special Case: Gustav Wyneken’s Attempt at Reform In the German youth movement and Wandervogel3 milieu, we can discern various approaches and ideas for a comprehensive school reform already before the

1 They are not mentioned in any comprehensive accounts of the revolution – see Winkler 1985 for a representative example. The same applies to the relevant literature on the council movement, e.g. Kolb 1978, Oertzen 1976, Müller 1925 and Arnold 1985. 1976, Müller 1925 and Arnold 1985. 2 For more details, see Lemm, Werner et al 1987, pp. 115–16 – this volume, however, lacks any supporting evidence and is also of limited use because of its one-sided presentation; Karow 1993, pp. 1–280 and Wagner 1993, pp. 413–585 offer very good accounts of Berlin vocational school history of the time, but mention pupil councils and strikes only as an insignificant side note. There is nothing about either the councils or the strike in Richter 1981. 3 Translator’s note: Wandervogel: a neo-romantic movement of German youth groups from 1896 to 1933 who protested against industrialisation by going to hike in the country and commune with nature in the woods.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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First World War, with Gustav Wyneken as one of the most influential thinkers.4 Wyneken was instrumental in founding the Free School Community of Wickersdorf [Freie Schulgemeinde Wickersdorf ] in Thuringia in 1906. The aim of this initiative was to test a new cooperative relationship between pupils and teachers that was deliberately set against the authoritarian pedagogy of the Kaiserreich era.5 Immediately after the November Revolution, Wyneken worked as an advisor to the Prussian Minister of Culture, Konrad Haenisch (spd), and wrote two decrees for teachers and pupils at secondary schools.6 Later, there were similar attempts in Saxony, Württemberg and Bavaria. The two school decrees of 27 November 1918 advocated a reform in clear imitation of Wickersdorf, as was clear from the letter addressed to the pupils: ‘May a new relationship of comradeship develop between you and your teachers, may the air of the schools be cleansed of the spirit of blind subordination, mistrust and lies’.7 To this end, two new bodies were to be created at every secondary school in Prussia. The school community (Schulgemeinde), an equal association of all teachers and pupils, was to serve as a forum for the discussion of concrete questions. Moreover, Wyneken envisaged the establishment of pupil councils to represent the interests of the young people. The decrees were intended more as a suggestion than as a binding order, just as their later expansion was deliberately left open. However, the reform project never lived up to the high expectations. As soon as it was launched, there was widespread resistance, mainly from headmasters and teachers.8 They saw it as a threat to their authority and took offence at the critical wording of the decrees, which they perceived as demeaning their previous teaching activities. In many cases, they simply refused to create the planned institutions to begin with, or they allowed them to come to nothing. Moreover, their interventions at the Ministry of Culture led to Wyneken’s resig-

4 The highly diverse efforts in this regard cannot be discussed in more detail here. On the German youth movement, see for example the worthwhile overview by Laqueur and Bortfeld 1983; see also Dudek 1983 and Panter, Ulrich 1960. 5 Later, Wyneken caused a great stir when he was given a prison sentence for sexual abuse of pupils. The trial was discussed very controversially in public and ensured that Wyneken had to relinquish the rectorate at Wickersdorf. 6 On the decrees and their implementation, see the brief explanations in Panter 1960, pp. 85–7 and Dudek 2009, pp. 42–3. 7 Vossische Zeitung, 3 December 1918 M. 8 See Rudolf Kurzweg, ‘Arbeiterräte und höhere Schulen’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 13, 1919 and Vossische Zeitung, 17 December 1918 M.

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nation from his post after only a few weeks. Haenisch then decisively weakened the whole project. Not only the teachers opposed the project: parents were also highly critical of it.9 There was some support from liberal circles, however, for example from Paul Hildebrandt, a teacher at the Berlin Gymnasium Zum Grauen Kloster. He wrote several benevolent articles in the Vossische Zeitung and made concrete efforts to implement the reforms at his school.10 The Berlin teacher Paul Kirchberger took a similarly positive view of the reform attempts, although in retrospect he, like Hildebrandt, had to regretfully concede their failure.11 There were hardly any socialist-minded teachers in those days, so one could hardly expect much help coming from these quarters.12 The council movement also praised Wyneken’s experiments – the conclusion drawn from their already foreseeable failure, however, was that the pupil councils would need the support of the workers’ councils.13 Crucially, it seemed impossible to enthuse the pupils, who largely came from middle-class families, for their new rights. Where pupil councils were nonetheless formed, they proved to be of a very different spirit than the one intended. It is not difficult to find examples to illustrate this. In Pankow, a meeting of about 150 pupils agreed that pupil councils would only be acceptable if operating under the auspices of the right-wing parties.14 At Berlin-Schöneberg’s Prinz-Heinrich-Gymnasium, the pupils declared that they wanted no ‘despotism of pupils over teachers’ and therefore rejected the school council outright.15 On top of this, they certified themselves as lacking the required maturity for such tasks. The case of Robert Liebknecht, the 19-year-old son of the kpd founder Karl Liebknecht, caused a sensation.16 In February 1919, encouraged by the pupil council, his classmates at the Steglitz Gymnasium refused to attend classes together with him any longer. They succeeded with their action – Liebknecht had to take his final exams [Abitur] as an external student at another educational institution. In Stettin and Greifswald there was even a strike when the grammar school [Gymnasium] pupils resisted the removal of pictured of 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Paul Kirchberger, ‘Schülerselbstverwaltung’, in Vossische Zeitung, 25 February 1923. See his retrospective and rather bitter conclusion: Paul Hildebrandt, ‘Das Fiasko der Schülerselbstverwaltung’, in Vossische Zeitung, 15 February 1923 M. Paul Kirchberger, ‘Schülerselbstverwaltung’, in Vossische Zeitung, 25 February 1923. Freiheit, 8 June 1919. Hermann Schüller, ‘Zur Bewegung der Schüler und Studenten’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 18, 1919 and Rudolf Kurzweg, ‘Arbeiterräte und höhere Schulen’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 13, 1919. Vossische Zeitung, 11 December 1918 M. Rote Fahne, 17 December 1918; quote from Vossische Zeitung, 17 December 1918 M. Arbeiter-Jugend, 5 April 1919; Vossische Zeitung, 1 February 1919 M.

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the Kaiser from their classrooms.17 Minister Haenisch personally met with the Stettin pupil council to discuss the matter. The almost complete failure of the school communities and pupil councils at the secondary schools principally showed that a proposal from high up in the Ministry of Culture could not achieve anything if it was met with massive resistance from those affected. This was probably unavoidable given the often conservative-authoritarian attitudes of the teaching staff, which dated back to the days of the Kaiserreich. Given the mostly middle-class background of parents and pupils, too, the project was bound to fail at the outset. Indeed, where the pupil councillors took any action at all, they did so in a completely different manner than desired by Wyneken, using the new bodies to pursue anti-revolutionary and anti-republican goals. It is clear that such pupil councils had nothing to do with the council movement and indeed wanted nothing to do with it. As such, they were a special case, in their orientation most closely resembling the citizens’ councils.18

The Starting Point: Vocational Schools and the Youth Workers’ Movement In the late years of the Kaiserreich and equally in the Republic, the vocational schools [Fortbildungsschulen] were an important pillar of the educational system.19 It was here that the 14–18 year old apprentices and unskilled young workers continued their formal school education.20 Kurt Nettball, a pupil of the Eighth Compulsory Vocational School (viii. Pflichtfortbildungsschule) in Grüntaler Straße, wrote a very vivid account of his school days there.21 The text provides valuable information about many processes and about the self-image of the pupil councils. It may be somewhat exaggerated in certain details, for example with respect to depictions of the school headmaster Trost, but many details are also confirmed by other, independently written press reports and recollections of other participants, such as the accounts of Anton Saefkow,

17 18 19 20 21

Vossische Zeitung, 30 September, 1919 E; Junge Garde, 20 November, 1919. On the citizens’ councils, see Schmidt 1984 und Bieber 1992. For a general overview, see Pätzold 1994, pp. 10–18, and for details on Berlin Karow 1993 and Wagner 1993. According to article 145 of the Weimar Constitution, school attendance was compulsory until the age of eighteen. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/0670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 9–12 and 47–57.

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Heinz Hentschke and Paul Schiller, which we will also consult here. On the whole, the account can therefore be considered credible. Divided by trade, the students received instruction in German, mathematics and a number of other subjects once or twice a week. In some cases they were also taught skills specific to their trade. In Berlin after the war there were ten state-run compulsory vocational schools with about 30,000 pupils and five vocational schools run by the Association of Berlin Merchants (3,340 pupils).22 The four to six hours of classes per week were mainly held on weekends, in the afternoons or late in the evenings. This was not least due to the poor financial resources of the respective institutions, which largely did not have their own premises and were accommodated in other schools as guests. Moreover, it was almost exclusively elementary school teachers working here part-time, which they were only free to do outside the school hours of their regular institutions. There was a third factor: employers had an interest in keeping their apprentices on the job as fully as possible during working hours. Thus, unlike skilled workers, apprentices were still required to work more than eight hours a day after the revolution. It goes without saying that a person’s ability to study and learn is significantly impaired after a full day’s work. These were not the only grievances at the schools, however. Large classes of up to 50 pupils and an emphatically authoritarian pedagogy incurred the pupils’ resentment. It was especially the frequent beatings and detentions that they did not want to put up with any longer. There had been attempts to militaristically influence the pupils even before the war began – for instance, when they were indoctrinated by officers during joint Sunday excursions. This trend became even more pronounced when in 1914 pupils were registered in so-called youth companies for pre-military training. At the Eighth Compulsory Vocational School, the headmaster William Trost even required apprentices to salute him militarily.23 If they did not comply, he hit them on the back with a ruler. Poor or barely developed curricula, rigid cramming and little practical relevance were further factors. On top of all this, highly unpopular compulsory cost-cutting measures were imposed on the apprentices in order to finance the war. Unlike the secondary schools, the vocational schools were not under the control of the Ministry of Education but of the Ministry of Trade, so Gustav Wyneken’s school community ordinances did not

22

23

The number of students for the vocational schools refers to 1919. No exact figure can be given for the other schools as they were subject to strong fluctuation because of the war. Karow 1993 cites 35,500 pupils for 1914 and 23,000 for 1918. On p. 138, he additionally states that after the war the number of pupils quickly grew to earlier levels. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/0670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 7–8 and 48.

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apply there. In the factories, apprentices were facing diminished protection for young people, long working hours and exploitation as cheap labour. Overall, the conditions at the vocational schools caused a growing discontent among the pupils. Soon, a movement articulating concrete demands and contemplating ways to improve this situation began to develop among them. The political youth organisations of the left played an important role in this process. Apprentices and unskilled young workers made up the main contingent in the socialist youth organisations. After a relatively short, chequered history, two main groups emerged alongside the numerically rather insignificant Socialist Proletarian Youth (spj), which was only founded at the end of 1919.24 The Association of Workers’ Youth in Greater Berlin (Verein Arbeiterjugend Groß-Berlin, aj) was linked to the spd and counted around 1,800 members in the summer of 1919.25 The Free Socialist Youth (Freie Sozialistische Jugend, fsj) was oriented towards the kpd and had its most important stronghold in Berlin, counting about 2,500 members in the spring and 6,000 in the autumn of 1919.26 Both groups had their own journals, which were also of some importance outside Berlin: Arbeiter-Jugend and Junge Garde. The central organs of the respective groups, they were however published in Berlin and often carried reports specifically on Berlin events. They are therefore an important source for the topics dealt with in this chapter. In principle, both youth associations were legally and organisationally largely independent. However, they had close ties with the respective parties through their political orientation, their preferred methods, and their personal connections and overlaps. They both gained a large number of new supporters in the course of the revolution as the urge to join political organisations also

24

25

26

The spj was formed as a split from the Free Socialist Youth (fsj), but because it was formed at a late stage, it is not very relevant for our purposes. Although close to the uspd, it never reached the importance of the other two youth associations. Arbeiter-Jugend, 12 July 1919. A sympathetic and informative overview of the history of the association from 1917 to mid-1919 was given by the spd party executive at the Weimar party congress, see Minutes Weimar, pp. 22–25. A more detailed account, also from a SocialDemocratic perspective for the period from 1904, but only very briefly on the revolution: Korn 1922. On the beginnings of the fsj with a special focus on Berlin, see the account by one of its leading representatives: Paul Schiller, ‘Deutschland’ in Zirkularschreiben der Internationalen sozialistischen Jugendorganisationen, 30 April 1919. On membership numbers, see Lemm 1987, p. 115. Later the association renamed itself Communist Youth of Germany (Kommunistische Jugend Deutschlands) and, from 1925, Communist Youth League of Germany (Kommunistischer Jugendverband Deutschlands).

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took hold of the youth. In addition, the Trade Union Youth (Gewerkschaftsjugend, the youth organisation of the trade unions) grew considerably – in terms of membership numbers, it was the strongest organisation amongst apprentices.27 Its demands included the eight-hour day, the abolition of corporal punishment and the ‘recognition of young shop stewards or factory councils in factories and schools’.28 Because it did not play a significant role in the struggle for pupil councils, however, we will not discuss it any further. The Association of Workers’ Youth’s (aj) positions on the revolution and the Republic showed its Social-Democratic orientation very clearly, as did its concrete activities. While hoping for impulses towards an improvement in its supporters’ social situation, it also stressed the great difficulties involved and called for moderation: Under these terrible circumstances, it is a bitter necessity that the proletariat puts its own desires on hold … until it will be able arrange life according to its socialist ideals. Thus, the young members of the proletariat cannot expect to receive all the personal and material support that we need to implement our socialist youth programme … But the times when the young, especially the creative young, were merely an object of legislation are definitely over. This young generation wants to have a say in the determination of its fate, wants to have a share in decision-making and acting.29 An important part of the demands concerned the reform of the apprenticeship system. This included improvements in youth protection, the eight-hour working day and the abolition of corporal punishment.30 Greater co-determination rights for pupils and an end to authoritarian methods of education were also called for.31 Since the beginning of the revolution, the aj relied not least on the youth shop stewards and on close links with the trade unions and factory councils. In the summer of 1919, it counted some 250 shop stewards in Berlin among its supporters, who represented some 10,000 apprentices and young workers.32

27 28 29 30 31 32

On the Trade Union Youth in general, see the account in Bierhoff 2004, especially pp. 38– 77, and more recently Andresen 2013, pp. 157–173. For example, in a brochure of the Metalworkers’ Association: lab A Rep. 038–01 Nr. 126, Magistrat Spandau, Bl. 346–350, quote on Bl. 349. Arbeiter-Jugend, 14 December 1918. Arbeiter-Jugend, 28 December 1918. Fritz Ausländer, ‘Die neue Schule im Freien Volk’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 22 February 1919. Arbeiter-Jugend, 12 July 1919.

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Pupil councils were also to be established in parallel, and their formation and support was repeatedly encouraged.33 Erich Ollenhauer outlined their tasks as follows: Let us think, for example, of the pupils’ councils! They are only to act as representatives of the organisation in the second place. Their primary goal must be the creation of a democratic community that raises citizens … The pupils’ councils, the apprentices’ shop stewards, the organisation itself must operate in a socialist spirit and exert a socialist influence [sozialistisch wirken].34 In general, the functionaries relied on negotiations with factory and school management and on legal government regulations to achieve their goals.35 Explicitly rejecting apprentice and school strikes as ineffective means, they expressly did not see themselves as a fighting organisation.36 Ollenhauer saw education – that is, education towards socialist and democratic values – as the essential field of activity for the association. This corresponded perfectly to a motion on the youth movement adopted at the spd party congress in Weimar in summer 1919, which stated: ‘The aim of the youth movement is to educate young people towards a socialist worldview and independent political activity. It also has the purpose of promoting effective child and youth protection. However, the youth organisation is not a fighting organisation with party-political aims – its tasks are mainly of an educational nature.’37 The aj thus aligned itself with the basic strategy of the spd and many trade union leaders that was geared towards negotiated settlements, gradual reforms and cooperation with other social forces. This naturally included the affirmation of the emerging republican order. The rather vague and broad ideas on the creation of pupil councils show that they only played a subordinate role in the political concept of the aj. Nothing in the association’s pronouncements indicates the need for a council organisation extending beyond individual classes or schools – the councils would only operate locally. This was consistent with 33 34 35

36 37

Hans Turß, ‘Ein Schulstreik in Berlin’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 26 July 1919; Fritz Ausländer, ‘Die neue Schule im Freien Volk’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 22 February 1919. Erich Ollenhauer, ‘Die Revolution des Geistes’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 1 November 1919. eo [Erich Ollenhauer], ‘Die Freien Jugendorganisationen als Leiter der Lehrlingsbewegung’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 22 March 1919. See also the issues of Arbeiter-Jugend of 14 December 1918, 8 March 1919 and 20 September 1919. eo [Erich Ollenhauer], ‘Die Freien Jugendorganisationen als Leiter der Lehrlingsbewegung’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 22 March 1919. Minutes Weimar, p. 110.

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the aj’s emphatically non-activist attitude. The councils were seen as a useful auxiliary organ, not as an important instrument or even as a political objective. The Free Socialist Youth (fsj) was far more radical and militant. Already in the first days of the revolution, it unequivocally demanded further political and social upheaval: ‘No half-revolution, but a full revolution!’38 This implied not only a change of leadership, but that the entire capitalist system be overcome and all power transferred to the councils. The fsj, then, rejected the republicanparliamentary system and was committed to a second revolution with the aim of establishing a council republic. A few months later, it proclaimed along very similar lines: ‘We are talking expressly about the coming proletarian revolution, because the 9 November revolution was only proletarian in form, but not in content’.39 This content was also to include participation of young people in decisionmaking in the state, in the factories and in the schools. To achieve such ambitious goals, traditional political practices and modes of organising would have to be overcome: ‘If we want to organise the young people today, we must be aware that the old youth organisations, in their tendencies and forms, have been overtaken by developments just like the old political parties. We must build anew’.40 The fsj also called for a reform of the vocational schools.41 It explicitly demanded that lessons be shifted into working hours and corporal punishment banned. The proposed means to achieve this and to mobilise the youth were not negotiation, however, but open militancy: ‘The deed, the struggle is the most effective way of enlightenment’.42 In the further course of the revolution, the fsj formulated more concrete proposals on involving the young in a future council system and on transforming the schools. It wanted the two aspects to be closely linked. One concept envisaged electing independent youth factory councils in the enterprises, which would then join together at the respective locality and ultimately across Germany on an interfactory basis.43 Building on this structure, the young would later participate in the regular workers’ councils, for which the right to vote was to be granted to all workers from the age of 14. In order to guarantee the

38 39 40 41 42 43

Junge Garde, 27 November 1918. Heinrich [sic], ‘Räte-Organisation der Jugend’, in Junge Garde, 19 April 1919. Junge Garde, 27 November 1918. Rote Fahne, 13 December 1918. Junge Garde, 11 December 1918. Heinrich [sic], ‘Räte-Organisation der Jugend’ in Junge Garde, 19 April 1919.

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independent representation of interests, young workers would be grouped into their own electoral bodies, which would send representatives to the council. Gunther Hopffe, an fsj official from Berlin, proposed a very similar system, but with schools as its base.44 He too conceived of a multi-level council structure. Its task would be to take part in restructuring the educational institutions, especially the vocational schools – this would involve exerting influence on the state board of school administration. The objective of the envisioned educational reforms and independent representative bodies was to make young people capable of taking political action. In response to the objection that they were not mature enough for such activities, Hopffe stated that the exact same argument had been raised against the women’s and workers’ movement in general, and that it was therefore untenable. This self-confident attitude – if you are old enough to work, you are old enough for politics – was expressed again and again in Junge Garde.45 Walter Löwenheim – who, like Hopffe, came from Berlin – was a member of the fsj, and he had its explicit backing when he outlined his vision of a new socialist education.46 According to him, teaching methods were in need of a comprehensive reform: traditional rote cramming had to be replaced with critical questioning and independent learning. This would require a new relationship between pupils and teachers, based on community rather than authority. The pupil councils were an important element in this conception: they would offer the opportunity to practise community spirit and a sense of responsibility, and concrete changes would be implemented through self-management. Löwenheim explicitly suggested that their activities could encompass deciding upon the school regulations and contents of teaching. He rejected grading and penalisation. Both youth organisations were in principle well-disposed towards the pupil councils and supported them to the best of their ability. Both, moreover, made repeated efforts to reach out to the pupils of the secondary schools. The fsj set up a special agitation committee for this purpose.47 The aj tried a very similar approach.48 But the repeated calls to maintain efforts to involve the grammar school students despite their openly reactionary attitudes are proof

44 45 46 47 48

Gunther Hopffe, ‘Die Mitbestimmung der Jugendlichen in der Räterepublik’, in Junge Garde, 1 May 1919. We can find examples of this in Heinrich and Hopffe’s writings, but also e.g. in Ernst Schulze, ‘Zur Betriebsorganisation’, in Junge Garde, 17 May 1919. Walter Löwenheim, ‘Sozialistische Erziehung’, in Junge Garde, 23 August 1919. Junge Garde, 4 December 1918. Arbeiter-Jugend, 5 April 1919, 23 August 1919 and 1 August 1920.

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of the failure of these endeavours. Both organisations openly admitted this. There was also agreement on some concrete changes in the schools, which generally stipulated more autonomy and better learning conditions for the pupils. The associations differed in their favoured means and ultimate political aims, however. Since the fsj aspired to a council republic encompassing all areas of life, it is unsurprising that their ideas of future youth councils were more intricate and far more comprehensive. It should also be noted, however, that unlike parts of the spd, the aj had a positive view of the councils and wanted to see them permanently institutionalised in schools and workplaces.

Structure of the Pupil Councils The revolution did not stop at schools, and this was especially true of the vocational schools. The 14- to 18-year-old apprentices and young workers came into direct contact with revolutionary workers in their factories. They were also old enough to become politically active themselves, which distinguished them from the younger elementary school pupils, but also from the usually more bourgeois grammar school students. Kurt Nettball, a student at the Eighth Compulsory Vocational School in the Gesundbrunnen district, cited a striking event of November 1918 to illustrate this politicisation: Then some armed workers and soldiers with red armbands and cockades came to this school to fetch the black-white-red flag [the old imperial flag from the Kaiserreich – Translator] and to remove the hated Imperial symbols. Faced with this situation, the small-minded Herr Tost [the school headmaster William Trost – Author] thought of nothing better than to don his lieutenant’s uniform with medal buckles and confront the workers in this outfit. When his epaulettes and medal buckles were torn off … he stood there shivering and trembling with fear before the workers. Cowardly … he now promised that in the future he would no longer no longer beat ‘his’ apprentices.49 The impact of such a symbolic act can hardly be overestimated: it showed the pupils the new state of things in a very concrete and direct way. This did

49

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/0670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 9.

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not remain without consequences for everyday school life and for the political practice of those concerned, as Nettball explained: After 9 November, corporal punishment was still in place in the vocational schools, but it was no longer so easy to beat us. The November Revolution had also left its mark on the relationship between pupils and their abusive pedagogues. Quite a few of the apprentices had experienced the November Revolution very actively with the workforces of their companies, which determined and shaped their consciousness. The vocational school students opposed the traditional pedagogical methods with increasing vigour, and a great many of them were organised in the political workers’ youth organisations, the fsj or the aj. Above all, they were organised in the trade unions.50 In the following months, it was especially the fsj that championed the election of pupil councils. But they were not simply an extension of the organisation – only a minority of those elected were fsj members. It did, however, provide important impulses, for example through its newspaper Junge Garde, leaflets, and above all through persuasive efforts in the schools.51 In spring 1919, pupil councils were set up in a whole series of vocational schools in Berlin. Their organisational set-up in the Eighth School involved the election of three students to form a class council with a chairperson.52 All class councils then formed a central pupil council for the whole school, which also had a chairperson. It remains somewhat unclear whether these councils had an imperative mandate and to whether it was guaranteed that they were subject to recall at any time. There were no written rules of procedure or anything of the kind. The system was clearly too informal for this, or it had not consolidated sufficiently in the few weeks leading up to the strike. Nettball emphasised in several instances that trust played a decisive role during the original election of the class councillors, as well as later for the work of the then-illegal school council: without support from below, the councils were evidently incapable of acting.53 In other schools, however, the council system was not as developed as in the Eighth School. The Second Compulsory Vocational School (ii. Pflichtfortbildungsschule) in Wassertorstraße, for example, initially only elected class 50 51 52 53

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/0670/1, Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 50. See the activist Paul Schiller’s comments in Schiller 1955, pp. 184–5. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 51. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 51 and 56.

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councillors.54 A provisional committee for the whole school only came into being at the beginning of the strike, as did the office of school chairman. The provisional committee also acted as strike leadership.55 It is not possible to reconstruct the situation at the other vocational schools conclusively. Nettball claimed that similar institutions existed ‘in almost all vocational schools in Berlin’.56 In any case, there is evidence that in the summer of 1919 most Berlin vocational schools had elected school councillors of some kind.57 They then convened student meetings where grievances were brought up and discussed. Even before the strike, there had been Berlin-wide meetings and exchanges with shop stewards. The pupil council movement was not confined to the capital. There is evidence of similar activities elsewhere. In Leipzig, apprentices expressed their desire to be represented in the factory councils and set up their own councils in the vocational schools.58 Their concrete demands were similar to those made in Berlin, including an end to corporal punishment, changes in teaching hours and generally better studying conditions. In Munich, a ‘revolutionary pupils’ council’ was established during the Bavarian soviet republic, consisting of a council parliament with representatives from the individual schools and a sixmember executive body.59 In December 1918, the Hamburg trade pupils went on strike to ensure that classes could no longer be held on Sundays and after 8pm.60 They also won recognition for pupils’ councils, and accordingly three delegates were elected in each class. In Chemnitz, however, the agitation for student councils met with considerable resistance from the teachers.61 After a three-week strike in February 1920, the Vienna vocational school students were able to force the abolition of classes on Saturday afternoons.62 There is little evidence of specific contacts between the student councils from the individual regions, however. The most important links were the journals of the youth organisations, which were based in Berlin but also circulated beyond its borders. Junge Garde in particular enhanced the debate with its concep-

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Ou account here follows the student chairman of this school and later Communist resistance fighter Anton Saefkow – see Saefkow 1959, pp. 156–7. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/2169, Erinnerungen Heinz Hentschke, Bl. 52. Hentschke was also a pupil council delegate at this school and a member of the strike leadership there. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 9. Freiheit, 11 June 1919 E; Junge Garde, 21 June 1919. Rote Fahne, 13 February 1919. Vossische Zeitung, 27 April 1919. Junge Garde, 21 June 1919. Junge Garde, 19 July 1919. Junge Garde, 20 March 1920.

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tual proposals. There were, however, no supra-regional council congresses like those for the workers’, soldiers’ and unemployed councils.

The School Strike in the Summer of 1919 The most important and spectacular action of the vocational school pupil councils was the school strike in the summer of 1919. It was, in fact, ‘for some time the number one topic of conversation’ in the capital, and practically all Berlin newspapers reported on it.63 This applied to the left-wing party newspapers just as much as to the bourgeois ones, such as Tägliche Rundschau, Vossische Zeitung and Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger. In the large hall and beer garden of Bötzow brewery, two well-attended gatherings were held on Friday evening, 27 June.64 About 3,000 young people, among them the pupil councillors of the individual schools, came together and decided against a few votes that all of Berlin’s vocational schools would go on strike. The pupils were to stay away from classes from the following Monday until their demands were recognised. These demands included the abolition of evening classes in favour of classes during working hours; the abolition of corporal punishment and detention; and the ‘recognition of the pupil councils and pupil assemblies as representative bodies of the youth with a say in all school matters’.65 The adopted resolution further stated that the central goal of a ‘reorganisation of the entire school system on a socialist basis’ could, however, only be realised in a future society. It also sharply criticised the government, the overly hesitant aj and the socialist newspapers Vorwärts and Freiheit for opposing the strike. In order to give the struggle the necessary weight, assemblies were to be held in every school where the students themselves could take a stand. Subsequent demonstrations were also suggested. On 1 July, further central mass meetings were held with a similar outcome. The fsj had drawn up more demands in advance, but these did not become part of the strike programme.66 The curriculum and teaching methods were to be modernised, for example, and teaching workshops and specialist libraries were to be set up; teaching materials were to be available free of charge. It is unclear why these objectives were missing from the official strike programme. Perhaps the assemblies rejected them, or possibly the students simply wanted 63 64 65 66

sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 55. Freiheit, 18 June 1919 E; Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. This and the following quotation are taken from Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. Junge Garde, 21 July 1919.

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to limit their programme to a few easily communicable points. Another rather implicit motivation for the strike was to generally politicise the youth.67 As can be seen from the accounts of those involved, the beginning of the strike was very similar across the schools.68 Before classes started or during breaks, the pupils gathered in the courtyards or in nearby public places, where some particularly active pupils, usually elected pupil councillors, gave short speeches. Then the strike and the demands were voted on. Finally, a protest march proceeded through the surrounding neighbourhoods. The opening assemblies and subsequent meetings were sometimes challenged by teachers. In the Eighth School, it was the headmaster Trost himself who intervened. The chairman of the pupil council had spontaneously invited him to listen to the pupils’ demands: And come he did. As dashing as ever, he probably thought that his mere appearance would make the apprentices desert the schoolyard as fast as they could. Oblivious to the reality of the situation, red-faced with rage, his first reaction was to slap some apprentices who were standing near the door. A singular yell of protest was the first response to this outrageous provocation. A menacing wall of accumulated hatred and profound contempt surrounded him. All it would have taken was a little nudge or a word from me, and this Kaiser-loyal thug teacher [Prügelpädagoge] would have felt the fists of young workers. That was not our intention, of course (even if we all secretly wished it upon him; to be honest, our fists were itching for that arrogant chap). However, it was in the interest of the disciplined conduct of the strike that we did not rise to any such provocations. But it was not easy for us as pupil councils to restrain our fellow students from their justified anger. With the help of the class pupil councillors, we then succeeded in clearing an alley for him through which he could walk back into the school building. With trembling knees and his face pale with a thousand terrors, he walked off. All his arrogance had disappeared. Ugly and small, he thought only of leaving the schoolyard so as not to be acquainted with young workers’ fists. Thus, for the second time, we saw this headmaster as a trembling and fearful little creature.69

67 68 69

Saefkow 1959, p. 158; Schiller 1955, p. 187. Saefkow 1959, pp. 156–7.; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Memoirs Kurt Nettball, Bl. 52–55; Schiller 1955, pp. 184–5. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 52–3.

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This encounter shows very vividly how much the roles in the school had changed. The collective effort gave the students a new sense of self-confidence, which the headmaster, with his traditional views and methods, was unable to cope with. At the same time, it became obvious that the pupil councils occupied an important and respected position among the pupils. This conflict was not an isolated case: Saefkow reported a very similar experience from another school. After the end of the strike, pupils had gathered in the courtyard in order to hear about the results from the pupil councillors: ‘No sooner had I said a few words to my classmates than the teacher, known among the students only as “old fogey”, came and asked what I was doing. For a moment I was embarrassed – well, to a stupid question you give a stupid answer: “As you can see, I am speaking”. General laughter ensued. Every pupil was happy to have given the teacher, who was known as the worst of the lot, a good thrashing. The assembly then proceeded in an orderly fashion.’70 However, the strike did not kick off everywhere at once.71 It was often necessary to publicise the struggle and communicate its purpose with leaflets and in personal conversations.72 However, in the course of the first week of the strike, from 30 June to 4 July, almost all the compulsory vocational schools joined in, including the Wartenburgstraße (First School), Wassertorstraße (Second), Wrangelstraße (Third), Lange Straße (Fifth), Georgenkirchstraße (Sixth), Greifenhagener Straße (Seventh), Grüntaler Straße (Eighth) and Bremer Straße (Tenth).73 The numbering corresponded to the ten Berlin vocational school districts. Since they were not mentioned anywhere as being on strike, the Fourth School in Niederwallstraße and the Ninth in Friedrichstraße are missing from the list. Whether there was any activity there is unknown. Where they did not yet exist – apart from these two schools – class councils were now elected and a strike leadership set up for the whole school. The same applied to vocational schools that were subordinate to the Association of Berlin Merchants (Korporation der Berliner Kaufmannschaft). They too demanded, among other things, the nationalisation of all public schools and the abolition of school fees.74 The Association of Berlin Merchants threatened to close these schools permanently if the strike was not called off.75

70 71 72 73 74 75

Saefkow 1959, pp. 157–8. Schiller 1955, pp. 184–5.; Saefkow 1959, pp. 156–7. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/2169, Erinnerungen Heinz Hentschke, Bl. 48–9. Freiheit, 4 July 1919 M; Saefkow 1959, p. 155. For numbering and addresses see Bath 1993, pp. 784–5. Tägliche Rundschau, July 2, 1919 M. Vossische Zeitung, 3 July 1919 M.

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Information on the number of striking pupils varied: pupil councils and fsj cited 30,000 participants in a joint leaflet.76 Saefkow and Schiller claim that the vast majority of pupils had been involved.77 Lemm states, without reference to sources, that ‘over 25,000’ were on strike.78 The aj spoke of ‘partial strikes’ but did not give any figures.79 However, it stressed that its wide impact was due not least to the ‘terrorising tactics’ of the fsj, which denied pupils access to the buildings. This can probably be regarded as a retrospective attempt to discredit the indisputable fact that the strike took place by attributing it to unfair practices. If we calculate the total number of compulsory further education schools and commercial schools at just under 35,000 pupils, and also take into account that at least eight out of ten compulsory further education schools and all commercial schools were demonstrably unable to hold classes, we must put the number of strikers at 30,000 at the very least. This was undoubtedly a great success, reflecting the popularity of the demands as well as the mobilising capacity of the pupil councillors and the fsj. Then there was the publicity generated by the demonstrations. At one of these rallies there was a sensational violent incident.80 After they had held their strike assembly, the pupils of the Eighth School marched in a large procession from Grüntaler Straße towards Gesundbrunnen station. After only a few hundred metres, the police attacked with truncheons and dispersed the protesters, which also provoked fisticuffs on the part of the students. Most of the demonstrators were unorganised students, but some were fsj members and aj supporters. The other demonstrations were peaceful. After the last day of school on 4 July, summer holidays began, and classes did not start again on a regular basis until 11 August. In the meantime, the strike leaders tried to find a solution with the Berlin school deputation, which was subordinate to the municipal magistrate.81 The fact that it was the administration that approached the strikers with a request for negotiations is indicative of the impact of the strike.82 Meanwhile, a false report in the press according to which the fsj had asked the police chief to mediate caused a stir. Both sides immediately denied this report.83 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

A facsimile of the leaflet is printed in Schiller 1955, p. 184. Saefkow 1959, p. 155; Schiller 1955, p. 185. Lemm 1987, p. 115. Arbeiter-Jugend, 26 July 1919. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 54–5. See the leaflet in Schiller 1955, p. 184; Freiheit, 14 August 1919 M; Junge Garde, 4 November 1919. Freiheit, 8 August 1919 E. Vossische Zeitung, 6 August 1919 M; Freiheit, 6 August 1919 E and 8 August 1919 E.

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The negotiations led to a number of concessions. Classes were to be held before six o’clock in the evening when possible, for example; the issue was, however, subject to available premises. Corporal punishment and detention were to be imposed only with the consent of the pupil councils – suffice to say, this meant abolition in practice. Finally, the school administration approved the election of three pupil councillors per class and three stewards for each school. Pupil assemblies were to be allowed to take place after the end of classes. The councils, however, were not granted any say in matters other than punishments; they were only to function as a complaints body. Under the impact of the strike, the Prussian Ministry of Commerce declared shortly before the end of the holidays that the school regulations previously in force at the vocational schools were no longer up to date and needed to be revised..84 The old regulations were to be applied ‘leniently and broadmindedly’ until the new regulations were in place. The ministry explicitly mentioned that pupils would be allowed to hold assemblies and that membership in political associations would be tolerated. Obviously, this was intended to pacify the students. Even Vorwärts, which was generally critical of strikes, pointed this out. Neither the fsj nor the pupils themselves agreed with the outcome of the negotiations.85 In two large strike assemblies, the majority of the participants called for another strike starting on 11 August, i.e. immediately after the holidays. An additional demand was that the numerous prison sentences and fines imposed so far be lifted. Once again, the pupils didn’t show up for lessons, and once again there were arrests, fines and other coercive measures. Finally, in a second round of negotiations, the school deputation promised further concessions. Now classes were to start before 5pm, corporal punishment was completely abolished and the pupil councils were given an unspecified say in the matter. After a total of four additional days of strike action, a large meeting in the teachers’ clubhouse on 14 August voted to call off the strike.86 It was resolved to fight for more rights within the schools in the future. One day later, all schools resumed lessons. The two youth federations, fsj and aj, played an important role in the campaign, albeit in different ways. The fsj supported the struggle wholeheartedly since it was very close to their political activism and their own demands. It also provided a number of leaders: Nettball and Saefkow, for example, belonged 84 85 86

Vorwärts, 7 August 1919 M. Freiheit, 9 August 1919 M and 14 August 1919 M; Junge Garde, 4 October 1919; Schiller 1955, pp. 186–7. Freiheit, 20 August 1919 M.

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to the fsj as chairpersons of their respective school councils.87 Paul Schiller played a prominent role in the Berlin fsj and, although he was no longer a student, he made repeated appearances as a speaker at strike meetings.88 The association also made its office at 5 Schicklerstraße available for the coordination of the strike.89 There, the individual schools were linked up with each other and the councils provided with leaflets and information. It was therefore no coincidence that the fsj was involved in the negotiations with the school deputation. However, Freiheit was right when writing, ‘We note that the strike has not been caused and led by the central office of the fsj, but by pupil councils elected by the youth, who have chosen their own strike leadership’.90 As a whole, the vast majority of pupils, as well as the majority of the pupil council, were not members of the fsj. The same was true of those present at the large strike meetings. Even so, the influence of the fsj must be considered quite high. The aj, by comparison, had a more difficult time with the strike. It had originally opposed such actions on principle and, not fond of activism anyway, it favoured peaceful negotiations and educational work. Still, it agreed with the demands, having long before the strike demanded the abolition of corporal punishment, the eight-hour day for apprentices and the formation of pupil councils. This put the aj in an awkward position, and it tried to wriggle out of it with a political trick. In some schools, such as the one in Wrangelstraße, it joined the strike leadership, and at least some of its members took part in demonstrations. The association even set up its own strike office in its rooms at Bellevuestraße 7.91 The aj also tried to push through the demands in negotiations with the school directors that it held on its own accord.92 In this sense, it integrated itself into the movement. At the same time, it repeatedly and unequivocally spoke out against the strike in leaflets and through its press organ. arguing that the strike was ill-prepared, that there had been no prior negotiations, and that it was only a tactical manoeuvre on the part of the fsj to recruit new members. The aj also highlighted the fines that had been imposed. When the mobilisation was surprisingly successful, however, it demanded that a ballot at least be held in all schools, referring to the strike the ‘last effective 87 88 89 90 91 92

Nettball was class and school steward (Klassen- und Schulobmann) at the Eighth School, Saefkow was steward (Obmann) of the Second School. Freiheit, 9 August 1919 M. The so-called Schicklerhaus near the Jannowitzbrücke was also home to the Berlin office of the uspd, among other organisations. Freiheit, August 14, 1919 M. Vorwärts, 1 July 1919 M. Hans Turß, ‘Ein Schulstreik in Berlin’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 26 July 1919; see also the 6 September 1919 and 20 September 1919 issues.

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weapon’. Before and during August’s strike week, it turned around yet again, arguing that the strike should be rejected – especially since the municipality had been accommodating enough.93 It was obvious that the strike was fuelling the rivalry between the two youth organisations. Grassroots-level cooperation was only rudimentary in the individual schools. In the school in Wrangelstraße, after initial cooperation, there were even physical confrontations between supporters of both sides.94 The reason was that the aj had negotiated separately with the headmaster, which led to the recognition of the pupil councils there. The fsj nevertheless called for further strike action in solidarity with the other schools. Eventually, the aj members had to flee to a nearby barracks, while their opponents were arrested. Such fisticuffs remained an exception, however. A unified strike leadership did not materialise: the fsj refused to admit the aj, accusing it of ‘betrayal’ of the movement and of ‘strikebreaking’.95 Conversely, the aj referred to the fsj’s ‘savage incitement’ and stated: ‘They simply refuse to work with us’.96 Since the demands were acceptable to both associations, nothing would have stood in the way of cooperation in principle. But reservations on both sides were too great – certainly at the central office level and where such differences could not be overridden by personal ties. The fsj used its position, strengthened thanks to the successful mobilisation for the strike, to push the competition out of the movement. Organisational political objectives evidently outweighed the desire to launch a united and strong campaign. The reproach that the strike served the fsj as a vehicle to ‘recruit new members’ was therefore not entirely unfounded. The aj, on the other hand, did not make itself look good either when taking all credit for successful negotiations for itself – undoubtedly they were the result of pressure generated by the strike. What look particularly bad, however, was the aj’s participation in the strike campaign while simultaneously vehemently pushing for it to be called off. Right from the beginning, the striking students had to contend with fierce opposition from large sections of the press. Only Junge Garde supported the strike unreservedly. Die Rote Fahne, which had supported the pupil councils and other apprentices’ demands in the past, was banned by the government for several months and could not be published again until December. Freiheit welcomed the demands and saw them as justified, but criticised the strike as

93 94 95 96

Vorwärts, 9 August 1919 E and 14 August 1919 M. Hans Turß, ‘Ein Schulstreik in Berlin’, in Arbeiter-Jugend, 26 July 1919. Vorwärts, July 1, 1919 M; Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. Arbeiter-Jugend, 26 July 1919.

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a means that would only end up harming the pupils.97 The editors also highlighted the activities of uspd town councillors, who advocated the building of new schools – this would create the necessary conditions for classes to be held during daytime hours.98 It was only later that the paper changed tack and began to report more favourably on the strike itself.99 In addition to articles by the aj, Vorwärts also published other articles that were critical of the strike, arguing, for example, that the strike was only keeping the students from studying.100 In Tägliche Rundschau, the demands of the commercial schools pupils were met with a scathing commentary: ‘Point 7 of the demands [dismissal of physically abusive teachers – Author] seems to us to be the most important, but – to avoid any misunderstanding – only in the sense that we recommend the school administration select physically strong teachers with equally strong canes to teach these boys. The more, the better!’101 In a similar vein, Vossische Zeitung stated that the ‘strike nonsense’ was ‘well on the way … to spreading its contagion to German citizens of infant age’ and was evidence of the ‘neglect and disrespectful insolence of wide circles of metropolitan youth’.102 These young people, the paper argued, were not yet capable of independent judgement. However, a certain legitimacy was not denied at least to some concerns. Later, the paper demanded that the magistrate oppose such activities more vigorously.103 There was a remarkable discrepancy in the Vossische Zeitung reporting between such hostile comments and the extremely benevolent remarks on the pupil councils and school councils at secondary schools. It remains an open question whether the criticism was directed only at the strike as such or at the pupil movement’s political orientation in general. But these were not the only obstacles. The police and military repeatedly intervened in the proceedings. After the strike call, three days before the final decision to launch it was made, soldiers from the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division turned up outside an fsj assembly hall, cordoned off the road with machine guns and arrested a member from inside the meeting, which was then dissolved.104 During the two strike weeks, police arrested numerous pickets and 97 98 99 100 101

102 103 104

Freiheit, 29 June, 1919. Freiheit, 4 July 1919 M. See also the issues of 6 August 1919 E, 14 August 1919 M, 20 August 1919 M. Vorwärts, 5 July 1919 M. Tägliche Rundschau, July 2, 1919 M. The pupils of the commercial schools had drawn up a more extensive and somewhat differently formulated list of demands than those from the compulsory vocational schools – see above. Vossische Zeitung, 2 July 1919, 1919 M. Vossische Zeitung, August 13, 1919 M. Freiheit, 26 June 1919 E.

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imposed fines.105 Pupils were fined for inciting a strike or for skipping classes.106 In total, the state authorities issued several thousand such fines of up to 20 marks and refused to lift them even during negotiations – so the pupil councillors and the fsj took to collecting the corresponding notices by the basketful and, during the closing rally of International Youth Day in Potsdamer Platz on 7 September, publicly burned them. The authorities did not pursue the matter any further, so all those involved were ultimately let off. The teachers were fairly hostile to the strike, although not all of them were as confrontational as the aforementioned schoolmaster Trost of Eighth School. However, there was one case of pupils being locked in the classroom by their teachers and then breaking the door open.107 One young person was expelled from his school for demanding the election of pupil councillors. Other teachers tried to dissuade students by talking to them, but they had little success.108 Still, there were teachers who were indifferent or even positive about the movement: The specialist subject teachers and the class teachers have different attitudes towards the pupils’ strike. There was a group – but these were the fewest – who openly sympathised with our demands and even supported them in their classes. Our class teacher … also belonged to this group. He had already supported us in the election of class pupils’ councillors by allowing this election to take place during lessons and by making suggestions for the discussion of our demands. He also supported us in the election of the central pupils’ councils. Then there were a number of teachers who took something of a wait-and-see attitude. They pretended that all these processes were of little interest to them. They did not interfere with the elections or the pupils’ assemblies – though only if these were taking place during breaks – but they did nothing to promote the movement either.109 The unnamed headmaster of a language-oriented grammar school (humanistisches Gymnasium) declared in a strike meeting that the demands of the vocational school pupils were absolutely justified, especially with respect to

105 106 107 108 109

Freiheit, 4 July 1919 M. Junge Garde, 12 July 1919; Freiheit, 8 September 1919 M; Saefkow 1959, pp. 158–7; Schiller 1955, p. 187. Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. Saefkow 1959, p. 156. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 53–4.

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corporal punishment, which he saw as perfectly dispensable.110 According to him, it was astounding that there was a need to fight for its abolition at all. The director further highlighted the unequal treatment compared with the grammar school students, who he said had pupil councils virtually imposed on them. As is the case with the pupil councils in general, there is hardly anything about the strike in the relevant literature. Lemm acknowledges it with a few benevolent lines.111 Wagner mentions the strike only in passing, stating that it only gained ‘marginal importance’ and was ‘barely noticed by the Berlin public’.112 Karow seems to view the strike as similarly irrelevant, given that he devotes only a half-sentence to it.113 This, however, is a blatant misjudgement: it ignores the substantial scope of the strike and the fact that almost all the papers of the capital repeatedly ran reports about it. Furthermore, it is possible to prove that it had concrete effects. We will discuss these in the following section. The emotionally charged concession of abolishing corporal punishment was granted, but apparently not so easy to push through with the teachers. In January 1921, Junge Garde complained that many students were being beaten again and that detentions had been reintroduced.114 The decades-old practice of ‘thug teachers’ [Prügelpädagogen] in Berlin’s vocational schools was expressly banned by the city council in 1926, but was still debated in the press in 1927.115 In Berlin’s elementary schools, the beating of pupils was not banned by the city council until 1929.116 The second core demand, namely that lessons be held during working hours, seems to have been at least partially implemented, not least due to pressure from the spd and uspd majority in the city council.117 However, it was not until 1923 that all apprentices were given lessons in the mornings.118 When the Association of Berlin Merchants schools was taken over by the city of Berlin in 1920, it became possible to implement this goal of the local apprentices.119

110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119

Junge Garde, 12 July 1919. Lemm 1987, pp. 115–16. Wagner 1993, pp. 491–2. Karow 1993, p. 158. Junge Garde 13, 1921. Richter 1981, p. 105; Karow 1993, p. 158. Lemm 1987, p. 112. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 56. Karow 1993, p. 139. Wagner 1993, p. 491.

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The pupil councils had been recognised by the magistrate and the school deputation, and councillors could now be officially elected.120 These class stewards had only limited powers, however, and a council for the whole school or even for Berlin was no longer envisaged, as Nettball recalled: Not pupil councillors, mind you, but class stewards, and only in the classes – no central body for the whole school. While these class stewards were rather without rights – they were allowed to accept requests from their fellow pupils and present them in an appropriate manner to the class teacher, who then had to make a benevolent decision on his own accord – we nevertheless tried to use these legal possibilities to advance the interests of the students as far as possible. Our central pupil council continued to exist illegally for about half a year. Most of the class stewards, almost all of whom were former pupil councillors, still had confidence in us, which was rooted in our unwavering stance during the preparations for the strike and in the strike itself. Then our relationship disintegrated more and more until we, the central pupil council of the Grüntalerstraße school, liquidated ourselves with the approval of Berlin’s fsj leadership. The reason for the liquidation was mainly that the three years of schooling had come to an end for many of the most active class stewards and the newcomers entered a completely new situation. For most of the members of the (illegal) central pupil councils, too, the end of March 1920 marked the end of their time at vocational school, and I was one of them.121 There was evidently a generational problem too, then: faced with the opposition of the teaching staff, the younger pupils did not manage to defend the rights won during the strike. The powerlessness of the class stewards was felt in all the schools. Junge Garde stated somewhat exasperatedly that what had been achieved was largely lost by means of many small steps backwards. It stated: ‘If we take a sober look at the situation in the schools today, we have to conclude that there are no longer any pupil councillors. Where they exist, they have the character of paper collectors and blackboard wipers’122 The councillors had thus been completely stripped of their original character and had integrated themselves into the school system.

120 121 122

Saefkow 1959, p. 157. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 56–7. Junge Garde 13, 1921.

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This is consistent with an order by headmaster William Trost found in the minutes of the teachers’ conference of the Eighth School on 8 October 1919: ‘The order pupils [Ordnungsschüler] are to be elected by the pupils. Their only function is to ensure cleanliness and order in the classes. Otherwise they may only make suggestions’.123 However, it would be too simplistic to limit the impact of the strike to a few small gains, which were in many cases only temporary. Another effect, though difficult to measure and record, was undoubtedly a reality: the relationship between students and teachers had changed, and it was hard to reverse this change through bureaucratic orders or other forms of resistance. In this respect, the objective of politicising the youth had certainly been crowned with success. Nettball, who was otherwise rather pessimistic about the outcomes, stressed this too: The 1919 tradition of revolutionary pupil councils was preserved for a long time, as I learned from later apprentices when no longer attending vocational school myself, and even after I had completed my apprenticeship. By the same token, the combative mood that prevailed during the pupils’ strike and the great defeat of headmaster Trost remained the subject of recollections for a long time to come. The apprentices now allowed themselves to be bullied less protested against abused with success.124 Later, there was another attempt to create representative bodies for the vocational schools. Shortly after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, the fsj called for the constitution of revolutionary councils, but this apparently had no further consequences.125 Under the auspices of the adgb, the National Committee of Workers’ Youth Organisations (Reichsausschuß der Arbeiterjugend-Organisationen) was founded in spring 1921.126 It comprised representatives of the adgb and the youth organisations of the spd and uspd, and initially also of the fsj. At the end of the year, the National Committee called for the establishment of a system of class stewards and pupils’ committees at the vocational schools.127 Each class was to elect two class stewards, and all stewards of a given school were then to elect a pupils’ committee. All those elected were to

123 124 125 126 127

Wiese 1988, p. 75. Unfortunately, no detailed minutes exist for the time of the school strike. There is only a brief reference to the strike – see Wiese 1988, p. 73. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 57. Junge Garde, 17 April 1920. See Krabbe 2010, p. 66. Correspondenzblatt, 12 December 1921.

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be subject to recall at any time. However, these bodies too were only to be granted advisory, mediatory and informational powers. In addition, they were to be jointly responsible for order in the classes and in the schools. On the one hand, this advance showed that the pupil councils no longer existed at that time even in their less powerful version. On the other, the line of the union-led National Committee was consistent with the attitude of the trade unions towards the councils in general – they always wanted to grant them only very limited competences. The fsj, now renamed Communist Youth League (Kommunistischer Jugendverband), concluded not least from the development of the pupil councils in 1921, ‘There is no doubt among us about the necessity, the self-evident need of a tightly centralised organisation’.128 Thus, even among in the youth organisations, a dynamic was becoming evident that took hold of the radical parts of the council movement in general: the grassroots-democratic model of the councils as a basic political structure was being replaced by the Bolshevik-inspired, strictly hierarchical party organisation. Nettball, for example, provides a concrete example of this shift in the Eighth School: ‘However, fsj work among vocational students continued, only now it was no longer being carried out through the apparatus of the pupil councils, but in the form of fsj stewards who had emerged in various classes’.129 Much later, from 2 to 8 April 1930, there was also a school strike at four Neukölln municipal schools, and another one took place in the autumn of 1931.130 The cause for this were austerity measures taken by the Berlin magistrate, and the Communist youth organisation was involved too. Given the activities of the pupil councils and the affiliated associations of the workers’ youth movement, Andresen’s judgement that the workers’ youth organisations played ‘no special role’ in the revolution is not tenable.131 His essay also suffers from certain flaws and omissions that unfortunately still characterise works on the labour movement, even more recent ones. These flaws include their virtually exclusive focus on organisational history, which pays little or no attention to spontaneous or alternatively structured activities, such as those of the pupil councils. It goes almost without saying that such movements are even more significant in revolutionary times than they are in others. 128 129 130

131

Junge Garde 13, 1921. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 57. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern, St 18 Nr. 226, Bl. 2–14. See also the recent account of the two strikes in Müller 2013, pp. 211–25. However, Müller is apparently completely unaware of the school strike of 1919 since he writes (p. 213) that it was only at the end of the 1920s that any large strikes were successful. Andresen 2013, p. 157.

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Relationship to the ‘Actual’ Council Movement So far, we have not addressed the pupil councils’ relationship to the council movement outside of the schools. The shop stewards elected by apprentices in the enterprises are of particular interest in this context. They formed apprentice committees and also came together in interfactory assemblies.132 Moreover, supported by the workers’ councils they entered into negotiations with company management and were able to secure some successes in this way. The committee at the factory of the machine manufacturer Ludwig Loewe, for example, won an improvement in holiday regulations in cooperation with the workers’ council.133 The apprentices at Orenstein & Koppel pushed for higher apprenticeship wages and the dismissal of some violent foremen. Here, too, the support of the company’s older workforce played an important role.134 We can assume that the older workers, and therefore also the factory council members, found it easier to deal with the young shop stewards in their factories than with the pupil councils in the vocational schools. After all, they knew ‘their’ youngsters, saw their grievances first hand, and they could interact with them directly. In some cases there were explicit demands to grant young people the right to vote for the factory councils.135 Even so, there were certain reservations in the factories about involving young people in the councils. Robert Hensel (uspd) wrote about this in Arbeiter-Rat: We adults too easily forget the time of our youth – the more so, perhaps, if we have only left it behind not so long ago. Often it is precisely those who in their younger days were the most outspoken critics of the old folks (often not without reason) that are now opposed to the demands of the young, claiming that young people do not have the maturity to see the full implications of what are often important decisions. Admittedly, this is true, but do all adults have that maturity? … Comrades, consider how you would have viewed a rejection of this young people’s demand when you were young yourselves.136 The schools were even more remote from their world and beyond their understanding, which might explain why neither the General Assembly of the

132 133 134 135 136

Die Rote Fahne, 19 December 1918. Arbeiter-Jugend, 14 December1918. Die Rote Fahne, 29 December 1918. E. Ludwig, ‘Der Gesetzentwurf über die Betriebsräte’, in Die Internationale, 5 July 1919. Robert Hensel, ‘Jugendliche im Betriebsrat’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 24, 1919.

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Greater Berlin Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils nor the Executive Council took any interest in the pupil councils. They did not, in any case, feature in the debates of either body.137 Moreover, there was not a single adolescent among the approximately 800 members of the General Assembly, as they had neither the passive nor the active right to vote. These councils were guided by regulations on voting rights as decided by the Council of People’s Deputies for the election to the National Assembly: young people were only granted passive and active voting rights from the age of 20.138 The only verifiable encounter between the youth movement and the Executive Council took place in the context of a large demonstration organised by young people in December 1918, which ended before the House of Representatives.139 There, outside the residence of the Executive Council, youth representatives announced their demands, including the abolition of corporal punishment and co-determination rights in the vocational schools. Alfred Gottschling, as a member of the Executive Council, welcomed the protesters and called on them in very general terms to get involved politically. Even during the school strike, there was no discussion of this event in the Executive Council or in the General Assembly.140 This is certainly due to the difficult circumstances in which both institutions found themselves at that time. In late June 1919, they were subjected to an arrest operation and several house searches by soldiers of the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division, and the following month both bodies split for good. Clearly, then, they were busy with their own problems. Saefkow and Nettball, however, unanimously reported broad support among Berlin workers for their strike.141 According to them, even some workers’ councils from big and medium-sized enterprises had expressed their solidarity with the students. This probably did not result in any active intervention, however – at least there is no evidence of any efforts in this direction. The relationship between the council movement and the pupil councils is best described as one of noncommittal sympathy and benevolent disinterest. This does not preclude, of course, that the pupils saw the workers’ councils as 137

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Only the municipal councils demanded free teaching materials and school meals; the two aforementioned bodies then took this up. However, this was only with respect to primary schools, not vocational schools for apprentices. See Council Minutes 1997, p. 197. Compared with the days of the Kaiserreich, this amounted to a reduction of five years. In the Weimar constitution, the right to vote from the age of 20 was retained for all public bodies, but the passive right to vote was raised again to 25 years. For more details on the relevant regulations and debates, see Behrendt 2005, pp. 202–40. Die Rote Fahne, 16 December 1918. Council Minutes 2002, S. 800–861. Saefkow 1959, p. 155; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/670/1 Erinnerungen Kurt Nettball, Bl. 56.

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a model to be emulated – indeed, their adoption and practical application of the council idea showed this very clearly. It is certainly no coincidence that the Eighth School in Grüntaler Straße, where apprentices from metal trades were schooled, played a certain pioneering role in the formation of pupil councils: these pupils were also working in the same factories that played a central role in the council movement of the adults. Comparing the school strike of summer 1919 with the general strike in March of the same year, certain similarities become apparent. The fundamental objective of both campaigns was the recognition of the councils. In both cases, their adversaries granted limited concessions clearly aimed at limiting the competences of these councils. In both cases, the bourgeois press resolutely dissociated itself from the strikes. The concordant behaviour of the spd and the aj was also striking: both were fundamentally against the idea, but were nonetheless drawn into the campaigns to some extent. Because of this indecisive attitude, they were harshly criticised as strikebreakers and traitors. The more radical forces in the movement, meanwhile, sought to outmanoeuvre them. In both instances, this led to fierce and unfruitful disputes within the strike movement. Women were largely sidelined: they played no prominent role in either the earlier or the later councils. In the case of the pupil councils, however, this can primarily be explained by the fact that, due to strict gender segregation, the schools in question were only attended by male apprentices and male unskilled workers.142 Leaflets explicitly also addressed female pupils, and they took part in meetings at least sometimes.143 They were also a strong minority in the youth organisations, fsj and aj. There is, however, no evidence of a single Berlin vocational school for girls that elected councils or went on strike. It would therefore seem that the widespread abstinence of women from the council movement of adult workers was replicated among younger women. The key similarities, however, were that both campaigns were largely organised by the councils and, on this grassroots basis, succeeded in mobilising the vast majority of potential supporters. This success was not really enduring, however, and in the subsequent months and years the movement moved away from its original aims, ending up in coopted council bodies, on the one hand, and in tightly hierarchically controlled party structures on the other.

142

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On the Berlin girls’ vocational schools in the Weimar period, see Renate Egdmann, ‘Geschichte der Mädchenberufsschule in Berlin’ in Bath 1993, pp. 281–410, especially pp. 342– 58. Schiller 1955, p. 184.

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Interim Conclusion The pupil council movement must be evaluated in a nuanced fashion, and this is especially true for the strike. The mobilisation of the young was indeed very impressive. It is therefore not all that surprising that the Berlin administration in the form of the school deputation, some of the headmasters and teachers, and even the Prussian Ministry of Trade were relatively accommodating. Subsequent developments showed, however, that the councils could not be permanently entrenched and gradually lost influence. This was accompanied by setbacks with respect to other gains. Even so, the summer of 1919 strike proved that the pupil councils were efficient organs to mobilise a broad movement. A council system essentially operating at three levels was constituted partly in the run-up to the campaign and partly when it began. At the lowest level were the class councillors. As the pupils’ directly elected representatives, they aided the information, discussion and mobilisation of the student body. They also provided the substructure for the school councils, which served the entire school. These school councils, in turn, convened school assemblies where decisions could be made on fundamental issues such as the strike itself, or related activities such as demonstrations. Here too, exchange of information played an important role. At the third level, which covered all of Berlin’s vocational schools, representatives attending large-scale council meetings formulated the strike programme, decided on the launch of the campaign, and later chose to continue it or call it off. Coordination and central negotiations with the school deputation were led by a tenmember delegation, which served as the strike leadership. The school councils, acting also as local strike leaders, were responsible for talks at the individual schools. Essentially, then, we can discern the following structure: each of the three levels consisted of an assembly of a large number of participants and an executive. Each level sent its representatives to the next higher level – for example, the class councillors appointed the school councillors. The actual decision-making power was in the hands of the big assemblies. Convening them, carrying out their decisions and doing the organisational legwork, in turn, was the responsibility of the smaller councils. The most important questions – whether to launch strike, whether to resume it after the school holiday period, and whether to terminate it – were decided through a democratic vote in mass assemblies, which were attended by several thousand pupils each. However, this structure should be viewed more as an ideal model – the implementation was not fully consistent with it, and in reality the details varied at the different schools. Incidentally, the structure was by no means as strictly

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regulated or even monitored as was the case with the workers’ and soldiers’ councils. Time was too short for that, and there was certainly a lack of organisational experience too. There were, for instance, no identity cards to legitimise individual delegates as elected representatives. We can therefore assume that some of those present at the large strike assemblies were participating without a mandate. Furthermore, there is no evidence of any overt attempts to establish cross-regional cooperation with pupil councils from other cities: the campaign thus remained confined to Berlin from the outset. But despite all this, the pupil council system was a genuine council organisation based on a corresponding structure. Thus, the same applied to the student movement as to the ‘actual’ council movement: the councils were both an aim of the movement and a means of achieving it. A distinctive dynamic arose from the fact that the apprentices were simultaneously situated in two spheres. They were integrated into the enterprises of their foremen, which led to the creation of apprentice committees and demands for participation in the factory councils. In the schools, on the other hand, they created representation for themselves in the form of pupil councils. In each sphere, they had specific room for manoeuvre: they could at least partially rely on the support of the older workers in the factories, but this came at the expense of their independence. Such help was not available in the schools – but there, they were free to initiate and control all activities and campaigns themselves. It is probably mainly due to this that their biggest campaign took place precisely in this sphere. In principle, there was a desire to make revolutionary gains beyond the campaign and its limited objectives – at least in parts of the movement, although it is difficult to establish the exact numbers. This desire was fuelled by a fundamental hope for revolution, which was held especially by members of the fsj and exemplified in a resolution passed at the beginning of the strike: ‘The assembled are aware that the other most important demand, the reorganisation of the entire school system on a socialist basis … will only be realised in the future communist society’.144 On the whole, the pupil council movement was a constituent part of a larger movement. It acted independently, but was nonetheless oriented towards the ‘actual’ council movement. The students had learned how to organise with the aid of councils, as well as adopted concrete practices such as strikes, public relations and demonstrations, from their elders. But they combined all this with their own demands, which arose from their concrete situation and at the same

144

Junge Garde, 12 July 1919.

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time prefigured an alternative school system. Notwithstanding their autonomy and their peculiarities, there were similarities between the movements – and in both, similar wings emerged on the question of whether to integrate into society or revolutionise it.

chapter 6

Unemployed Councils Even if in the past months our activities have naturally been confined to reformatory work, to eradicating excessive damage and administrative errors, it is precisely this activity which has quite clearly shown us the value of the council system and cannot be valued highly enough. The German unemployed can be proud of the fact that they, for their part, have been able to expand the council system in an almost exemplary manner … We have found our salvation in the organisation of councils, and will continue to find it there. Only the council system creates an organisation of labour that is free from capitalist harm and gives all creative forces the opportunity to work. Let us launch the struggle for a form of government where there will be no unemployed!1

∵ This is how the National Unemployed Committee (Reichserwerbslosenausschuss) described the beginnings of its activities while also giving an insight into its basic political goals.2 Its self-assessment sheds an important light on a part of the council movement that has received very little scholarly attention and has been largely forgotten.3 The unemployed councils were a serious

1 Räte-Zeitung 27, 1919. 2 Regardless of the actual differences, we will use the terms ‘unemployed’ and ‘unwaged’ synonymously in this chapter, also because the sources usually refer to the ‘unemployed’. Both terms refer to persons who are not in paid employment but who are capable of working. 3 Klaus Dettmer has produced the most important work on the subject – see Dettmer 1977. However, he primarily examined unemployment in Berlin and the role of the parties in the unemployed movement. The unemployed councils play only a subordinate role in his account, partly because Dettmer does not recognise much initiative on their part. Inexplicably, he mentions the most important source, the Räte-Zeitung newspaper, in a footnote, but without evaluating it at all. Rein and Scherer 1993, pp. 180–186, and Führer 1990, pp. 154–165, only contain brief and fairly general sketches of the unemployed councils across the Reich. In relevant monographs specifically on the council movement, such as Oertzen 1976, Kolb 1978 and Arnold 1985, the unemployed councils are not mentioned at all.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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political force of their time. They engaged in extensive organising and initiated a variety of actions, from negotiations with authorities to counselling for the unemployed to demonstrations and occupations. Berlin was without a doubt the centre of this movement, but we will also look at other bodies of crossregional importance insofar as they were of any relevance to the capital. First, we will discuss the specific basic conditions, then the organisational development, especially the aims and activities of the unemployed councils. Lastly, we will assess their relations with the other councils and workers’ organisations.

Unemployment in Berlin When the war ended, the number of unemployed across the German Reich surged massively. Around eight million soldiers and about 2.5 million armament workers had to be integrated into the new peacetime economy. This would have been an enormous task even without the revolutionary upheavals. On top of this, there were numerous refugees from the newly partitioned parts of the country. All this applied not exclusively, but especially to the capital. Berlin was an important transit station for many troop units. Deserters had already gathered here during the war, and there was very significant armaments production in the city. Benefit rates there were also higher than in the provinces. For all these reasons, Berlin had by far the highest unemployment rate of all major cities in the Reich. In 1919 and 1920, about a quarter of all benefit-claiming unemployed in Germany were concentrated there. To be sure, the statistics are only reliable to some extent, because they often only covered those actually supported by the state – many jobseekers were not exempt for various reasons. For example, because they had not applied or had lost their entitlement to support. It is very likely, then, that the real numbers of unemployed were much higher. An approximate trend can nonetheless be gleaned from the available material. Immediately after the armistice, unemployment in Berlin rose dramatically: on 5 December 1918, 18,000 people were affected, on 21 December there were already 80,000.4 The number of benefit recipients reached its peak of 271,000 in February 1919, only to fall back to 101,000 by autumn. In the following year it dropped further to 56,000 in May, but by the end of the year it had doubled again. It remained at this high level

4 Lewek 1992, p. 63.

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for the next year, dropped to a few thousand in 1922 and then exploded to 235,000 in the autumn of 1923.5 Since state measures taken with regard to the unemployment question from 1918 onwards have been thoroughly researched, we can limit our account to the most essential points.6 Still before the war had ended, the authorities began preparations for demobilisation. Those involved in administration and politics were fully aware of the politically explosive potential of unemployment. Consequently, this field became subject to massive state interventionism after the revolution, which would have been quite unthinkable before the war. One of the very first decrees of the Council of People’s Deputies of 13 November 1918 stipulated the basic guidelines for welfare for the unemployed. Welfare was defined as a municipal task, and the amount of support was determined by the respective municipality. Even so, the lion’s share of the costs was borne by the federal state and the Reich. This was to become an important factor later, given that the municipalities were exposed to direct pressure from the unemployed, but could largely pass on the financial burden to other bodies. It is therefore not surprising that Berlin’s municipal authorities repeatedly sided with the unemployed councils and intervened on their behalf with the authorities of the Reich. This was the case, for example, when in December 1918 the magistrate wrote two letters to the People’s Commissioner Friedrich Ebert, explicitly pointing out the political explosiveness of unemployment and calling for decisive measures.7 The Weimar Constitution, Art. 163, Para. 2, later stated in this regard: ‘Every German should be given the opportunity to earn a living through gainful labour. If he or she is demonstrably unable to find suitable employment, he or she will be provided for’. Admittedly, the wording offered considerable scope for interpretation, especially since each municipality set the rates of support independently. In the politically turbulent months leading up to spring 1919 – i.e. before the constitution came into force – the rates in Berlin were quite generous, almost reaching the level of a skilled worker’s wage for a married father with two children.8 However, payments to single people and especially to young women were significantly lower. From mid-1919 onwards, they generally lagged far behind inflation and real wages, and the social situation of the recipients deteriorated dramatically. At the same time, support for non-locals was discontinued and the

5 All figures from 1919 onwards according to Dettmer 1977, pp. 305–6. 6 See Führer 1990; Bender 1991, pp. 137–169; Lewek 1992 and Song 2003. 7 BArch R 43 i/2518, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Soziale Fürsorge, Bl. 60–64. The two documents are dated 12 and 16 December 1918. 8 Dettmer 1977, p. 316.

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criteria for the suitability of work offered were broadened. Many unemployed lost their entitlement to support as a result. What all this meant in concrete terms was described by the socialist doctor Julius Moses, who used the example of 27 children from unemployed families in Berlin.9 His examination showed that all of them were malnourished and many suffered from typical deficiency diseases such as tuberculosis and rickets. Moses attributed this to their disastrous housing and food situation. The newly established Main Committee for Unemployment Welfare was responsible for overseeing unemployment administration. In addition to representatives of the municipalities of Greater Berlin, the committee comprised representatives of the Demobilisation Office, the trade unions and the unemployment councils.10 The processing of the countless individual cases was transferred to a new authority with over 2,000 employees, the Unemployment Welfare Service (Erwerbslosenfürsorge). Its head was the Social-Democratic councillor Johannes Sassenbach, who during his tenure worked with the unemployed councils. We shall return to this later. Before the war, labour exchange had been regulated in a very confusing way. It was not until sometime after the revolution, in 1922, that a unified placement service replaced the previous trade-union, employer-affiliated, state and commercial institutions. The complexities in this important sphere for the unemployed made it much more difficult for the councils to exert their influence.

Organisational Development of the Unemployed Councils The formation of the Berlin unemployed councils did not proceed in a uniform fashion. This was primarily owed to the circumstance that the unemployed could not be registered by enterprise or unit and vote there, as was the case with the other councils. Rather, they chose their representatives in large public meetings that were announced in advance in the press. Naturally, neither a comprehensive voter turnout nor a uniform voting system could be enforced in this way. The problem was aggravated by the fact that electorate was subject to strong numerical fluctuations and also otherwise high turnover: less than a third of the unemployed were continuously without work for more than six months. The unemployed councils, however, regardless of their other differences among themselves, always insisted that the unemployed constitute 9 10

Julius Moses, ‘Was wird aus den Kindern der Arbeitslosen?’, in Freiheit, 29 September 1920 E. Vossische Zeitung, 7 April 1919 E, Bey-Heard 1969, p. 120.

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independent electorates.11 Although this was repeatedly raised in the Berlin councils’ General Assemblies, no definite solution was found.12 They therefore often came into conflict with the other council organisations, the parties to the right of the uspd, the trade unions and the government. The question obviously touched on a fundamental problem: how can the unemployed be adequately integrated into a council system based on the workplaces? A first attempt at organising was made at a meeting on 18 November 1918 in the Germania Halls.13 A so-called ‘enforcement committee of unemployed and returned soldiers’ set up there demanded the right to participate in the general councils, proclaiming that it represented the interests of the unemployed. In future, there was to be one councillor for every 1,000 unemployed. The following day, at the General Assembly of the Greater Berlin workers’ councils, one of the elected reported on the new body and demanded its recognition.14 This was conceded, and the unemployed were integrated into the new electoral regulations. It is therefore inaccurate for Dettmer to claim that the unemployed did not seek to become directly involved in the Berlin council movement before January 1919.15 The subsequent new elections were held in four Berlin locations on 9 December, organised by the election commission of the Executive Council.16 To be admitted, voters had to present their official unemployment card for benefit recipients. It seems, however, that another independent election took place in the open air at Spielwiese Friedrichshain a day later.17 Despite the official recognition of the Berlin unemployed council by the Executive Council, there were still occasional disputes later on.18 The contentious issue was whether the district unemployment councils were a legitimate lobby or whether the councils of closed-down enterprises should take over their tasks instead. Although most district unemployment councils were eventually recognised, the Executive Council refused to accredit the one in Charlot-

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Vossische Zeitung, 7 April 1919 E, Bey-Heard 1969, p. 120. Räte-Zeitung 16, 1919. For example, in the meetings of 17 March and 3 May 1919 – see Council Minutes 2002, pp. 194–5. and p. 611. Council Minutes 1993, pp. 175–6; the election regulations on pp. 190–91. See the two statements of the Executive Committee of the same day, printed in Council Minutes 1993, pp. 141–3. Freiheit, 8 December 1918. Die Rote Fahne, 10 December 1918. For more on the following, see the statements by Olt, a representative of the Charlottenburg unemployed councils, and Müller at the General Assembly of 13 March 1919 in Council Minutes 2002, pp. 172–75, and Freiheit, 20 March 1919 M.

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tenburg. The reason given by Richard Müller in the General Assembly was that there would soon be far too many councils. This strange, rather petty explanation was not accepted by the Charlottenburg councillors, however, especially since the municipal workers’ council and the local administration had already recognised them. In this instance, then, the aforementioned conflict over the representation of the unemployed in a comprehensive council system reared its head again. Over the next few months, a four-tier council system evolved. There were unemployed councils located directly in the individual city districts, there was one for Greater Berlin, and there were councils for Prussia and for the whole Reich. For the sake of cross-regional coordination, congresses were convened, mostly in Berlin. By the end of 1920 a total of five national congresses had been held in addition to several conferences for Prussia. The first national congress took place in Berlin in early April 1919.19 The fact that it was convened by a provisional national committee elected in Berlin, and that about a third of the 54 delegates were Berliners, testified to the important role of the capital. According to their own statements, the delegates represented about 20,000 unemployed people each, which added up to a total of just over one million. We may seriously doubt whether such a large number of unemployed really took part in delegate elections, but this can no longer be determined with certainty. The resulting figure of 1.08 million unemployed, however, corresponds with astonishing accuracy to the 1.05 million registered benefit recipients in Germany in March 1919.20 Presumably, the delegates were elected in mass public meetings and then summarily granted the right to represent a much greater number of unemployed. Die Rote Fahne stated that each delegate represented only 2,000 unemployed. Unlike Die Rote Fahne and Freiheit, Vorwärts cited 80 delegates. For the following congress in August 1919, it was decided that one delegate should be appointed for every 10,000 unemployed.21 Although various authorities sent representatives to the congress, the Demobilisation Office declared the envisaged nationwide organisation to be superfluous since unemployment was only a temporary problem and the interests of workers were represented by the trade unions anyway. The office thus followed the line set in advance by Reich Minister of Labour Bauer, who had firmly opposed the unemployed councils in cabinet.22 The delegates, for their part,

19 20 21 22

Detailed reports on this in Freiheit, 6 April 1919 and 7 April 1919 M; Vorwärts, 5 April 1919 E; Die Rote Fahne, 17 April 1919, Vossische Zeitung 5 April 1919 E. On the number of people in receipt of support, see Dettmer 1977, p. 305. Räte-Zeitung 37, 1919. Scheidemann Files, 1971, p. 135.

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agreed that there was a need for permanent organisation and that the authorities would have to cooperate with them. The non-partisan orientation of the councils was explicitly highlighted at the congress, although most of those present were closely affiliated to the uspd and kpd. One of the most important measures was the election of a fifteen-member National Unemployed Committee (Reichserwerbslosenausschuss) that comprised representatives from all parts of the country, including two from Berlin. An Executive Committee of three members was to take over between congresses, and it was agreed that the National Committee would reconvene at least four times a year. Shortly after, the National Unemployed Committee was able to acquire the Räte-Zeitung as its official publication.23 It was facing difficult circumstances from the very beginning, however. The government never officially recognised it as representing the unemployed even if there were some, usually unsuccessful, negotiations. Its activities were further complicated by parallel talks between the authorities and the regional and local councils, who in the end even completely withdrew the National Unemployed Committee’s mandate to represent them to the outside. From May 1920 onwards, it was therefore only in charge of internal coordination tasks.24 Time and again, the National Unemployed Committee complained about the completely inadequate financial resources. Money collections at meetings of the unemployed only yielded small amounts, and almost none of these were paid to the central office.25 Fixed contribution payments could not be enforced anyway. The fluctuating organisational ties of the grassroots and their precarious economic situation obviously made themselves felt. Unsurprisingly, then, the National Unemployed Committee was constantly criticised for its inefficiency.26 In Prussia, a regional network was established, which was also maintained primarily through conferences and a steering committee appointed there.27 The latter consisted of five unemployed and in addition one representative each of war invalids and public relief workers. It was agreed that there would be one delegate for every 1,000 unemployed, recallable at any time. This corresponded to the practice of the local councils, for example the one in Schöneberg.28 The organisational structure was still patchy, especially in rural areas –

23 24 25 26 27 28

Räte-Zeitung 9, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 23, 1920 and Freiheit, 30 May 1920. Räte-Zeitung 43 and 48, 1919 and 6, 1920; Vossische Zeitung, 23 August 1919 M; Freiheit, 16 May 1920. Freiheit, 23 August 1919 M; Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919; Die Rote Fahne, 30 May 1920. Räte-Zeitung 48, 1919; Freiheit, 25 October 1919 M. Die Rote Fahne, 17 February 1919.

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the exemplary and quite successful work of the Saxon colleagues was frequently counterposed to this state of things. One of the best-known unemployed councils was the one in Falkenstein, Vogtland, under the chairmanship of Max Hoelz.29 In Falkenstein, too, the council was elected spontaneously in a public meeting of the unemployed. In the Rhine-Ruhr region, local unemployed councils existed almost everywhere, as did a district council.30 Elberfeld also provided a member of the National Unemployed Committee, the Communist Küster. In Essen, which was a special case in the region, the council was not recognised by the municipal administration. The fact that only a few women were represented in the unemployment councils was generally seen as a drawback. As far as can still be established, this was indeed a problem: the Prussian Committee and the National Unemployed Committee had only one female delegate each. At the local level, too, women were hardly present at all. The Berlin unemployed council faced increasing pressure from the kapd, which demanded not only new elections, but also a more forceful policy. Early September 1920 saw the formation of action committees close to the kapd – their first official act was to dismiss the old council in a coup.31 A mass meeting convened in Friedrichshain on 14 September unanimously decided to relieve the unemployed council of its functions. Several thousand unemployed then marched to the council’s office in Klosterstrasse, where disturbances broke out in front the building. To calm the situation, the council announced its resignation and its willingness to hold new elections. It continued to operate, however – naturally, in double rivalry both with the committees and the new, union-controlled representations.32 The Central Office of Factory Councils also tried to establish closer cooperation with the unemployed councils, but its attempt failed.33 The reason was that their eleven unemployed meetings, which were held all across Berlin on 27 September 1920, were all blown up by kapd supporters, which made any

29 30

31

32 33

On this, see his autobiography: Hoelz 1984, pp. 74–83. On the similarities in content, see later in the text. Letter from the District President of Düsseldorf to the Prussian State Commissioner for the Supervision of Public Order of 27 January 1921 in BArch R 3901/1141, Reichsarbeitsministerium, Organisationen der Erwerbslosen, Bl. 51–55. Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 23.9.1920, BArch R 1507/2002, Bl. 45–55; Freiheit, 15 September 1920 M and 16 September 1920 M and Die Rote Fahne, 15 and 17 September 1920. On the emphatically apolitical representatives of the unemployed in the trade unions, see Dettmer 1977, pp. 199–206. Freiheit, 29 September 1920 M, Die Rote Fahne, 30 September 1920.

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further work impossible. The Central Office of Factory Councils had planned to use them to prevent a migration of unemployed workers to the action committees: it publicly condemned them, saying that they were pursuing irresponsible policies and claiming that they were calling for looting. The action committees, firmly in the hands of the Left Communists, responded by launching a series of other spectacular actions. The National Unemployed Committee, for its part, held another big election in the spring of 1921, but the magistrate did not recognise it and now relied entirely on the trade union councils. This deprived the non-union councils of an important field of activity.34 As with the factory councils, the unemployed councils also got completely caught up in party politics. The National Unemployed Committee’s circular of 30 April 1921, in which the Communist-dominated committee called for the formation of kpd fractions in the councils and encouraged close cooperation with the local party authorities, is characteristic of this development. The note stated unequivocally: ‘Only through strict centralism, including in the sphere of the unemployed movement, is it possible to realise the demands of the unemployed and make the unemployed movement an important factor in the revolution’.35 This, however, was tantamount to forsaking the basic principles of the council idea and degrading the unemployed councils to mere tools of the party. The movement largely petered out in 1922. By then, only a fraction of the unemployed were in receipt of support payments, and impoverishment assumed downright dramatic forms. This was accompanied by growing disillusionment and the turning away from any political activity.36 The fundamental question, to which there is no clear answer, is to what degree the unemployed councils really represented the interests of all unemployed. Certainly, some of them were suspicious of the prevailing political orientation or of councils as such, which is why they did not take part in the movement in the first place. Führer stresses that only a minority of the unemployed got involved.37 The same can be said for practically every political movement, however: only a part of those directly affected can be mobilised, and sometimes this section is rather small. Even so, the councils repeatedly succeeded in bringing thousands of unemployed people onto the streets for demonstrations or

34 35

36 37

Dettmer 1977, pp. 170–72. The complete circular is printed as an annex to Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 18.6.1921 – see BArch R 1507/2011, Bl. 139–41. The quotation is on Bl. 141. Dettmer 1977, pp. 212–18. Führer 1990, pp. 164–5.

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mobilise them for their meetings and rallies. By the same token, their support and counselling services were very widely used. It is therefore fair to assume that they indeed acted in the interests of a significant part of the unemployed.

Objectives and Activities The social plight of their clientele made it inevitable that the unemployed councils would devote much of their attention to providing swift assistance. Far from confining themselves to this field, however, their objectives were much broader and informed by a more long-term vision, as we will see below. Interestingly, in their main features these aims remained largely the same throughout the period examined here – at most, they were elaborated and refined further. A core concern and important negotiating point was the increase in state welfare benefits. This question became all the more explosive as inflation advanced, especially when cuts were made beginning in March 1919. The unemployed councils continually put forward concrete demands, which always aimed at a noticeable improvement.38 Occasionally they demanded compensation for inflation at the very least, and in the winter of 1919–20 additionally an allowance of three to four daily rates per month.39 Moreover, they wanted reduced-price or free food to be distributed to the unemployed.40 The provision that support was to be discontinued after 26 weeks of receipt provoked anger. A draft law of the National Unemployed Committee stipulated that payments should be roughly equivalent to a skilled worker’s wage.41 Time and again, the unemployed were confronted with accusations that they were work-shy. Even in the spd, this view was widespread and usually combined with references to the benefit rates, which in the opinion of the Social Democrats were too high.42 But unemployment, as those directly affected saw

38 39 40

41 42

Die Rote Fahne, 7 January 1919; Räte-Zeitung 18, 1920; Freiheit, 7 July 1920 M. Die Rote Fahne, 7 January 1919; Vossische Zeitung, 7 July 1920 M; Räte-Zeitung 2, 1920. In the Ruhr region, the local councils also demanded the delivery of free coal. See a letter from the Düsseldorf district president dated 27 January 1921 in BArch R 3901/1141, Reichsarbeitsministerium, Organisationen der Erwerbslosen, Bl. 51–5. The aforementioned Falkenstein council also lobbied the city administration for better support services and e.g. took care of the distribution of food, firewood and confiscated slider goods. See Hoelz 1984, pp. 74–83. Freiheit, 7 April 1919 M; Vossische Zeitung, 23 April 1919 E. This is what the spd workers’ council member Julius Kaliski said in the General Assembly of 17 January 1919 – see Council Minutes 1997, pp. 296–7. Cohen-Reuß commented similarly a few days later, see Council Minutes 1997, p. 471.

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it, was rooted in capitalism, ‘an economic system that has at all times produced an industrial reserve army, but which has also at all times managed to avoid the obligation to care for the unfortunate members of this unemployed stratum of society’.43 The unemployed councils tirelessly stressed that there were simply not enough vacancies and that the few available were often unsuitable. Thus, in early 1919, Die Rote Fahne declared that ‘the bulk of Berlin workers are not work-shy, but men who want work and not handouts’.44 At public rallies, this argument was constantly put forward, the wording remaining almost the same every time. In May 1920, for instance, demonstrators carried placards that read, ‘We want work and bread; we want work, not handouts’.45 This showed in an extremely blatant fashion just how deeply the work ethic was rooted in people’s minds. There were more nuanced voices, demanding not simply work but asking questions about its nature and content too, but straightforward calls for work were abundant. Compulsory work was rejected, however, as this could only lower wages to the benefit of employers.46 The assembly that elected the Lichtenberg unemployed council declared, ‘Despite the desperate situation we find ourselves in, we have enough class consciousness and sense of solidarity not to let ourselves be abused as wage depressors or strike breakers.’47 More specific aims evolved from this basic stance. For example, the unemployed councils demanded the creation or expansion of public relief work – i.e. projects financed by the state and municipalities for which the unemployed were hired. Indeed, a whole series of them were implemented, for example from the summer of 1920 as part of the construction of the underground railway.48 But only a few thousand people found work there for a limited time period. The demand that such job creation measures be administered by the councils themselves was not complied with in any case. Similarly, it was planned that the councils re-open closed factories, if necessary with the aid of the confiscated assets of their proprietors.49 To prevent dismissals, working hours were to be reduced to up to four hours a day with full wage compensation.50 The idea of prohibiting dismissals in principle was also flaunted. 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

This was the unanimous opinion at a meeting of the Schöneberg unemployed councils, cited in Die Rote Fahne, 17 February 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 6 February 1919. Räte-Zeitung 19, 1920. Likewise at a demonstration in April 1919, see Räte-Zeitung 7, 1919. Vorwärts, 6 April 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 22 February 1919. See Song 2003, pp. 251–8 for more details. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 45–6. Freiheit, 7 July 1920 M. Similar demands had previously been made by the first representatives of the unemployed in November 1918, see Council Minutes 1993, p. 142.

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Of course, these measures would have amounted to substantial interventions in the market-economic order and were thus virtually impossible to realise given the existing balance of power and in view of the difficult economic situation. They should be seen as medium-term transitional demands. The same applied to socialist cooperatives in the countryside, which were frequently discussed.51 That said, the Prussian government was relatively open to this idea. There were even negotiations to launch individual pilot projects. Making state-owned land available for this purpose was considered as a possibility. But in the end, none of this came to fruition. The unemployed councils consistently used political means to combat the Freikorps, especially in the first months of their activity. One of the reasons cited was the large sums of money the government was spending on these troops instead of giving it to the needy.52 Another reason – apart from the fundamental distrust of the left towards right-wing paramilitary formations – was a tragic clash that occurred on 8 February 1919.53 On this day, several companies of the Reinhard Volunteer Regiment (Freiwilligenregiment Reinhard) had the task of searching for hidden weapons in the Schönhauser quarter around Weinmeisterstrasse and Gormannstrasse. This troop had already made a name for itself in the suppression of the January uprising and in the Berlin march battles. Its founder and commander was the future Nazi and ss-Obergruppenführer Wilhelm Reinhard. In his memoirs of the revolution, the only commentary on February 1919 are his somewhat laconic remarks that there was ‘incessant small-scale fighting’ in Berlin at the time, and that the constant alert was very tiring for the troops.54 From 10am, the soldiers entered the neighbourhood armed with bayonets, hand grenades and machine guns. They cordoned off the whole area, even stopping trams. Passers-by, including children and women, were searched. Heated discussions between residents and troops soon broke out. The exact course of events is disputed, especially as there were clashes in several places and at different times, for example outside the Sophiengymnasium and at Hackescher Markt. Because there was an important employment office [Arbeitsnachweis]

51 52 53

54

Räte-Zeitung 9, 1919 and Freiheit, 7 April 1919 M; regarding the negotiations see RäteZeitung 39, 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 28 February 1919. For more on the following, see the detailed press reports in Die Republik, 9 February 1919, 10 February 1919 and 13 February 1919; Die Rote Fahne, 9 February 1919; Freiheit, 9 February 1919 and 11 February 1919 M; Vorwärts, 9 February 1919, 10 February 1919 M and 12 February 1919 M. Also briefly Council Minutes 1997, p. 453. Reinhard 1933, p. 89.

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in Gormannstrasse 13 was, many job-seekers had gathered there.55 The hawkers in the area were also often unemployed men. The crowd shouted insults and possibly threw bricks at the units. In addition, some teenagers snatched a few soldiers’ rifles and smashed them. It is highly unlikely, however, that the troops were shot at from rooftops, as reported by Vorwärts: in fact, the Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division did not mention anything of the sort in its own statement.56 Finally, at one o’clock, an officer asked the crowd to disperse. Immediately afterwards, he gave several orders to shoot at the unarmed crowd. According to matching eyewitness reports, the soldiers immediately fired at the crowd, without issuing any warning shots beforehand. Five civilians were killed and many injured. Among the dead were three minors who had thrown snowballs at the soldiers. One soldier shot a young woman in the face at close range, causing more agitation in the audience. She was killed instantly. The soldiers used their weapons again as they marched away. Most of the victims were unemployed – those known by name were all workers. Vorwärts tried to excuse the action with justified self-defence. Moreover, it claimed, it had been an operation against criminals. The paper reported with latent antisemitic undertones that ‘Russian-Polish’ and ‘Galician’ usurers, money forgers and racketeers were operating in the area, and that they were even connected to the Polish head of state Józef Piłsudski.57 The tragic incident subsequently contributed in no small measure to the hostile attitude of the unemployed councils towards the government troops. One of their later demands was that a unit of unemployed be formed instead to ensure public safety.58 The long-term perspective of the unemployed councils can be reduced to two keywords: socialism and the erection of a council system. This, in their view, was the only way to solve the problem of unemployment in the long term. There was a clear anti-capitalist thrust to the statement in Räte-Zeitung quoted at the beginning of the chapter: ‘Only the council system creates an organisation of labour that is free from capitalist harm and gives all creative forces the opportunity to work. Let us launch the struggle for a form of government where there will be no unemployed!’59

55 56 57 58 59

The term Arbeitsnachweis (literally: certificate of employment) was a widely used term in the 19th and early 20th centuries to refer to job placement offices. Die Republik, 10 March 1919. Vorwärts, 11 February 1919 E. Freiheit, 6 April 1919. Räte-Zeitung 27, 1919.

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We can thus note that the unemployed and their councils attributed their precarious position in society to the capitalist system. The movement was committed to replacing this economic order with a socialist council system. In this, the connection between the unemployed councils and the broader council movement is particularly clear. A declaration along similar lines was made at a demonstration the following year, ‘We want to be free workers and not servants of capitalism’.60 The corresponding intention was to achieve a rapid socialisation of the economy.61 The council activists generally believed that they were ‘on the eve of a new revolution, the socialist one’.62 Arguably the most detailed programme for the path to advance towards this aim came from the National Unemployed Committee and was presented in October 1920 to the National Congress of Factory Councils that we have previously mentioned numerous times.63 Beside shortterm objectives such as adequate material support, it also contained proposals for medium-term transitional solutions. At their core were price restrictions and production oriented towards the needs of the broad population. The goods were then to be distributed to consumers with the aid of consumer cooperatives and state-subsidised prices. Furthermore, closed-down factories were to become the property of the general public. The councils were to substantially participate in all these actions. In the long run, entrepreneurs and government were to be completely replaced by political and factory councils. ‘If we don’t help ourselves, no one will help us’.64 This sentence encapsulates a central idea of the council system, the self-activity of the masses. It was uttered by the chairman of the National Unemployed Committee, Hanns Bruno Herfurth, at the first congress of unemployed councils. He added that the unemployed no longer wanted to be merely objects, but subjects. This applied to the concrete questions of the unemployed in the here and now, but no less to the social order as a whole. The communist and writer Franz Jung elaborated on this in an article in Räte-Zeitung: The decisive factor is the organisation of this existing labour under human living conditions, no longer as a dead object, as value and value sequence, but as a free, self-determined meaning of life, to joy of work,

60 61 62 63 64

Räte-Zeitung 19, 1920. Council Minutes 1993, p. 143; Vorwärts, 6 April 1919. Freiheit, 6 April 1919. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 45–6. Vorwärts, 5 April 1919 E.

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to joy of activity, to happiness. But this organisation is also decisive for the capacity of a government, for the inner truth of a social order, for the expediency of an economic system … Of course, the unemployed are defrauded, they were and remain exploited. But they are ultimately the sufferers, the victims of a world order that we all still have a part in. They are unemployed because until now they have conceded to this society the right to offer them work as a commodity. They have to stop doing that … They are the bearers of labour, and where there is a lack of ability to implement this labour organisationally, they have to take this into their own hands. Should a human being be deprived of his most noble right, his potential for happiness, just because the wheel of a dead economic machine no longer turns? … Change the foundations of its structure and its form. Don’t wait – those most immediately affected, the exploited, all, everyone can make essential contributions. They [the unemployed, A.W.] are links in a struggle between a social order that has collapsed and the already dawning ambience of a new one.65 This text contains two important ideas above all. The first is Marx’s contrasting of alienated labour under capitalism with the free activity in a future socialist society. We shall not go into Marx’s concept of ‘alienation’ here. For our purposes, it suffices to point to the opposition between free activity and oppression. Jung could not have intended to say anything beyond this point in his article, if only because Marx’s central texts on alienation were not published until the 1930s.66 The Critique of the Gotha Programme was, however, wellknown even then. Jung’s piece contains a section that addresses this topic, and in a brief outlook on the anticipated communist society the author states that ‘work will be not only a means of life, but life’s prime want’.67 The second point is the call to the unemployed to fight for their freedom and the new social order themselves. It was never disputed among the unemployed councils that this future order was to be created with the aid of a council system.68 They, too, saw the councils as having a double role as organs of struggle in the present and essential components for the construction of the future society.

65 66 67 68

Franz Jung, ‘Arbeitslos – Arbeiter-Los!’, in Räte-Zeitung 6, 1919. These are The German Ideology and the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts. Marx 1876, Part i. Die Rote Fahne, 28 February 1919; Freiheit, 8 February 1919 M and 25 October 1919 M; National Congress Factory Councils, p. 46.

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The unemployed council of Berlin-Schöneberg stressed that it regarded the councils as non-partisan bodies which must up for all the unemployed – ‘but from the point of view of proletarian class interests’.69 In fact, members of different parties as well as non-party members were always represented in the councils. Without doubt, they were also bodies where a socialist, class-struggle attitude was the consensus. It was also on these points that the unemployed councils were in agreement with the political councils. The unemployed were particularly dependent on the state authorities, because it was them that decided whether benefits were granted and at what levels. It only made sense for the unemployed councils to focus their efforts strongly on the authorities from the outset. Welfare for the unemployed, as already mentioned, was the first priority. Initially, the unemployed councillors clashed with the head of welfare, Johannes Sassenbach.70 They demanded to be paid for their work, but above all that they be allowed to administer welfare support on their own. After some negotiations, however, they had to settle for a compromise as even the Greater Berlin Executive Council only supported them half-heartedly. Much like in other cities, the unemployed councils were now incorporated into the existing local government. They were given their own office space and were financially remunerated. They worked in various departments, assuming responsibility of the employment office as well as the information, complaints and monitoring offices. In addition, they could participate with full voting rights in the meetings of the Main Committee for Unemployment Welfare (Hauptausschuss für Erwerbslosenfürsorge), which functioned as the supreme monitoring body. Sassenbach repeatedly highlighted publicly, and also later in his memoirs, the excellent cooperation with the councils.71 In the municipal employment offices, the councils were now in charge of reviewing the reported vacancies, i.e. whether the wages were adequate and the working conditions acceptable.72 For example, they intervened on the occasion of a specific case in Grunewald.73 There, public relief works for up to 2,000 unemployed people had been set in motion in January 1919. However, they were paid much less than the advertised wages, there were no places to sleep and the

69 70 71 72 73

Die Rote Fahne, 17 February 1919. For details on the following, see sapmo-BArch ny 4494/1, Nachlass Johannes Sassenbach, Bl. 93–4. sapmo-BArch ny 4494/1, Nachlass Johannes Sassenbach, Bl. 94. Räte-Zeitung 37, 1919. See the remarks of the unemployed councillor Weiß in the General Assembly of the Greater Berlin workers’ council, Council Minutes 1997, p. 299.

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food was miserable. Similarly, the councillors surveyed vacancies in the countryside. They even negotiated with individual farms in Pomerania and mines in the Ruhr area to take in unemployed Berliners, but with little success.74 In the welfare office, they could re-examine rejected applications and, if necessary, arrange for them to be reprocessed. There was an urgent need for this, as well as for general counselling, and hundreds of visitors daily caused the councillors to be heavily overburdened.75 In some regions, they were the first point of contact for the unemployed. From the administration’s point of view, however, they represented a kind of buffer that could absorb discontent and have a calming effect on their voters.76 The importance of this function cannot be overstated – after all, both opponents and supporters of the revolution attributed considerable politically explosive potential to the unemployed. For this reason, employment offices were decentralised so as to avoid large gatherings of the unemployed.77 The question whether unemployed councils should receive payment from the municipality was particularly sensitive. In the case of the Berlin council, at least the councillors directly involved in the administration received remuneration for their work – but their grassroots were openly suspicious of this. In Charlottenburg, an unemployed assembly refused to agree to the local council’s request to this effect, ‘since the individuals concerned would then no longer be unemployed and therefore no longer safeguard the interests of the unemployed’.78 They accepted, however, that the magistrate would pay for expenses and offices. There was also criticism of financial compensation from other circles: the city councillors’ faction of the German Nationals (dnvp) complained about the costs that the municipality would incur.79 Their involvement in administrative work exemplified the dilemma faced by the unemployment councils. They gladly and extensively used the opportunity to champion the interests of the unemployed in this framework, and they were able to achieve a great deal, even if they received little thanks. They also managed to maintain a certain influence on the state authorities more extensively and for longer than the other councils. Even so, not a whole lot was in the realm of possibility – at least when measured against the councils’ own, much more radical demands. It was no coincidence that the kapd, with its action

74 75 76 77 78 79

Räte-Zeitung 48, 1919. Freiheit, 16 September 1920 M. sapmo-BArch ny 4494/1, Nachlass Johannes Sassenbach, Bl. 94. Führer 1990, p. 159. Freiheit, 20 May 1919 M. Vossische Zeitung, 25 June 1920 M.

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committees, gained more and more support among the unemployed and was eventually even in a position to depose the councils. For the city administration, in turn, the quick incorporation of the councils proved to be a smart move. Considerable radical potential was absorbed in this way, especially in the first months after the revolution. When the revolutionary wave subsided, they were replaced by union-controlled, completely apolitical councils. Besides direct cooperation, the unemployed councils also came into contact with the authorities through negotiations. The integration of the councils had come about in the course of consultations to begin with, and later it was mainly material improvements that were discussed. The Reich authorities in particular, i.e. the Ministry of Labour, the Ministry of Finance and the Demobilisation Office were not very forthcoming in these matters. Much of the time, they simply refused to recognise the National Unemployed Committee, thus nipping any possibility of talks in the bud.80 Meetings at the local level were more successful since the local governments were usually more accommodating.81 This was true not only of the Berlin magistrate, but also of the municipal authorities in the suburbs. In Friedrichshagen, for example, the unemployed council succeeded in getting free child meals for the needy and additional funds for public relief works.82 As a rule, the Reich ministries were only willing to negotiate when the representatives of the unemployed were backed by large demonstrations – but in those cases, they tried to systematically delay the negotiations.83 At any rate, the gains were usually very meagre, as the National Unemployed Committee itself had to admit.84 If nothing else, the Berlin unemployed councils succeeded in October 1919 in getting the Minister of Labour, Alexander Schlicke, to pay a winter allowance: welfare recipients were granted three to four daily rates per month in addition to the regular payments.85 The implementation of this promise was considerably delayed, however. In a bid to exert pressure on the occasion of the upcoming city councillors’ meeting, the unemployed councils called for a large protest demonstration out-

80 81

82 83 84 85

This approach is evident e.g. in an internal memo dated 21 May 1920 in BArch R 3901/1437, Reichsarbeitsministerium, Wünsche der Erwerbslosen, Bd. 1, Bl. 106. Hoelz’s unemployed councils also negotiated with the city administration, supported them in relief actions – and occasionally put them under pressure through demonstrations. All elements, then, that were also evident in Berlin. See Hoelz 1984, pp. 74–83. Vorwärts, 31 August 1920 M. Räte-Zeitung 22, 1920. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 146–7; Freiheit, 29 May 1920 M. Freiheit, 15 October 1919 M.

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side the town hall on 8 January 1920.86 Outside the building, the unemployed greeted the people’s representatives with shouts of ‘hunger’. A deputation was unable to obtain any binding promises, but was merely put off until the next few days. When the councils announced this result outside, the demonstrators became even more agitated, chanting, ‘we want work and bread!’ The council chair Schmidt’s request to go home quietly was heeded only by some of those present. The rest marched to nearby Schlossplatz, chanting, ‘down with the government; down with Ebert, Bauer, Noske!’ The kapd-dominated action committees did not take a clear stand on the question of negotiations. On 6 October 1920, shortly after the dismissal of the old councils, they called for a demonstration in Lustgarten, which was attended by nearly 10,000 unemployed. Afterwards they marched to the town hall, where a delegation negotiated for additional funds. After several hours, it was finally announced that the municipality would launch more public relief works, but the protesters were clearly not satisfied with this. The kapd negotiator responded to their expressions of displeasure by explaining that negotiations would continue, including with the Reich government.87 Only a few months later, the party and all committees it controlled categorically rejected any negotiations as a ‘palliative measure’.88 Instead, they sought immediate revolutionary action aiming for an immediate takeover of production. These examples once more showed the difficult situation that the unemployed councils were in: on the one hand, they were committed to their grassroots, on the other they lacked an effective means of exerting pressure to enforce their demands. Mass meetings were only a limited means to this end, especially since the authorities often tried to play for time or made vague promises. Not least because of this experience, the unemployed increasingly resorted to more militant means. Somewhat startingly at first glance, this also included strikes. In late April 1919, when the big general strikes had just ended, the unemployed threatened a new general work stoppage. The idea was to appeal to the solidarity of the workers if their demands were not met by the government.89 After an ultimatum had expired on 3 May, however, this did not come to pass. Undoubtedly, this was evidence of the sometimes difficult relationship between the unemployed and other workers. But more on this later.

86 87 88 89

For the course of events, see Räte-Zeitung 2, 1920 and Freiheit, 9 January 1920 M. Die Rote Fahne, 7 November 1920. Report of 11 January 1921, BArch R 1507/2004, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 132. Räte-Zeitung 7, 1919.

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In another instance, the unemployed were more successful.90 In June of the same year they started a strike in the parity employment offices for the metal industry. The reason for this was the employers’ conditions for filling vacancies: in many cases, they wanted only workers younger than 30 or 40, and applicants had to submit medical certificates and extensive references. The locksmiths were the first to protest against these practices, leaving the building in unison and immediately electing a negotiating committee in the courtyard. Other occupational groups such as the machinists joined the strike. The commission – a spontaneously elected representation and therefore, in a sense, a nucleus of the council system – first obtained a non-binding promise from the management to look into a reorganisation of the matter. When the strike was maintained the following day, the managers had to concede on all points. In addition, the commission had achieved that the unemployed were allowed to monitor the activities of the employment office and that other grievances were redressed. A tax and rent strike were discussed on a number of occasions. At the first national congress of unemployed councils, the delegates rejected the idea after a lengthy discussion.91 In Berlin, however, attempts were later made to use the rent strike as a threat to the municipal authorities.92 This method only had any chances of success, however, if the unemployed all acted in unison.93 Berlin’s unemployed councils agreed that if they failed to do so, non-payers would simply be threatened with eviction. If a sufficiently large number of tenants joint the rent strike, the bailiffs would be powerless – especially since the Transport Workers’ Association publicly declared that it would refuse to help with such evictions. According to reports from the unemployed councils, about 200,000 unemployed and low-income earners in Berlin took part in the rent strike in the summer of 1919.94 Whether this figure is correct can no longer be verified due to the lack of relevant data. However, support rates had just been cut and were also exposed to further inflation. Thus, the means of the unemployed sank to below subsistence level. Even if there was the will to pay rent, this was probably not possible in many cases if the people concerned did not want to starve. One can therefore safely assume that many refused to pay. The aim of the campaign was to force the authorities to raise benefits for the needy. It was hoped that land-

90 91 92 93 94

Vorwärts, 22 June 1919. Freiheit, 7 April 1919 M. Räte-Zeitung 16, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 24, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 28, 1919.

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lords would exert additional pressure to this effect on the city administration. In Charlottenburg, for example, the local council was able to enforce additional rent support for those in need.95 This rent strike was evidently not an isolated case in Berlin. Elsewhere, there were at least calls for it, even if the motives were different. In June, for example, the aim was to enforce an expropriation of landlords in favour of the municipality, and in early 1920 to mitigate the planned rent increases of over 50 per cent.96 The first case was probably a Communist initiative, the second one by the Greater Berlin Tenants’ Association. Especially in the second half of 1920, groups of unemployed occupied businesses in Berlin on numerous occasions. It is still difficult to speak of a uniform movement as the intentions of the occupiers were too varied. One proprietor described in Vossische Zeitung what happened in his factory on the northern outskirts of the city.97 According to him, a total of about 500 unemployed of both sexes showed up on his premises and immediately took possession of all the rooms. One group of young people stood out in particular. Their spokesperson then made a series of demands to the owner: wage increases, an end to piecework, and that he would in future only hire people through the Unemployed Welfare Service. The abolition of piecework was probably aimed at making more jobs available, while the latter demand sought to eliminate the unpopular industrial and company employment agencies. Moreover, the unemployed demanded the dismissal of four former Baltikumer employed in the enterprise because they had ‘fought against their brothers in Russia’. Baltikumers was the name given to members of right-wing Freikorps who had continued to fight in the Baltic States after the end of World War i, especially against the Red Army.98 The former Freikorps soldiers were extremely unpopular not only with the unemployed, but with all left-wing workers. Time and again, demands were made that they be dismissed from their jobs – or else, staff simply refused to work with them.99 The demand was therefore by no means unusual. Some of the occupiers’ demands, such as the dismissal of the four ex-mercenaries, were promptly granted, and after some time they left. However, their leader returned a few days later and threatened another occupation if all the demands were not

95 96 97 98 99

Räte-Zeitung 41, 1919. Vossische Zeitung, 13 June 1919 M and 12 January 1920 E. Vossische Zeitung, 23 June 1920 E. See the excellent study by Sauer 1995, pp. 869–902. At the first national congress of unemployed councils, for example, it was decided not to cooperate with them and to boycott all newspapers that printed Freikorps advertisements: Die Rote Fahne, 17 April 1919.

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met. According to the proprietor, his workers were rather reserved about the whole affair and mainly concerned with protecting the machines. In early September 1920, there were several occupations by unemployed workers, including at aeg and at Bergmann in Rosenthal.100 All attempts to take over production management were unsuccessful, however, and had to be abandoned before long. After the election of the new action committee on 14 September and the dismissal of the old unemployed councils in Berlin, occupations also took place the following day. It is very likely that they were the result of an initiative by the new committee.101 The motives are unclear, although it is possible that the intention was to gain workers’ support for the committee. During the strike in the electricity plants in November, unemployed workers tried to expand this wage movement into a political general strike.102 About 1,000 of them occupied the gasworks in Danziger Strasse, others put out the fire under the boilers in the Ludwig Loewe factory in Moabit. Similar actions took place at Knorr-Bremse in Lichtenberg and at aeg-Apparatewerk in Ackerstrasse. However, the unemployed did not exactly endear themselves to the workers, and they did not achieve their real aim, a general strike, anywhere. Instead, the Reichswehr and the Security Police evacuated the affected factories. Some spokesmen of the radical unemployed, among them Leo Fichtmann, were arrested. Die Rote Fahne alleged that army informers had instigated the action.103 However, this is unlikely and must be seen as an attempt to discredit the actions of the political competition posed by the kapd. The very fact that the leading Left Communist Fichtmann was involved is sufficient evidence of who initiated it. Among the projects of the unemployed councils, emigration schemes were a special case. In addition to the aforementioned efforts to create jobs on German estates and in mines, the aim of these projects was to give a large number of unemployed a new perspective for the future. To this end, the National Unemployed Committee founded a Central Office for the Emigration of German Unemployed in May 1919, which was entrusted with organisational prepara-

100 101 102

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Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 8.8.1920, BArch R 1507/2002, Bl. 28. Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 23.9.1920, BArch R 1507/2002, Bl. 45. Die Rote Fahne, 11 November 1920 and 16 November 1920; report from 17 November 1920, BArch R 1507/2003, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 86. Die Rote Fahne, 16 November 1920.

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tions.104 At least for a certain period of time, the war-ravaged lands of northern France and Belgium were seen as possible destinations to be rebuilt with German aid. The unemployed wanted to participate in this,105 but only under certain conditions: private companies were not to be involved. Instead, the unemployed or all local workers were to organise the reconstruction themselves within the framework of a council-based system. It was also hoped that this would promote the council idea to the French workers. However, the government did not respond to this request. On the whole, the question of emigration remained controversial. Some councils warned against any emigration, others against emigration to capitalist countries. Others still recommended Argentina and Paraguay as destinations because of the state aid for settlers there. Russia increasingly became the focus of attention, however. A maiden delegation even travelled there to inspect the actual conditions.106 The Prussian state conference of unemployed councils envisaged about 800,000 potential resettlers. They were to settle mainly in the Vologda region, i.e. in the north-western part of Russia. However, numerous difficulties were repeatedly pointed out. As a result of the civil war and the Polish-Soviet war, transport connections there were poor, and the emigrants could only expect a hard and precarious existence after their arrival.107 Government agencies also urged caution.108 After all, resettlers would acquire Russian citizenship and be at the mercy of the strict directives of the authorities there. Moreover, there was hardly any reliable information about the real situation and working conditions. Evidently, only a few hundred resettlers had left for Russia by mid-1920. Their later fate is unknown.

Relations with the Other Sections of the Workers’ Movement The possibilities and limits of the unemployed councils depended to a great degree on their relationship to other sections of the workers’ movement. Their own base was economically and politically relatively weak. Their character was also naturally unstable due to the strong fluctuation among their constituents. The other organisations were variously supportive or obstructive – in fact, both scenarios occurred.

104 105 106 107 108

Räte-Zeitung 11, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919. Freiheit, 26 October 1919. Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919. Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 24.8.1920, BArch R 1507/2001, Bl. 42–3.

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Relations with the regular councils were ambivalent – i.e. in Berlin, above all with the General Assemblies of councils with the Executive Council at their head, and later the factory councils and the Central Office of Factory Councils. This was true for practically the entire period assessed here. The Democrat faction in the General Assembly denied the unemployed councils any right to exist, as their leader explained: ‘I am opposed to the idea that representatives of unemployed councils belong in the council system at all. Unemployment is not an occupation’.109 The spd had a more flexible approach by comparison. As already illustrated by the example of Sassenbach, the party was definitely interested in involving the unemployed at the local level, if only within a narrow framework – in principle, the trade unions were seen as the appointed representatives of the interests of the unemployed. This was the line taken by the Social Democrats in government and in the Central Council, which was under their exclusive control.110 Nothing changed in the following year.111 Despite this reserved position, the Democratic and Social-Democratic factions in the General Assembly backed a motion tabled by the Berlin unemployed councils on 10 May 1919.112 It contained a series of demands to the government, including recognition of all unemployed councils and better support. Of course, this was little more than a non-binding declaration of sympathy without any tangible consequences. An episode that took place in Berlin’s government district was characteristic of the attitude of the top Social-Democratic functionaries. After an unemployed demonstration on 18 May 1920, the Prussian Minister of the Interior, Carl Severing (spd) wrote a letter of complaint to the Berlin police chief: ‘My official car outside Wilhelmstrasse 73 was deliberately prevented from leaving, and only the energetic attitude of the chauffeur succeeded in providing a path for it’.113 Following on from this, he suggested that demonstrations should no longer be allowed to obstruct traffic. He added: ‘I request that the necessary orders be made for the future’. This story is highly symbolic of just how far some spd leaders had drifted away from the working class. Evidently, the minister in the back of his official car was only interested in the smooth flow of traffic, but not in the concerns of the unemployed. It was therefore more than an anecdote. 109 110 111 112 113

Meeting of 31 January 1919 in Council Minutes 1997, p. 485. See the aforementioned remarks by Reich Minister of Labour Bauer in Scheidemann Files, p. 135. On the Central Council, see Räte-Zeitung 11, 1919. Vorwärts, 19 September 1920 M. Council Protocols 2002, p. 650. GStA pk, i. ha Rep. 77 Ministerium des Innern, Tit. 4003 Nr. 113, Sicherheitspolizei, besondere Vorkommnisse, Bl. 29. The residence of the Predident of Germany was located at Wilhelmstrasse 73.

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Two fundamentally opposed political concepts were clashing here: an attitude oriented towards the state and interested in order versus an action-oriented movement from below. The Executive Council recognised the legitimacy of the unemployed councils in principle, except in the case of the Charlottenburg council mentioned above. Overall, however, the Executive Council made very little effort to represent the interests of the unemployed. This was not so much out of principled rejection, but because, by the summer at the latest, it was itself deeply divided and barely capable of acting. In any case, the unemployed councils repeatedly voiced their discontent and declared that the Executive Council had failed them.114 The Central Office of Factory Councils as the de facto successor organisation to the Executive Council tried to establish contact from the beginning. Shortly after its inception in Halle, the National Conference of Unemployed Councils decided to seek close cooperation.115 Meetings between the two parties became more frequent.116 On one occasion, the brz demanded additional job creation measures from the government. In another case, they jointly organised a demonstration in Berlin’s Lustgarten to draw attention to the plight of the unemployed.117 Nevertheless, the unemployed wanted more help and complained about the low level of commitment from the brz.118 A final attempt at cooperation between the two camps after the deposition of the Berlin council failed miserably. The rival action committees simply broke up the meetings through which the brz wanted to initiate a reorganisation of the unemployed councils. Apart from the brz, the unemployed also came into direct contact with the factory councils, especially during a sensational appearance at their congress in Berlin in October 1920.119 At first, a delegation from the National Unemployed Committee showed up there. Its member Schmidt from Berlin was allowed to describe the situation of his constituents in detail. He emphatically appealed to the delegates to show solidarity with the unemployed and support them in their demands to the government. Several speakers then stressed their sympathies, but concrete measures in favour of the unemployed were not taken.

114 115 116 117 118 119

Räte-Zeitung 48, 1919 and Freiheit, 25 November 1919 M. Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 20, 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 1 June 1920 and 7 July 1920. Freiheit, 16 May 1920; Räte-Zeitung 18, 1920. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 145–9.

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A little later, several thousand unemployed gathered outside the hall and loudly expressed their displeasure at the weak result.120 Dißmann of the uspd and Brandler of the kpd warned against the exuberant radicalism of the unemployed, which they contrasted with their conscious, long-term-oriented organisational work. Richard Müller argued similarly, explicitly referring to the failed attempt by the brz to reorganise the unemployed a few weeks prior.121 At the end of the congress, Schmidt once again took the floor and expressed the unemployed councils’ disappointment about the course of the meeting.122 The demands presented to the delegates had only been dealt with in a dilatory manner and no binding decisions were taken on the unemployment question. The factory councils had thus shown that they were not interested in offering serious support. A month later, there was a scandal when several hundred unemployed stormed a meeting of Berlin factory councils.123 There, they boisterously demanded immediate action and insulted the factory councils as ‘stumbling blocks’ and ‘traitors to the working class’. Fierce brawls broke out in and outside the hall. Some council delegates, however, showed understanding and selfcriticism, saying that the interests of the unemployed had been neglected too much. In the course of the electricity workers’ strike a few days earlier, some of the factory councillors there had even been temporarily deposed by the unemployed.124 The significance of these conflicts should not be overstated, however. Both sides repeatedly stressed that close cooperation was desirable and necessary. The unemployed congress condemned the storming of the meeting in strong terms a mere few days later. What was needed instead, it argued, was close cooperation between working people and the unemployed.125 This was true especially of the Communists and left Independents, who were represented in both parts of the council movement. While the uspd could rely on a growing number of supporters in the General Assembly of Berlin’s workers’ councils and later in the brz, the Communists were only represented as junior partners in these bodies. In the unemployed councils, however, the situation was the opposite. Unfortunately, there are no membership lists or detailed election results. We therefore have to resort to fragmentary information on

120 121 122 123 124 125

Vossische Zeitung, 6 October 1920 E. National Congress Factory Councils, pp. 184, 224 and 238. National Congress Factory Councils, p. 270. Vorwärts, 15 November 1920 E; Die Rote Fahne, 16 November 1920. Die Rote Fahne, 11 November 1920. Vorwärts, 16 November 1920 M.

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the party-political orientation of the unemployed councils, which nonetheless give a relatively clear picture. In August 1920, Saxony’s state security police drew up a list of delegates of the Leipzig unemployed council.126 All 16 members were listed with their names, date of birth and party affiliation. There is no comparable record for Berlin, but we can assume that the composition there was quite similar. Both were industrial cities with a long workers’ movement tradition, both leaned very far to the left and were strongholds of the council movement as a whole. According to the police list, seven council members in Leipzig were kpd members, four uspd members, three kapd members, and two had no party affiliation. All were between 25 and 46 years old, with an average of 33. There was only one woman among them. Occupational details are not available. We can draw a few conclusions from this: almost all had been politically socialised during the time of the Kaiserreich, but were evidently still young enough to join this new movement. The strong role of the two Communist parties is striking, as is the fact that almost everyone was organised in a party. The complete absence of spd members is also interesting. The majority of the Berlin unemployed councils were already close to the kpd in the spring of 1919.127 At the first national congress in April, they also formed the largest faction.128 In a by-election in October, Communists won all six mandates.129 Zoske of the Independents warned that the Berlin unemployed council should not repeat the mistakes of the Executive Council, but generally put party politics aside.130 The spd apparently played no role at all in the councils. The kapd, however did – or at least until it set up its action committees to pursue its own policy. In the National Unemployed Committee, both Communists and Independents were initially represented. Its first chairman, Hanns Bruno Herfurth, was a Communist and at the same time leader of the kpd faction in the Berlin General Assembly of workers’ councils.131 In the summer, representatives of all three left opposition parties were working together on the National Unemployed Committee.132 As we can see, the role of the parties was by no means uniform. All the same, the unemployed clearly had 126 127 128 129 130 131 132

A transcript of the list can be found in BArch R 1507/469, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 13. Thus a statement by Richard Müller referring to March 1919 – see Council Minutes 2002, p. 832. Freiheit, 6 April 1919. Räte-Zeitung 46, 1919. Freiheit, 15 October 1919 M. Räte-Zeitung 30, 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 27 May 1920.

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a stronger inclination towards the radical left groups than the working class as a whole did. Given their particularly precarious situation, this is of course hardly surprising. The relationship between the unemployed councils and the Free Trade Unions was similarly mixed. As with other workers’ organisations, the unemployed wanted more support and complained about the inactivity of the Free Trade Unions.133 The Berlin Trade-union Commission and the General Federation of Free Employees (AfA), however, had called for demonstrations for the unemployed and provided speakers, for example in July 1920.134 At the end of the year, the trade unions launched elections for their own, closely affiliated unemployed councils.135 It goes without saying that the radical action committees took this as an attack. Together with their supporters, they prevented the ballot, which eventually had to be abandoned altogether. Six months later, there were heated disputes within the unemployed movement once again. As before, elections for trade union unemployed representation were the trigger. The National Unemployed Committee announced that it would take ‘resolute action’.136 And that is exactly what happened.137 In mid-June 1921 there were three rallies outside the trade union building on Engelufer. The unemployed demonstrators demanded an account of the efforts that the trade unions had made for their interests. Still, the actions were peaceful. On 19 June, the National Unemployed Committee and the Berlin Unemployed Council called for a mass demonstration. Rallies were also held in other cities. In processions of about 200 people each, the participants marched from the individual employment offices to Mariannenplatz in Kreuzberg. The whole event was evidently very well organised – even bicycle patrols were present. Since the police had learned about it in time, numerous officers both in uniform and plain clothes were on duty. The trade union officials did not accept an invitation because they did not want to recognise the councils as representatives of the unemployed. Leo

133 134

135 136 137

Freiheit, 25 October 1919 M; Die Rote Fahne, 1 June 1920. Freiheit, 7 July 1920 M; Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 1.7.1920 in BArch R 1507/469; Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 3. Bericht vom 2.11.1920, BArch R 1507/2003, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 55. Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 7.6.1921, BArch R 1507/2011, Bl. 18. There are two official reports on the following: Bericht des Reichskommissars für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung vom 25.6.1921, BArch R 1507/2011, Bl. 156–7 and a report by the Berlin Police Commissioner of 22 June 1921, BArch R 1507/469. All party newspapers also reported extensively on the event.

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Fichtmann and others then demanded the dismantling of the trade unions and the expulsion of the ‘bigwigs’. About 3,500 of those present now moved on to the nearby union hall. There, too, the officials refused to listen to the protestors’ demands. Then, about 2,000 of them stormed the building, smashing some of the office equipment and injuring seven workers. The workers fought back with rubber truncheons. The Protection Police first blocked the entrances, cleared the street and then the building. There were no more significant clashes thereafter – eight people were arrested. With this, any ties between the unemployed councils and the trade unions had been severed for good. This example showed in a particularly drastic way how difficult relations between the unemployed and the established organisations of the workers’ movement often were. One side complained about the lack of workers’ solidarity and was often inclined to militant acts of defiance. The other side found it difficult to take a serious stand for the interests of the unemployed beyond written declarations of support and sometimes looked down disparagingly on the ‘rowdies’. Although there were examples of fruitful cooperation, this cooperation remained fragile. For the factory councils, there was also the problem of how to integrate a clientele roaming outside the workplaces into their council system. No truly convincing solution could ever be found. Even though the relationship oscillated between disassociation and cooperation, however, it was still clear to both sides that they depended on each other. Their interests clearly overlapped in many ways. For instance, those in work were concerned about the level of welfare too: namely, when they themselves were fearing redundancy, or because insufficient welfare might tempt the unemployed to accept job offers at very low wages, thereby depressing wage levels. Likewise, everyone had an interest in preventing mass dismissals and company closures.

Interim Conclusion When describing the political activities of the unemployed in the Kaiserreich and the Weimar Republic in Geschichte der Arbeitslosigkeit, Niess concludes: ‘Thus, although spontaneous movements of the unemployed emerged time and again, they did not develop into a powerful and lasting mass movement’.138 The unemployed councils in Berlin during the revolutionary period, however, illustrate that this assessment is not accurate – at least not for them. There is no

138

Niess 1979, p. 71.

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doubt that they were backed by a mass movement and that they successfully established an effective lobbying force for their interests. Judged against their own, often much more ambitious goals, they were only able to achieve partial successes. Their frequently voiced high expectations of a socialist society based on the council principle were ultimately dashed. Nonetheless, the movement succeeded in developing a long-term revolutionary perspective beyond the pressing needs of everyday life. This perspective involved a clear commitment to the council system: the councils were to function as a political organ of struggle in the present, and they were meant to serve as a basic principle for the future construction of society. Thus, true to the spirit of the council movement as a whole, they were a means to represent interests in the present and simultaneously a goal for the future. This conception was mainly based on the argument that capitalism was responsible for unemployment, and that in order to eliminate the latter the former must be overcome. The perspective of a Second Revolution was therefore clearly held among the unemployed as well. Incidentally, they did good work in the field of everyday help and counselling, as was attested to them not least by the authorities. They also brought their concerns to the attention of politicians and the public in many ways. None of this was a small feat, even if the immediate assistance to their clientele and the long-term revolutionary goals were hardly directly linked. For a good two years, the organisational structure held. This was considerably longer than was the case for most other councils emerging from the revolution. Compared to the rest of the movement, the overall balance is quite positive. The difficult conditions became more and more noticeable, however, and the unemployed councils finally disappeared from the political stage. A contributing factor to their demise was the fact that their relationship to the other branches of the workers’ movement was so ambivalent. Despite exceptions, there was a basic willingness to cooperate on both sides. Immediately after their foundation, the Berlin unemployed councils contacted the General Assembly and the Executive Council and were recognised by these bodies. Later, too, there was frequent contact between the unemployed and the factory councils. Many party members operated in the unemployed councils, although the balance of power here was more in favour of the radical forces than in the other councils – no doubt because of the special plight of their supporters. This cooperation was also put into practice in a series of actions. Still, there were always points of friction rooted in concrete clashes of interests. In some cases, it came to open, even violent confrontations. The unemployed councils testify to the breadth of the council movement as a whole. Like the political and workplace councils, they demonstrated that the council ideas fell on fertile ground during the revolution. For many unem-

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ployed, they were the appropriate instrument to assert their interests. But they were also a source of hope for a better future, especially for those whose social position was particularly precarious. This is remarkable because the unemployed were often accused of political apathy or aimless militancy by the traditional workers’ movement. Ideologically, organisationally and politically, unemployed councils had a lot in common with the broader council movement – but they also had their own specific interests and conflicts.

chapter 7

The ‘Political Council of Intellectual Workers’ The name alone made clear that the founders of this council saw themselves as part of the council movement, but at the same time claimed a special position as ‘intellectual workers’, which they indeed occupied.1 But who stood behind this council, and what did the council stand for? In general intellectuals took an inconsistent, often contradictory stance on the revolution.2 The upheaval was initiated and supported primarily by soldiers, the working class and the lower white-collar workers and civil servants. The educated elites, on the other hand, generally saw themselves as part of the bourgeois class and were largely reserved in their attitude towards the revolution, even if one is well-advised make a nuanced judgement here. Engel, for example, has highlighted the participation of numerous middle-class groups in the Berlin council movement.3 Teachers, journalists, lawyers and civil servants in particular belonged to the left-liberal Democratic faction of the General Assembly. In addition to the social divide, there was a divide by culture and milieu that was hardly less important and that also contributed to the gap. There was not much that a writer at the ‘Café Größenwahn’ or the Romanisches Café, for instance, had in common with a metalworker from Moabit or Lichtenberg.4 However, not only aesthetic but also political debates took place within Berlin’s literary and art scenes. Thus, shortly after the outbreak of war in 1914, a group around the ‘Café Größenwahn’ emerged under the banner of ‘Activism’, later called Bund der Aktivisten [League of Activists]. Its main thinker, Kurt Hiller, also founded a complementary journalistic platform called Das Ziel. Jahrbücher für geistige Politik [The Goal. Yearbooks for Intellectual Politics].

1 In terms of research literature on the Political Council of Intellectual Workers, two studies in particular are worth mentioning. Bieber 1992, pp. 124–36, provides a concise overview of such councils across Germany. Lützenkirchen 2010, pp. 83–93 is informative, but not convincing in terms of argumentation because of the author’s completely uncritical approach. 2 See the concise but readable summary in Beutin, 2009, pp. 262–82. 3 See Engel 2004, especially pp. 157–9. 4 Colloquially known as ‘Café Größenwahn’ (Café Megalomania), the Café des Westens on Kurfürstendamm was one of the most important meeting places for the artistic and intellectual avant-garde in the capital before and during the war. In the Weimar years, the nearby Romanisches Café took over this role.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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Overall, Hiller was the most important organiser and source of ideas for the Political Council of Intellectual Workers in Berlin.5 On 6 and 7 November 1918, when the revolution had already gripped large parts of Germany, a meeting was held in the literary café Nollendorfkasino, aiming to draft and decide on a comprehensive programme for Activism.6 On 10 November, the participants, who resided in the Reichstag building in the following days, gave themselves the name Council of Intellectual Workers, which they changed a little later to Political Council of Intellectual Workers. It existed until it was dissolved during a national Activist congress in Berlin in June 1919.7 Due to its swift formation, the Berlin council had a certain exemplary character for other councils of intellectual workers in cities such as Stuttgart, Königsberg, Leipzig and Cologne; Heinrich Mann chaired the Munich counterpart.8 In most cities, the members of these councils were academics, senior civil servants or students, which made them very similar in composition to the citizens’ councils. In Berlin, it was mainly writers, architects, visual artists and journalists who joined as members and supporters. Among them were such prominent figures as Magnus Hirschfeld, Lou Andreas-Salomé, Bruno Taut, Helene Stöcker and Kurt Wolff.9 It can no longer be established with certainty who was merely a supporter and who was a council member. In any case, Bieber claims – though without citing any sources – that beside Hiller the inner circle of members comprised also Alfons Goldschmidt, Hans Reichenbach, Helene Stöcker and Armin Wegner.10 In Vossische Zeitung, the founder of Weltbühne, Siegfried Jacobsohn, was also named as a participant.11 Jacobsohn had also printed the programme of the council in his paper.12 Kurt Hiller not only co-authored the programme, but also gave a speech to the council in early December 1918 that was no less programmatic, ‘Who are we? What do we want?’. He also had a hand in the resolution of the Activist congress. In the following section, we will introduce and analyse these three foundational documents in order to identify the aims of the council. One of the statements in the programme read:

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

On his career in the years of the Weimar Republic, see Bavaj 2005, pp. 448–60. Das Ziel. Jahrbücher für geistige Politik. vol. 3.1, pp. 218–19. See report on the congress in Das Ziel. Jahrbücher für geistige Politik. vol. 4, pp. 207–16. Bieber 1992, p. 130. See list of supporters in Das Ziel. Jahrbücher für geistige Politik. vol. 3.1, pp. 222–3. Bieber 1992, p. 132. Vossische Zeitung, 11 November 1918 E. Translator’s note: Weltbühne was a renowned German weekly magazine for politics, art and the economy. Die Weltbühne, 21 November 1918.

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The cornerstone of all future politics must be the sanctity of life. To sanctify creation, to protect the creative, to purge slavery in every form from the globe, that is our duty. The Political Council of Intellectual Workers therefore fights above all against the bondage of the whole of the people through military service and against the oppression of the workers by the capitalist system. It wants personal freedom and social justice … Workers by hand and by brain are entitled to the full yield of their labour, not reduced by the ‘surplus value’ that the capitalist entrepreneur has been pocketing until now … Sexual freedom within certain limits, so that the wishes of those who are unwilling are respected and the immaturity of young people protected … Securing and expanding the all-German social Republic … The Reichstag: to be elected on the basis of proportional representation without constituencies. Equal, direct and secret suffrage for all citizens of both sexes over 20 years of age. Eligibility of women. A legislative period of three years. Additionally, to eradicate the danger of cultural policy being affected by one-sided economic considerations and to compensate for the damage caused by party-bureaucratic ossification: a Council of Intellectuals [Rat der Geistigen]. It will come into being neither by appointment nor by election, but – by virtue of the duty of the intellect to help – by its own right, and renews itself according to its own law. The government shall be in the hands of a committee of confidants of the parliament (Reichstag) and the Council. The President of the German Republic is to be elected for a limited period by the Reichstag on the non-binding proposal of the Council, and he is to be elected by the Reichstag alone before the Council is constituted. The Political Council of Intellectual Workers believes that under this constitution, which perfects the democratic idea and ensures leadership by the best, a policy of freedom, justice and reason is the most feasible and safeguarded in the most effective manner.13 The text contains references to very diverse political and intellectual currents of the time, which underlines the heterogeneous, sometimes downright contradictory character of the council. The strong emphasis on pacifism was certainly primarily due to the approaching end of the war, but it remained an important focal point of Hiller’s commitment later on. Then there was the demand for a socialist transformation of the economy in order to end the exploitation of workers and bring about social justice. As was elaborated fur-

13

Das Ziel. Jahrbücher für geistige Politik. vol. 3.1, pp. 219–22.

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ther, large estates were to be expropriated and some enterprises converted into ‘workers’ productive cooperatives’. Other demands involved a markedly liberal approach to sexual self-determination, which was advocated not only by Hiller, but also by other signatories such as Hirschfeld and Stöcker. This was complemented by the pursuit of a democratised, socially inclusive education system. The state constitution outlined in the document corresponded in some essential points to the later Weimar constitution, for example with regard to the republican form of government, women’s suffrage and the welfare state. The special aspect, however, was the envisaged Council of Intellectuals (Rat der Geistigen). It was probably conceived as a continuation of Hiller’s own Political Council of Intellectual Workers and was to have far-reaching powers, especially in the appointment of the government. In a draft drawn up during the war, Hiller also envisaged ‘extensive veto powers’ on legislation for the body, which he had christened the Herrenhaus (House of Lords) in a reference to the Prussian constitution of the time.14 Apparently though, this Council of Intellectuals had little to do with the councils as understood by the council movement: it would be unelected and generally not accountable to anyone. Instead, it would constitute itself ‘by its own right’ and then co-opt further members. The programme did not specify how this would be done. The task of the council would be to provide a corrective for possible parliamentary and party-political aberrations. In this way, democratic freedom, socialist justice and intellectual reason were to be brought into harmony. These ideas were based on Plato’s Politeia with its concept of philosopherkings and Nietzsche’s ideas of an aristocracy of the spirit. Furthermore, the envisaged key role of the ‘intellectuals’ is also reflected in the formulation, ‘protect the creative’. This was evidently intended to elevate the support of creative artistic work to the central offices of the new society. It is obvious that this was altogether an extremely elitist conception of a future political order, which is to say, by no means a grassroots-democratic one. Elsewhere, also during the war, Hiller had written even more explicitly: ‘A more intellectual man a man who is more destined for power. It follows from the concept of the intellect that he contributes more to the development of society, to the organisation of the state, to the whole arrangement of our earthly dwelling, than the nonintellectual man’.15

14 15

Bavaj 2005, p. 453. Quoted in Bavaj 2005, p. 452.

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About a month after the adoption of the programme, Hiller gave his ‘Who are we? What do we want?’ speech at a public meeting of the council.16 There, he formulated the idea of three aspects of revolution: ‘We have seen the political revolution. The proletariat, whose self-interest coincides with the imperative of justice, will see to it that the political revolution is followed by the social revolution. However, true revolution only prevails where a cultural revolution has also been achieved’.17 This implied that the bearers of culture – i.e. the ‘intellectuals’ – were ultimately to be given the pivotal role. Hiller continued: ‘We are not class fighters, but we are socialists’.18 It was in this spirit that he argued for substantial intervention in the economic life in the long term, but at the same time distanced himself from an abolition of private property across the board. Thus, he explicitly aligned himself with the positions of the two Social Democratic parties, leaving it up to his listeners to decide which one they wanted to join. He sharply criticised Rosa Luxemburg’s Spartacus League, on the other hand. Vossische Zeitung, whose editor-in-chief was personally hostile to Hiller, reported on the event in disparaging terms.19 The paper stressed that it had been highly ‘embarrassing’, and that numerous contributions to the debate could not be taken politically seriously. It remains to be said that Hiller aimed for close cooperation between the intellectuals and the proletariat. He saw the revolution as only truly comprehensively realised in the combination of both groups’ struggles for the various aspects of social transformation – even if it was clear to him that the ‘intellectuals’ would have to take the lead. Six months later, an Activist congress dissolved the existing Political Council of Intellectual Workers, but at the same time called for the comprehensive formation of cultural councils. On the whole, the adherents of this tendency had clearly become radicalised in certain respects, probably under the impression of the stagnant revolution. The adopted resolution reflected this: We reject the democratic-parliamentary system … we demand the economic-political dictatorship of those who create material values through work, and we demand the cultural-political dictatorship of those whose revolutionary creativity produces cultural values, without regard to whether this gives a majority or a minority dictatorial powers. The economic and political disenfranchisement of all unproductive members of

16 17 18 19

Hiller 1983, pp. 4–11. Hiller 1983, p. 5. Hiller 1983, p. 8. Vossische Zeitung, 4 December 1918 E. In the early days of the council, Hiller had thrown the editor-in-chief, Georg Bernhard, out of a meeting using harsh words.

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society and the introduction of the pure council system, comprised of economic and cultural councils, presents itself to us as a suitable means to put the ideas of the economic and cultural revolution into practice … It [the League of Activists – Author] recommends that its members join parties which firmly support the council system and imbue them with an Activist spirit.20 So now the Activists had turned their backs on the parliamentary order that was only coming into being and were placing their bets entirely on a future council republic. Unfortunately, they offered no concrete clues as to the specifics of such a system – most importantly, about the process by which the councils were to be formed. The notion of an elitist authoritarian ‘Council of Intellectuals’, however, lingered on – the references to a ‘cultural-political dictatorship’ and possible minority rule suggest as much. Even so, it is both remarkable and contradictory that the Activists espoused the notion of a pure council system. The concept had originally been coined by Berlin representatives of the left-wing uspd and implied the exclusive seizure of power by the councils and the abolition of parliaments. However, in the Activists’ vision, they pure council system was to be complemented by cultural councils. The document also explicitly states that it is irrelevant whether a majority or a minority rules, which amounts to an anti-democratic distortion of the council idea. Thus the Activists’ pure council system and the original ideas of Däumig and Müller had little more than the name in common. In the early days of the revolution, the Council of Intellectual Workers sought close contacts with the Berlin council movement. According to Hiller, HansGeorg von Beerfelde – at the time one of the chairmen of the Greater Berlin Executive Council – promised to incorporate the Council of Intellectual Workers as a third pillar alongside soldiers and workers into the Berlin council system.21 But no practical consequences followed from this – probably also because Beerfelde resigned from office just a few days after 9 November 1918, which meant that the most important link to the council movement was lost. There were, however, various other personal connections. Gustav Wyneken and Hugo Sinzheimer supported the programme, for example. Wyneken campaigned in the Prussian Ministry of Education for a school reform involving pupil councils. Sinzheimer was one of the spd’s leading experts on councils and wrote Article 165 of the Weimar constitution on the incorporation of coun-

20 21

The resolution is printed in Reinhardt 1992, pp. 36–7. Hiller 1969, Leben gegen die Zeit, p. 128.

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cils.22 Another comrade, Alfons Goldschmidt, co-edited the Räte-Zeitung paper and in this context promoted the formation of unemployed councils.23 Despite all this, relations with the working class always remained distant and difficult. This was shown, for instance, by an event attended by about a thousand people on 19 November 1918 in Spichernstrasse.24 Intellectuals and workers directly faced each other in debate, but an understanding was hardly reached. One worker exclaimed, ‘Intellectuals are rubbish!’ Another pointed out the arrogance of the educated classes towards workers and rejected the programme presented by the Political Council, saying that it was nothing but words. Working-class scepticism towards intellectuals was by no means confined to this event – similar cases can be found in other organisations as well. At a district meeting of the Berlin uspd shortly after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, for example, party intellectuals were fiercely attacked.25 Beyond their extensive programmatic debates, the self-proclaimed ‘Activists’ engaged in precious little activity. In consequence, even contemporary appraisals of the Political Council of Intellectual Workers were quite harsh. The philosopher Ernst Bloch stated soberly, ‘No one has commissioned this council, no one even considers its members to be in any way representative and competent’.26 The circle around the magazine Die Aktion expressed its criticism in far shriller terms. It went so far as to describe the name of the committee as a ‘disgusting nonsense and downright anti-social folly’.27 The article continued, ‘They call themselves, in the most insolent superlative, intellectuals – but never was intellect more alien to a caste than it is to this clod of profoundly miserable parasites on the body of the people, this bunch of whinging little virgins who refuse no economic stimulus’.28 Up until 1913, Kurt Hiller had still written articles for the journal himself. It is therefore possible that the aggressive tone of the critique was also due to personal animosities. If we compare the Political Council of Intellectual Workers with the actual council movement, a fundamental discrepancy becomes apparent. The former was a grassroots movement oriented towards mass action, based on the broad support of blue- and white-collar workers. The latter was a small elite group of

22 23 24 25 26 27 28

See the detailed explanations in our chapters on pupil councils (Wyneken) and on the spd (Sinzheimer). For more on this, see our chapter about unemployed councils. Vossische Zeitung, 21 November 1918 M. Freiheit, 12 April 1920 M. Quoted in Bieber 1992, p. 135. Quoted in Peter 1972, p. 64. Peter 1972, pp. 63–4.

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intellectuals who claimed a privileged say, if not actual leadership, for themselves and their ilk. To be sure, the ‘intellectuals’ made verbal concessions to the socialist working class. These included declarations in favour of revolution, social justice and the council system. But all this was not enough to avert their considerable isolation from the council movement and from decisive political struggles overall. Moreover, as far as can be ascertained, these avowals did not sound credible to the addressees either. Even the name ‘council’ was merely a concession to the spirit of the times and neither politically nor practically relevant. In any event, the Political Council of Intellectual Workers ultimately remained largely ineffective. As shown by similar developments in Munich, however, its isolation and weakness were not inevitable. There, the Council of Intellectuals led by Heinrich Mann also remained a largely insignificant episode, but some writers played a significant role in the Munich council movement, especially during the first phase of the Munich Soviet Republic in April 1919. Among them were Gustav Landauer, Erich Mühsam and Ernst Toller. Instead of founding a separate council for intellectuals, however, they became directly involved in the workers’ and soldiers’ councils.29 Arguably, this was the main reason for their considerably greater influence. The same was true of Berlin intellectuals who were directly involved in the city’s council movement, such as Ernst Däumig and Alexander Schwab. Moreover, a considerable number of bourgeois-liberal councillors had joined the General Assembly, formed their own fraction there in late 1918 and sent two, and from April 1919 one, representative to the Executive Council.30 These liberals could count a good ten per cent of the delegates in the assembly among their supporters. They played a fairly ambivalent role: while advocating a consistent democratisation of society, they simultaneously rejected all socialrevolutionary aims of the council movement.31 For this reason, they sided with the spd on all important issues.32 During the March 1919 general strike, they dissociated themselves from the movement from the outset and in even stronger

29 30 31

32

Landauer very consciously attached great importance to this, as he explained in a letter. See Lützenkirchen 2010, p. 87. See Engel 2004 for more details. This ambivalent dual position, which gave the council movement opportunities for a broader grassroots but also extra potential for internal conflict, was highlighted by Engel 2004, p. 199. In many votes, the two factions voted together, and when the council bodies split in July 1919, the liberals also joined the spd – see their joint statement in Council Minutes 2002, pp. 852–3.

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terms than the Social Democrats.33 In any case, they had many more connections and far more clout in the council movement than the Political Council of Intellectuals. The balance sheet for the Political Council of Intellectuals is therefore ambivalent at best. There were some demonstrable links between this council and the actual council movement – for instance, through negotiations or through the involvement of individual intellectuals such as Sinzheimer and Goldschmidt in the mass movement. Furthermore, its programmatic statements drew on the ideas of the council movement – for example, those of revolution, of the abolition of workers’ oppression and exploitation, and of course the demand for permanent councils. Sometimes even the concept of a pure council system was explicitly mentioned. In most cases, though, this term was understood to have a different meaning – or else, it was augmented by a completely contrary, elitist and undemocratic attitude, which culminated in the demand for the rule of ‘intellectuals’ or ‘thinkers’, the Geistige. It is hardly surprising that in these circumstances, which were further aggravated by differences in everyday lifestyle, real cooperation hardly ever came about. In some respects at least, the Arts Working Council (Arbeitsrat für Kunst) was quite similar to the Political Council of Intellectual Workers.34 It was founded by younger Berlin artists and art lovers shortly after the revolution, though apparently also without any elections. Among them were such wellknown names as Käthe Kollwitz and Max Pechstein. Its guiding principle was, ‘Art should no longer be the pleasure of a few, but the happiness and life of the masses’.35 This democratic claim was reflected in concrete demands that distinctly aimed at adapting the outdated art institutions of the old society to the new conditions. They included, for instance, a reorganisation of the former Academy of Arts and the dismantling of artistically worthless monuments, which presumably meant primarily those depicting the overthrown dynasties and their standard-bearers. The activities of the Arts Working Council, however, were quickly exhausted. The only specific event that has been recorded is the organisation of an architectural competition.36 This council, too, failed to connect with the mass movements, although it is unclear here whether it had sought such a connection at all. It confined itself to issues that were of direct relevance to artists, although there is no evidence of the kind elitist pretensions that the Political Council of Intellectual Workers had.

33 34 35 36

See our chapter on the March 1919 general strike. Vossische Zeitung, 11 December 1918 E and 14 December 1918 M. Vossische Zeitung, 11 December 1918 E. Vossische Zeitung, 16 January 1919 E.

chapter 8

Women and the Council Movement There is a number of reasons why it is worth investigating the role of women in the council movement. The most obvious one is that women not only accounted for half of the population, but also made up a steadily growing share of the labour force before and during the war. A movement that was primarily focused on the working people therefore had to prove its ability to integrate women too – all the more because of its claim to breaking with traditional behavioural norms, whether in politics, in the economy, or in other fields. In this chapter, we are therefore essentially concerned with council movement’s answer to the women’s question: what approaches were developed to involve women in the council system and consider their interests? What specific problems were anticipated? Women’s practice in the movement is no less important. An examination of these questions will not only shed light on the role of women in the movement, but potentially also tell us much about the council movement as a whole. It is fair to say that research on the relationship between women and the council movement has been rudimentary so far.1 As a rule, if historical works address this topic at all, then only as a partial aspect of the women’s movement.

Contemporary Reflections on the Integration of Women into the Councils In many respects, women faced specific difficulties in the revolution that men did not. We will need to go into this in a little more detail, because it is only

1 Kuhlbrodt 1981 examines the women’s movement before and after the November Revolution from a Marxist-Leninist perspective, but the council movement plays only a minor role in this dissertation. Bölke 1975 is a small volume on the history of women’s emancipation that contains a brief section on the council movement. Thönnessen 1969 is a much-cited work on Social Democracy and women’s emancipation but contains nothing on the councils. Treatises on the council movement, such as Oertzen 1976 and Kolb 1978, contain almost no commentary specifically on women and even less systematic research. However, there are some regional historical works on Bavaria, such as Sternsdorf-Hauck 2008 and Karl 2008, pp. 92–100. Interestingly, the developments in Austria bore many parallels to Germany – see Hauch 2011, pp. 221–243. Weberling 1994 is a master’s thesis focused on some of the constitutional debates among women in the revolutionary period, in which the council idea also played a role.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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in light of this background that the conceptual and practical consequences for the relationship between women and councils can be understood. This holds all the truer since contemporaries frequently referred directly to these problems and used them to justify their suggestions. World War i significantly changed the social position of many women, especially those from the lower strata of society.2 They poured into the factories and offices en masse to cover the jobs of the conscripted men. The number of female industrial workers in Germany rose by about 50 per cent. In Berlin’s mechanical engineering sector, for instance, 29,000 women were employed before the war, whereas by its end there were about 100,000. This huge increase did not put an end to gender discrimination: female workers were paid only about 45 to 60 per cent of men’s wages, depending on the industry. Even before the war had ended, state authorities were contemplating how the huge number of soldiers could be reintegrated into the labour market as quickly as possible in case of an armistice – and consequently also how women could then be forced out of their newly-won positions. The Reich Office for Economic Demobilisation (Reichsamt für wirtschaftliche Demobilmachung), founded just before the revolution, was given extensive powers for this purpose and issued a series of key decrees under the aegis of the Council of People’s Deputies and later under the patronage of the Scheidemann cabinet. They essentially provided for the return of war returnees to their former jobs and the simultaneous dismissal of women from these posts. Married people and those from out of town were particularly affected. Within a few months, this triggered a massive process. At the end of it, in the spring of 1919, women’s employment had largely been brought back down to pre-war levels and soldiers had largely gained a foothold in the labour market. This was complemented by corresponding agreements between trade unions and employers through the Central Working Group (Zentralarbeitsgemeinschaft, zag). Generally speaking, this policy seems to have enjoyed widespread support especially in the working class – excluding, of course, among women workers and their key thinkers. Wally Zepler, for example, pointed out that the main actors in this development, namely the political organisations and the state, were categorically male domains.3 She characterised the overall situation as ‘a kind of competition between the sexes’. There was also the double burden

2 As regards socio-historical facts, the following account is based on Bessel 1983 and Kuhlbrodt 1981, 00. 215–38. Gélieu 2008 offers a readable general overview of the history of women’s movements. 3 Wally Zepler, ‘Die erste Periode der politischen Mitarbeit der Frau in Deutschland’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 26 July 1920.

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of unpaid childcare and domestic labour in the families in addition to paid work.4 Non-working women, on the other hand, were exclusively involved in domestic tasks and therefore socially isolated. This also meant their complete economic dependence on male breadwinners. Gertraute Götze referred to the position of housewives as ‘unpaid forced volunteer work’.5 The greatest obstacle to comprehensive equality for women may well have been mentalities and behaviours that were often elusive, but undoubtedly present.6 The labour movement was by no means immune to them, irrespective of official aims such as those expressed in the spd’s Erfurt Programme of 1891, where the party had proclaimed itself in favour of full equality for women. It is also worth recalling August Bebel’s 1879 work Woman and Socialism in this context, which went through more than fifty editions in Bebel’s lifetime alone and remained one of the most widely read texts of the socialist workers’ movement for decades. In this document, the founder of the party resolutely advocated equality between women and men. The representation of women’s concerns was also articulated as an objective in the Berlin council movement. Thus, the demands of the March 1919 general strike explicitly stated with regards to the tasks of the councils: ‘They are to look after the interests of workers, employees and civil servants of both sexes in private, municipal and state enterprises’.7 The Independent Social-Democrat Toni Sender, a member of the Frankfurt workers’ council, wrote about the generally ambivalent attitude of men towards women: ‘There is no doubt that even today, even among comrades, especially here in Germany (much less so in Russia, for instance), the old prejudices are still lingering, and people have not yet fully accepted the new understanding, but they no longer dare to admit their backwardness so openly … They prefer to keep such things to themselves.’8 Max Sievers of the Berlin-Neukölln workers’ council, too, pointed out that the hidden prejudices of men obstructed women’s political activity.9 The many decades of political disenfranchisement of women in the Kaiserreich posed an additional problem.10 Back then, they had not had the right to vote, and until 1908 their opportunities to get involved in political organisations had been 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This aspect was emphasised by Martha Arendsee – see ‘Hausfrau und Berufsarbeit’, Der Arbeiter-Rat 14, 1920. See also Räte-Zeitung 16, 1920. Gertraute Götze, ‘Hausfrau und Ehefrau auf dem Wege zum Rätesystem’, in Der ArbeiterRat 4, 1920. Frevert 1988, p. 247. Mitteilungsblatt des Vollzugsrates der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Groß-Berlin, 4 March 1919. Toni Sender, ‘Die Frauen im Arbeiterrat’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 19, 1919. Max Sievers, ‘Die Frau im Arbeiterrat’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 9, 1919. Räte-Zeitung 16, 1920; Toni Sender, ‘Die Frauen im Arbeiterrat’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 19, 1919.

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very limited. Thus they often lacked some essential prerequisites for taking effective political action during the revolutionary period, which included selfconfidence, oratory, organisational and tactical experience, as well as personal networks. Evidently, then, it was not enough to grant women full civic rights such as equal suffrage. As the relevant election calls show, the right to vote had been granted to them after the revolution as a matter of course, including in council elections.11 The insight that despite formal equality discrimination of many kinds still prevailed was by no means limited to the council movement or to socialist circles more broadly. Protest against such shortcomings was also raised in the ranks of the liberal bourgeoisie.12 Nonetheless, this aspect was given special emphasis by socialists, for example by Sender: ‘The councils can only become an expression of the will of the masses, which is what they ought to be, if shared decision-making and co-determination rights do not remain a dead letter for half of the proletariat. As socialists, we fundamentally demand the right of social and human equality, over and above the right of political equality. How could we fail to recognise that women will themselves be the best advocates of their own interests, especially on a number of issues of public life that affect them particularly as women and as mothers.’13 Based on such assessments, various proposals were made on how to design a council system that would also be relevant to women and integrate them. The Berlin journal Der Arbeiter-Rat provided an important forum for debates on this issue and published a number of essays on the subject. Relevant ideas can also be found scattered in other publications. Toni Sender proposed two measures to ensure that women are adequately represented in the councils.14 In the individual workplaces and sectors, women workers would have to be represented in the council according to their percentage in the workforce. In other words, she called for a classic proportional representation system. This, according to her, would ensure that not only the politically experienced men but also a certain number of women were elected. Special attention would be paid to women home workers and domestic servants. Housewives, hitherto completely excluded from both active and passive suffrage in the councils, were to form a separate electoral body. This was an explicit recognition that unpaid domestic labour was equal, socially useful

11 12 13 14

Bölke 1975, p. 55. See Vossische Zeitung, 21 November 1919 E. Sender 1919. Toni Sender, ‘Die Frauen im Arbeiterrat’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 19; Sender 1919, pp. 22–8.

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labour – if not under capitalism, then certainly under socialism.15 However, this would only comprise women whose income – or that of their husbands – did not derive from the labour of others. The factory owner’s wife would therefore be excluded. In the long run, however, another solution would be preferable: domestic work would be organised more rationally so as to relieve women and give them time for other tasks. Sender did not elaborate on this, but it is obvious that she was referring to concepts that were much discussed at the time, such as single-kitchen houses. The numerous home workers were also to form their own electoral body. Martha Arendsee wrote an article that explicitly pointed in a very similar direction.16 She firmly opposed any efforts to simply send women back to the kitchen, arguing that increase in women’s gainful employment must be recognised as a fact. To allow for this, one-kitchen houses, public laundries, kindergartens and other community facilities were needed. Only in this way could the multiple burden be reduced to acceptable levels and society be held accountable. She also appealed to the council system to give women the place they deserve – without, however, making any concrete proposals. The classic socialist argument that the political and social liberation of women is only conceivable in conjunction with their economic independence, however, is clearly evident in her article. The councils appear to have a twofold relevance, then: first, to strengthen the influence of women in the enterprises; second, to independently organise measures that support them in their gainful employment. To Arendsee, the important part was that ‘women are themselves the pioneers on this path’. Weberling, in her 1994 work Zwischen Räten und Parteien. Frauenbewegung in Deutschland (‘Between Councils and Parties. The Women’s Movement in Germany’) clearly takes no notice of Arendsee’s proposals for the reorganisation of women’s work, nor does she seem to be aware of Sender’s aforementioned allusions. Her criticism that left-wing council conceptions did not consider any necessary ‘change in their mode of activity’ in relation to housewives is therefore inaccurate.17 Gertraute Götze saw the ‘family question’ as being at the core of women’s ‘revolutionary fermentation’.18 In her mind, the council system was particu15 16

17 18

Sender 1919, p. 23. Martha Arendsee, ‘Hausfrau und Berufsarbeit’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 14, 1920. Arendsee was a kpd delegate in the Prussian State Assembly and from 1925 in the Reichstag. She devoted herself mainly to social policy in both institutions. See sapmo-BArch SgY 30/17, Erinnerungen Martha Arendsee. Weberling 1994, p. 80. Gertraute Götze, ‘Hausfrau und Ehefrau auf dem Wege zum Rätesystem’, in Der ArbeiterRat 4, 1920.

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larly suitable for politicising women because it derived the individual’s political activity directly from his or her personal sphere of activity. It differed in this respect from earlier decision-making structures, which had been conceived in a much more abstract fashion. She argued that independent electoral bodies of housewives were therefore necessary, which, like those of other occupational groups, would be integrated into a general council system. She wrote, ‘The need to feed and clothe the whole people, not just family members, will then enter the consciousness of the individual. Women workers, once they have escaped the four walls of the domestic economy, will make proposals and demands that the majority of them do not yet make today, or even reject as not worth discussing – because they do not yet recognise that active participation in public life is the way out’.19 Wally Zepler’s thinking followed more traditional lines of parliamentary politics.20 In her preliminary assessment of women’s political involvement since the revolution, she pointed to successful interventions in the National Assembly, where women had, for instance, ensured that the Factory Councils Act was made more women-friendly. In Zepler’s view, the councils were only a side show – the decisive yardstick was the influence of women in parliament. The kpd’s Clara Zetkin, by contrast, saw the council system as superior to the bourgeois parliamentary form of government. A women’s rights activist for many years, she vehemently advocated the integration of women into the councils: ‘The proletarian democracy of the council system would remain an empty formula, a hollow shell, without the insightful and eager cooperation of women’.21 She felt that the exclusion of housewives, of all people, was a screaming injustice, since it was their indispensable work that made political action possible in the first place. She also reminded everyone of the self-sacrifice of women during the past general strikes. To redress the problem, she saw two possibilities. First, separate housewives’ electoral bodies, which would represent women in the local General Assemblies proportionally and thus be integrated into the overall council structure. She preferred another model, however: one where housewives would exercise the right to vote in their husbands’ workplaces. This would prevent the segregation and possible isolation of women

19 20 21

Ibid. See Wally Zepler, ‘Die erste Periode der politischen Mitarbeit der Frau in Deutschland’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 26 July 1920. Clara Zetkin, ‘Frauen für die Räte, die Frauen in die Räte!’, in Die Internationale, 30 May 1919.

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from the outset, while also ensuring that women’s specific interests were represented and recognised in the core sphere of the council movement, the workplace. All in all, then, there was a variety of concepts for the integration of women into the council system. In essence, they came down to either independent council bodies or a system of proportional representation. Both variants had their own strengths and weaknesses. Independence promised women more influence in ‘their’ councils. However, there was always the danger of becoming detached from the other organs and from society as a whole while remaining trapped in a niche. The question was therefore how to link this separate organisation to the other councils at a higher level. This was of course possible in principle and was envisaged in a way that would, for example, have given housewives’ councils a similar role to other sectors (or industry groups, to use the terminology of the ‘pure council system’). The proportional representation system and the inclusion of housewives in the regular councils would have solved this problem somewhat more elegantly and right from the lowest level. At the same time, though, there was a danger that women would be pushed into the background in unified councils. And with the massive removal of women from the factories and offices, their share in the councils would also have decreased. Gender-specific discrimination through economic demobilisation would thus not have been stopped, but possibly even amplified. Zetkin’s proposal to allow housewives to vote in their husbands’ workplaces additionally bore the danger that women would continue to define themselves in public primarily in terms of their husband’s social position. This would have been rather detrimental to her political maturity.22 However, all these women writers – significantly, hardly any men concerned themselves with these questions – agreed that formal provisions alone would not solve the problem. Indeed, their proposals were always linked to more or less concrete ideas on how the role of women within the social division of labour might be improved. Precisely this focus on both paid and unpaid work clearly shows that their ideas were rooted in the traditions of the socialist workers’ movement. Moreover, there was cross-party agreement that the councils could contribute to the general politicisation of women and provide them with a basic framework of practical experience.

22

Sender also explicitly pointed this out – see Sender 1919, p. 23.

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Women in Council Practice Unfortunately, our people have done almost nothing so far to awaken and enlighten the women who were also meant to vote for the workers’ councils. I fear that the election result will be miserable.23 Zetkin was to be proven right: the results were indeed miserable. In the practice of the German council movement women played almost no role and all – perhaps even less so in Berlin than elsewhere. Of the 489 delegates to the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils, only two were women.24 Käthe Leu took the floor and demanded more meaningful support for women. Her motion was accepted, but had little effect. At the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils in April 1919, there was not a single woman among those elected. The Central Council also consisted exclusively of men. In Munich, Jena and Hamburg at least, special women’s councils were formed – but not in Berlin.25 The Greater Berlin Executive Council, the highest council body in the capital, comprised several dozen people throughout its existence, but never was there one woman among them. Because of this lack of balance, as early as November 1918 the Vorwärts called for a Women’s Advisory Committee for the Executive Council, with seven representatives each from the spd and the uspd.26 It is not entirely clear how many women were elected to the General Assembly of Berlin councils, because no lists of delegates’ names exist. Kathleen Canning reports that there were 37 women, representing mainly female department stores workers and nurses.27 About 800 councillors attended each of the meetings, and the membership of the body fluctuated relatively heavily. Even if the 37 women were also members of the General Assembly at the time, which is not certain, they would have constituted a maximum share of just under five percent. However, there is no confirmation of this figure in any sources from the era. The minutes only recorded the individual speeches – and going through them, it becomes evident that women almost never took the floor. It was not until early 1919 that women spoke at all, and the most frequent speak-

23 24 25 26 27

Clara Zetkin in a letter to Rosa Luxemburg, 17 November 1918. Quoted in Kuhlbrodt 1981, p. 163. Roß 1999, pp. 209–212. Roß 1999, p. 332. On the role of women in the Munich soviet republic, see Karl 2008, especially pp. 92–100; on Jena: Sternsdorf-Hauck 2008, p. 5. Vorwärts, 17 November 1918. Canning 2010, pp. 106–7.

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ers among them were members of the left-liberal Democratic fraction.28 As far as their professions are known, they were teachers.29 One Fraulein Fritz was even a member of the Democratic group’s executive committee.30 Women played a role mainly as technical staff for the councils, i.e. as minutetakers or secretaries. Cläre Derfert-Casper, for example, was the only woman to have been a member of the leadership of Berlin’s Revolutionary Shop Stewards during the war, and she was also involved in the strike leadership in January 1918.31 From 11 November 1918 she was working as a salaried office messenger for the Executive Council, of which some of her former Shop Steward comrades were part.32 Like her female colleagues, she received significantly lower pay for this job than the men employed there. This was because the Executive Council had decided at its meeting on 20 January 1919 to pay women between 12 and 20 marks a day, while men were paid 20 to 30 marks.33 Friedel Gräf was employed as a minute-taker by the Neukölln Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council. She did this continuously from 11 November 1918 until the demise of the council in summer 1919.34 Such discrimination within council organisations was by no means exceptional. In November 1918, the workers’ council at the Berlin locomotive manufacturer Schwartzkopff agreed to the Demobilisation Office’s demands that certain groups of workers be dismissed, including married and non-local women.35 Those affected did not want to accept this and simply continued to show up at their workplaces. They were only partially successful, however: the dismissals of the protesting men were postponed, but those of the women were not. In late April 1919, a workers’ meeting at Siemens & Halske’s light bulb factory in Charlottenburg voted by about 2,700 votes – with only 15 against – in favour of a motion demanding the dismissal of married women whose husbands were

28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35

Shortly before the General Assembly split on 5 July 1919, the Communist Anna Classe also spoke in the plenary – see Council Minutes 2002, p. 814. Council Minutes 1997, p. xiv. Council Minutes 1997, pp. 119–20. For her background, see her memoirs: sapmo-BArch SgY 30/148, Bl. 1–25. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/148, Erinnerungen Cläre Derfert-Casper, Bl. 2; for the transcript of an Executive Council testimony on her activities, see sapmo-BArch SgY 30/148, Erinnerungen Cläre Derfert-Casper, Bl. 38; see also Council Minutes 2002, p. 21. Council Minutes 1997, p. 327. I would like to thank Gerhard Enge for pointing out the pay differences between Executive Council employees. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/297, Erinnerungen Friedel Gräf, Bl. 44–5. Kuhlbrodt 1981, pp. 463–4.

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working.36 The following day, the factory’s workers’ council called on the management to implement this decision ‘rigorously’. The situation did not improve later on. There were no female officials at the Central Office of Factory Councils, for instance. Going by the surviving sources, no women ever spoke at the meetings of the General Assembly of revolutionary factory councils that had been elected in the aftermath of the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. The executive body of the General Assembly – the Action Committee – consisted exclusively of men. The weak representation of women in the organisations of the workers’ movement at the time of the revolution also applied to the parties and trade unions. No women were delegated to central offices in government, and they played only a marginal role in the leaderships of their unions. At the grassroots, however, they were somewhat better integrated. In spring 1919, for example, the 300,000 members of the uspd comprised 70,000 women.37 Equality between men and women was an important issue in the unemployed councils.38 For several reasons, it was also a controversial matter. Firstly, because women often received lower support rates, especially if they were young or unmarried. On this, the unemployed councils energetically and repeatedly demanded equal treatment –39 but the very fact that they repeated their request frequently shows that it was not complied with. The desperate social situation of war widows also played a role. Economic demobilisation, particularly the laying off of newly employed women in favour of returning soldiers, was a source of enormous tension, especially in the first few months after the end of the war. The unemployed councils resisted this, albeit unsuccessfully.40 However, sometimes there were also demands to the contrary, i.e. to abolish wage labour for women. This was the case, for instance, in some meetings called by the Berlin unemployed councils in early February 1919.41 In the unemployed councils themselves, women played only a subordinate role, including in the highest bodies. Both the Prussian and the National Unemployed Committees had only one female delegate respectively. However, these bodies were well aware of their shortcoming, as evidenced by their calls to involve women more.42 For example, it was stipulated that each unemployed 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

lab A Rep. 231, Nr. 0651 Arbeiterrat Siemens & Halske ag Glühlampenfabrik Charlottenburg, no page number. For general information on Berlin’s unemployed councils, see the relevant chapter. Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919; Freiheit, 23 April 1919 E and 7 July 1920 M. Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919; Freiheit, 23 April 1919 E and 7 July 1920 M. Die Rote Fahne, 9 January 1919. Freiheit, 8 February 1919 M. Freiheit, 15 October 1919 M.

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council had to include at least one woman.43 All in all, it is fair to say that the unemployed councils were sensitive to the particularly precarious situation of women and tried to remedy the situation in various ways – even if voices to the contrary were also raised there. Women were relatively well represented in the municipal councils, for example in the workers’ council of Neukölln.44 They were also involved in specific matters there, characteristically in the commission for family and social affairs. Anna Nemitz from the Charlottenburg council campaigned for the preservation of the municipal councils in order to safeguard the revolution.45 There is no evidence of young women’s participation in pupil councils. Nor did girls’ schools take part in the big apprentice strike of 1919 either, which was organised mainly by the pupil councils. However, there were leaflets explicitly addressed to schoolgirls, and some of them attended the strike meetings.46 The widespread absence of women in the councils can hardly be attributed to their political disinterest – all the evidence of women’s participation in demonstrations, strikes and even armed uprisings clearly suggests otherwise. Various sources uniformly report of women taking part in the struggles during and after the March 1919 general strike.47 They supplied the fighters with ammunition, coffee and food, helped build barricades and in some cases fired shots themselves. A total of 62 women and girls are known by name who lost their lives during the clashes.48 Women took part in many demonstrations – for example when the unemployed councils called a demonstration in June 1921.49 The same is true of one of the largest protest of Berlin’s council movement, the tragic one outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920.50 There is also evidence of women’s participation in political strikes.51 Moreover, the trade unions, political parties and other associations recorded an enormous influx of female members. On the whole, there is therefore no question of political abstinence. 43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50 51

Räte-Zeitung 39, 1919. Die Rote Fahne, 28 December 1918. See her speech at the General Assembly of Greater Berlin municipal councils of 7 February 1919: Council Minutes 1997, pp. 588–9. Schiller 1955, p. 184. sapmo-BArch SgY 30/1116, Erinnerungen Karl Grünberg, Bl. 129; sapmo-BArch SgY 30/768, Erinnerungen Otto Richter, Bl. 26; BArch R 705/29, Informationsstelle der Reichsregierung, Politische Lage im Reich, Bl. 185, Bericht vom 11. März 1919. A corresponding list can be found in Kuhlbrodt 1981, pp. 430–32. BArch R 1507/469, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 87–93, Bericht des Polizeipräsidenten Berlins vom 22. Juni 1921. See the corresponding chapter for more details. Clara Zetkin, ‘Frauen für die Räte, die Frauen in die Räte!’, in Die Internationale, 30 May 1919.

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Interim Conclusion Our investigation has revealed quite contradictory findings. On the one hand, we have seen that during the entire period of the council movement, from November 1918 until well into 1920, proposals for the effective involvement of women in the councils were developed and published again and again. These arguments came both from the radical and the moderate tendencies and were quite diverse in detail. However, they always revolved around a few fundamental questions. One of the central issues was the problem of reconciling domestic and working life, which is still an issue today. Beyond that, the aim was to politicise women in general, to activate them and involve them in the movement. The individual proposals came almost exclusively from women – as a rule, from those who had already been politically active for years. There were, on the other hand, hardly any women in the council bodies. We have completely ignored the soldiers’ councils in our examination of the situation. It is obvious that in an army consisting exclusively of men, there could be no women’s soldier councils. Whether the female paramedics elected councils still requires investigation. The weak representation of women in the other branches of the council movement was especially prevalent at the higher levels. Incidentally, none of the proposals were even partially implemented. This, despite the fact that they were often conceived as complementary measures to the traditional councils and could have been relatively easily integrated into the existing structures. One must also take into account the fundamental politicisation of women during the revolution, as reflected in their participation in campaigns and organisations. If there was both a will to get involved and practical cooperation on the part of women, the reason for their lack of involvement must be sought elsewhere. One obvious reason is found in the traditions that generally identified politics as an exclusively male sphere. Such mentalities and reservations were undoubtedly deeply entrenched, both inside and outside the labour movement. Evidently, even the revolutionary upheavals did little to change this. Another fact supports this argument: in the new parliaments elected everywhere in the spring of 1919, the proportion of women was very low too. In the National Assembly there were just under ten per cent, and in the constituent state assemblies a good six per cent on average.52 The situation was similar in the municipal assemblies of Greater Berlin.53

52 53

Kuhlbrodt 1981, p. 427. Vossische Zeitung, 28 February 1919 M.

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Moreover, the special situation arising from the economic demobilisation was closely linked to such discrimination. The mass dismissals of women in favour of men returning from the war created the paradoxical situation that women, although they had won the right to vote after the war, often lost their jobs. This had fatal consequences for the council movement, which was primarily based on wage earners in the factories. More still, the core of the council movement was comprised of skilled workers employed in large enterprises, most of whom had been politically active for years.54 In Berlin, this was especially true for the key metal and electrical industries. This, in turn, was at odds with the occupational profile of the vast majority of working women. They were traditionally employed in home work, in small businesses or in sectors such as the textile industry, all of which were rather detached from the council movement. Finally, women who entered the male-dominated industries in large numbers during the war worked there as unskilled or semi-skilled assistants. It was those who had been working in the company for a long time and had a wealth of political or trade-union experience, however, who were usually elected. This was very rarely the case for women. We can thus conclude that the weak representation of women in the council movement was the result of a number of factors that were closely intertwined and reinforced each other. These realities also show that not everything about the council movement was brand new: in certain respects, the movement also built on outdated traditions and elusive but undoubtedly existing, powerful mentalities – and it reproduced them. As a consequence, it narrowed its own scope for action and deprived itself of the opportunity of obtaining a much stronger and more extensive grassroots with the aid of women. What’s more, this shortcoming stood in sharp contradiction with the longstanding explicit claims of the labour movement to be located at the forefront of women’s political and economic emancipation. As the pertinent suggestions prove, the council idea certainly had the potential to make an important contribution through concrete initiatives. Alas, in its political practice the movement did not succeed in meeting this challenge.

54

Oertzen 1976, pp. 277–82; Council Minutes 1993, p. xxxviii.

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The Council Policies of the Left Parties and Trade Unions The debates on the integration of the councils into the political and economic order provide a good insight into the aims of the decisive political forces of the time. In this chapter, we will present these forces in greater detail, focussing especially on the main protagonists in Berlin. The debates around Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution (Weimarer Reichsverfassung) and the Factory Councils Act (Betriebsrätegesetz) will provide concrete starting points for our investigation since they both aimed to institutionalise the councils. We will briefly outline their content and histories and then turn to the extensive debates in the left-wing parties and trade unions on the question of councils and the concepts emerging in the course of these debates.

Origins and Contents of Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution and of the Factory Councils Act The constitutional and legislative processes have played a fairly significant role in studies of the revolution. There have also been some detailed studies specifically on the two aspects relevant for us, Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution and the Factory Councils Act.1 We can therefore confine ourselves to a brief sketch of their origins and content. The Workers’ Protection Act (Arbeiterschutzgesetz) of 1891 already provided for the establishment of ‘permanent workers’ committees’ in the factories, which were, however, not binding and were little more than complaints bodies. The provisions of the Patriotic Relief Service Act (Vaterländisches Hilfsdienstgesetz) of 1916 went further, making the election of such committees compulsory in large enterprises and specifying their competences in detail. But here too, the rights of the workforce were limited to requests and complaints to the factory management. After the fall of the monarchy in November 1918, the Council 1 Ritter 2008, pp. 126–68; Riedel 1991; Winkler 1985, pp. 236–9 and 283–8; Wimmer 1957; Gebhard 1932; Koch 1920. Milert and Tschirbs 2015 hardly says anything new on the subject in terms of content, but offers a firmer critique of the council movement from a trade union standpoint.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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of People’s Deputies issued a new decree that now also declared cooperation with the trade unions on wage issues and other matters to be tasks of the committees. Further ordinances issued in 1919 regulated, among other things, the right of co-determination in hiring and firing. In some cases, however, the trade unions succeeded in gaining further competences beyond these legal requirements through collective bargaining. The first draft of the constitution, penned by the liberal Hugo Preuß, made no mention of the councils, a fact that members of the two Social-Democratic parties criticised in the National Assembly.2 On 26 February 1919, the Scheidemann government assured the public that ‘no member of the cabinet’ aspired to ‘incorporating the council system in any form, be it in the constitution, be it in the administrative apparatus’.3 On the same day, however, the general strike in central Germany began and reached Berlin shortly afterwards.4 In the course of these disputes, the government issued a statement on 7 March which stated, ‘The workers’ councils are recognised in principle as representing economic interests and are anchored in the constitution. Their boundaries, election and tasks shall be regulated by a special law to be enacted immediately’.5 This roughly outlined the further course of action. The concrete consequences were, above all, Article 165 Weimar Constitution and the Factory Councils Act. The incorporation into the constitution of the former, first as Supplementary Article 34a, then in partially modified form as Article 165, proceeded quite swiftly.6 Within the framework of the Weimar Constitution, the article entered into force on 11 August 1919. The Factory Councils Act took a different course, and its proclamation in the Reichsgesetzblatt [the official promulgating journal of the German Reich from 1871 to 1945 – Translator] was delayed until 9 February 1920. The first draft of the law, which had been revised several times, was made available for a conference in Berlin on 15 May 1919.7 The aim of the meeting, hosted by Minister of Labour Gustav Bauer, was to obtain opinions from trade unions, business associations and government officials. These discussions, as well as the debates in the plenary and in the social policy committee of the National Assembly, were then incorporated into the final version.

2 See the speeches of Richard Fischer (spd) on 28 February 1919 and Alfred Henke (uspd) on 4 March 1919 in Negotiations National Assembly, p. 376 and pp. 489–90. 3 Berliner Tageblatt, 26 February 1919. 4 For more details, see our chapter on the general strike in March 1919. 5 Quoted in Ritter 2008, p. 154. A similar official statement was also printed a few days earlier in Vorwärts, 2 March 1919. 6 The full text of both versions is printed in Ritter 2008, pp. 155–6. 7 BArch R 43 i/2064, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Betriebsräte Bd. 1, Bl. 29–40.

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The constitutional article was based on the council conception of Hugo Sinzheimer (spd), who was also its author.8 The guiding principle was an understanding of the economy based on social partnership, expressed in a dual structure of workers’ councils and economic councils. The former were the elected representatives of blue- and white-collar workers at company, district and national level. According to Article 165, they would be ‘appointed to participate on an equal footing with the employers in the regulation of wages and working conditions and in the overall economic development of the productive forces’.9 At the two higher levels, the workers’ delegates would form the corresponding economic councils together with employers and consumers. The explicit representation of all ‘important occupational groups’ bears a certain resemblance to corporative ideas and was later reflected in the appointment of members according to industry. The Reich Economic Council (Reichswirtschaftsrat) as the highest body had the right to review and introduce draft laws insofar as they concerned social and economic policy and were ‘of fundamental importance’. Only in such cases would the councils have political rights in the strict sense – all other competences were to be confined to economic issues. The provisions of Article 165 went far beyond the actual political realm and constituted an autonomous economic sphere: ‘The fundamental idea of the council movement is thus the establishment of a separate special economic constitution alongside the political constitution of the state. This economic constitution is designed to solve questions of economic organisation by involving the economic actors themselves’.10 The additional optional provision to give the workers’ and economic councils unspecified ‘monitoring and administrative powers’ and the economic councils’ envisaged ‘participation in the execution of socialisation laws’ illustrate the open conception of the article, but also its contradictory nature. On the one hand, such powers exceeded the scope of the tasks described above. On the other, the fact that employers and workers were to have an equal share in the socialisation process reveals the actual character of the envisaged socialisation. With respect to the national government’s extremely hesitant and ultimately largely inconclusive socialisation policy, the historian Brehme aptly commented that the ‘social function’ of the socialisation laws was ‘to present itself to the workers as the socialisation of the means of production’.11 First and 8 9 10 11

On Sinzheimer’s conception, see Arnold 1985, pp. 271–85. This and the following quotations are taken from Ritter 2008, p. 156. Hugo Sinzheimer’s speech on 21 July 1919 in: Negotiations National Assembly, p. 1750. Brehme 1960, p. 10.

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foremost, then, it was a deceptive government manoeuvre aimed at discontented workers – and incidentally, it was quite successful in this regard too. The article did not envisage a comprehensive takeover and management of all production by the workers or the state. However, it explicitly recognised the trade unions as well as the employers’ associations and mutual agreements. This was of special relevance, because the Central Working Group (zag), which had been swiftly launched during the events of November 1918, and the subsequent sectoral agreements were entirely in line with Sinzheimer’s concept of social partnership.12 Their explicit recognition in the constitution gave them additional legitimacy and consolidated their primacy over all and any council institutions – Gebhard aptly speaks of a ‘protective regulation for the trade unions vis-à-vis the councils’.13 This was also the only way to get the union leaders to accept the councils, which they initially saw as undesirable competition. All in all, Article 165 implicitly entailed the recognition of the capitalist order, merely aiming at a certain regulatory framework and a better integration of the working class. Arnold rightly comments on Sinzheimer’s concept, ‘The spontaneous mass movement for the self-determination of the proletariat was to be domesticated, its energies pressed into the forms of bourgeois law. Socialism and proletarian emancipation thus became bureaucratic legal acts’.14 Overall, Article 165 remained very vague. The regulation of competences and of organisational details was to be dealt with later by corresponding laws and ordinances. In reality, however, the Factory Councils Act and an ordinance on the ‘provisional Reich Economic Council’ were the only attempts to implement these provisions in practice. Significantly, the latter remained a provisional Reich Economic Council even in name until the end of the Weimar Republic. In practice, it existed merely as a ‘governmental body of experts without any real influence’.15 All other planned institutions, such as district economic councils, were never established. The purpose and the aims of the Factory Councils Act were set out in the first paragraph, which read, ‘In order to safeguard the common economic interests of the workers (manual and non-manual) vis-à-vis the employer, and to assist the employer in fulfilling the company objectives, factory councils shall be established in all establishments which normally employ at least twenty work-

12 13 14 15

The text of the zag agreement of 15 November 1918 is printed in Wimmer 1957, pp. 34–6. Acritical, well-founded account of the agreement is found in Bieber, 1981, pp. 595–619. Gebhard 1932, p. 560. Arnold 1985, p. 284. Ritter 2008, p. 148. On the composition and work of the provisional Reich Economic Council, see Riedel 1991, pp. 139–48.

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ers’.16 This was predicated on the aforementioned notion of ‘social partnership’, according to which the two sides had both divergent and common interests. Several bodies were designated to exercise their competences within the company. The first was the works assembly, which elected the councils and exercised a supervisory function. The factory council, representing all workers, was composed of members of the otherwise separate blue-collar and whitecollar councils. All delegates were unpaid, but enjoyed special protection against disciplinary action by the employer. In general, the rights provided for in the law were minimum provisions. They could be extended by collective agreements or company agreements, which is what often happened. The law contained a clear requirement for cooperation. Section 1 stated that the factory council had to ‘ensure the highest possible standards and the greatest economic efficiency for the factory’s services’,17 which also involved ‘protecting the workflow from disturbances’.18 An independent organisation of strikes by the factory councils was thus ruled out. In general, disputes were to be settled amicably or referred to a conciliation committee. Moreover, compliance with existing collective agreements would be monitored and wage and working time issues only regulated where such agreements did not exist. The aim was to establish a close relationship and cooperation between factory councils and trade unions. Any takeover of the management of the enterprise was explicitly not permitted – according to section 69, ‘The factory council is not entitled to intervene in the management of the factory by issuing independent orders’.19 Nevertheless, representatives could be sent to the supervisory board if one existed. Real participation was only foreseen in the personnel area, especially in hiring and firing and in regulating working conditions. The factory council was given limited access to the balance sheets and other documents in order to carry out its advisory tasks, for example in the introduction of new working methods. In addition, it was to accept complaints from employees and mediate in disputes. A joint resolution of the Reich Federation of German Industry and the Federation of German Employers’ Associations of 24 September 1919, addressed to parliament, sharply criticised the draft law, stressing that ‘the draft must not become law in this form under any circumstances’.20 The entrepreneurs

16 17 18 19 20

All quotations from the act according to Wimmer 1957; here p. 51. Wimmer 1957, p. 57. Ibid. Wimmer 1957, p. 57. The concerns mentioned in the resolution were directed in particular against the influ-

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had only partially succeeded in their demands, then, but in the most decisive points: property rights and control over production remained entirely in their hands. Despite the initially fierce opposition of the council movement, on the one hand, and the trade unions, bourgeois parties and employers’ associations on the other, the factory councils that emerged on this basis were quite able to gain a foothold in the Weimar Republic. Far from pursuing revolutionary ideas, they now essentially focused on everyday problems. In this field, ‘noticeable improvements’ for workers became possible.21 Criticism was levelled, however, at the Ministry of Labour, which ‘in every instance interprets the law exclusively to suit the dictates of business lawyers and makes a mockery of any sense of justice’.22 The basic features of the Works Constitution Act of 1952, amended in 1972 and 2001, are still the same as those of its precursor – in this sense, its influence continues to this day.23 Only in the Third Reich were factory councils banned – the Law for the Regulation of National Labour enacted in January 1934 stipulated in section 2: ‘The leader of the enterprise is to decide for the followers [meaning the workers – Translator] on all matters concerning the enterprise’.24 The Factory Councils Act has been subject to much controversy in historical research. The limited powers it conferred, including in comparison with the more far-reaching rights already partly realised in the factories, prompts Wimmer to speak of a ‘reactionary machination’.25 Somewhat more cautiously, Kolb dubs it a ‘first-class state funeral for the council movement’.26 Oertzen, too, notes that ‘this piece of legislation had little to do with the council movement’.27 Bieber acknowledges that the Factory Councils Act put an end to the ‘despotic regimes’ that had prevailed in many enterprises until then, but also notes that it ‘only alleviated some of the consequences of the wage-labour relationship, yet without changing much about the workers’ wage dependency or their subjection to the control of others in the labour process. Workers were

21

22 23 24 25 26 27

ence on the management still provided for in the draft, against the participation of the supervisory board, and for co-determination in dismissals. See König 1991 for one of the few studies on the practical work of the factory councils in the Weimar Republic – the cited quotation is on p. 75. See also a study first published in 1926: Brigl-Matthiaß 1978. Thus the Independent Social Democrat and AfA chair Siegfried Aufhäuser in BetriebsräteZeitschrift für Funktionäre der Metallindustrie, 15 July 1920. Fitting et al 2008, especially pp. 53–66; Hess 2008. Wimmer 1957, p. 25. Wimmer 1957, p. 16. Kolb 2008, p. 42. Oertzen 1976, p. 156.

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still excluded from the exercise of economic power, participation in economic power, and even monitoring of economic power almost as much as before’.28 Winkler, in contrast, argues that the Factory Councils Act was an ‘important step in the direction of the “constitutional factory” – a gain in co-determination within the company’.29 It is undoubtedly correct to consider the Factory Councils Act a certain progress when viewed in relation to pre-war conditions. This holds especially true for the large industrial and mining enterprises, where the employers insisted on their absolute supremacy like in no other sector. The powers of the factory councils exceeded those of the old workers’ committees and were obligatory for all large companies. In practice, however, the factory councils had very little scope for exerting influence, which was confined exclusively to social and personnel issues within the company and to safeguarding the union’s collective agreements. Moreover, essential provisions of Article 165 were never implemented, which clearly shows that without the pressure of a strong extra-parliamentary movement, the rather open approach of the article was no more than a promise. In any case, the legislation did not change the essence of the economic system: the private ownership of the means of production was left unscathed, and there was no provision for any say in the management of the enterprises. This alone shows how little of the council idea was contained in the statutory factory councils. The critical statement of the prominent council activist Geyer is also to be understood in this sense: ‘A mere change of legislation by a neutral entity cannot shatter a system as firmly entrenched as capitalism and transform it into a socialist one … The proletariat must itself take action to break the resistance of the bourgeoisie to the decrees of a socialist central government and carry out these decrees. The full victory of socialism is attained not by a simple act of legislation based on rational considerations, but through a power struggle by the proletariat against the entire bourgeoisie’.30 Geyer thus insisted on the idea of class struggle and clearly rejected any notions of social partnership. He also stressed that the profound reorganisation that a ‘full victory of socialism’ implies cannot simply be decreed from above, but must be implemented by a broad movement from below. It was precisely this aspect that was an essential characteristic of the Second Revolution: the independent activity of the masses, who took their fate into their own hands 28 29 30

Bieber 1981 pp. 693–4. Winkler 1985, p. 292. Geyer 1919, pp. 14–15.

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and no longer wanted to rely on government measures as had been the case in the first weeks after 9 November 1918.

Free Trade Unions: General German Trade Union Federation, dmv and AfA Within the German workers’ movement there was a traditional division into a political and an economic wing. During the revolutionary period too, the trade unions played a significant role. This was especially true of Berlin, for in no other German city were the trade unions supported by greater numbers of members. It is therefore necessary to examine the attitude of the unions towards the councils in general, and towards their legalisation in particular. To get at least a somewhat representative impression of the situation in the unions, we will first analyse the central trade union bodies. Specifically, we will look at the regular Executive Conferences and the Tenth Trade Union Congress in Nuremberg, which took place in June and July 1919. The Executive Conferences (Vorständekonferenzen) were the central management and coordination bodies of the Free Trade Unions, especially from 1914.31 Every union delegated a member of the executive board, usually the respective chairperson. The Nuremberg trade union congress is of particular significance since it was there that the basic attitude of the Free Trade Unions towards the revolution and the Republic was negotiated. We will then work out the position of the German Metalworkers’ Federation (Deutscher Metallarbeiter-Verband, dmv). In addition, we will consider the position of the General Federation of Free Employees (Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, AfA). We will confine our examination to the socialist Free Trade Unions – this is because the Christian-national and liberal Hirsch-Duncker trade unions had far less weight in terms of numbers. They were also hardly represented in the council movement and indeed campaigned for its swift demise.32 Both groups, however, later participated in the factory council elections as per the Factory Councils Act. We will also disregard the so-called ‘yellow’ factory associations, which were generally almost inactive in the months of the revolution.33 In the context of the Central Working Group, employers had committed them-

31 32 33

Schönhoven 1985, pp. 44–50. Bieber 1981, p. 594. More generally on the two bourgeois trade union currents: Schneider 1982, esp. pp. 442–687, and Brantz 1995. On the history of the ‘yellow’ factory associations, but with a focus on the time of the German Empire, see Mattheier 1973.

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selves to stop funding these controversial organisations. They did, however, resume their activities later on. In the days of the revolution, the position of the socialist trade union leaders was characterised by a cautious policy – they tried to avoid any overly radical changes. Essentially, the leading functionaries assumed that the capitalist economic order would continue to exist while the political system would become more democratic. At the same time, they sought to secure and expand their influence, which had grown during the war. The formation of the Central Working Group in cooperation with the employers’ associations on 15 November 1918 was designed to attain these goals, as was their support for the National Assembly and the policy of the Majority Social-Democratic, Democratic and Centre coalition government.34 This was the background to the trade unions’ initial reservations about the councils. One cannot, however, speak of a uniform view – in fact, we can identify clear differences within the trade union organisations. The top officials were by no means in agreement on how to deal with the new movement, which for some time gained considerable support from the trade union rank and file and then also in the committees. Since their emergence during the revolution, the councils not only exercised powers of control in politics, but in many cases went on to regulate wage issues and working conditions in the factories too.35 In so doing, however, they encroached on a sphere that the trade unions had always regarded as their traditional field of activity. It is therefore hardly surprising that the unions perceived the workplace councils as undesirable competition and fought them accordingly. In February 1919, for example, the journal of the General Commission of German Trade Unions, the Correspondenzblatt, reported the view of its chairman, Legien, that ‘there is no need for the council system, and an organisational integration into the existing structure of workers’ organisations and representations is hardly conceivable’.36 This question was discussed in detail at the conference of union executive committees on 1 and 2 February 1919. Friedrich Paeplow remarked: ‘It seems to me that there is only one task for the workers’ councils – namely, that they should dissolve themselves as soon as possible’.37 Richard Heckmann expressed

34 35 36 37

Braunthal 1981, p. 46. On the general history of the General German Trade Union Federation (adgb) see also Brunner 1992. Oertzen 1999, pp. 28–9. Correspondenzblatt, 8 February 1919. Schönhoven 1985, p. 612. Friedrich Paeplow was chairman of the Construction Workers’ Union.

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a similar view. He also saw no future for the councils and explained their continued existence only with some people’s desire for lucrative posts: ‘No-one who has been a ‘councillor’ for such a long time wants to become a nobody again’.38 It would not be necessary to actively combat the councils, he argued – they would soon ‘dissolve by themselves’. The leader of the Miners’ Association, Hermann Sachse, argued somewhat more skilfully: ‘If only the workers’ committees in the factories had also been named workers’ councils, then surely people would have been given something to hold on to. The workers’ and soldiers’ councils in the municipalities will have to be dismantled immediately after the National Assembly convenes’.39 However, already a month later a cautious change of course became apparent when the Correspondenzblatt cited the ‘beneficial and commendable activity’ of the councils in the revolution.40 At the same time, the paper made it clear that the councils could only take on political tasks in the future and under no circumstances economic ones. The latter, it stressed, was the sole preserve of the trade unions and working groups. As early as at the February conference, however, voices were raised in favour of a more flexible attitude towards the councils, specifically with a view to using them for the trade unions’ benefit. With explicit reference to the General Assembly of the Greater Berlin Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils held not long before, Adam Drunsel proclaimed:41 ‘Even if we cannot avoid dealing with the councils in some way, we have to guide them in a direction where they pose no danger, because we cannot completely edge them aside’.42 His colleague Theodor Thomas from the Roofers’ Association explained what form such a course of action might take: ‘If we manage to place trade unionists in the councils, then we can find support in them and prevent them from becoming a competition for the trade unions … Besides, I am of the opinion that we should not commit the mistake of side-lining all the things that are not to our liking, but calmly extract the best aspects and apply them to trade union work. Or else, it could happen that a certain section of our members sidelines us’.43 38 39

40 41 42 43

Schönhoven 1985, pp. 618–19. Heckmann was chairman of the Association of Municipal and State Workers. Schönhoven 1985, p. 624; Legien writes along very similar lines in Schönhoven 1985, pp. 610–11. The National Assembly held its first session a few days later on 6 February 1919 in Weimar. Correspondenzblatt, 8 March 1919. An account of this meeting can be found in Vorwärts, 31 January 1919 E and 1 February 1919 M. Schönhoven 1985, pp. 612–13. Schönhoven 1985, pp. 616–17.

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The old functionaries’ fear of a radicalisation of the rank and file was already evident here. The trade union leaderships were caught in the dilemma of not wanting to give up their previous policy and cooperation with the government and employers, while also having to consider the wishes of their members. At the next Executive Conference in late April 1919 it became clear that the conciliatory stance had by and large prevailed. Undoubtedly this was also linked to the widespread general strikes that had taken place in the meantime. Thus spoke Mahler: I have found it extremely regrettable that comrades who occupy high positions in political life have publicly spoken out against the council system. Politically, at any rate, it would have been wiser not to do that – for it was grist to the mill of certain people … We must conceive of the council system in such a way that we grant the workers a certain influence not only in the factory but also over production, if only within the limits of what is possible.44 Theodor Leipart advocated a limited right of co-determination, but denied the possibility of a complete takeover of company management by the factory councils, because for this task, ‘we need the kind of people who have been active in this field for decades, for centuries, who must put their experience, their knowledge, their skills at our disposal … They must remain factory managers, although their work should be supervised by the workers, who should also share responsibility for their operations and have a part in them’.45 This is where the deep-rooted respect of trade unionists and Social Democrats for the expertise of the old elites came to the fore, such as was frequently the case in the revolution – be it in military, administrative or economic matters. It is difficult, of course, to dismiss the argument out of hand. Then again, a meaningful new beginning was practically impossible if too extensive compromises were made with the old elites – this way, even modest achievements would be in danger of being undone as soon as the situation stabilised. Indeed, this was precisely the development that soon set in – and quite predictably too. After thorough discussion, the conference adopted the Guidelines on the Future Effectiveness of Trade Unions and the Provisions on the Tasks of the Factory Councils. Both documents were submitted to the Nuremberg trade union congress for a final decision.

44 45

Schönhoven 1985, pp. 746–7. Schönhoven 1985, pp. 740–41.

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The Tenth Trade Union Congress in Nuremberg was held from 30 June to 5 July 1919, focusing on the reorientation of the trade unions in a situation greatly changed by the World War and the revolution. In many cases, the decisions taken there pointed the way for the future activities of the Weimar Republic trade unions. The aforementioned Guidelines can be understood, in a sense, as a succinctly formulated union programme for the long term. After a brief review of past successes, it was noted that further struggles were necessary so as to move ‘in the direction of the common economy as the private economy is progressively dismantled’.46 The Guidelines went on to state that the ‘trade unions see socialism as the higher form of national-economic organisation compared to the capitalist economy’.47 Apart from these general statements, there were calls to expand the social policy of the state and uphold the right to strike. Considerable space was given to the debate on the integration of the councils into the political and economic system, which was to be achieved in a dual fashion, i.e. both within the enterprises and in the political sphere. The factory councils, as the elected representation of the workers, were to ‘implement workplace democracy in cooperation with the company management as well as in consultation with the trade unions and based on union power … The tasks, duties and rights of the factory councils shall be laid down in detail in the collective agreements on the basis of minimum statutory provisions’.48 For the councils, then, this meant only limited co-determination on the basis of ‘social partnership’. Concurrently, a stress was laid upon the indispensable influence of the legislative and the unions. Workers’ councils were intended to complement the factory councils, organised along territorial and occupational lines and performing communal political tasks in cooperation with the local trade unions. At the regional and national levels, workers’ representatives would meet with delegates of the entrepreneurs in economic chambers. They would ensure economic self-administration, draft and review legislative proposals, and begin preparations for socialisation.49 The explanation of the Guidelines to the congress delegates was given by Leipart in his capacity as chairman of the commission that had been tasked

46

47 48 49

‘Richtlinien über die künftige Wirksamkeit der Gewerkschaften’ in Dokumente und Materialien zur Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung, edited by the Institut für Marxismus-Leninismus beim zk der sed, vol. 7–1, pp. 113–14. We will refer to this anthology as Documents 1966 hereafter. Documents 1966, p. 114. Ibid. Documents 1966, pp. 114–15.

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with drafting them by the Executive Conference. In his speech, he stressed that ‘from the beginning, the trade union leaders have not opposed the workers’ councils or the factory councils’.50 In light of the previously cited statements made at the Executive Conference and in the trade union press, this was at best a half-truth and a sign of the highly tactical approach taken towards the councils. Leipart then went on to stress the similarity with the already existing workers’ committees: ‘In essence, the difference is not significant – it is but a change of name’.51 The Provisions on the Tasks of the Factory Councils were intended to clarify the Guidelines further and serve as a model for future collective agreements.52 They were therefore of particular importance for practical trade union policy. On almost all points they were consistent with the already existing draft of the Factory Councils Act, except that they provided for slightly more extensive rights. The right to stand for election, for example, was to take effect at the age of 18 instead of 24, the elections would be organised by the trade union leadership rather than the plant managers, and some of the wording was slightly modified in the workers’ favour. Leipart strongly highlighted these points in his speech, evidently trying to present the unions as consistent representatives of workers’ interests.53 But in reality, the little that had been left to the factory councils were the enforcement of collective agreements and some social matters, such as accident protection and holiday regulations. Both Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution and the Factory Councils Act were broadly consistent with the regulations that eventually came into force. It is therefore not surprising that the General German Trade Union Federation (adgb) unequivocally welcomed them when they were adopted by the National Assembly, while at the same time fervently dissociating itself from the ‘supporters of the dictatorial council system’, who it argued had to be stopped by the ‘mean- of power held by the state’.54 The affinity and close cooperation between the trade union leadership and the government can be partly explained by the fact that long-standing Social-Democratic trade union functionaries were involved in the legislation: namely, the former second chairman of the General Commission of German Trade Unions, Chancellor of the Reich

50 51 52 53 54

Theodor Leipart, ‘Referat auf dem 10. Gewerkschaftskongress 1919’ in Crusius 1978, vol. 1, p. 109. Theodor Leipart: ‘Referat auf dem 10. Gewerkschaftskongress 1919’ in Crusius 1978, vol. 1, p. 112. The provisions are reproduced in Documents 1966, pp. 115–17. Crusius 1978, pp. 109–10. Correspondenzblatt, 31 January 1920.

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Gustav Bauer, Minister of Labour Alexander Schlicke and Minister of Economics Robert Schmidt.55 On other political issues, too, the old functionaries were mostly very close to the spd, whereas the majority of the trade union opposition sympathised with the uspd.56 The vote on factory councils produced a similar pattern as all the contentious issues at the congress: about two-thirds of the delegates voted in favour of the leadership’s proposal (407 in favour, 192 against).57 This meant that all the opposition motions yet to be discussed were also dismissed. It should be noted, however, that the opposition, which tended to be pro-council, was underrepresented at the congress for a number of reasons. First, the numerous small unions that were loyal to the executive provided a disproportionately large number of delegates.58 Second, many delegate elections had already taken place some time ago, which further disadvantaged the constantly growing opposition.59 The opposition had met in the run-up to the congress so as to articulate its ideas more effectively. Among these left trade unionists, Berliners were particularly strongly represented – and they were also among the most vehement critics of the union leaderships. Wilhelm Schumacher, chairman of the Berlin branch of the Tailors’ Association, called for a preliminary meeting of opposition trade unionists.60 A ‘Provisional Working Committee of the Opposition’ publicly attacked the old trade union leaders, countering their policy with the slogan, ‘Through the council system and in association with the trade unions towards socialism’.61 The supplementary speech on the Guidelines, then, was given by the prominent Berlin councillor Richard Müller, who attended the congress as a delegate of the German Metalworkers’ Federation (dmv) and spokesperson for the trade union opposition. His critique targeted the policy of the leadership as a whole, but especially its position on factory councils. He contrasted the concept of the General Commission of German Trade Unions with his own ideas of a comprehensive council system. First, he challenged Leipart: ‘As he was speaking, there was not the slightest whiff of revolutionary spirit in the room’.62 He, too, high55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Bauer had been Minister of Labour since February 1919 and on 21 June replaced Philipp Scheidemann, who had resigned, as head of the government. Oertzen 1976, pp. 183–6. Potthoff 1979, p. 67. One mandate was awarded for every 10,000 members or part thereof, which favoured the small associations. See also Potthoff 1979, p. 68. Laubscher 1979, p. 137. Freiheit, 25 June 1919 M. The full appeal appeared in Freiheit, 25 June 1919 M. Müller 1978, p. 114.

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lighted the common features between the trade unions’ ideas, the draft Factory Councils Act and the old workers’ committees, noting, ‘We all know that the General Commission was initially against factory councils. Even today it does not want any part of the council system. It only wants workers’ and employees’ committees’.63 Müller criticised that ‘there is no provision for the factory councils to have decisive influence in any area whatsoever’.64 This, he argued, meant that the old exploitative relations would remain intact. He viewed it as particularly problematic that the factory councils were not only to be given little authority, but that they were also indirectly obliged to cooperate with the factory managers, even to ‘act as motivators on behalf of the entrepreneurs’.65 This was a reference to the clause which stipulated that the factory council ‘ensure the highest possible standard and the greatest possible economic efficiency of the factory’s performance’.66 It has to be said that Müller underestimated the positive possibilities of workers’ representation in the enterprises – his worst assumptions were later not confirmed in practice. Similarly, he overstated his case when implying that the right to strike would be curtailed, if not abolished. There was de facto no such intention, neither on the part of the government nor among the union leaders, even though both parties had spoken out vehemently against the great strike wave in spring 1919. Those protests, however, had primarily been political walkouts rather than classic wage struggles. Müller’s views were also manifest in his motion to the congress, in which he called for the rejection of the Guidelines and Provisions on the grounds that both documents were likely to ‘weaken the proletarian class struggle and paralyse the proletariat’s freedom of action and its ability to fight’.67 He also stressed the dual function of the council system as a ‘tool in the class struggle’ and later as the basis for the self-management of the producers. By the same token, he opposed ‘all efforts that serve to safeguard capital’s influence upon our economy’. This statement was directed against the working groups, the joint economic councils and the concept of a ‘common economy’ referred to in the Guidelines. The notion of a ‘common economy’ (Gemeinwirtschaft) had its origins in the ideas of Walther Rathenau and Wichard von Moellendorf.68 Its prime political

63 64 65 66 67 68

Müller 1978, pp. 121–2. Müller 1978, p. 124. Müller 1978, p. 123. Article 66 of the Factory Councils Act, quoted after Wimmer 1957, p. 56. The complete motion is reproduced in Documents 1966, p. 111. Wissell and Moellendorff 1919.

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advocate was the Social-Democratic union functionary Rudolf Wissell, Minister of the Economy from February to July 1919. The core idea was an institutionalised close cooperation between workers and employers and a planned economy alongside continued private ownership. As already mentioned, Müller’s motion was ruled out of order when the Guidelines and Provisions were adopted. Another important supporter of the council system at the congress was the functionary of the Commercial Clerks’ Association (Handlungsgehilfenverband) Paul Lange. He had been active in Berlin since before the war, and as a member of the kpd Zentrale, he was the most prominent Communist in the trade unions at the time. The motion he drafted also opposed the General Commission: The Trade Union Congress rejects any bill on factory councils that does not conform to the principles of the council system, according to which factory councils must be given key co-determination rights in the production and distribution of commodities and in the work relationship. The congress expresses its disapproval of the fact that the General Commission of German Trade Unions has made no effort whatsoever to assert these demands, but has essentially stood by the government draft.69 Lange’s ideas did not go as far as Müller’s, then: he only demanded substantial co-determination rights, not a full takeover of the enterprises. Nonetheless, he too regarded the Factory Councils Act as a ‘law serving to protect the bosses’.70 At the aforementioned Executive Conference of April 1919, by contrast, Lange had demanded that ‘the entrepreneurs be excluded from this process – production must be run by the workers’ councils’.71 We can therefore assume that Lange deliberately worded his motion in a restrained manner to accommodate the moderate majority of delegates.72 The German Metalworkers’ Federation (dmv) was by far the largest German trade union with about 1.6 million members by the end of 1919. Like all the others, it benefited from the huge influx of joiners after the war – almost 50 per

69 70 71 72

Documents 1966, p. 110. This motion was also dismissed. Ibid. Schönhoven 1985, p. 734. There were other motions calling for greater consideration or even the transfer of all economic and political power to the councils. Remarkably, they all came from different local groups of the dmv, which had already developed into a bulwark of internal trade union opposition during the war, and then increasingly so after November 1918. The motions are reproduced in Documents 1966, pp. 109–10.

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cent had only signed up in 1919.73 For the Berlin council movement, the dmv was of special relevance in two respects. First, its Berlin branch, with its 150,000 due-paying members, was a centre of council activism. Second, the dmv was the only large union where the opposition had assumed leadership. To what extent the supporters of the councils played a role there or managed to use it for their aims needs to be analysed. The Revolutionary Shop Stewards, an informal network of factory shop stewards, had already been key in organising the major strikes of the Berlin metalworkers during the war. Almost all of them were also dmv members or functionaries.74 This was the grassroots base upon which the oppositional tendency in Berlin had quickly gained ground. As early as January 1919, the collective agreement negotiated by the leadership was rejected by Berlin’s General Assembly, where a rapid socialisation of the factories was the favoured policy. On 2 March, the old regional representatives were replaced by the two radicals Otto Tost and Oskar Rusch, who were staunchly demanding an expansion of the council system.75 In this they agreed with Richard Müller, whose resolution was adopted at the General Assembly on 6 April 1919: it stated that the ‘Berlin metalworkers will not rest until the council system is implemented in Germany’.76 In the local Berlin organisation, the contending positions clashed with full force, and this was certainly related to the special situation – for the new leadership of the Berlin branch was also involved in the events in early March.77 After the adoption of the Factory Councils Act, Rusch spoke out in favour of participating in the elections, even though the act was not in line with his ideas. He explicitly recommended a vote for ‘socialist factory councillors who stand firmly on the ground of the revolutionary council system’, however.78 It was not only in the case of the dmv that the Berlin branch was a stronghold of the opposition – the same was true for other unions too. This is reflected by a remarkable detail: leading spd representatives such as Friedrich Ebert, Otto Wels and Gustav Noske were expelled from their local branches. The same fate befell even Carl Legien, the long-serving chair of the adgb.79A delegates’ meeting convened by the Berlin Trade-union Commission passed a resolution in opposition to the Factory Councils Act: 73 74 75 76 77 78 79

Opel 1980, p. 122 and p. 136. See Müller 1925, pp. 85–6; Hoffrogge 2014, pp. 35–60. Opel 1980, p. 85. Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 3 May 1919. Laubscher 1979, p. 142. Vorwärts, 5 February 1920 M. Laubscher 1979, p. 127.

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‘They [the assembled – A.W.] consider it a mockery of the working class and a provocation when this law is referred to as a council law. The assembled commit themselves to fight for the implementation of a council system that reflects the will of the workers to become the leaders of production’.80 The conflict between opposition and moderates was not only fought out within the local Berlin organisation. The dmv leadership as a whole, quite moderate until the October meeting, also intervened and positioned itself against Berlin. This situation led to a series of sharply worded exchanges in the union magazine in which both sides accused each other of union-busting.81 It only calmed down temporarily when a new central executive committee was elected. This governing body was appointed at the Union Conference (Verbandstag) in Stuttgart, which convened on 13 October 1919. Robert Dißmann was elected as the new president of the union. Richard Müller was given the post of editorin-chief of the MetallArbeiter-Zeitung union newspaper, but the old leadership was also still represented on the board. Both officials were also the authors of two resolutions outlining the future line of the dmv – each was adopted with 194 votes in favour and 129 against. Müller’s motion opened with a harsh criticism of the former union leadership’s syndicate-friendly policy. Then it said: ‘The working class … cannot settle for small improvements in wage and working conditions within the capitalist class state, but is compelled to continue the fight for the means of production, the fight to eliminate capitalism, with all fervour. This struggle is both economic and political – the workers must wage it first and foremost by the withholding their labour power’. To this end, the motion continued, the ‘trade union organisations must merge into huge industrial federations to become the basis of an organically evolving council system of economic activity. This council system must consolidate all forces of the working people into a fighting organisation that is struggling for socialism, while simultaneously making all the necessary preparations for a takeover of the capitalist economy and its transition to the socialist commonwealth. It must then itself evolve into an organism that sustains the whole of economic life’.82 This was a clear rejection of the traditional reformism of the trade unions, even if the resolution that followed explicitly approved negotiations with employers. The final goal was a revolutionary overturn of all property rela80 81 82

Vorwärts, 8 January 1920 E; Vossische Zeitung, 9 January 1920 M. See Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, issues of 26 July 1919, 9 August 1919, 30 August 1919, 6 September 1919, 27 September 1919. Quoted from Opel 1980, pp. 104–5.

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tions. The most important force in this were to be the trade-union associations, but in a radically different way: first, they would be transformed into industrial federations comprising all the workers of an enterprise, as opposed to the existing practice of grouping them by occupation. These industrial federations would constitute the base for the struggle and self-management activities of the councils. The envisaged takeover of the enterprises in the long term was a syndicalist feature. It was somewhat unclear, however, whether the trade unions – or industrial federations – were to play this role, or if it would fall to an organisation of councils built up with their help. The emphasis on the strike as a fundamental element shows the close links between the council movement and the general strikes of the previous spring, as well as echoes the syndicalist notion of achieving political objectives through walkouts. Opel’s suggestion that this conception is contradictory because it completely ignores the political sphere is a stretch, but cannot be dismissed out of hand: no other political tasks in the strict sense are allocated to the councils. We must take into account, however, that Müller was addressing the delegates of a trade union. In other circumstances, he did indeed claim political tasks for the councils. Opel further writes that the concept was ‘greatly weakened by tenuous conclusions drawn from its revolutionary premises’.83 On this, he is completely wrong because he misses the envisioned chronological sequence of developments, which is clearly set out in the resolution and whose timing is quite plausible. The willingness to negotiate with employers also fits with this strategy. Clearly, Müller expected that the existing economic order would persist for a limited period and then be transformed step by step. Dißmann’s resolution was also not devoid of criticism of the previous union leadership, whose policies he referred to as an ‘impediment to the proletarian liberation struggle in the midst of revolution’. He demanded: ‘The reconstruction of our national economy must be a socialist one. Proceeding from this, the attitude and policy of the union must be consistently based on the revolutionary class struggle and on the council system … The members must be granted the fullest possible right of co-determination and self-determination’.84 The latter was to be achieved by granting the local administrative bodies more autonomy and electing union staff on an annual basis. Dißmann thus claimed radical principles for himself, even if the practical conclusions were considerably more moderate and confined to a few additional grassrootsdemocratic features within the union. In his case, then, concrete detail and

83 84

Opel 1980, pp, 106–7. Quoted from Opel 1980, p. 106.

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long-term perspective coexisted without any real connection instead of being linked by intermediate stages as in Müller’s case. This indicated that the opposition had not at all been a united bloc. After the Factory Councils Act came into force, Dißmann took a clear stand against the efforts of Müller, who now placed his bids on a Central Office of Factory Councils operating independently of the trade unions.85 The new chair threw his weight behind the adgb Guidelines instead.86 A few months later, the union publication stated even more explicitly that the factory councils were to be organised ‘in close alignment’ with the dmv.87 If they were not prepared to follow this directive, they would lose the support of the trade unions, Dißmann threatened: ‘In future, the dmv will only finance struggles that the unions themselves are in charge of. If the council entity continues to provoke struggles, as it has done so far, it will also have to deal with the consequences on its own’.88 A resolution of the dmv’s extended advisory board of February 1920 followed along the same lines: ‘The election of factory councils shall be the responsibility of the trade unions … Every candidate shall be required to commit himself to resign as a factory council member at any time if requested to do so by the majority of his mandate holders or by his organisation’.89 This was, on the one hand, a typical provision of the council system – namely the recallability of council delegates at any time. On the other hand, the fact that the union could exercise the same right had nothing to do with councildemocratic ideas. Opel writes trenchantly about the general situation in the dmv: ‘Evidently, the Stuttgart resolutions were open to a variety of interpretations. Both the right and left oppositions invoked them in equal measure. But the right-wing opposition sat on the union leadership while the left-wing opposition did not, so the left also lost its organisational support points in the course of the dispute’.90 Richard Müller was removed as editor-in-chief from the union newspaper in 1920 and Oskar Rusch lost his post as Berlin dmv chair, while his counterpart Otto Tost later took more moderate positions. At the adgb’s factory councils congress in Berlin in early October 1920, Dißmann’s group prevailed once again:

85 86 87 88 89 90

For more details, see our chapter on the Central Office of Factory Councils. Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 27 March 1920. Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 25 June 1920. Deutsche Metall-Arbeiter-Zeitung, 16 November 1920. BArch R 3901/364, Reichsarbeitsministerium, Betriebsräte Bd. 1, Bl. 77. Opel 1980, p. 113.

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its policy was supported by three-quarters of delegates.91 Thus, the supporters of a genuine council system also lost their last potential support, namely the factory councils elected as per the provisions of the Factory Councils Act.92 Müller’s Central Office of Factory Councils, meanwhile, which operated independently of the unions, was unable to gain a foothold in the long term – eventually, it was taken over by the kpd. As a matter of fact, the dmv succeeded in largely achieving clear majorities in factory council elections in the following years.93 All this meant that the councils were now plainly subordinate to the unions. Even if the way there had been different in the dmv than in the other trade unions, the final outcome was largely the same. The advocates of a comprehensive council system had been unable to assert their vision even in the most radical organisation among the Free Trade Unions. The AfA cooperated in principle with the workers’ unions, but was organisationally not part of the General Federation of German Trade Unions. In autumn 1919, the AfA had 600,000 members.94 On many issues, it positioned itself close to the uspd, including with respect to the Factory Councils Act. In April 1919, the AfA had supported a strike of Berlin white-collar workers in the metal industry.95 The 50,000 strikers demanded not only wage increases but also that the competences of the factory councils be clearly defined. The AfA had already cooperated with the Greater Berlin Executive Council to strengthen the rights of the old employees’ committees. The draft Factory Councils Act met with massive criticism from white-collar workers with socialist leanings. A meeting at the Berlin Sportpalast on 3 June called by the Central Association of Commercial Employees, which was affiliated to the AfA, was attended by about ten thousand supporters. The resolution adopted there read: ‘The proposal that is referred to as the Factory Councils Act does not deserve the name in any way. It is nothing but a mockery of the employees, who demand an act that grants them the full right of co-determination in the regulation of wage and labour relations and in the production and sale of commodities. The employees refuse to continue to be nothing more than the employers’ wage slaves’.96

91 92 93 94 95 96

See also National Congress Factory Councils. Minutes of the congress can also be found in BArch R 43 i/2065, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Betriebsräte vol. 2, Bl. 337–67. Laubscher 1979, p. 67. See the figures in König 1991, p. 73. Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, 1 November 1919. Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, 1 May 1919. Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, 1 July 1919.

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In other words, the resolution demanded a significant expansion of codetermination rights, but without going so far as to seek a complete takeover of production or the transfer of ownership rights to the employees. A few days later, the Greater Berlin branch of the Central Association of Commercial Employees secured the approval of a resolution at the association’s congress. It rejected the overly moderate policy of the General Commission of German Trade Unions, especially with respect to the Central Working Group and the factory councils.97 In August 1919, the AfA leadership addressed the National Assembly, expressing clear criticism of the limited competences provided for in the draft Factory Councils Act.98 At the same time, it submitted extensive proposals for amendments to parliament, including more far-reaching monitoring and information rights for the factory councils.99 It also clearly stated, however, that the factory councils should cooperate closely with the trade unions. Fritz Pfirrmann raised similar demands in a contribution to the debate: he too called for close cooperation, envisioning that the trade unions take the leading role.100 Later, AfA chairman Siegfried Aufhäuser complained that the draft law, which had been inadequate to begin with, had become even worse in the course of parliamentary proceedings.101 The AfA also took part in the big demonstration against the Factory Councils Act in Berlin in January 1920. When it came to the organisational consolidation of the factory councils, however, the AfA pursued a contradictory policy. In Berlin, the employees’ association cooperated, on the one hand, with other organisations in a relatively radical provisional Central Office of Factory Councils. At the same time, it had a share in its rival, which had been launched by the adgb and eventually won out. As mentioned earlier, the AfA had supported the factory councils as early as 1919 – this, however, had been premised on the condition that they would subordinate themselves to the trade unions. It was only logical, then, that the AfA followed the adgb when the latter launched precisely this policy. If we examine the reaction of the trade unions to the new challenge posed by the council movement, the first aspect that strikes us is that neither the leaderships nor the membership acted in a uniform manner. It took the General

97 98 99 100 101

Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, 1 August 1919. sapmo-BArch ry 42/1, AfA, Stellungnahmen zum Betriebsrätegesetz, Bl. 3. sapmo-BArch ry 42/1, AfA, Stellungnahmen zum Betriebsrätegesetz, Bl. 107–11. F. Pfirrmann, ‘Betriebsräte – Fachgruppen – Einheitsverband’, in Mitteilungsblatt der Arbeitsgemeinschaft freier Angestelltenverbände, 1 August 1919. Siegfried Aufhäuser, ‘Die Verstümmelung des Betriebsrätegesetzes’, in Freiheit, 27 November 1919 M.

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Commission several months to arrive at a clear position. At first there were very diverse attitudes, ranging from resolute rejection to purely verbal concessions, to the ultimately pursued line of putting the councils at the service of the unions. This, however, also implied that the powers of the factory councils would be strictly confined to matters internal to the enterprise. Key demands of the Free Trade Union Confederation were then incorporated into the Factory Councils Act – clear evidence of the close and successful cooperation with the government. The development in the dmv was remarkable in that the opposition, which in Berlin even consisted of extraordinarily radical advocates of the council system, succeeded in assuming leadership – yet even then, it was not possible to overcome the primacy of the trade unions over the councils, or at least to provide the latter with better possibilities of exerting influence. The AfA, for its part, criticised the law for its inadequate content – the Berlin local groups were particularly prominent in this respect. In the end, however, the AfA came to terms with the Factory Councils Act and fell into line with the adgb. On the whole, the conduct of the senior officials can certainly be described as crafty. They succeeded, after all, not only in fending off a movement that posed an existential threat and unwelcome competition to the unions, they even managed to put it at the service of their own cause. Moreover, they successfully integrated or marginalised resistance to this approach within their own ranks. At any rate, the trade union organisations with their fundamentally reformist outlook remained intact and managed to survive the precarious revolutionary period. And yet, the question arises whether more could have been achieved under the given circumstances. Considering the strength of the working class and its willingness to take action, which was sometimes considerable – including among trade union members – one can definitely speak of missed opportunities. The functionaries had a large share of the blame in this because their mentality, which was based on notions of ‘social partnership’ and strict legality, considered more radical perspectives utopian from the outset. Tangible results such as wage increases, better working conditions and recognition as negotiating partners for collective agreements – that is, classic reformist objectives – were clearly more important to them. This largely converged with spd and government policy, and consequently, both sides cooperated closely both in legislation and in fighting the radical sections of the working class. The Factory Councils Act and Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution were the incarnation of this cautious reformist spirit of ‘social partnership’. The ideas of the trade union officials, which seemed downright conservative especially in the revolutionary early phase of the Weimar Republic, reflected very plainly the strong forces of inertia within the established institutions. This

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was also evident in the balance of forces at the trade union congresses. With the exception of the dmv and parts of the AfA, the more moderate tendencies could rely on solid majorities almost across the board. It would therefore be too simplistic to counterpose actionist-radical grassroots to a cautiously tactical leadership. The functionaries would hardly have been able to push through their line had they not enjoyed considerable support among their membership. It is nonetheless evident that these leaders were generally less inclined to ‘experiment’ than the broad mass of the membership.102 At any rate, the radicalism of the local Berlin trade union organisations was an exception. While the council movement thrived on its ability to mobilise quickly, it was obviously not able to assert itself against the old forces in the long term, at least not to any major extent. Their temporary importance in and outside the organisations, however, was enough to extract certain concessions from the trade unions. The only legacy that has survived in Germany to this day is the factory councils, which have been fully integrated into the dominant order. Even if they were a step forward in championing employees’ interests in the workplaces, they had little in common with the actual intention of the council movement.

spd The importance of the spd for the council movement is obvious. The workers’ party par excellence in the days of the Kaiserreich, it continued to be the leading representative of the proletariat in the Weimar period – even if it increasingly opened up to other strata such as white-collar workers and lower civil servants, while simultaneously having to fend off new competition from the left.103 The party’s political leverage was based in no small part on a well-developed organisational apparatus and a widely read press.104 Its official Berlin central 102 103

104

Brunner 1992, p. 467 also highlights the discrepancies between trade union leaderships and the rank and file in the early years of the Weimar Republic. There is a vast body of literature on the history of the spd in the Weimar Republik. The following are mere examples among many others: Walter 2009; Potthoff and Miller 2002; Miller 1978. They paint a largely benevolent and positive picture of the party as one that implemented its core concerns in the face of great difficulties. Other authors refer much more critically to the missed opportunities, e.g. Niemann 2008, Harrer 1989 and Abendroth 1978. Minutes Weimar, p. 35.

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publication, Vorwärts, was of particular importance and one of the highestcirculation daily newspapers of the Weimar Republic. From November 1918 onwards, Vorwärts appeared twice a day, with a circulation of around 300,000 in 1920.105 Moreover, the party was supported by large numbers of members.106 In late March 1919, its membership stood at just over one million, which came close to pre-war levels after a dramatic slump during the war. The considerable regional shifts, however, are striking: membership numbers from more rural areas such as East Prussia, Pomerania, Bavaria and Brandenburg grew significantly, compensating for losses in industrial metropolitan regions such as Berlin, Halle, Leipzig and – partly – the Ruhr area. It is certainly no coincidence that the spd lost numerous members and voters in areas where the council movement and the uspd had their strongholds. Up to 1930, the spd was always able to secure the greatest number of votes of all parties in nationwide elections. Initially in a coalition with the uspd, then on its own, and finally, after the National Assembly was convened, in the ‘Weimar Coalition’ alongside the Centre Party and the ddp, it was the decisive force in government until the summer of 1920. In part due to its decades-long orientation towards socio-political issues, it also provided the Ministers of the Economy and Labour in addition to the Prime Minister and the Chancellor of the Reich, thus being in charge of the key offices with respect to matters relevant to us. Moreover, the spd traditionally worked closely with the Free Trade Unions, even if the latter revoked this official cooperation and division of labour at the Nuremberg Congress that we have discussed earlier.107 In practice, this only slightly reduced cooperation – especially the close personnel overlap in leading functionaries remained largely intact. Almost all spd officials and the majority of their rank and file were also members of a Free Trade Union. In the first phase of the council movement – i.e. until early 1919 – it was clearly dominated by spd members.108 Locally, but also at the two National Congresses of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils, the party provided the majority of delegates, and the spd staffed the Central Council all on its own. It is especially for these reasons that in the 1960s–70s, a whole series of historians

105

106 107 108

See the data collection of the Institute for Comparative Media and Communication Research of the Austrian Academy of Science, available online at http://www.oeaw.ac.at/​ cgi‑bin/cmc/bz/tnd/1230, accessed on 6 June 2011. Minutes Weimar, p. 54. The decision on the neutrality of the trade unions towards the workers’ parties can be found in Documents 1966, pp. 112–13. See especially Kolb 1978, Oertzen 1976 and Rürup 1975.

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permanently revised the image of the councils as a ‘Bolshevik’ movement that had dominated until then. The balance of forces in Berlin, however, was different from that in Germany as a whole – this is because the workers’ movement in the capital was much more radical and tended more towards the uspd than it did elsewhere.109 Still in November 1918, the spd leadership argued for the election of a constituent assembly, thus defying the councils from whose hands the Council of People’s Deputies had just formally received power.110 Its conception in this initial stage of the revolution was based on presenting the two as irreconcilable opposites and granting the councils a right to exist only as a transitional solution in the lead-up to the general election.111 On 28 November 1918, the party committee passed a resolution declaring: ‘True to the views it has always held, [the party] considers the universal, equal, direct and secret suffrage of all adult men and women to be the most important political gain of the revolution. It also regards it as the means to transform the capitalist social order, in accordance with the will of the people and by systematic effort, into a socialist one.’112 Evidently, the party was counting on parliamentary majority for socialist policies, which would then be implemented step by step. The councils were no longer mentioned at all. At the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils in December 1918, a broad majority had retroactively legitimised the transfer of governmental affairs to the Council of People’s Deputies. At the same time, the congress voted for the election of a National Assembly. The corresponding resolution literally stated: ‘The National Congress of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils, which represents the whole of political power, transfers legislative and executive powers to the Council of People’s Deputies until these are taken over by the National Assembly’.113 19 January 1919 was set as the date for the election of the National Assembly. In this way, the councils had practically disempowered themselves. Instead of becoming the foundation of the new state, they gave way to a parliamentary system. How did this decision come about? 300 of the 500 delegates belonged

109 110 111 112 113

Weipert 2013, pp. 126–30. Friedrich Stampfer: ‘Die Reichsregierung und die Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte’ in Vorwärts, 13 November 1918. Kolb 1978, pp. 169–82 and Vestring 1987, p. 183. The resolution is reproduced in Minutes Weimar, p. 44. Allgemeiner Kongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 16. bis 21. Dezember 1918 im Abgeordnetenhause zu Berlin, pp. 181–2.

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to the spd and stood united behind their top officials. The people’s deputy Scheidemann had taken a clear stand at the congress: I think it is wrong to condemn the workers’ and soldiers’ councils wholesale. There is no doubt that they have done a great deal of good. They were a necessity, but we cannot agree that they must remain a permanent institution. We maintain that the workers’ and soldiers’ councils were a temporary necessity. … I am firmly convinced that the permanent institutionalisation of the workers’ and soldiers’ councils – I am saying this after careful consideration – would mean the absolutely certain ruin of our trade and industry, the absolutely certain downfall of the German Reich, i.e. incalculable misery for the whole German people.114 Further decisions were taken, however, on socialisation and on the democratisation of the army, showing the intention of the council representatives to introduce decisive reforms – in this case against the will of their own party leadership. Although the concretisation and implementation were again left to the government and the new legislature, this was the first indication of ‘the discord between the spd leadership and its membership, which took on distinct forms in the course of 1919’, as Kolb notes.115 As he had already done at the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils, Max Cohen gave one of the keynote speeches at the second one in April 1919, distinguishing himself as one of the spd’s leading council experts. Cohen was initially the shop steward of the Berlin Soldiers’ Council and a member of the Greater Berlin Executive Council. Later he became chairman of the Central Council, the highest body of the German council movement. In his address, he once more argued for his concept, which, according to him, depended on ‘taking the healthy core ideas of the council principle … and combining them with the democratic people’s parliament, which we cannot do without’.116 Unlike his party friends in government, then, he was concerned with preserving the councils in the long term. Cohen and his co-thinkers elaborated on this cause in a series of articles in the Sozialistische Monatshefte monthly journal. The centrepiece of their concept was Chambers of Labour, where workers and entrepreneurs were to be

114 115 116

Allgemeiner Kongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 16. bis 21. Dezember 1918 im Abgeordnetenhause, p. 185. Kolb 1978, p. 203. ii. Kongress der Arbeiter-, Bauern- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 8. bis 14. April 1919 im Herrenhaus zu Berlin, p. 159.

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equally represented. These chambers would supplement the legislative bodies at the municipal, district and national level.117 The workers of a company would appoint the factory councils in cooperation with the trade unions, while also joining up with employers at the sectoral level to form production councils. From these production councils, delegates for the cross-sectoral Chambers of Labour would emerge. From this, there later also developed a sharp critique of the contents of the constitution, which had failed ‘to make the workers themselves the agents of production’. What was referred to as the production idea was essentially based on the common interests of labour and capital in promoting production.118 Class contradictions, on the other hand, were seen as subordinate. The aim was therefore not to completely disempower the entrepreneurs, but rather to have co-determination in the enterprise, in the industry and with respect to all economically relevant legislation.119 Echoing the idea of a ‘common economy’, there was also the notion of leaving private property intact, for ‘producers must be recognised as carriers and joint decision-makers of production, irrespective of their ownership of the means of production’.120 At the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils, Cohen was still able to mobilise widespread support for his policies and was also elected chair of the Central Council.121 Subsequently, though, he became increasingly isolated within the party, as became apparent at the Weimar party congress. On this occasion as well as later on, Cohen repeatedly urged the spd not to close its mind to the ‘call of the working masses’ for the councils as these were the ‘only novel idea of the German revolution’.122 While criticising the spd as the ‘intellectually overly conservative old Social Democracy’, he identified the ‘ostensibly radical, but in fact merely confused attitude of the Independents’ as the second cause of the widespread failure of the councils. Others, too, sought a similar occupational second chamber as a corrective to parliament. Unlike

117 118 119 120 121

122

Julius Kaliski, ‘Der Rätegedanke beim Neuaufbau Deutschlands’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 24 March 1919. Max Cohen, ‘Die erste Verfassung der deutschen Republik’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 25 August 1919. See Cohen’s speech at the party conference in Weimar: Minutes Weimar, pp. 421–31. Julius Kaliski, ‘Die Rolle des Betriebsrätegesetzes beim Produktionsaufbau’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 8 December 1919. See the motion drafted and finally adopted by Cohen and Kaliski in ii. Kongress der Arbeiter-, Bauern- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 8. bis 14. April 1919 im Herrenhaus zu Berlin, p. 267. Max Cohen, ‘Der Rätegedanke im ersten Revolutionsjahr’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 17 November 1919.

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Cohen’s model, however, the proposal by Herwarth Walden and William Wauer, both also from Berlin, envisaged the election of delegates only by those who personally carried out ‘physical or mental labour’ – in other words, no parity with the side of capital.123 The spd representatives in government took varied positions towards the councils, especially as their overall stance changed several times. In February 1919, for instance, Scheidemann had made the public assurance that ‘no member of the cabinet’ aspired to ‘incorporate the council system in any form, be it in the constitution, be it in the administrative apparatus’.124 With this he seamlessly continued the line of his predecessor Friedrich Ebert.125 But only a few days later, an about-turn occurred. On 20 March, a discussion in the cabinet on the first draft of what was to become Article 165 of the Weimar Constitution clearly showed the divergent views of the Social-Democratic ministers. Noske and Landsberg warned against giving the councils too much power, while Wissell and David took a positive view of their colleague Bauer’s proposal. Prime Minister Scheidemann assumed a mediating role.126 Undoubtedly, the officials created the basis for improved representation of workers in the factories through provisions, through Article 165 and later through the Factory Councils Act – but at the same time, they strongly opposed further-reaching demands, including by repressive means. Notably, the government had to react to the challenge posed by the council movement, for example during the spring 1919 strike wave. In the final analysis, this was the grounds for its partial concession. With regard to the concrete anatomy of the act, the government relied on the conception of Hugo Sinzheimer, who was considered the spd’s other council expert alongside Cohen.127 The often intransigent attitude towards the councils that had existed since the beginning of the revolution was often strongly criticised within the spd’s own ranks, for example by the Central Council: ‘The more the position of our comrades in the government was fortified, the more they disliked the councils and felt uncomfortable with the fact that they still exist in their present form … The only reason why the councils are still allowed to run is because at present it is considered too dangerous to abolish them’.128 123 124 125 126 127 128

Walden, Herwarth/Wauer, William, ‘Ein Verfassungsvorschlag’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. Berliner Tageblatt, 26 February 1919. Vestring 1987, p. 220. Scheidemann Files, pp. 71–4. On Sinzheimer’s ideas, see our section on the constitution. Thus the speech of member Kurt Schimmel at the Central Council meeting of 28 May 1919: sapmo-BArch SgY 10/v 236/1/6, Protokolle von Sitzungen des Zentralrates der Arbeiterräte zur Frage des Rätesystems, Bl. 8.

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At the end of February, still before the government had made its announcements, the spd and uspd factions in the General Assembly of the Berlin workers’ councils jointly expressed their ‘stanch opposition to all attempts to eliminate the workers’ and soldiers’ councils’.129 Representatives of the spd also took part in the factory councils conference in Halle, which had been largely initiated by the Independents and where a consensus on the future tasks of the factory councils was reached.130 Even in the ranks of the spd, voices critical of parliament were raised since little was expected from the Social-Democratic parliamentary group in view of the bourgeois majority. Max Großmann wrote that parliament could only ‘create a social-political hotchpotch here and there’, which however would ‘never lead the proletariat to the great liberation to which it is entitled since the revolution, which was its own accomplishment … Political democracy, as has now been revealed to us, does not lead to socialism. Those who trust in it will suffer bitter disappointment.’ Above all, if it were up to parliament, ‘the councils would at most be allowed to serve an ornamental purpose and would be condemned to complete impotence’.131 For this reason, he continued, it was necessary to erect a council parliament ‘on its own authority’, which would prepare and carry out the social revolution. The existing factory councils strongly opposed the Factory Councils Act draft, regardless of their respective party affiliation. During a mass rally of Hamburg factory councillors, they demanded in unison: ‘Send this bill to kingdom come’.132 Even at a July 1919 conference intended by the Central Council to deliver an agreement between the factory councils and the government, these differences came to the fore: ‘The factory councils did not want to refrain from giving the so-called factory councils many more rights than those granted in the draft … One part of the delegates argued for an outright rejection of the draft. Another part wanted a discussion based on the demand that the monitoring and co-determination rights of the factory councils be extended to equal rights in all sections … The result of the consultation is that the spd members did not approve this draft submitted by the factory councils’.133

129 130 131 132 133

Freiheit, 1 March 1919 M. In this resolution, they simultaneously criticised the anti-council activity of the National Assembly and the state authorities. Freiheit, 28 August 1919 M. Max Großmann, ‘Für ein Räteparlament!’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. Hamburger Echo, 31 May 1919. sapmo-BArch SgY 10/v 236/1/6, Protokolle von Sitzungen des Zentralrates der Arbeiterräte zur Frage des Rätesystems, Bl. 84–7.

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Members of the spd and uspd were present. A Hamburg factory councillor told the Central Council at another point: ‘The draft is a mockery of the working class’.134 Franz Büchel, a member of the Greater Berlin Executive Council for the spd, wrote: The liberation of the working class can only be brought about if the workers overcome the capitalist organisation of the economy … The workers’ councils were guided by the instinctive feeling that the economic and production process must be put into the hands of the workers if the proletariat is to achieve total domination. Although political power was transferred to the workers on 9 November 1918, economic power remained in the hands of the bourgeoisie. As socialists, we have always held the view that the political organisation of a country is only the expression of the economic conditions of the country. And so it was also quite natural, because the workers had not become masters of economic life, that a considerable part of the political gains of 9 November slipped out of their hands.135 Evidently, the active councillors among spd members were by no means prepared to follow the line of their party leadership and either abolish their own institutions altogether or endow them with only minor competences. On the contrary, they wanted the councils to play an important role on the pathway towards socialism. They also had few qualms about the Independents and were frequently able to agree on a common approach with them. Büchel’s words also reflected how little the revolution had achieved thus far and how fragile the new order was as long as radical measures were not also implemented in the economy. He welcomed the Chambers of Labour that had been decided on at the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils as a concrete step in this direction.136 The party leadership often found it difficult to mediate between its government officials and its ordinary members and voters. In late March 1919, the Executive Board (Vorstand), the Committee (Ausschuss) and the Control Commission (Kontrollkommission) – i.e. the central organs of the party – passed a resolution in joint session with the National Assembly fraction that essen-

134 135 136

4 sapmo-BArch SgY 10/v 236/1/7, Protokolle von Sitzungen des Zentralrates der Arbeiterräte zur Frage des Rätesystems, Bl. 2. Büchel 1919. Büchel 1919, pp. 18–24.

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tially corresponded to the later Article 165 of the constitution.137 Rosenberg quite correctly considered this decision to be the result of the spring strikes, as these had ‘temporarily’ contributed to a strengthening of the left wing of the spd.138 In parliament, the Social-Democratic mp Fischer had already called for its incorporation of these provisions into the constitution a month earlier, practically at the same time as Scheidemann issued his public rejection.139 A final clarification was to come at the party congress in Weimar in mid-June 1919, where the discussion of the council question played a central role. The Executive Board report to the party congress is very revealing in that it reflects the leading functionaries’ view of the political situation. The board declared, on the one hand, that Germany had become ‘the freest state in the world’ now that the workers’ councils would be recognised and ‘anchored in the constitution’.140 On the other hand, it staunchly opposed the big strikes, which in its view were based on a ‘misjudgement of the real difficulties’ – what Germany really lacked were ‘food, raw materials and coal, which are not procured through strikes, but through work’.141 Otto Wels, until 1918 chairman of the Berlin district of the spd, justified the harsh measures taken in the domestic political dispute of the past months with the argument that ‘we are forced to defend democracy more against the left than against the right’.142 The report claimed that the party had ‘taken a clear stand’ with respect to the councils.143 In view of its vacillating policy in the past months, this was obviously far from the truth. The report of the National Assembly parliamentary group, meanwhile, stated that this question had been ‘subject to repeated changes of judgement within the party and the fraction’.144 In what form the councils would continue to exist was discussed by the delegates towards the end of the party congress. A whole series of motions had been submitted on this point, all calling for the preservation of the councils, which shows that they had many supporters among the party’s rank and file. A motion tabled by the Berlin delegates, for instance, stated: ‘[We must]

137 138 139 140 141 142

143 144

Minutes Weimar, p. 45. Rosenberg 1936, chapter 4. Negotiations National Assembly, p. 376. Minutes Weimar, p. 16. Minutes Weimar, pp. 14–5. Minutes Weimar, p. 144. Wels gave the verbal report as a supplement to the executive board’s submission. He was then elected as the new chairman of the spd alongside Hermann Müller. Minutes Weimar, p. 14. Minutes Weimar, p. 69.

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stand for the council system on an economic basis’.145 A motion from Danzig demanded: ‘The economic councils – the factory councils – must become enshrined in the constitution and their competences must be as broad as possible’.146 A motion from Esslingen read: ‘To safeguard the achievements of the revolution, it is more necessary than ever for the party to support the existing workers’ councils in their activities … The introduction of factory councils must urgently be accelerated, and they should be given the greatest possible legal powers’.147 Other draft resolutions explicitly called for the implementation of Cohen’s council system as adopted at the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils.148 The two speakers on the topic ‘Council System and the German Reich’ were Cohen and Sinzheimer. In terms of content, their proposals were consistent with the models already introduced earlier.149 In the ensuing debate, it was stressed that there was little difference between the various proposals – certainly not wholly unjustifiably.150 The difference lay primarily in the fact that Cohen wanted to transfer political decision-making powers to the councils through Chambers of Labour, whereas Sinzheimer only granted the Reich Economic Council that he had conceived a consultative role in legislation. Overall, voices dominated that wanted to maintain the councils, but give them clearly limited competences. No speaker rejected the continued existence of the councils outright. A delegate from Cologne, however, warned against inflated expectations on the part of the workers: ‘They no longer believe in biblical miracles, but they believe that the council order or some other system will come and, like a saviour, deliver them from all need and misery at once’.151 Another delegate criticised the pro-council strikes as a ‘mass strike fever’ that had brought the country ‘to the brink of Russian Bolshevism’ – according to him, it would be ‘wrong to make concessions to the masses purely for reasons of expediency’.152 Minister of Labour Bauer saw the cause for the slow legislative process in the ‘lack of understanding on the part of the masses of workers’. He lamented: ‘Not a day goes by when this or that workers’ council,

145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152

Minutes Weimar, p. 101. Minutes Weimar, p. 103. Minutes Weimar, p. 109. See the motions from Kiel and Hamburg in Minutes Weimar, p. 102. Sinzheimer’s speech is reproduced in Minutes Weimar, pp. 406–20; Cohen’s speech in Minutes Weimar, pp. 421–431. Minutes Weimar, p. 431. Minutes Weimar, p. 436. Minutes Weimar, p. 441.

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or this or that this or that strike representation, wishes to be received. Hours and hours are wasted due to completely irresponsible demands’.153 In the end, Sinzheimer’s concept was adopted by a majority, while Cohen’s motion received only one vote. All other motions concerning this matter were declared defeated without a vote. Given the agenda with the two speakers, the debate from the outset revolved only around the way in which the councils would complement parliament and what competences – narrowly limited in any case – factory councils should be given. Considering the spd’s policy up to that point, this was to be expected. But even so, apparently to nip any potential radical aspirations in the bud, Scheidemann made unmistakably clear even before the actual debate on the councils commenced: ‘Whoever wants to replace general people’s rule with political council rule is not a Social Democrat’.154 The motions prove that there was a desire for powerful council organs at least at the rank and file level of the party – but he speakers hardly did justice to this. Likewise, the reserved tone of the ensuing debate is somewhat surprising, considering the broad participation of Social Democrats in the council movement. Bauer’s statement reflects the political worldview of some functionaries, who viewed everything outside the bureaucratic apparatus as little more than an unwelcome disturbance. The recurring indignation about striking workers underlines this. And yet, it was their own clientele expressing their dissatisfaction with the development of the revolution in general and the councils in particular. In the end, however, the party congress fully reaffirmed the government’s position. It remains an open question whether the delegates wanted to avoid direct confrontation with their leading functionaries or whether council supporters were in such a minority at the party congress that they considered a trial of strength to be futile from the outset. Only once at the party congress was criticism levelled at this one-sidedness, albeit in a different context. A delegate noted: ‘There are two tendencies at this party congress. The first tendency has had plenty of opportunity to speak, the other tendency – those who stand further to the left – has not’.155 In any case, the liberal journalist Julius Elbau was not the only one to observe that the very composition of the delegates prevented any decisive opposition to the leadership line from arising in the first place. The Social Democrat Wally

153 154 155

Minutes Weimar, pp. 443–4. Minutes Weimar, p. 234. Minutes Weimar, p. 289.

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Zepler expressed very similar criticisms.156 Of the 175 spd representatives at the second National Congress of Workers’ Councils, only 16 also took part in the party congress. Almost a quarter of delegates to the party congress, on the other hand, were ex-officio members. As Vestring notes, this composition of delegates is likely to have played a significant role in the voting results, strengthening the leadership’s line.157 However, the author wrongly identifies Cohen’s ideas generally with those of the council supporters in the party – in fact, Cohen had only slight differences with Sinzheimer. There were, however, voices calling for substantially more rights for the councils, be it in the economic or in the political realm – but the stance of those rank and file members was not adequately represented. Surprisingly, historical research has paid little attention to this party congress, especially the critical motions presented there.158 On the overall assertiveness of the leadership at this party conference, Miller states: ‘In any case, [the leadership] could rest assured of its ability to keep the membership under control. Whether this was mainly down to its persuasive arguments or its skilful stage management was relatively irrelevant’.159 While one may argue whether this was really so irrelevant, Miller’s assessment correctly points to the discrepancy between the spd’s claims to democracy and the real practice in the party. In September 1919, the Berlin spd called 30 mass meetings across the city to promote the Factory Councils Act.160 In a resolution presented to party supporters, it described the law as the ‘first step towards the democratisation of economic life’. Before and after the two concluding readings of the Factory Councils Act, a whole series of articles on the subject appeared in Vorwärts. Despite some reservations about details, Gustav Hoch and Hermann Müller, both of whom had worked on the bill, spoke in favour of its adoption. Hoch, however, also expressed that it had ‘considerable shortcomings’ – but a blanket rejection, he argues, was out of the question.161 Müller declared in a party meeting that even taking into account its limitations, the Factory Councils Act was

156 157 158

159 160 161

Julius Elbau, ‘Parteitag und Parteimaschine’, in Vossische Zeitung, 10 Jun 1919; Wally Zepler, ‘Parteitag 1919’, in Sozialistische Monatshefte, 7 July 1919. Vestring 1987, pp. 229–30. and p. 376. Oertzen 1976, pp. 203–4 dedicates only a few lines to the subject; similarly Niemann 2008, p. 158. Kolb 1978 only covers the first phase of the revolution up to the spring of 1919. Winkler 1985, pp. 203–5 only refers to Cohen’s and Sinzheimer’s speeches and does not even mention the mention in passing, as is also the case with Miller 1978, pp. 307–9. Miller 1978, pp. 310–11. Vossische Zeitung, 18 September 1919 M. Gustav Hoch, ‘Das Schicksal der Betriebsräte’ in Vorwärts, 11 January 1920.

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a ‘substantial step forward taking us beyond what we have now’.162 A few days after the approval of the bill by the spd in the Reichstag, his parliamentary group colleague Nikolaus Osterroth said that a ‘rejection would have been an outright betrayal of the workers’.163 For them, despite certain reservations, the Factory Councils Act amounted to another step towards the realisation of their socialist policy through parliamentary channels – and thus also a confirmation of their fundamental views. Even in retrospect, leading Social Democrats believed that the political course they had set at the time had been correct. Even in retrospect, leading Social Democrats believed that the political course they had set at the time had been correct. Paul Löbe complained that the constitution was an ‘unsatisfactory compromise’ on many points, but conceded that it still had the character of a ‘genuinely democratic state constitution’.164 Scheidemann’s assessment was very similar: he also recognised ‘many shortcomings’, but nevertheless described it as the ‘most liberal [ freiheitlich] constitution in the world’.165 In reference to Article 165 of the constitution and the Factory Councils Act, Hermann Müller wrote somewhat curtly that this ‘marked the first steps towards economic democracy’.166 Gustav Noske stressed that the Factory Councils Act granted workers ‘considerable co-determination rights’.167 Almost all of the spd’s party officials had been part of regional or superregional councils in the days of November 1918 – despite this, their attitude towards the councils had become increasingly critical after the election of the National Assembly. Thus Otto Braun scoffed at the ‘haphazard arbitrary acts of individual workers’ and soldiers’ councils’, which in his view threatened to plunge the country into ‘Bolshevik chaos’.168 Even decades later, the editor-inchief of Vorwärts, Friedrich Stampfer, firmly rejected the ‘foolish shenanigans’ of the radical councils.169 Albert Grzesinski, for his part, saw in them the danger of Germany’s disintegration.170 In the face of such dangers, Noske continued to

162 163 164 165

166 167 168 169 170

Vorwärts, 13 January 1920 M. Nikolaus Osterroth, ‘Die unabhängigen Verräter’, in Vorwärts, 19 January 1920 E. Löbe 1990, p. 95. Scheidemann 1930, S. 362. Translator’s note: The German term freiheitlich variously – and only approximately – translates as ‘free’ or ‘liberal’ without denoting any particular political tendency. Freiheitlich means ‘striving for freedom’, ‘determined by freedom’, ‘freedom-orientated’ or ‘infused with the spirit of freedom’. Müller 1928, p. 245. Noske 1920, p. 192. Braun 1949, pp. 17 and 11. Stampfer 1957, p. 229. Grzesinski 2009, p. 96.

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view state repression as justified: ‘Since persuasion and instruction were of no avail, the only way to counter violence, as painful as this was for the government, was by force and by introducing the state of siege. Wherever firm resolve was shown or decisive action taken in time to prevent anarchy from taking hold, major riots and clashes were prevented’.171 Fear of Bolshevism or Spartacism took on almost hysterical features during the November Revolution. This applied not only to bourgeois circles, but especially to the leaders of the spd, and it was one of the causes of the escalation of the civil war-like conflicts.172 Since the councils were equated with Bolshevism without any further ado from the spring of 1919, even violence against them seemed appropriate. The actual concrete influence of the Russian Revolution in Germany at that time was in fact quite small. For obvious reasons, this was later ignored by East German historians. Krumpholz’s study Wahrnehmung und Politik (1998) analyses the significance of the law-and-order mindset of leading spd officials during the revolution.173 According to the author, fear of chaos and of the uncontrollable masses contributed substantially to their violent line of action against the working class. One reason was that their perception of the revolutionary movement did not always correspond to reality, but was very selective. In the months after the revolution, the party leadership and the government responded to the growing discontent with repeated policy changes, halfhearted reforms and repression. The result was a compromise that hardly anybody was truly satisfied with. The party had used its critical influence in government and in legislation to ensure the permanent existence of the councils, but their powers turned out to be far more limited than the workers had hoped. A real shift in the balance of power was not achieved. This caused growing disappointment even within the ranks of the spd and contributed significantly to the exodus of its supporters to the left. Nonetheless, pressure from the party’s own grassroots and from the councils forced the leadership to correct its policy at least partially. One might view this as evidence of the appeal and of the council idea even in the reformist wing of the workers’ movement and its capacity to mobilise there.

171 172 173

Noske 1920, p. 187. See the extensive study by Lösche 1967; see also Geyer 1976. Krumpholz, Ralf 1998. This very worthwhile study is not entirely free of somewhat bizarre viewpoints, though. For instance, the author writes that an engagement with the atonal music of Arnold Schönberg could have trained the spd leaders in unconventional thinking and thus better prepared them for the revolutionary situation.

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The leading party officials’ downright formalistic concept of democracy was based on an exaggerated reverence of parliament and the constitution, which, it was believed, would ensure the legal and peaceful gradual transition (Hineinwachsen) to socialism. The praise of Minister of the Interior Eduard David for the constitution is exemplary for this attitude. According to David, the constitutional regulation of economic questions pointed the way to a ‘development of economic organisation that will overcome the hostile antagonisms between capital and labour’.174 Euphorically, he added that ‘the German Republic is henceforth the most democratic democracy in the world’. The party leaders failed to recognise the weakness of these institutions in the face of the factually almost unbroken power of the industrialists, imperial military men and officials. That is why they did not regard the councils as potential allies in the struggle against the old order, but at best as annoying remnants of the revolution or even ‘Spartacist elements’. The party rank and file tended to have a more realistic view of the situation and consequently sought to preserve and expand the councils. This was especially true for Social Democrats who continued to actively work within the councils, thus keeping in touch with forces to their left even after late 1918 and early 1919. The inner-party opposition was unable to gain any significant influence, however. For one, reform efforts, especially in the economic sphere, repeatedly met with resistance from the bourgeois coalition partners. Furthermore, the spd leadership’s sharp demarcation from the left led to misgivings about the possibility of a more powerful system of councils.175 Unlike in the parliaments, close cooperation with radical forces would have been unavoidable in the councils. Evidently, the party saw better chances of implementing its own idea of ‘social democracy’ in cooperation with the left liberals and the Centre. Then there was the internal structure of the party, which it would be fair to describe as authoritarian. The party congress in Weimar had shown that unwelcome debates could be positively nipped in the bud from high up. This did not change the fact that there were significant differences between the leadership and large parts of the membership on the important issue of councils – but the exclusive focus on the ideas and actions of the top level that is common among historians obscures this fact.

174 175

Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 2194–5. Miller 1978, p. 357.

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kpd The Communist Party of Germany (kpd) was not only the youngest, but also the smallest of the three parties discussed here.176 It was also the staunchest opponent of the emerging Weimar order. At the turn of 1918/19, the Spartacus League (Spartakusbund), which had been operating within the uspd, had merged with a number of smaller groups such as the Bremen-based International Communists of Germany (ikd) to form the new party. Although the kpd was notable for its spectacular actions from the beginning, its organisational base was weak. In October 1919, its membership stood at 106,000. In July 1920, the expulsion of the left wing reduced this figure to 66,000 – particularly affected by this purge were the important districts of Berlin-Brandenburg and Rhineland-Westphalia.177 In the Reichstag elections of June 1920, the kpd got 589,000 votes, lagging far behind the spd and uspd. The party boycotted the 1919 elections to the National Assembly. In the period from 1918 to 1920, its Berlin-based central organ Die Rote Fahne had a circulation of about 15,000 to 30,000 copies.178 This meant that its journalistic reach was far less than that of the equivalent papers of the spd and uspd. However, it is also the case that Die Rote Fahne was banned several times and its editorial staff repeatedly subjected to direct violence from the state executive. Moreover, the party lost its most prominent leaders in the first months of its existence and was almost permanently subjected to state repression, which forced it into illegality. This was not all: the different political trends within the party were extremely heterogeneous, and internal struggles and expulsions

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Today the history of the kpd can be considered well researched. The most important works are Flechtheim 1986; Authors’ collective 1966, pp. 163–286; Weber 1969 and 2008; Mallmann 1996 was the main opponent of Weber’s Stalinisation thesis, presenting some arguments that were quite convincing. The most recent account at the time of writing is Müller 2010. On the party’s conception of the councils, see especially Arnold 1985, pp. 101– 54 and Bavaj 2005, pp. 71–89. There was also a number of other political organisations of the radical left, such as the kapd, which was formed in April 1920 as a split from the kpd and the unions [Unionen]. However, they can only be considered here in passing. On this subject see Bock 1993 and Arnold 1985, pp. 155–183. See Bericht über den 2. Parteitag der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Spartakusbund) vom 20. bis 24. Oktober 1919 in Arnold 1985, p. 27; Bericht über den 3. Parteitag der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Spartakusbund) am 25. und 26. Februar 1920 in Arnold 1985, pp. 7 and 36; and Bericht über den 5. Parteitag der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Spartakusbund) vom 1. bis 3. November 1920 in Berlin. See the data collection of the Institute for Comparative Media and Communication Research of the Austrian Academy of Sciences, online at: http://www.oeaw.ac.at/cgi‑bin/​ cmc/bz/auf/1030, accessed on 6 June 2011.

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paralysed the organisation several times. Considering all this, it is not surprising that the kpd only gained political influence sporadically: particular mention must go to the Essen Commission of Nine, the resistance to the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, the March struggles in Berlin, and the council republics of Bremen and Munich. Support from the Third International, to which it belonged as the most important non-Russian section since its founding in March 1919, was also marginal. It was only through its merger with the left wing of the uspd in December 1920 that the party gained a real mass following. Because of these general circumstances, but also because of the its later transformation into a tightly hierarchical cadre organisation modelled on the ‘sister party’ from Stalin’s Soviet Union, the kpd of 1919–20 should not be considered identical to the later party led by Ernst Thälmann. Weber has explicitly highlighted this.179 In any case, the historiographical debate on the Stalinisation of the kpd essentially only concerns the phase from around 1924 onwards and therefore bears little significance for our purposes. The best-known Communist leaders were without doubt Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, both of whom were active in Berlin during the revolutionary period. They had already distinguished themselves as protagonists in the spd left before and during World War i. After 9 November, they stood resolutely against parliamentarism and for a council republic, initially still agitating as part of the Spartacus League and the uspd respectively. However, the Spartacus League barely managed to gain a foothold in the councils, winning only two mandates for their first national congress. Its view of parliamentary democracy under a capitalist economic order was very similar to that of the uspd. Liebknecht stated at the end of November 1918 that this was ‘a distorted democracy, since the economic and social dependency of the working masses, in spite of formal political equality, gives the ruling classes a tremendous political preponderance, and economic and social dependency in and of itself precludes real democracy’. ‘The road to democracy’, therefore, ‘leads through socialism, not the road to socialism through so-called democracy’.180 Similarly, Luxemburg viewed parliamentarism as ‘lies and deception’ and therefore deemed the idea of attaining socialism ‘by parliamentary majority decision’ a ‘laughable petty-bourgeois illusion’.181 The alternative, namely ‘socialist democracy’, could only be based on the councils.182 Under the head-

179 180 181 182

Weber 1969, p. 5. Liebknecht 1974, p. 631. Rosa Luxemburg, ‘Nationalversammlung oder Räteregierung?’, in Die Rote Fahne, 17 December 1918. Luxemburg 1918b.

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ing ‘The Beginning’, Luxemburg argued for a determined push to continue the revolution. The political change of façade that had taken place thus far must be followed by the social revolution, she wrote.183 In the uspd, however, such ideas failed to gain acceptance at the time. A motion by Luxemburg that categorically opposed the National Assembly and demanded that all power be given to the councils was rejected by a large majority at the general assembly of the Berlin district group in mid-December 1918.184 This certainly contributed to the decision to split from the uspd and build a new organisation. The founding party congress in the capital two weeks later was to define the general and tactical objectives of the kpd. Liebknecht began by justifying the break with the uspd at length, citing its failure in the revolution thus far, its ‘lack of principles and inability to take action’.185 He paid particularly close attention to the ‘question of National Assembly versus council system. On this matter there can be no difference of opinion in a proletarian party. This is where the paths diverge entirely’. To oppose the demand ‘all power to the workers’ and soldiers’ councils’, as the majority of Independents had done, was a ‘betrayal of the revolution’, according to Liebknecht.186 The dividing line was thus clearly drawn. In a sense, Liebknecht’s justification for engineering another split within the workers’ movement was also a way of reassuring himself. Undoubtedly, the new party was founded hastily and lacked a broad base – on this point, we must agree with the prevailing view in research.187 East German (ddr) scholars, on the other hand, argued that the founding of the party was a ‘turning point in the history of Germany and the German workers’ movement’.188 While the founding congress was still in progress, negotiations with the Revolutionary Shop Stewards broke down due to tactical differences, but also because of the Spartacus League’s insistence on its leading role in the new party.189 This leading position 183 184 185 186 187 188

189

Luxemburg 1918c. Freiheit, 2 January 1919 M and Schönhoven 1989, pp. 54–5. Weber 1993. Weber 1993, p. 58. Flechtheim 1986, p. 104; Weber 1993, p. 35; Müller 2010, p. 161. Authors’ collective 1966, p. 180. Almost identical in Zentralkomitee der sed 1958, p. 17; furthermore, in the same volume on p. 16: ‘The founding of the kpd was a historical necessity and corresponded to the vital interests of the German workers’ movement’. However, this is qualified by the observation that at least initially the party was not in a position to assume a leading role – see Zentralkomitee der sed 1958, p. 18. Fundamentally, East German historians were facing the dilemma of having to integrate the kpd as a central point of identification into their historical account, while also having to find fault with what they regarded as erroneous ‘ultra-left’ tendencies. On the negotiations with the Shop Stewards, see Müller 1925, pp. 86–9.

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was reflected in the party name, which was given the suffix ‘Spartacus League’ in parentheses. Moreover, the programme of the Spartacists, authored by Luxemburg and published for the first time in their newspaper Die Rote Fahne on 14 December 1918, was adopted without any changes. Die Rote Fahne became the central organ of the kpd. The absence of the Shop Stewards proved fatal because they could have secured important support for the kpd among the workers, at least in Berlin. The programme adopted at the party congress contained pronouncements not only on political tactics, but also on the kpd’s conceptions of the councils. Since it was on the basis of these ideas that the party operated in the following months, it is worth undertaking a brief analysis. Entirely in line with Lenin’s notion of the vanguard, the Communists saw themselves as the ‘most purposeful section of the proletariat’ that instructs the masses about their tasks and shows them perspectives.190 The party was deemed ‘the admonisher, the urger’, indeed the ‘socialist conscience of the revolution’. This was a lofty claim – too lofty, as it turned out: in 1919 and 1920, the party was unable to gain any major influence. At the same time, there was an almost hysterical fear of Bolshevism among much of the bourgeoisie, including even in Social-Democratic circles, that bore just as little relation to the real situation. The actionist, sometimes putschist tactics of the Communists certainly contributed to this misperception, for example during the January uprising in Berlin or in the council republics in Bremen and Munich. Kolb has examined these short-lived council republics in detail, critically highlighting the radicals’ lack of strategy and practical incompetence.191 It is debatable, however, whether the main reason for their failure really was the internal weaknesses or rather their local isolation, combined with massive military and economic pressure from the government. Leaving this aside, their hasty proclamation without a sufficient base was obviously politically questionable. On the question of taking power, the programme contained mutually contradictory sections. It postulated that the party would ‘never take over governmental power except in response to the clear, unambiguous will of the great majority of the proletarian mass of all of Germany, never except by the proletariat’s conscious affirmation of the views, aims, and methods of struggle’. Moreover, the revolution requires ‘no terror’ for its aims – it is, after all, ‘not the desperate attempt of a minority to mould the world forcibly according to its ideal’. All this can only be read as a rejection of putschism and as a clear 190 191

The programme is printed in Weber 1993, pp. 293–301. All following quotations are taken from there. Kolb 1978, pp. 327–58.

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commitment to democracy and the will of the majority, albeit limited in that non-proletarian groups were to be excluded from this democracy – the right to vote in the council system was linked to being employed in an enterprise and, somewhat vaguely, with being part of the ‘adult working population’. Officers and capitulationists would have no right to vote or be elected to the soldiers’ councils.192 Directly contradicting this explicitly non-violent premise, however, was the expectation of a civil war against the old elites, provoked by their implacable opposition to socialism: ‘All this resistance must be broken step by step, with an iron fist and ruthless energy. The violence of the bourgeois counterrevolution must be confronted with the revolutionary violence of the proletariat’. How to resolve this blatant contradiction? Free political activity would be the preserve of the proletarian masses, but not granted to ‘capitalists, Junkers, petty bourgeois, officers, all opportunists and parasites of exploitation and class rule’. These robust words indicate two things: first, violence was not ruled out as a political means, although it was dubbed self-defence against reaction. Secondly, it is completely unclear whether civil servants, intellectuals and the liberal professions would be integrated, or if they were regarded as part of the petty bourgeoisie and therefore adversaries. Either way, the right to vote was evidently to be based on an individual’s social status – something that the programme defined very vaguely, of course – and therefore not universal. In the following months, the kpd also repeatedly and vociferously called for the removal of spd representatives from the existing councils, although it is not always clear whether this was to be attained by deselection or by other means.193 One is reminded of Luxemburg’s own oft-quoted dictum: ‘Freedom only for the supporters of the government, only for the members of one party – however numerous they may be – is no freedom at all. Freedom is always and exclusively freedom for the one who thinks differently. Not because of any fanatical concept of “justice” but because all that is instructive, wholesome and purifying in political freedom depends on this essential characteristic, and its effectiveness vanishes when “freedom” becomes a special privilege’.194

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In the Prussian and German armies, one could voluntarily enlist for up to another twelve years as a so-called capitulationist. Often the capitulationists served as non-commissioned officers of their units. Since at least twelve years of military service entitled you to a civil service position, these capitulationists were considered particularly loyal to the old order. Die Rote Fahne, 9 January 1919, 21 January 1919 and 3 February 1919 issues. Luxemburg 1918a, chapter 6.

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Luxemburg had written this text when still in prison and before the German revolution broke out. The occasion was, interestingly, the dissolution of the Russian parliament by the Bolsheviks. However, it appears that her critique was directed against their general anti-democratic approach, but not their antiparliamentarism. After all, the same text contains the following passage: ‘But socialist democracy is not something which begins only in the promised land after the foundations of socialist economy are created; it does not come as some sort of Christmas present for the worthy people who, in the interim, have loyally supported a handful of socialist dictators’.195 A revolution must therefore be carried out by democratic means, which for Luxemburg was, of course, compatible with a rejection of parliamentarism as a bourgeois form of democracy. This was also in line with the kpd programme, which stipulated that a socialist transformation could only be carried out with the support of the great majority of the population – or at least the great majority of the working class. But that is precisely where the problem lies: who ultimately decides on the allocation of this freedom? Who has the right to deny others the right of political participation – and on what grounds? In the kpd programme, these questions remain unclear at best. Although the uspd’s ‘pure council system’ suffered from the same fundamental problem, it explicitly offered the middle classes the opportunity to participate and was thus not confined to the working class from the outset. The Communists’ ambiguous position on political violence opened them up to further charges of being antidemocratic. These reservations about the kpd’s understanding of democracy remain even if one does not regard the representative parliamentary model as the only possible form of democracy. Such a limited concept of democracy is advocated, for example, by Bavaj in his study of left currents in the Weimar Republic.196 Organisationally, the concept envisaged a twofold division of the councils. A political arm was to replace all local representative bodies and the national parliament with workers’ and soldiers’ councils.197 A central council for the entire Reich, elected by the lower levels, would then vote for an executive council, which would be given legislative and executive power. At all levels, administrative officials would be appointed and, if necessary, removed by the corresponding councils. In the army, too, leaders were to be elected and be subject to recall at any time.

195 196 197

Luxemburg 1918a, chapter 8. Bavaj 2005. Weber 1993, pp. 298–9.

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In the economic sphere, factory councils would constitute the foundation.198 They would cooperate closely with the political councils, managing especially internal company issues: initially, factory councillors would monitor the entrepreneurs and take charge of labour relations, then become the leaders of socialised production. At the higher levels, a council system divided territorially and by industries would embody the ‘socialist administration’. Prior to socialisation, the regional councils would be responsible in particular for consolidating the strike movements. The kpd thus envisaged a threefold role for the councils: they were to function as representatives of working-class interests, as socialist fighting bodies under capitalism, and as the organisational foundation of the socialist society of the future. Despite their fundamentally anti-parliamentary stance, the leaders of the Spartacus League advocated participation in the elections to the National Assembly. As Paul Levi made clear in his presentation, they did so for purely tactical reasons.199 After a lengthy controversial debate, however, it was decided by 62 votes to 23 to boycott the election.200 This made the kpd the only major party in Germany to reject parliamentarism outright and rely exclusively on the councils. The party’s first statutes provided for extensive political and financial autonomy for local branches, including with regard to their press.201 The party’s founding congress thus heeded the wishes of the radical wing for far-reaching decentralisation. This transfer of power to the grassroots was also reflected in the structure of the envisaged council order: the regional and local councils would be largely independent, and the power of the central authorities would be further limited by the principles of imperative mandate, permanent accountability and recallability at any time. Arnold aptly refers to this as a ‘federalist separation of powers’.202 The leftists in the kpd sometimes even went so far as to regard parties as superfluous, even harmful. Albert Fister expressed this attitude thus: A party means scrambling for posts, a party means fat cats [Bonzentum], a party means corruption, and therefore every party is doomed. It would be a useless waste of energy to cling to something that is dying, especially when something new and better is already here … Enter the councils and

198 199 200 201 202

Weber 1993, pp. 300 and 313–15. Weber 1993, pp. 94–6. Weber 1993, p. 135; the debate is on pp. 96–135. Weber 1993, pp. 307–8. Arnold 1985, p. 131.

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entrust them with all the tasks that need to be carried out in the struggle for power. This is the only way victory can and will be achieved. Beyond the old system is new territory, beyond the parties lies socialism.203 These sentiments were clearly contrary to the notion of the party as vanguard of the proletariat and key factor in the revolution. Some on the kpd left, especially in Berlin, wanted to replace the party with a so-called factory organisation [Betriebsorganisation] – i.e., councils elected from the factories and then combined.204 Also pointing in this direction were the unions [Unionen], which as unity organisations were to overcome the hitherto division of the workers’ movement into trade unions [Gewerkschaften] and parties. Unlike parts of the uspd, the Communists staunchly opposed the integration of the councils into the constitution. ‘Entrenchment in the constitution means dependence of the council system on the will of the National Assembly – that is, on the will of the bourgeoisie. It would mean the kiss of death for the council system’.205 In this way, the kpd circumvented the specific problems of a hybrid system, but also ran the risk of becoming increasingly distant from real developments. By the summer of 1919 at the latest, the general political situation had stabilised and the constitution had become a fact to be reckoned with. Only gradually did the party change course. The left wanted to retain its strict anti-parliamentarianism, as shown by relevant motions to the second party congress in October 1919.206 However, at the congress a decision was taken to reject parliament ‘in principle’ but participate in elections ‘at the present time’ in order to conduct propaganda. This is exactly how the party proceeded in the Reichstag elections in June 1920 – but with a sobering result, receiving only 2.1 per cent of the vote. Ultimately, though, the struggle for power would be decided by ‘demonstrations, mass strike, insurrection’ anyway.207 This twopronged tactic was rather similar to the uspd’s action programme – the rapprochement of the two parties was already looming, then. The leadership also 203

204 205 206 207

Albert Fister, ‘Jenseits der Parteien’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 26, 1919. Fister was a delegate to the founding party congress representing the ikd and later joined the kapd – see Weber 1993, p. 348. In the Free Student Community (Freie Hochschulgemeinde) he occupied himself with the training of factory councils – see our chapter on the Central Office of Factory Councils. Freiheit, 11 September 1919 M. Die Rote Fahne, 11 April 1919. sapmo-BArch ry 1/i 1/1/2, kpd-Parteitag Heidelberg Oktober 1919, Bl. 19. Bericht über den 2. Parteitag der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Spartakusbund) vom 20. bis 24. Oktober 1919, pp. 45–6.

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pushed through its new general guiding principles after a narrow vote, explicitly committing the party to the strictest centralisation and rejection of any kind of federalism.208 In conclusion, the document stated: ‘Members of the kpd who do not share these views on the nature, organisation and action of the party must leave the party’. On this basis, the central office (Zentrale) decided to expel the leftists, which resulted in a thorough purge and the organisational collapse of entire district organisations. In the particularly important and radical district of BerlinBrandenburg, membership fell from about 10,000 to a few hundred, and other districts also had to be almost completely rebuilt.209 These leftists largely joined the kapd or the unions [Unionen]. The central office around Paul Levi had thus completely imposed its authority on the party. Levi had already warned with respect to the big strikes in the spring that the actions of the workers were correct in principle, but lacking central coordination. Moreover, he remarked that one should not scare off the less radical sections of the proletariat by foregrounding too far-reaching aims.210 It is in this latter sense that the approach to the Factory Councils Act is to be understood. In December 1919, the kpd central office sent out a circular with detailed instructions for political work. It stated that the ‘immediate aim is, of course, to overturn the bill’.211 In parallel, revolutionary factory councils were to be set up. They would campaign for control over production in the short term, but also address other ‘needs of the moment’. The party leadership was hoping to win over ‘proletarian layers hitherto distant from us’, but also sections of the uspd and spd in this way.212 At any rate, it was clear to the party that on their own, the Communists were too weak for large-scale struggles. The actions against the Factory Councils Act were unsuccessful, and in early 1920 the legislation was passed by the National Assembly. Subsequently, the party shifted to flexible tactics. The idea was to be in a position to agitate for a radicalisation of the factory councils in individual

208 209

210

211 212

Bericht über den 2. Parteitag der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Spartakusbund) vom 20. bis 24. Oktober 1919, p. 62. Die Rote Fahne, 5 January 1920; Flechtheim 1986, pp. 115–16 and Müller 2010, p. 185. Bock 1993, p. 227 states that of the 8,000 Berlin Communists only 500 remained loyal to the Zentrale; Winkler 1985, p. 304, on the other hand, names 12,000 members in Berlin as a whole, of whom 800 remained with the kpd. For the speech, see Rede Levis vor Arbeiterräten der kpd am 17.5.1919 in sapmo BArch SgY 10/v 236/1/5; see also Notizen über eine Rede Paul Levis am 17. Mai 1919 in einer Sitzung kommunistischer Arbeiterräte, Bl. 2–3. Documents 1966, p. 161. Documents 1966, p. 162.

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enterprises depending on the situation: ‘outside the law and against the law where our forces are sufficient and as long as they are sufficient – within the law but against it where our forces are insufficient’.213 The party was aiming to increase the powers of the statutory factory councils and consolidate and politicise them locally. If necessary, these activities could also be carried out illegally. In this way, the councils were to be used as a ‘stepping stone’ for the kpd.214 Consequently, the party also took part in the corresponding elections.215 This tactic contained a serious problem. The kpd wanted to maintain a firm line of opposition and not drift into social-reformist waters under any circumstances – yet on the other hand, it was obvious that unrealistic demands would only serve to isolate it. The party found it hard to resolve this dilemma: selective cooperation with the uspd, occasionally even with the spd, alternated with furious attacks on the ‘opportunist’ Social Democrats of both tendencies. This became particularly evident during the big general strike. On 26–27 April 1920, a secret national conference of the kpd was held in Berlin. Quite contrary to its public announcement after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch that it would tolerate an spd-uspd workers’ government as loyal opposition, the party now showed determination to ‘erect a German council republic’ in the very near future. The only detailed transcript that exists of the conference was evidently prepared or obtained by an informant of the Prussian State Commissioner for Public Order.216 Apart from this, only a short report by the Prussian government was given to the news agencies wtb and Politisch-Parlamentarische Nachrichten for publication.217 As to research literature, there is only a brief reference to this conference in the archive edition of the Reich Chancellery.218 In this edition, the editor Martin Vogt states ‘probably did not take place at all’. However, he gives no reason and there is no evidence for his assumption, so we must assume that the minutes are authentic – all the more so as some individual points were in line with the existing concepts of the kpd. For how long the decisions taken there remained valid is a different

213 214 215

216 217 218

Rundschreiben der Zentrale Ende Januar 1920, reproduced in Documents 1966, pp. 175–82. The quote is on p. 175. Documents 1966, pp. 177–8. Die Rote Fahne, 27 February 1920 and 7 March 1920. The left of the party, on the other hand, had advocated a boycott of the elections to the factory councils as per Factory Councils Act from early on – see Freiheit, 11 September 1919 M. BArch R 43 i, 2667, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Kommunistische Parteien und Bestrebungen vol. 3, Bl. 28–42. This can also be found in the corresponding archive: BArch R 43 i, 2667, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Kommunistische Parteien und Bestrebungen vol. 3, Bl. 24. Müller Files, p. 254.

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question, however. Their provisional character was repeatedly highlighted in the minutes – and in fact, no attempt was made to implement them. There are two reasons why the strategy presented by Levi and then unanimously adopted after some discussion is of interest. First, it provides information on the concrete tactical steps envisaged. More importantly, it developed a model for this council republic, its organisational structure and its objectives. The process was to be coordinated by an already constituted Council of Five consisting of leading members of the party.219 These were the kpd Zentrale members Jacob Walcher, Ernst Meyer and Paul Frölich and the district leader of Hesse-Unterfranken and substitute kpd central office member Friedrich Schnellbacher. The exact identity of the fifth member, one ‘Hermann’ from Radeberg, is unclear. When the time was right, the council was to launch a general strike in the main industrial regions, for ‘one last push, but the most forceful of all, is needed to make this rotten system collapse’. The uprising would be carried out ‘with arms in hand’ and in close consultation with the Bolsheviks. To this end, workers’ militias would be set up in the factories. Any cooperation with the spd was rejected completely, but the uspd was also viewed with scepticism and considered unreliable. If possible, Frölich stressed, only Communists should be represented in the councils. In detail, the envisioned council system would provide for territorially structured councils at local, provincial and national level. A complicated system of confirmation and recall rights was to ensure coherence as well as voter control. Each council would appoint an executive body from among its members to which day-to-day business would be delegated, including the monitoring of the state authorities. Anyone who was working, including foreigners employed in Germany, would be entitled to vote. This political system of councils was to be complemented by newly created factory councils, which for the time being would be responsible for the management of the enterprises. The most important objectives of the council republic were the ‘suppression of the bourgeois classes’ through the arrest of political opponents, the comprehensive socialisation of all enterprises, mines and land, and the introduction of a universal obligation to work. Compared with the first council model of the founding party congress, one aspect stands out particularly strongly: the role of the party was now far more prominent. For one, the representatives of other political tendencies were to be deliberately excluded or marginalised – membership of the councils, then,

219

BArch R 43 i, 2667, Akten der Reichskanzlei, Kommunistische Parteien und Bestrebungen vol. 3, Bl. 28–42. The following quotations are taken from there.

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would be closely linked to party membership. Secondly, political actions to carry out the revolution would be launched by the party leadership, embodied by the Council of Five. In this way, though, the councils would lose their most essential feature: the role of directly representing the will of the workers. Despite the party’s emphatic support for the council republic, then, its interactions with the councils were determined by party-tactical considerations. Paul Frölich, for example, remarked elsewhere: ‘Our party fractions in the workers’ councils must never think of themselves as independent bodies, but must carry out the orders of the party in the councils’.220 Here, too, the kpd was given greater weight than the councils, which were first and foremost means to the end of empowering the party.221 This tendency towards tight centralisation was also evident within the party itself, reinforced by the exclusion of the federalistoriented left that had been mainly instigated by the leadership. In the long run, the two fundamentally different approaches towards the party and the councils, represented by Frölich on the one hand and Fister on the other, could not be reconciles. By the same token, it is certainly no coincidence that the proponents of the pure council system rapidly lost influence after the unification of the uspd left with the kpd, and in 1921–2 were either expelled, left the party voluntarily or adapted to the new circumstances. Among those excluded were Richard Müller and Curt Geyer, while Ernst Däumig left the party on his own accord. Some other prominent former uspd leftists, such as Walter Stoecker and Wilhelm Koenen, supported the new course. Ironically, Paul Levi, who oversaw the expulsion of many members, was eventually also forced to leave the kpd. The great disappointment over the failures of the council movement led to a shift among many radicals. They now expected the revolution to be delivered by a tightly hierarchical party of the Bolshevik type rather than spontaneous mass actions organised on grassroots-democratic principles. Ernst Thälmann later wrote of this process: ‘The role of the party as the sole vanguard of the proletarian masses in organising the revolution – that was what the best and most revolutionary elements of the German working class took away from the defeat’.222 Undoubtedly, this was an important precondition for the Stalinisation of the kpd, which cannot be solely attributed to Comintern interventions or the role model provided by the Russian Bolsheviks – the failure of the German council movement was equally to blame. Thälmann himself had been 220 221 222

Paul Frölich, ‘Die Politik des Hamburger Arbeiterrats’, in Die Internationale, 1 September 1919. Arnold 1985, p. 120. On the primacy of the party see also Die Rote Fahne, 5 March 1920. Thälmann, p. 22.

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active in Hamburg’s council movement and, at the time a representative of the uspd left, one of its strongest advocates of unification with the kpd – in 1925, he became chair of that party. Other leading kpd functionaries had also gained comparable experience in the movement. Werner Scholem, for instance, played a key role as organisational leader of the kpd in the party’s ‘Bolshevisation’ process that began in 1924.223 In this period, he wrote an article for Die Rote Fahne explicitly justifying this authoritarian transformation with the course of the revolution: ‘The painful defeat of 1919, 1920 and 1921, the many frustrated hopes, the ever-increasing wave of reaction, the social and political oppression of the German proletariat raise more than ever the question of the character of a revolutionary party in Germany’.224 Like Thälmann, Scholem had also been directly involved in the council movement during the revolutionary period: a member of the Hanover workers’ council, he had campaigned for the council system in the ranks of the uspd.225 The Communists continued to propagate the council republic as their ultimate goal even later on – but their means of attaining this goal had little in common with the practice of the council movement. The increasing centralisation of decision-making processes within the party, already initiated by the party leadership around Paul Levi in the second half of 1919, was a response to the looming defeat of the council movement. It was intended to remedy one of its essential weaknesses, namely the lack of cross-regional coordination. True enough, the spring strike wave had shown that the councils could mobilise substantial parts of the workforce – but not simultaneously, and only to a limited extent under a unified set of objectives. This allowed their adversaries in government to let the activities fizzle out while deploying a combination of false promises and repression. The centrally organised party was a response to the experiences of the past months. But at the same time, the kpd, despite upholding the final goal of a council republic, violated the essential basic principles of the council system. Increasingly, the councils were assigned an instrumental function as platforms for the agitation of the party and extended arm of its leadership. Originally, the 223

224 225

On Scholem generally, see the recent biography by Hoffrogge 2017. On his involvement with the councils, see pp. 167–72. On his time in the party leadership, see especially pp. 326–59. I would like to thank Ralf Hoffrogge for these pointers. Werner Scholem, ‘Die historische Lehre des 7. November’, in Die Rote Fahne, 7 November 1924. At the Berlin party congress of the uspd in 1919, for example, Scholem tabled a motion that favoured a particularly strongly grassroots-orientated council system – see Minutes usdp Congresses, Parteitag uspd Berlin, p. 31.

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special feature of the councils had been that they were not only an end, but also a means of political struggle. This role was undermined as soon as they were no longer seen as direct representative bodies of the working class and, consequently, not expected to launch independent actions – especially since the party initially wanted to gain control through its fractions in the existing councils, and in the long run through the exclusion of other delegates. Of course, the frequently illegal status of the kpd must also be taken into account. It greatly reinforced the tendency towards centralisation – under such unfavourable conditions, transparency and open debate were almost impossible. Clearly, the situation of the party as a whole and its approach to the council question were very closely linked: initially, it wanted to grant the planned local councils a high degree of autonomy, as it did lower party branches. With the onset of party centralisation from autumn 1919 onwards, the councils were seen primarily as tools to lead and control the masses. Communists who did not conform to this strict line had to leave the party.

uspd World War i had destroyed the long-standing organisational unity of the German workers’ movement: the supporters of the war and the policy of ‘civil peace’ (Burgfrieden) stood on one side of the divide, the critics of this line on the other. The critics first formed the Social Democratic Working Group (Sozialdemokratische Arbeitsgemeinschaft, sag) and then, in April 1917, the Independent Social Democratic Party of Germany (uspd) in Gotha.226 Since opposition to the war and the associated policy of ‘civil peace’ was the unifying element, the new party comprised very diverse political trends. They included revisionists such as Eduard Bernstein, representatives of the old party centre around Karl Kautsky and Hugo Haase, but also radicals like Rosa Luxemburg, Karl Liebknecht and the Revolutionary Shop Stewards from the Berlin metal industry. The heterogeneity of the party with regard to programmatic objectives and political practice was also its fundamental problem, and

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There has been a whole range of publications dealing with the uspd. The first was written by an editor of the party: Prager 1921. In the 1970s, several comprehensive works appeared almost simultaneously: Wheeler 1975; Morgan 1974; Krause 1976. There is also a volume based on gdr research, Engelmann and Naumann 1993. On the party’s conception of the councils, see Arnold 1985. On Hilferding, Müller and Däumig, three of the party’s most important council theorists, see Smaldone 2015, Hoffrogge 2014 and Weipert 2013, pp. 145– 6 respectively.

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it affected its attitude towards the council movement. Historians tend to speak somewhat simplistically of a moderate right wing and a radical left wing. As we will see in this section, though, it is precisely in relation to the council question that two main groupings can be identified. The split between the two, which took place at the party congress in Halle in October 1920, was not primarily based on differences on the council question, however, but resulted from different positions on the Third International. The Comintern confronted parties wishing to join with 21 conditions: among other requirements, strict innerparty centralisation and the exclusion of politically dissenting members were the prerequisites.227 Point nine explicitly stipulated that party representatives operating in the workers’ and factory councils be completely subordinated to the party leadership. The dividing lines on both questions were quite similar within the party. While the left wing soon joined the Moscow International and shortly afterwards united with the kpd, the right wing initially remained independent before rejoining the spd in 1922. Formally, the uspd continued to exist as an insignificant splinter party until 1931. The uspd evolved into a rallying point for the left-wing opposition especially after leaving the Council of People’s Deputies in late 1918. This was accompanied by rapid growth and increasing radicalisation. Membership grew by leaps and bounds in 1919. Before the end of the war the party had about 100,000 members, in March 1919 already a good 300,000, and in November of the same year it had grown to 750,000.228 In October of the following year, i.e. just before the split, the party reached its apex with over 890,000 members.229 There are no membership figures broken down by region for the period relevant to us – however, the election results for 1919 and 1920 clearly show that the party’s strongholds were in Berlin, in central Germany and in the Ruhr region.230 In total, the uspd won 2.3 million votes in the general elections in January 1919 and 4.9 million in June 1920. This meant an increase of over 100 per cent, while at the same time the spd suffered dramatic losses. The Berlin central organ Freiheit (published until the end of March 1919 under the title Die Freiheit), was edited by Rudolf Hilferding and the party’s most important periodical. Its circulation grew from 105,000 copies in January

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228 229 230

The conditions were decided at the Second Congress of the Comintern on 6 August 1920. V.I. Lenin: Terms of Admission into Communist International can be accessed online at https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1920/jul/x01.htm. Minutes usdp Congresses, Parteitag uspd Berlin, p. 50 and Parteitag uspd Leipzig, p. 80. Krause 1975, p. 303. Krause 1975, pp. 172–86.

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1919 to 200,000 in 1920.231 In addition, the party had more than 50 local newspapers, which often printed articles from the Freiheit. The theoretical organ of the party was Der Sozialist, edited by Rudolf Breitscheid and also associated with the moderate wing. Another important publication was the weekly Der Arbeiter-Rat, founded by leading party theoreticians in Berlin. Formally, though, it did not belong to the party’s own publications and also featured authors from other political groups. At the end of the war, the unity of the workers’ movement was not restored. Instead, the course of the revolution further exacerbated the existing differences, which was also reflected in the two Social-Democratic organisations’ respective positions towards the council movement and inside it. The desire for unity nonetheless remained a factor in both parties. A ‘Central Office for the Unification of Social Democracy’ was set up especially towards this end.232 These and other such efforts were initially unsuccessful, however. It was only after the end of the revolution and after the party split in late 1920 that the right wing reunited with the spd – namely in 1922, when the fate of the revolution and the council movement had already been decided. In this section, we will examine what council conceptions were developed within the uspd and how the party positioned itself in relation to the council policy of the parliamentary majority and government party, the spd. Because the original nucleus of the party was constituted by those members of the spd parliamentary group who had opposed the approval of war credits in the Reichstag, they had a great influence over the political line in the early days of the revolution, including with regard to the councils and the future constitution. With Haase and Dittmann, they provided two of the three Independent members of government and, for the time being, succeeded in pushing through a course of combining councils with the parliamentary order. In the first weeks, this meant forming a constituent assembly in the medium term, but consolidating the revolutionary shifts in power through rapid reforms even earlier than that. This feat was to be achieved through the socialisation of key enterprises and reforms in the army, among other measures. Simultaneously, a commitment to the councils was made: ‘Political power lies in all workers’ and soldiers’ councils by virtue of revolutionary justice’.233 The soldiers’ councils in

231

232 233

See the data collection of the Institute for Comparative Media and Communication Research of the Austrian Academy of Sciences, online at http://www.oeaw.ac.at/cgi‑bin/​ cmc/bz/auf/0580, accessed on 30 April 2011. See the detailed account in Knopp 1976. Appeal of the party leadership, quoted by Prager 1921, pp. 184. See also the account by Ströbel 1922, pp. 57–8.

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particular should have formed a strong counterweight against the conservative officer corps. Then, under pressure from the spd and in accordance with the decision of the first Congress of Workers’ Councils, the uspd representatives in the Council of People’s Deputies began to argue that the constituent assembly should be swiftly convened. Party chair Haase categorically declared in a soldiers’ meeting as early as late November 1918: ‘It is unavoidable and indispensable to convene the National Assembly. On this question … we need not indulge in theoretical discussions’.234 With such statements, however, he called any new approaches into question from the outset, even if the party itself tried to bridge the gap: ‘The National Assembly and the council system need not be mutually exclusive. It is possible to combine the two’.235 The councils, then, were to be preserved and incorporated into the future constitution. Heinrich Ströbel from Berlin wanted them to be ‘recognised and contained in the constitution as organs of working-class power. They are the constitutional counterweight against the numerous organs of the bourgeois order’.236 The uspd’s election appeal for the National Assembly also followed this line: ‘The system of workers’ councils … should be legally specified and developed’.237 But what form would this take concretely? How to divide competences between parliament, elected by means of universal suffrage, and the highest council body that was dubbed Council of Labour by Breitscheid and Central Council by Hilferding? The concept presented by Hilferding and Breitscheid in February 1919 granted councils the right to review and, if necessary, reject laws passed by the National Assembly. The same would apply to government decrees. In cases of dispute, a final decision would be taken by means of a referendum. This supreme council would also have the possibility to introduce its own bills – if these were rejected by parliament, a plebiscite would be held.238 Thus, the powers of the political councils would clearly exceed the competences that Sinzheimer envisioned for them in Article 165 of the constitution, all the more as equal representation had not been a feature there.

234 235 236 237 238

sapmo-BArch SgY 10/v 236/1/2, Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte in Deutschland, Bl. 8. Freiheit, 3 January 1919 M. Heinrich Ströbel, ‘Die künftige Reichsverfassung’, in Freiheit, 24 January 1919 E. Freiheit, 5 January 1919. Freiheit, 5 January 1919. Rudolf Hilferding, ‘Ausbau des Rätesystems!’, in Freiheit, 5 January 1919 M and ‘Die Einigung des Proletariats’, in Freiheit, 9 February 1919; Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Die Zukunft der Arbeiterräte’, in Der Sozialist, 7 February 1919 and ‘Demokratie und Arbeiterräte’, in Freiheit, 10 February 1919 M.

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These ideas were largely implemented in the provisional constitution of the Free State of Braunschweig of 27 February 1919.239 Party representatives explicitly referred to Braunschweig as a blueprint on several occasions.240 Since a coalition of spd and uspd governed that city, it is reasonable to assume that the constitution would have contained similar provisions if cooperation between the two parties had also been continued in Berlin. The aim of such a mixed system was to give the workers a special say in legislation through the councils. In this way, its advocates thought, the ‘capitalist falsification of democracy’ could be offset without renouncing overall democratic legitimacy.241 Hilferding proclaimed: ‘The slogan must therefore not be “council system or democracy”, but “council system and democracy” ’. Karl Kautsky, for many years the key intellectual of the old spd and now a member of the uspd, also tried to link the two elements.242 However, he clearly laid the emphasis on the parliamentary republic – for him, councils were merely a supplementary accessory in the factories. He merely wanted them to assume management in socialised enterprises, working alongside representatives of the state and consumers. Because of their internal contradiction, these concepts of a mixed system are not truly convincing. While on the one hand they recognised the principles of democratic decision-making, they simultaneously questioned them on account of the economic power imbalance: ‘In the class state, democracy is in fact a tool of the propertied classes and a smokescreen behind which the bourgeoisie can go about its political business’.243 Elsewhere Breitscheid went a step further by questioning the virtue of parliament in principle: We have warned against the frivolous glorification of ballot-box democracy and shown that it cannot bring us truly equal rights. What stands in its way is capitalism, which falsifies elections directly and indirectly, and whose pernicious influence cannot be broken by the means of formal democracy [Papierdemokratie] … While it [the bourgeoisie – Author] wants the form, the proletariat struggles for the content – that is, a right of 239 240

241 242 243

Haase quoted the relevant provisions at the party congress in Berlin, see Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin p. 87. See Haase’s speech of 3 March 1919 in Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin p. 87. Alexander Stein argued along very similar lines: ‘Die Schicksalstunde der usp’, in Der Sozialist, 1 March 1919. Rudolf Hilferding, ‘Ausbau des Rätesystems!’, in Freiheit, 5 February 1919 M. Karl Kautsky 1919. This programme was published on 12 January 1919. The original German version can be found in sapmo-BArch ry 20/ii 145/51, spd-Parteivorstand, Bl. 30. Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Die Politik der Unabhängigen’, in Der Sozialist, 7 February 1919.

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self-determination that is no more restricted by economic than by political barriers. We know that our decisive battles will not be fought in the National Assembly and the Reichstag.244 In Breitscheid’s conception, the political councils primarily served as a corrective in terms of their competences – in principle, the primacy of legislation would remain in the hands of parliament. He emphasised their complementary character: ‘Recognising democracy, but nonetheless breaking the shackles of a one-sided parliamentarism, we are looking for a way in which the workers themselves can save the socialist idea of this revolution from becoming corrupted and watered down’.245 Reservations about the councils concerned their limited democratic legitimacy since they were not elected by universal suffrage. Hence the distinction between ‘democracy’ on the one hand and the ‘council system’ on the other. As ‘representatives of the working population’,246 the council delegates were not supposed to decide for the people as a whole, but to complement the work of a universally elected parliament. In cases of dispute, however, the entire electorate would always decide by plebiscite. The position of government in this structure remained unclear, although we can assume that it was to be elected by parliament and not by the councils. The uspd always rejected the idea of a government directly elected by the people or even that of a president, including later on in the negotiations of the National Assembly’s constitutional committee. There is, however, no mention anywhere of appointment by the councils, and the Braunschweig model constitution allocated this responsibility to parliament. The ostensible silver bullet that this combination of councils and parliamentary system represented actually raised more questions than it promised to solve. Sooner or later, the coexistence of divergent aspects was bound to evolve into an antagonism. Or else, one side would always follow the decisions of the other and thus contradict the original intention of the model. Assuming that both constitutional bodies insisted on their claim to power, though, the decision-making process would initially be delayed, resulting in a temporary stalemate. Breitscheid had seen this danger, but had consciously accepted it as a necessary flaw.247

244 245 246 247

Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Die Demokratie in der Praxis’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 24, 1919. Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Demokratie und Arbeiterräte’, in Freiheit, 10 February 1919 M. Thus Haase’s characterisation, quoted in Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin p. 80. Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Die Zukunft der Arbeiterräte’, in Der Sozialist, 7 February 1919.

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In the long run, whichever side had a more efficient bureaucratic apparatus and could draw on other forms of support from the outside would prevail. As things stood, this could only be the government and parliament – for it was they who controlled the executive, worked closely with civil servants and the military, and crucially had the financial resources of the Reich at their disposal. Generally speaking, it was clear that the far-from-disempowered old elites would opt for parliament and government. The course of the revolution showed that these forces had quickly recovered from their initial shock of November 1918. Given their experiences in the Council of People’s Deputies, but also in view of the results of the elections to the National Assembly, the Independents should have been aware of this. In the Council of People’s Deputies, the spd around Ebert, supported by the former imperial authorities, succeeded in marginalising the uspd completely, In the National Assembly, the bourgeois parties received a majority of the votes only two months after the revolution.248 The fact that the old officers and the new Freikorps were enemies of the revolution was also common knowledge. It was precisely for this reason that at the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils demands for a full democratisation of the army and for the permanent entrenchment of soldiers’ councils were raised. The fact that Berlin’s ambitious Executive Council lost influence within a very short time in spite of its formal monitoring rights over government should also have been considered.249 Its successor, the Central Council deployed by the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils, was practically powerless from the beginning. In light of all this, the proposals for a mixed system outlined above appear to be quite out of touch with reality, even if we leave aside the internal contradictions in their conceptions of democracy. Beside political councils, factory councils were to be set up too. Their tasks would consist in supporting social measures in the workplaces, monitoring management and working towards socialisation in the long term. The notion that factory councils could take leadership in their workplaces entirely into their hands was rejected as a syndicalist error, however.250 Rather, they were first to be combined by industry sector and then form a ‘main committee’ covering the whole economy at a third level.251 In this way socialised enterprises

248 249 250

251

On the work of the Council of People’s Deputies, see Matthias 1970. See Müller 1925, p. 111. Rudolf Hilferding, ‘Ausbau des Rätesystems!’, in Freiheit, 5 January 1919 M. The very same competences are also found in an appeal by the party leadership and the parliamentary group of the National Assembly – see Freiheit, 11 February 1919 M. Hugo Petersen, ‘Grundsätzliches zur Sozialisierung’, in Der Sozialist, 1 March 1919.

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would be coordinated and led in a second stage. Hermann Jäckel specified the monitoring rights further: that the workers would be granted access to information about the development and the financial situation of the company through the inspection of books, and that they would monitor compliance with occupational health and safety.252 Clearly, Jäckel’s idea was largely consistent with the provisions later stipulated by the Factory Councils Act, especially as he wanted the trade unions to cooperate closely with the factory councils. The two aspects of monitoring and socialisation are to be understood as a temporally staged sequence. Initially, the workers would acquire competences through insight into company processes, which would later be used in the context of transition to a socialist economy. Arnold claims that the right wing of the party became irrelevant from the early summer of 1919.253 This is not true at all: after the breakaway of the left, almost half of the members were still in the party. Then numerous representatives, including prominent ones, returned to the spd. For this reason, the right wing could still rely on a broad base later on. It is true, however, that the party as a whole moved distinctly to the left. A more radical left wing existed in the uspd alongside the moderate right wing from the beginning. Its importance within the party grew steadily in the course of the revolution. It laid a particular stress on the question of councils, and its leading representatives around the Berliners Ernst Däumig and Richard Müller developed the concept of the ‘pure council system’. The key difference between their ideas and those of the party right was that they had no intention of creating a mixed system of parliament and councils. In the long term, all competences were to be transferred exclusively to the councils – i.e. a ‘pure council system’ would emerge, involving also the abolition of the separation of powers between legislature and executive. Däumig submitted a resolution to this effect to the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils: ‘The assembled delegates declare that the council system will be retained as the foundation of the socialist republican constitution under all circumstances, and that this is to be done in such a way that the councils are entitled to supreme legislative and executive power’.254 Only 98 delegates voted in favour of the motion, 344 voted against. The spd motion was passed instead. This defeat and the generally unfavourable

252 253 254

Hermann Jäckel, ‘Auf dem Wege zur konstitutionell-demokratischen Fabrik’, in Der Sozialist, 11 January 1919. Arnold 1985, p. 236. Allgemeiner Kongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte Deutschlands vom 16. bis 21. Dezember 1918 im Abgeordnetenhause zu Berlin 1919, p. 184.

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development of the revolution briefly led to tactical concessions: ‘First of all, it will be necessary to give validity to the council system under the existing power relations’.255 Turning against the uncompromising policy of the kpd, the chair of the Executive Council, Müller, explained how a sensibly graduated approach would ensure that ‘one reckons with the prevailing realities’.256 In concrete terms, according to Däumig, this could mean incorporating the councils as a second chamber into the constitution – in other words, exactly what the representatives of the party’s right wing were also demanding. For him, however, this was only a question of time, not of principle – the following statement remained fundamentally valid: ‘We do not want bourgeois democracy, but a proletarian democracy that necessarily leads to the council order. Formal democracy … can never bring us socialism’.257 Even before the election of the National Assembly, Däumig had the foresight to know that it would not yield a socialist majority, let alone a revolutionary one. Determined extra-parliamentary action would therefore become all the more important.258 In fact, the group expected a lengthy development process before their council model were fully implemented. The most important means to attain it would be political strikes, during which the councils would gain power and gradually develop into a system encompassing all areas of society.259 The group never tired of stressing how little the revolution had achieved so far. Däumig stated in a speech to Berlin’s workers’ councillors, for instance: We have to be clear that what has happened in the first week is only the very first step of the revolution, and that it is a long way from being a social revolution … We must counterpose the system of councils to this purely bourgeois-democratic concept … How do things stand now, after some seven weeks of revolution? None of us can be satisfied with what has been achieved thus far.260 They only elaborated their conception in the course of 1919, however – i.e. after the councils that came into being in November 1918 had been dissolved or vastly disempowered. There was, in any case, a consensus in the party that the coun-

255 256 257 258 259 260

Ernst Däumig, ‘Der Kampf um das Rätesystem’, in Freiheit, 19 February 1919 M. Richard Müller, ‘Wer rettet das deutsche Volk?’, in: Freiheit, 24 February 1919 M. Richard Müller, ‘Vor dem zweiten Rätekongreß’, in Freiheit, 8 April 1919 M. Däumig 1918, p. 5. Ernst Däumig, ‘Irrungen und Wirrungen’, Der Arbeiter-Rat 20, 1919. Däumig 1918, pp. 1–2.

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cils that had emerged at the beginning of the revolution did not live up to the role envisaged for them in the future. This applied unanimously to both the left and right wings of the uspd.261 The fundamental principles of the pure council system were later concisely outlined by Däumig.262 In his mind, the purpose of the council system was to abolish capitalism and the old state and lay the foundation for a socialist economy and political self-administration. Thorough preparation through revolutionary council organisation was necessary to equip the working class for these tasks. The consolidation of all ‘manual and mental workers who are forced to sell their labour power to capital’ into an electorate voting directly in the factories was the constitutive element of this system. Explicitly, representatives of capital interests were to be excluded so as not to endanger ‘anti-capitalist objectives’. Permanent accountability and recallability of the elected would ensure that bureaucratic tendencies and corruption did not form in the first place. Above all, Däumig saw the council idea as an ‘effective remedy against the gregarious habits [Herdentiergewohneiten] of large strata of the proletariat’. Closely linked to this was Däumig’s opposition to the appropriation of the councils by parties and their functionaries. In the long run, he argued, the council system would make parties and trade unions superfluous anyhow.263 Although he stressed that the party and the trade unions were indispensable at least in the first phase of the revolution, he viewed the councils as class organs that transcended party boundaries. In a speech to the Berlin councils, he stated: ‘We have always taken the view that the council movement is not a party matter’.264 Richard Müller remarked on a different occasion, but in the same spirit: ‘The unification of the proletariat in a revolutionary fighting organisation that cuts across party boundaries must be our foremost task’.265 He also stated that the trade unions would be ‘absorbed by the council system’.266 Initially, though, he thought that they should be transformed into revolutionary industrial federations for the time being. Other representatives of the party left, such as Wilhelm Koenen from Halle, Paul Wegmann from Berlin and Toni Sender from Frankfurt also called for cooperation and, in the long term, for a fusion of the various organisations of the workers’ movement.267 261 262 263 264 265 266 267

See Däumig’s statement in Minutes uspd Congresses, Leipzig p. 410. The following quotations are taken from Däumig 1920, pp. 85–97. Outlining his ideas similarly for the first time: Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 97–9. Minutes uspd Congresses, Leipzig pp. 242–3. Freiheit, 6 January 1920 M. Freiheit, 27 July 1919. See Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin p. 45. Wilhelm Koenen, ‘Parteiorganisation und Rätebewegung’, in Freiheit, 1 December 1919 El;

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Statements on the role of violence remained rather vague. Pure minority rule through violent oppression was futile, Däumig said. At the same time, he stated that the dictatorship of the proletariat ‘need not focus on military means of violence and terrorist acts’.268 For these Independents, the dictatorship of the proletariat did not mean single-party rule along the lines of the Russian Bolsheviks, nor did it imply the abandonment of democratic principles. Rather, they understood it as the rule of workers as a class through the councils, as opposed to the rule of the bourgeoisie and capital in the parliamentary republic. This was a dictatorship primarily insofar as the owners of the means of production were to be excluded from elections during the revolutionary transitional phase. Däumig explicitly stated that ‘the term “council system” is synonymous with the term “dictatorship of the proletariat” … the council system [represents] for me in its final state … the highest stage of democracy’.269 Whether violence was seen as a legitimate means of revolution remains uncertain, however. Däumig and Müller at least did not rule it out explicitly or unambiguously. Seizing power by means of violent acts committed by a small vanguard was out of the question, on the other hand. Däumig clearly distanced himself from the tactics of the kpd interpreted in this way.270 On another occasion, he declared: ‘I for my part do not advocate putschist tactics. I am of the opinion that workers’ blood is a very precious substance that must be used very sparingly after this world war’.271 The representatives of the party right continually warned that Bolshevik Russia could not serve as a model, especially since tactics should ‘depend on the respective political and economic conditions’ – and in Germany, these conditions were quite different.272 Däumig countered that the left was indeed considering these differences, and that it was not at all a matter of ‘aping the Russian example’.273 Nonetheless, he argued, the councils were the appropriate form of struggle in developed industrial societies in general, as demonstrated in no small measure by the British shop steward system. Elsewhere, too, Däumig

268 269 270 271 272 273

Paul Wegmann, ‘Räte, Partei und Gewerkschaften’, in Freiheit, 24 April 1920 E; Sender [no year], p. 24. Däumig 1920. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 95–6. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin p. 106. Däumig [no year], p. 6. Prager 1921, p. 196. Likewise Haase in Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 85–6. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 96–7. On the British shop steward movement, see the voluminous study by Pribicevic 1959. The author goes into detail on the concepts of workplace democracy and workers’ control developed there, which were propagated primarily in the mining industry.

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unequivocally distanced himself from the Bolsheviks and their German followers: ‘Precisely because we can learn a great deal from Russia on how not to do it, we have no intention of slavishly following the Russian blueprint in building our council system. We reject one-party rule. That is the great dividing line between us and the Communists’.274 The organisational structure of the future council system was defined in concrete terms mainly by Richard Müller. The foundation was a complex system of two parallel pillars, the economic and the political councils.275 The former were divided into factory councils, on the second level into sector-specific and general economic councils, and on the third, nationwide level into sectoral representations and an all-encompassing Reich Economic Council.276 While the lower councils were to be the representative bodies of workers in their enterprise, the upper councils would be in charge of coordination and overall planning and appoint the factory management. This was to ensure the participation of the workforce while at the same time counteracting potential syndicalist workplace egoism. The political, geographically elected councils would also have a three-tier structure: communal councils, regional councils, and a National Congress of Workers’ Councils as the highest authority. This congress would then appoint a managing Central Council. Direct election was only envisaged for the lowest councils; the others were to be elected by the respective bodies below them. The principles of imperative mandate and recallability at any time would apply for all of them, however. Of course, this system presupposed that the old state and the capitalist property order was already history. The creators were careful to stress the fact that this was only preliminarily model: ‘It is quite impossible to draw up a ready-made programme for the council system. First, we must wait and see what course the revolutionary development will take’.277 In the same vein, Müller wrote that the council system ‘must not become rigid, fixed, but must be a constantly moving, self-transforming [ fließendes] structure that eliminates everything that is unfit for purpose’.278 This is why Arnold misses the point when objecting, ‘From a constitutional point of view, almost all proposed council models are completely unusable: the drafts are far

274 275

276 277 278

Freiheit, 8 September 1919 M. See in detail Müller 1921 and 1919; also, in rudimentary form in ‘Das Rätesystem im künftigen Wirtschaftsleben’ in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919. Geyer also propagates this kind of system: Geyer, Kurt 1919, especially pp. 14–19 and 31–2. A corresponding diagram was printed in Der Arbeiter-Rat 27, 1919. Thus Däumig according to Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 100. Richard Müller, ‘Das Rätesystem im künftigen Wirtschaftsleben’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 4, 1919.

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too imprecise in every respect, open to interpretation and indeed in need of interpretation’.279 There was in fact no intention at all to cast these proposals in legally manageable forms. Rather, they were to provide orientation in a revolutionary period, thus winning the working class for a revolutionary transformation based on the councils. It is true, however, that the delimitation of competences between the political and economic branches was unclear. One has to agree with historians at least on this point: the ‘pure council system’ neither provided a clear dividing line between the two spheres nor even a justification for the necessity of this dual structure. There was another drawback: in the concrete situation after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch in 1920, the model could not be flexibly adapted to the needs of the moment, which massively hindered its political effectiveness.280 Other aspects of the draft are even more problematic. For example, the assumption that the ‘brain workers’ – technicians, intellectuals and whitecollar workers – could be won over to such a system is questionable. There were certainly concrete indications of this, such as the fact that these groups participated in Berlin’s General Assembly, e.g., in the Democratic faction.281 The vast majority of them, however, were fairly sceptical about left-wing ‘experiments’ and the majority leaned towards the bourgeois camp. The election to the National Assembly demonstrated this more than clearly.282 Moreover, if implemented, these concepts would have left large groups unrepresented, namely housewives and the unemployed. Women in particular were only sparsely represented in the councils, which probably reflected the patriarchal tradition of the workers’ movement. This problem was not specific to the ‘pure council system’, however, but was true of the council movement as a whole. The future coordination of economic activities – i.e. the organisation of the division of labour and overall economic planning – hardly played any role in Müller and Däumig’s expositions. One has to agree with Hoffrogge’s criticism that such ambiguities remained unresolved both theoretically and practically.283 And it would be worth adding that the implementation of technical

279 280 281 282

283

Arnold 1985, p. 206. Similar objections in Oertzen 1976, pp. 89–94. See our relevant chapter. For a detailed account of this group, see Engel 2004. On intellectuals, see our chapter on the Political Council of Intellectual Workers. On white-collar workers in the Weimar Republic in general, see the still very readable study by Kracauer 1971. The text originally appeared in 1929 as an article series in the Frankfurter Zeitung. Hoffrogge 2008, pp. 114–15.

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and organisational innovations could prove difficult in practice, not to mention necessary restructuring such as plant closures. The ‘pure council system’ was based on the premise of constant active participation by the working class in political and economic processes. At the same time, it was expected to have this activating, politicising effect upon workers, as Däumig’s indicated when invoking the ‘gregarious habits’ of the working class cited earlier. In a revolutionary situation like the one in early 1919, with its largescale politicisation, this condition was certainly present: back then, the councils succeeded in involving many previously indifferent, inactive workers. But how would these things work out in a future socialist society? Would it really be possible to maintain the necessary constant interest and commitment? If this were not the case, the control mechanisms and permanent recallability would come to nothing, and the formation of a hierarchy and bureaucratisation would take their course again. Large sections of the working class in and outside the parties and trade unions would then also relapse into passivity. This, after all, was precisely one of the council supporters’ main criticisms of the existing workers’ movement: that it did not let the ‘masses’ act independently, that its functionaries instead acted as the deputies of the masses, who had no direct control or any possibility of exerting influence from below. At the very least, this casts doubt on the optimistic projections of the circle around Däumig and Müller. The idea of gradually transferring competences to the workers and giving them targeted training in preparation for their new tasks seems more realistic, by contrast.284 In spite of all these weaknesses, Feldman, Kolb and Rürup are right to say that the theory of the pure council system ‘can be regarded as the real theoretical achievement of the German mass movement from 1917 to 1920, since it was here than an attempt was made to fundamentally rethink the problem of revolution and the construction of a socialist society’.285 Both council concepts outlined here found strong support in the uspd. The question of councils was generally a much-discussed and controversial topic in the party. It also attracted the attention of the grassroots, for example in the party’s sixth Berlin district. At a meeting in early January 1920, Georg Berthelé, a left-winger in the party, called for ‘doing everything in our power and not resting until we have attained our goal of establishing the council system’.286 This standpoint was fully supported by the other participants of the meet284 285 286

The council school should also be understood in this sense – see the chapter on the Central Office of Factory Councils. Feldman, Kolb and Rürup 1971, p. 100. lab C Rep. 902-02-05, Nr. 33. Protokolle des 6. Distrikts der uspd Berlin, Bl. 18.

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ing. However, fault lines within the party were becoming apparent even later. Prager, a representative of the moderate tendency, wrote about the left wing: ‘For them, the council system had become a fetish, an end in itself. They had faith in the council idea, and they considered this faith to be the only redeeming faith’.287 Dittmann expressed a very similar view in his memoir, where he attributed a ‘mystical cult of councils’ and ‘stubborn and blind council enthusiasm’ to Däumig.288 At the time, though, he nonetheless took care to stress the need to retain the councils and strengthen them. The leftist Curt Geyer, for his part, remarked that the ‘debates were conducted with a passionate intensity, as if not tendencies within one party, but two different parties were fighting each other’.289 The future split was already looming in these disputes, even if in 1919 this had not yet led to a complete polarisation. To be able to present a united front to the outside world and confront the government with a clear oppositional programme, it became increasingly necessary to clarify the situation within the party. Decisive stages in this process were the two party congresses held in March 1919 in Berlin and in November– December 1919 in Leipzig. The compromises that were reached there secured an unstable equilibrium and therefore the unity of the party at least for the time being. The party congress in Berlin took place amidst turbulent events, which was reflected in the debates: hardly anyone denied that the party was facing an acutely revolutionary situation. Chairman Haase even declared that the congress was being held ‘in the midst of a world revolution’.290 Already in the run-up, numerous motions relating to the councils were submitted by the rank and file. Not a single one was directed against them – on the contrary, a number of proposals explicitly envisaged relying on the councils completely and renouncing parliament altogether. Other motions sought to enshrine the councils in law and in the constitution and give them more extensive powers.291 The two most important ones came from Haase and Däumig as spokesmen for the right and the left wing respectively, succinctly outlining the models described above.292 The differences again became apparent in the debate. Haase stressed: ‘The National Assembly is a fact to be reckoned with. But the question is, if it

287 288 289 290 291 292

Prager 1921, p. 213. Dittmann 1995, p. 657. Geyer 1976, p. 152. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 40. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 16–21, 35. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 28–31.

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does not represent full democracy, do we not need a supplement? Yes, we do need one – history has already taught us that. The councils are that supplement’.293 Däumig replied: ‘It is … not acceptable that the council system serves as a ‘supplement to democracy’, as Haase puts it. That is simply unthinkable. The party must take a fundamental stand: either we stick to the old, parliamentary principles or we decide in favour of the council system. (Heckle: Both!) No. There is no both!’.294 It was foreseeable that neither side would conclusively win over the delegates. So instead, a commission was formed to merge the two resolutions.295 The result formed the basis of the adopted ‘programmatic declaration’, which clearly rejected the existing bourgeois republican order: ‘As long as political liberation has not been followed by economic liberation and independence, there is no true democracy’.296 The declaration stated that a new organisation was necessary in addition to the party and the trade unions: The proletarian revolution has created this organisation of struggle: the council system … It gives the proletariat the right of self-management in the factories, in the communes and in the state. It accomplishes the transformation of the capitalist economic order into a socialist one. [The uspd] stands for the council system. It supports the councils in their struggle for economic and political power. It strives for the dictatorship of the proletariat, which represents the vast majority of the people, as a necessary precondition for the attainment of socialism. Only socialism can abolish all class rule and dictatorship and bring about true democracy. To attain this objective, the uspd will use all political and economic means at its disposal, including the parliaments. Furthermore, the programmatic declaration contained a dissociation from ‘aimless acts of violence’. Some of the ‘immediate demands’ cited were: ‘Incorporation of the council system into the constitution. Decisive participation of the councils in legislation, state and local government and in the workplace’. At first glance, these principles give a very radical impression: the declared objectives are grassroots democracy fought for and implemented by the councils, a socialist instead of capitalist economic order, and the dictatorship of 293 294 295 296

Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 86. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 104. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 112–13 and p. 143. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 3–4.

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the proletariat. However, the programme also kept all options open for the moderate forces: participation in the parliamentary system, for instance, was explicitly approved. It also contained a number of other classically reformist demands, such as the expansion of state welfare and a tax code favourable to those with small incomes. Aside from the revolutionary declamations, it offered room for interpretation, even if the party unambiguously declared its support for the councils. Even in that case, though, the uncompromising maximum demand was followed by a tactical restriction: initially, only a recognition of the councils in the constitution and their involvement in the state and the economy was to be won. Overall, the document must be seen as an attempt to reconcile antagonistic positions in a compromise for the sake of party unity. This was by no means the last word on the matter, however: just a few months later, at the party congress in Leipzig, the conflict erupted into the open once again. Still in Berlin, Däumig had declared to the delegates that he rejected the compromise, although he remained committed to the party and hoped that his ideas would win in the future.297 Incidentally, one must keep in mind that in the end, political practice would be decisive – or, as a Berlin delegate pointedly put it, ‘You don’t make a revolution with resolutions’.298 Another delegate expressed the militant attitude at the party congress in the following words: ‘Our task must be to take with us what we have heard here. It shall inspire the masses to drive the revolution onward towards a greater second revolution, in which all power will be passed to the proletariat and the workers’ and soldiers’ councils’.299 The second party congress of the uspd in 1919, which took place from late November to early December, was held under clearly different auspices. The first wave of the revolution had subsided, the constitution had been adopted, and the political and economic system had stabilised for the time being. Moreover, the dispute over the planned Factory Councils Act had begun and was being dealt with accordingly. In Leipzig, too, a fairly large number of motions relating to the councils were tabled. However, their tone had changed. Parliament was now to be used only as an agitational platform. Any reformist participation in parliament was unanimously rejected.300 The Hanover group, for instance, proclaimed: ‘We demand the council order as a state form and regard the bourgeois parliaments only as 297 298 299 300

Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 264. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 162. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 162. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 12–6, 30 and 36–7.

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a necessary evil. We use the parliaments only as a site of struggle for the proletariat until it has conquered political power and the socialist council order has been implemented’.301 This was entirely in line with Däumig’s wing.302 Consequently, it was noted that even the moderates had moved further to the left in recent months.303 There were, of course, still voices firmly in favour of a temporary combination of councils and parliamentarism.304 The radicalisation of the party was also reflected in the newly adopted action programme, which stated: ‘To the organised rule of the capitalist state, [The usdp] counterposes the organised rule of the proletariat based on the system of political councils. To bourgeois parliament, which embodies the will to power of the bourgeoisie, it counterposes the revolutionary congress of workers’ councils. The transformation of capitalist economic anarchy into a planned socialist economy will be carried out through the system of economic councils’. The action programme further stated that the ‘deepest meaning of the council system is that the workers, the source of the economy, the producers of social wealth, the promoters of culture, must also be the owners of all legal institutions and all political power’. In order to achieve this, it was necessary to use all ‘political, parliamentary and economic means of struggle’ – and the ‘most noble and decisive means of struggle is mass action’.305 None of this was entirely new, but the emphasis had shifted. The councils were centred even more at the expense of the parliamentary system, which now only served a purely tactical-propagandistic purpose. Still more important was that mass actions were now assigned the ‘decisive’ role. This had a very practical relevance only a few weeks later, as became apparent in the struggle against the Factory Councils Act. Overall, the party members expected, as Toni Sender put it at the parallel women’s conference, a ‘new wave of the revolutionary movement, which is far from over – we are still in the middle of its evolution today’.306 The general leftward shift of the party was noted attentively from the outside.307 Among the observers was the Prussian State Commissioner for Public Order, who referenced these changes in his weekly report.308 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308

Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 15. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 244. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 293. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, p. 265. Minutes uspd Congresses, Berlin, pp. 3–5. This vote was unanimous. Sender [no year]. p. 17. Vossische Zeitung, 1 December 1919 M and Vorwärts, 7 December1919. BArch R 1507/1001, Reichskommissar für die Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, Bl. 15.

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Overall, the two party congresses showed that the aims and practice of the uspd were the subject of extensive, controversial debates. This applied not only to the council question, but also to the second major issue, namely affiliation to the Third International. The openness of discussion was also reflected in the fact that the most important publications, such as Freiheit and Der Arbeiter-Rat, gave space to representatives of both tendencies. This distinguished the party from the spd and kpd, which were clearly more hierarchically structured in the name of party unity and whose grassroots had less weight in decision-making processes. Morgan, however, sees this quite differently. He states with regard to the uspd that its ‘practices could not, in the end, offer much prospect of establishing an open, democratic social and political order’.309 He attributes this primarily to the ideology of class struggle, which he considers ‘one of the most fruitless, debilitating legacies of the old order’. But in so doing he overlooks the inner-party aspect, especially as for him democracy is only conceivable ‘in the standard Western sense of the word’. In any case, the culture of open debate in the party was to change considerably later on.310 In the months leading up to the October 1920 party congress in Halle, where the split came to pass, open exchange of opinions within the party had practically come to a standstill, and the battle lines between the two wings were practically set in stone. The uspd as a whole met the constitution with staunch criticism, constantly voiced by its deputies in the National Assembly. Beside many other points, the councils’ limited powers under Article 165 were criticised in particular. The equal composition of the economic councils was also opposed.311 The overall assessment was quite unambiguous: ‘This constitution, which represents the perpetuation of bourgeois rule and of capitalism, blatantly contradicts the will of class-conscious workers’.312 From the party’s point of view, it was therefore consistent to vote against the constitution. Dittmann referred in his memoir somewhat more cautiously to the numerous ‘weaknesses and half-measures’ and ‘impossible compromises between capitalism and socialism’ to justify the rejection.313 From the late summer of 1919, after the first reading of the Factory Councils Act in the National Assembly, the dispute over this piece of legislation

309 310 311 312 313

Morgan 1975, p. 11. Morgan 1975, pp. 341–80, and in great detail Wheeler 1975. See the speeches by Koenen and Cohn in Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 1781–2. and p. 2099. Freiheit, 5 August 1919 E. Dittmann 1995, p. 651.

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developed into one of the focal points of the party’s work. A conference of revolutionary factory councils in Halle, organised mainly by members of the uspd, harshly condemned the bill as a ‘deception of the working class’, calling on workers to take action against it: ‘Organise resistance to the Factory Councils Act, which is but the death certificate of the council system. Rally for a continued struggle for the genuine socialist council system’.314 The work of the social policy committee of the National Assembly that was dealing with the bill was also followed attentively. The chair of the AfA, Siegfried Aufhäuser (uspd), pointed out that the draft, originally inadequate to begin with, had been had been watered down even further.315 At the Leipzig party congress, the Factory Councils Act found no supporters. On the contrary, the chairman Arthur Crispien declared in the opening speech that it was ‘not acceptable to us under any circumstances’, that the party would not allow itself to be ‘befuddled with class harmony’. Under no circumstances would it stand for ‘a council organisation at the mercy of the government and capitalists’.316 Sender argued similarly in her speech at the parallel women’s conference.317 The trade unionist Dißmann also dissociated himself from ‘this monstrosity’, highlighting that the councils could only win through struggle, not through legislation. He also indicated, however, that he wanted to use the act for revolutionary purposes.318 Breitscheid argued along similar lines when he described the Factory Councils Act as a disastrous half-measure, but nonetheless saw progressive aspects in it.319 It would be too simplistic, then, to identify the party entirely with intransigent rejection. On the contrary, the representatives of the right wing in particular were not only fiercely critical, but also had tactical considerations since they believed that they could no longer stop the bill. When the act became reality, this tendency won out within the party. No one seriously entertained the idea of boycotting the legal factory councils. Of course, this did not mean that criticism of the Factory Councils Act had to be abandoned altogether. But what was seen as more important was ‘to milk the act for what it is worth’.320 The radical representatives of the ‘pure council system’ did initially not share this flexible attitude. They subjected the Factory Councils Act to very thor314 315 316 317 318 319 320

Freiheit, 26 August 1919 M. Some delegates from the spd and kpd were also present. Siegfried Aufhäuser, ‘Die Verstümmelung des Betriebsrätegesetzes’, in Freiheit, 27 November 1919 M. Minutes uspd Congresses, Leipzig, p. 58. The speech was also distributed as a pamphlet – see Sender [no year], especially pp. 10–13. Minutes uspd Congresses, Leipzig, p. 256. Rudolf Breitscheid, ‘Kompromiß und Revolution’ in Freiheit, 31 December 1919 M. Freiheit, 22 April 1920 E.

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ough, scathing criticism both in the party press and in parliament.321 ‘This law lacks everything that makes up the essence of the council idea’, they wrote.322 Koenen specifically criticised the separation of blue- and white-collar workers, the insufficient monitoring and co-determination rights, the restrictions on strikes, the preclusion of cross-company mergers and the abolition of furtherreaching rights for the already existing factory councils. Bruno Asch called the act a ‘criminal half-measure that takes no firm stand for either side. A government faced with such a drastic question concerning our economic life as the Factory Councils Act must decide what it wants: capitalism or socialism?’323 Müller made very similar remarks, accusing the government of being unable to decide between capital and labour.324 He said that it was trying in vain to please both sides. Geyer, for his part, fundamentally denied that the aims of the council movement could be achieved by legislation alone: ‘A mere change of legislation by a neutral body cannot shatter a system as firmly entrenched as capitalism and transform it into a socialist order … The realisation of socialism is not a simple act of legislation made according to rational considerations, but a struggle for the power of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie as a whole’.325 The spd in particular was accused of backing down before its coalition partners on this important issue.326 There were calls for more energetic resistance to the ‘deceptive fairytale of economic democracy’.327 One measure taken in this direction was the founding of the Central Office of Factory Councils, envisioned as a revolutionary organisation that could contend with the coming legal councils.328 In the General Assembly of Berlin workers’ councils, Däumig said: ‘We have to tell the factory councillors not to give a damn what the law says, and to take up the struggle in the factories for control and codetermination’.329 321

322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329

See Braß’s speech during the first deliberation on 21 August 1919, in Negotiations National Assembly, p. 2737, but especially the numerous speeches during the second and third deliberations from 15 to 18 January 1920 in Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 4270–4340 and pp. 4474–4513. Geyer emphasised in his memoirs that this activity was mainly supported by the left wing of the party – see Geyer 1976, p. 109. In the vote on the Factory Councils Act, however, the uspd faction then voted unanimously against it. W.K. [i.e. Wilhelm Koenen, A.W.], ‘Die Grundfehler des Betriebsrätegesetzes’, in Freiheit, 3 January 1920 M. Bruno Asch, ‘Mitbestimmungsrecht’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 39, 1919. Richard Müller, ‘Das Gesetz über Betriebsräte’, in Der Arbeiter-Rat 28, 1919. Geyer 1919, pp. 14–15. Freiheit, 6 January 1920 E. Freiheit, 4 January 1919 M. See our chapter on this institution. Freiheit, 6 January 1920 M.

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In parallel, public pressure was to be exerted on the government and parliament, in line with the party’s new programme of action. On this, the left deputy Geyer said that ‘the parliamentary struggle should be seen as a means to strengthen and support the extra-parliamentary struggle’.330 Shortly before the Factory Councils Act was finally passed, on 11 January 1920, fifteen large public protest meetings were organised in Berlin alone.331 The culmination of these activities was the bloody demonstration that took place outside the Reichstag two days later. To sum up, the uspd clearly devoted more attention to the council movement both in programmatic and in practical political terms that the spd. It developed two of the most important theoretical council models. It was also the uspd which, as the most significant organisation staunchly advocating a pro-council policy, was confronting the government both in parliament and outside. Its efforts became all the more effective when the party became the focal point of the left opposition in the course of 1919 and in early 1920. As the uspd grew organisationally, it also became more radical – a process in which the growing left wing of the party was key. That this was a test of endurance for the uspd hardly needs to be mentioned. The more classically Social-Democratic tendency had a much harder time dealing with the new council phenomenon, and it retained certain theoretical and practical reservations. But for the same reasons, these forces later found it easier to adapt to the narrow limits of the legal factory councils. The left wing, in contrast, advocated the ‘pure council system’, having regarded the councils as more than an improvised transitional solution from the outset. For these sections of the uspd, the councils were both the aim and the means of a comprehensive revolution. Thanks to a remarkably open culture of debate, these grave differences could be reconciled at least temporarily. Contrary to the view often expressed by historians, then, the split was by no means the inevitable consequence of the uspd’s heterogeneous structure.332 There was also another reason why it did not split earlier: opposition to the spd was a strong unifying factor as long as the spd was in government – with respect to the council question, after all, there was a broad consensus in the usdp to oppose the overly cautious policy of the Social Democrats. Conversely, another round of government particip-

330 331 332

Geyer 1976, p. 140. sapmo-BArch ry 19/ii 143/18, uspd, Bezirk Berlin-Brandenburg, Bl. 9. This question has been dealt with in a whole series of publications. Apart from the monographs on the uspd mentioned in the introduction, these include Schönhoven 1989, p. 7 – the author views the split as inevitable. For fundamental disagreement, see Kachel 2007.

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ation, which was a distinct possibility after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, would have intensified internal differences. To characterise the party as a pure protest movement is nonetheless inaccurate.333 For one, it developed clear – if not uniform – alternative ideas of a future order. Second, as an important pillar of the great strike wave, but also through small-scale organisational work in trade unions and in councils, it proved that it was quite capable of taking on practical responsibility.

Interim Conclusion The disputes over the integration of the councils into the political and economic order show how divergent the ideas were on this issue. The central point of contention was the question of whether the councils should be integrated into the social structure as supplementary bodies, or whether they should constitute the key component of a fundamental social transformation carried out under the banner of the Second Revolution. Numerous different concepts were developed and debated. As we have shown, representatives from Berlin played a prominent role as key thinkers, and there were many council supporters in the district organisations of the capital. ‘Constitutional questions are first and foremost not questions of right but of force’.334 It was in this spirit that we have examined whether and how the Berlin council movement could, amidst the conflicting interests of numerous political actors, attain its objectives with respect to the fundamental structure of society. It was confronted with the traditional organisations of the workers’ movement and the state in manifold ways. Since the Free Trade Unions and the left parties comprised numerous supporters of the council idea, the movement also operated through them. On the other hand, it met with resistance in these institutions too. Sometimes this manifested itself in open opposition to the objectives of the councils, at other times in efforts to coopt them for the traditional labour organisations’ own ends. Any assessment of the constitutional Article 165 and the Factory Councils Act must consider the concrete historical circumstances under which they came into being. In the revolutionary period, expectations far exceeded what was ultimately implemented, especially in Berlin. We should also add that substantially greater powers for the factory councils could have been achieved.

333 334

See Krause 1976, pp. 87–9. Lassalle 1862.

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As such, the legislation needs to be seen far more as a missed opportunity than as social progress. Berlin’s council movement harshly criticised the policy of the state and repeatedly mobilised its supporters, for example during the strike wave in spring 1919 or for the protest demonstration on 13 January 1920. However, it proved unable to make a decisive impact both during the formative stages of the legislation and later on. Broad, often very controversial debates on what stance to adopt towards the councils were held in the various organisations of the workers’ movement. From the point of view of the council movement, this no mere sideshow, as its diverse and sometimes very prominent participation in these disputes attests. Some of the most important spokespersons came from the Berlin organisations or the Greater Berlin Executive Council – among them, Richard Müller and Paul Lange from the Free Trade Unions, Ernst Däumig and Rudolf Breitscheid from the uspd, and Max Cohen and Julius Kaliski from the spd.335 In Berlin, the council advocates could also rely on exceptionally strong support from their membership base. The paths taken by the various trade unions with respect to this question varied, but the results were surprisingly similar. Everywhere they succeeded in limiting the factory councils’ scope of action and substantially turning them into instruments of the unions in the factories. This is evidenced by the factory council elections in the following years, in which the Free Trade Unions won large numbers of votes.336 In the days of the Kaiserreich, by contrast, their lack of direct roots in the companies had always been a great hindrance to its work. In the long run, then, they even benefited from this new movement that they had often resolutely opposed at the beginning. In many ways, the role of the spd is similarly contradictory. Its leadership’s tactically motivated about-turns, its multiple efforts to limit the influence of the councils, the military action that it took against independent council bodies and against the strike campaigns linked to them – all of this starkly contradicted the considerable sympathies for the council movement that also existed in the ranks of the Social Democrats, not to mention the fact that some of their members also developed their own council concepts. The party was neither able to simply ignore the aspirations of its own members and voters, nor was it willing to alienate its liberal and conservative allies in parliaments, administration and army with radical reforms. The Free Trade Unions were an important source of support since they had to deal with very similar problems. There 335 336

Müller, Däumig, Cohen and Kaliski were all temporary or permanent members of the Executive Council. Brigl-Matthiaß 1978, pp. 41–2.

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too, there were numerous council supporters and a left opposition – especially in the Berlin district organisations of the individual unions and in the Berlin Trade-union Commission. Many trade union officials were anxious not to jeopardise their cooperation with the employers in the working groups, however. The jointly enforced solution in the form of Article 165 and the Factory Councils Act seemed to offer a way out of the dilemma for both sides. But it only eased the tense domestic political situation to a limited degree, and it did not undo the divide in the labour movement. The latter was to prove disastrous in the later history of the Weimar Republic. From the beginning, the councils formed a central part of the kpd’s programme and agitation. This was never disputed in principle by its members. Consequently, the Communists saw themselves as the only true proponents of the council system, in distinction to the supposedly counter-revolutionary spd, but also to the uspd, which the kpd characterised as vacillating and indecisive. Because of the low level of support in the working class, however, the kpd was often compelled to soften its uncompromising stance, albeit only tactically and with reservations. What limited its advocacy of the councils the most, however, was its increasing instrumentalisation of the councils for party interests. In the final analysis, it was the party that was seen as the crucial factor in the revolution, not the councils. If any party could claim to truly represent the council movement, it was the uspd, especially the influential Berlin district. Sometimes its identification with the council movement went so far as to contemplate the complete replacement of trade unions and parties by the councils in the long term. The fact that the uspd first had to develop its ideas about a future council order and was unable to reach a consensus reflects, to a certain degree, the problems of the council movement as a whole. The applies to the fact that the results hardly lived up to the high expectations, for the uspd could at best indirectly gain influence on the constitution and on legislation through pressure on the ‘government socialists’ of the spd. The extra-parliamentary projects that it supported or initiated, such as the Central Office of Factory Councils, major strikes and demonstrations could not force a pivotal change in policy. Ultimately, the integration of the councils into the social structures of the Weimar Republic was quite a success. This is only true, of course, when measured against the limited objectives supported by the moderate forces in the trade unions and in Social Democracy. The picture is quite different if we consider the far more ambitious aims of significant parts of the Berlin council movement. Still, at times the council idea played an influential role – not only in the council organs, but also in the established organisations of the workers’

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movement. It was only through this diversion that some modest council institutions became permanent. The legacy of these efforts lives in Germany’s works councils (Betriebsräte) today. However, the integration of the councils also represented a final renunciation of all efforts towards a more fundamental transformation of society. The integrative power of the spd and the trade unions in particular was an important factor in the failure of the Second Revolution. The fact that the council system had much stronger support in the Berlin district organisations of the workers’ movement than in most other regions of Germany did not change this.

chapter 10

Summary and Conclusion The focus of this study was the Berlin council movement of 1919–1920, especially its aims, its organisational structures and its practice. By examining aspects that had previously received little or no attention and by opening up new sources, we have expanded our knowledge significantly. Moreover, the findings of our study challenge in no small degree the established interpretations of the council movement and the revolution. The fundamental features of the Second Revolution in Berlin were the council system as the central principle of social transformation, the council structures as the organisational framework, and the council movement as the motor and main agent of political action. The council movement aimed to create an alternative to the traditional workers’ movement and even more so to society as a whole. This involved criticism of authoritarian, excessively hierarchical structures as well as the will to let the alternative objectives and forms of organisation translate into broad-based mass action. Our examination of the various efforts of the Berlin movement to politically implement and enforce the council system between the first phase of the revolution up to early 1919 and this second phase. It is therefore justified to speak of a Second Revolution. The events we have discussed are of considerable relevance, not least because Berlin played a key role in the revolution. After the formation of Greater Berlin, the city became not only the third-largest in the world in terms of population, but also the most important industrial centre in Europe. Besides, it was the political centre of the Reich and of Prussia. Many influential press organs as well as the governing bodies of almost all parties and trade unions were also based in the capital. The workers’ movement of ‘red Berlin’ had grown enormously in the prior decades, which made it a beacon for other German cities.1 This was also true for the council movement in its early beginnings during the war and especially during the revolutionary period. The theories, organisational structures and mass actions developed there were closely observed across Germany by supporters and opponents alike. Our focus on Berlin enabled us to analyse the council movement in one of its important strongholds. The generally very favourable situation in terms of sources also made it possible to carry out a very detailed study.

1 For a comprehensive general history of the Berlin workers’ movement, see Weipert 2013.

© be.bra wissenschaft verlag, Berlin, 2023 | doi:10.1163/97890045

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To meet our research objectives, we primarily deployed the tools of political history. The challenge was to capture in historiographic terms a political mass movement that was heterogeneous, difficult to delineate and rapidly changing. Our focus was on the political aims and still more on the operations of the movement – the latter often raised the question of mobilising capacity. To better grasp the intentions of the numerous participants, who hardly left any written sources, it was essential to analyse their political actions. Also of great importance was the complex interrelationship of the council movement with other forces such as parties, trade unions and state organs with which it cooperated, against which it fought, and with which its ideas and personnel sometimes directly overlapped. In other words, we combined our bottom-up perspective on the broad masses of council supporters with a topdown perspective on the leadership organs, top functionaries and state institutions. Examining the organisational structures of the council movement served a dual purpose. On the one hand, these structures constituted to a large degree the council movement as political actor. Secondly, it was within these structures that attempts were made to implement the movement’s aspirations to grassroots democracy in practice. What was interesting in terms of the history of ideas were the concepts of social transformation developed in the movement, especially with regard to politics and the economy. We gained access to the details through a very wide range of sources, taking into account testimonies from activists from the ranks of the council supporters themselves, from critics from the ranks of the socialist workers’ movement, from liberal and conservative observers as well as from state authorities. Comparing these often very divergent points of view allowed us to do justice to the heterogeneity of the movement. At the same time, one-sided perceptions and conscious or unconscious misinterpretations on the part of the respective authors could be rectified in many cases. The sources analysed included a total of 26 daily newspapers and other periodicals of left-wing and bourgeois orientation as well as contemporary leaflets, posters and pamphlets. Furthermore, minutes of councils, parliaments, party and trade union meetings, archives of numerous state authorities of the Reich and Prussia as well as individual company holdings and estates were evaluated. In particular, more than 50 published and unpublished memoirs of participants, in conjunction with the reconstruction of exemplary mass actions, made it possible to consider the intentions of the grassroots of the movement.

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Aims and Concepts In Berlin in the months after 9 November 1918, dissatisfaction of broad strata with the results of the first revolutionary attempt was growing. Essentially, two alternative concepts to the actual course of events emerged: a more moderate one and a radical one. These tendencies were both very important in the council movement, and what united them was a fundamental concern, which the activist Wilhelm Koenen summed up thus: ‘It was our determined will to turn the half-revolution into a complete revolution’.2 The council system played a key role in this endeavour, both as a means and as an end of transformation. The term ‘Second Revolution’ coined to describe this process can be found in the contemporary usage of both protagonists and observers. |It did not, however, represent a conclusively defined agenda, or even one that had been bindingly agreed upon in its entirety. Rather, it outlined a series of more or less closely related sub-aspects that were grouped around the core demand for a strong system of councils. Views on the concrete structure differed widely, and accordingly the objectives during the Second Revolution were diverse. This conceptual openness was also reflected in the heterogeneity of its proponents and in its changes over time. The notion of a social democracy gained great popularity in the moderate parts of the council movement. These ideas envisaged the partial disempowerment of the Wilhelmine elites in the state and in the economy, the transformation of the army into a democratic people’s army, the socialisation of some basic industries and an expansion of the welfare state. In addition, there were plans to increase possibilities of participation by giving workers monitoring and co-determination rights in the workplaces. These concepts saw the role of the councils as assisting and supporting top-down reforms. In particular, they were to perform this function as supervisory bodies in the administration and the economy. Some of the concepts explicitly envisaged the council system as a permanent addition to the parliamentary system, which is why several concrete proposals comprised a constitutional and legal recognition of the councils. The idea was to establish a permanent mixed system of parliamentary governance and a continued capitalist economy, on the one hand, while at the same time ensuring the institutionalised participation of the councils in both spheres. In party-political terms, parts of the spd around the important thinkers Hugo Sinzheimer and Max Cohen and the right wing of the uspd,

2 sapmo-BArch SgY 30/493, Erinnerungen Wilhelm Koenen, Bl. 52.

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where the ideas of Rudolf Hilferding and Rudolf Breitscheid enjoyed support, subscribed to such positions. In the subsequent course of events, these aspirations were partially realised, contributing significantly to the integration of the councils into society. To be sure, despite the founding of a republic, a new constitution and socio-political reforms, the continuities between this new society and that of the Kaiserreich were obvious – be it with regard to property issues, social elites or key political structures. The integration process was largely initiated from the outside, i.e. by the state and the council-sceptical functionaries in the labour movement. Later, though, substantial sections of the council movement supported this process ideologically and participated in shaping it in practice. We must stress, however, that even the moderate forces in the council movement were dissatisfied with the end results. Even some of Sinzheimer’s concepts remained uncompleted, and this was even more true of Hilferding’s and Breitscheid’s proposals. The aims of the more radical forces within the movement went considerably further. They were striving for a socialist, council-democratic social order, which would have required a consistent new beginning in central points. Their intentions were often pejoratively – and inaccurately – branded as ‘Bolshevist’ both by their contemporaries and by later historians. In reality, the councils would have played an essential role in the founding of the envisaged council republic with a comprehensively socialised economy, and later within it. They would have become both the means and the end of social transformation. Their advocates resolutely distanced themselves from the old Wilhelmine order, but also from the republican-capitalist reorganisation that they perceived as inadequate. The most important theoretical model of this tendency, widely received also outside Berlin, was the ‘pure council system’ developed by Ernst Däumig and Richard Müller. The left wing of the uspd, the kpd, and later also the kapd can be classified as part of this current, irrespective of their sometimes considerable differences on many individual issues. In the trade unions there were supporters of both main trends. Within the framework of this comprehensive council system, society was to be built up in a grassroots-democratic and decentralised manner from the bottom up. The slogan of a ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’, often associated with this system and extremely ambiguous in and of itself, can be considered a code for the comprehensive transformation of class society, especially in conjunction with the second much-used and equally ambiguous term, ‘socialisation’. In this understanding, the dictatorship of the proletariat meant neither the unrestrained concentration of power in the hands of a few, nor did the term denote a renunciation of democratic principles. Rather, it was understood to

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mean the rule of the (very broadly defined) working class through the councils, as opposed to the rule of the bourgeoisie in a capitalist-parliamentary republic. For its proponents, the council system would not contradict democracy, but ensure that democracy comprised social spheres. The council system was thus understood as an extension, not a restriction or even replacement of democracy. Even the kpd frequently stressed that the council republic and the dictatorship of the proletariat could only be implemented on the condition that these changes are supported by a majority of the working people. It is for this reason that Kolb’s study, which is still influential today, misses the point when consistently counterposing a ‘democratic’ tendency in the council movement with a ‘radical’ one.3 They were both orientated towards democracy, but in different ways. Erdmann’s assessment is even less accurate: he describes the council movement, and by extension the council system as a whole, as Bolshevik, sharply contrasting it with what he sees as the only possible form of democracy, namely parliamentarism.4 Although he does not use the same words, Ritter agrees with Erdmann on the basic assumption that a representative system is the only practicable form of democracy.5 Ritter’s criticism of the council system is harsh, but in many respects unconvincing – for example, when he blames the often inadequate choices of the council representatives in the initial phase of 1918 on the council system as such or claims that a multi-party system, or even organised opposition, is incompatible with a consistent council system. This is not just theoretically unfounded. In fact, the practical work of the Berlin councils proved quite clearly the opposite, for example through democratic elections, controversial debates about aims and concrete measures, and the option to freely form factions in the councils. The interpretation of the council movement by historians such as Kolb, Rürup and some others as a potential complementary support for democratisation from above holds true particularly for the first phase of the revolution. But it hardly applies to the second phase, which is the one relevant for us – for it was in this phase that the movement often turned against the governments, no longer expecting any initiatives for reform from them. The council supporters wanted to topple these governments or at least put them under pressure until they changed their policies on crucial issues. To a considerable degree, the second viewpoint applied even to the members and supporters of the spd. Precisely in this confrontational attitude towards the emerging Weimar Republic lies an important difference to the preceding revolutionary period up to 3 Kolb 1978. 4 Erdmann 1959. 5 Ritter 1976, S. 314–5.

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January 1919, when the council movement had still placed far greater hopes in reforms from above. The two different tendencies should not be seen as altogether separate, however. The transition between the two was smooth, with plenty of crossovers both in terms of supporters and activities. Generally speaking, it is important to consider both the gradual radicalisation of the movement in the course of the Second Revolution and then its integration into the republican-capitalist order. Both developments were reflected in the tendencies of the movement, which contributed significantly to its heterogeneous and sometimes contradictory character. Moreover, many protagonists changed their positions and became much more radical in the course of the revolution. Also, as was particularly evident during the general strike in March 1919, the concrete objectives pursued often had the character of transitional demands through which the movement demonstrated serious tactical flexibility. The aim was to maintain the ability to connect with the more moderate forces while also allowing further goals to be attained. The latter aspect was especially evident in the aspiration to build strong council structures, but also in the demand for thoroughgoing military reform. Both measures, if implemented, would have considerably expanded the influence and scope of the council movement. Despite their differences, then, the two wings were capable of cooperating in practice – at least where the final goals of the moderates coincided with the intermediate aims of the radicals. Unified more by ‘class instinct’ than by an elaborate theoretical vision, the primary focus of the council movement was generally on political practice. Theoretical concepts were only developed in the course of the events and were decisively shaped by them. But they were no mere decoration: they certainly had an impact on the movement and provided it with orientation. This was particularly evident in the case of the Central Office of Factory Councils. Unlike the Executive Council and the General Assembly, it was not set up ad hoc in the early days of the revolution, but only in the second half of 1919 as a very purposeful new formation with a fully formulated programme. In the second phase of the revolution, the ideas of the council movement partly revolved around similar themes as they had in the first, but the accents shifted and the radicalism grew. This radicalisation was evident, for example, in the growing strength of the uspd and kpd in the elections for the Berlin councils’ General Assembly. It is noteworthy, however, how consistently the same basic questions were raised again and again, which testified to the stagnation of the council movement from March 1919 at the latest. Even a year later, the same points from the consolidation of the councils to socialisation and military reform were still being discussed in the context of the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch.

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Other issues arose for councils operating in specific spheres of society. It was logical that the revolutionary Central Office of Factory Councils would focus on the economic sphere in particular. This was linked to the expectation that the factory councils would help trigger a new revolutionary wave, while political workers’ councils would only re-emerge if that wave was successful. The activists in the brz, who came largely from the left uspd and principally advocated the ‘pure council system’, began to prepare themselves for a prolonged period of struggle to achieve their goals. Because of this, they attached great importance to the propagation of the council idea, for example in their council school or in the periodical Der Arbeiter-Rat. At the same time, they staunchly resisted any tendency to integrate the councils into the existing order, which in turn explains their sharp rejection of the Factory Councils Act. The vocational school apprentices’ pupil councils were also concerned with the institutions in their immediate environment. They combined short-term reformist goals with the aspiration to a long-term socialist restructuring of the school system. The fundamental stance was both democratic and antiauthoritarian, as articulated in demands for the recognition and co-determination of the pupil councils and the abolition of corporal punishment. There were many similarities with the adult movement, for example in the multi-tier structure of the councils, the differentiation into moderates and radicals, or with regard to modes of action such as strikes and demonstrations. The pupil councils at secondary schools, however, which were founded on the initiative of the Prussian Ministry of Education – i.e. from above – had a completely different social base and positioned themselves politically on the bourgeoisconservative spectrum. In view of the particularly precarious situation of their clientele, the unemployed councils gave priority to improving state benefit payments and various options for job creation. Ideally, however, this was always to be combined with co-determination secured through the councils rather than limited to a paternalistic welfare state operating from high up. In the long run, the unemployed councils and their supporters were hoping for a socialist and councildemocratic social order beyond capitalism, which they saw as the primary cause of unemployment. The Political Council of Intellectual Workers formulated a broad, sometimes clearly contradictory set of objectives. Side by side with socialist ideas about the economy and a future council republic – i.e. aspirations that were strongly rooted in the council movement – emphatically liberal and pacifist ideas also featured. A central if vague concern of this group was its demand for a cultural revolution, which was linked to elitist pretensions. A completely undemocratic Council of Intellectuals, constituted by its own right, was envisioned as the key

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agent of this revolution. Such ideas clearly set the Political Council of Intellectual Workers apart from the grassroots-democratic principles of the actual council movement and reinforced its peculiar special position. In spite of this, demonstrable efforts were made in its ranks to cooperate with the council movement. Even more specific in conceptual terms was the Labour Council for Art, which was almost exclusively concerned with a reorganisation of the art industry. Women were mostly on the fringes of the council movement. However, they developed – significantly with almost no male participation – different ideas to overcome the manifold discriminations of the female sex in and with the councils. Most of their ideas revolved around questions that are still relevant today, such as the compatibility of family and work or the possibilities of a general politicisation of (domestic labourer) women and their active integration into the council system.

Organisational Structures The council structures in Berlin were very diverse and constantly changing. Their greatest test, the general strike in spring 1919, exemplified their strengths and weaknesses. A three-tier structure formed the framework for the strike: workplace councils at the base, the General Assembly as the mediating level, and on top the highest executive body, i.e. the Executive Council or temporary strike leadership. This structure facilitated a grassroots-democratic decisionmaking process. On several occasions, it allowed initiatives and impulses from the workplaces and the General Assembly to prevail over the contrary ideas of the leading organs. This did not, however, stop individual personalities and groups at the top from exerting substantial influence. On this basis, an extensive mobilisation of about one million workers was achieved, with the large enterprises in particular proving to be reliable pillars. This mobilisation proved in practice that the organisational model of the councils was suitable for large-scale actions and could live up to its own grassroots-democratic claim. Moreover, the big turnout and broad involvement proves that not only supporters of the moderate and radical left, but also politically indifferent people could be integrated. However, this form of decisionmaking sometimes also led to hasty, politically disastrous decisions such as the escalation of strikes. No less important was the problem of cross-regional coordination with other council movements. To this, the councils hardly found any satisfactory answers – not only on the occasion of this strike, but particularly clearly then.

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The council system proved to be a structure capable of mobilisation and action in a whole series of other cases. For instance, in the school strike in the summer of 1919, in the demonstration outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920, in numerous campaigns of the unemployed, and in the establishment of a grassroots-democratically structured council school, to name but a few examples. This showed how flexibly the structures could be adapted to different external conditions: naturally, councils based on school classes needed to be structured differently than councils for the unemployed, for instance. Admittedly, this adaptation was not as successful in all spheres, least of all where socio-cultural barriers had to be overcome as well as organisational difficulties. In terms of its structure and origins, he Political Council of Intellectual Workers, like the Arts Council, could only be considered a council in a limited sense. These examples show that the term ‘council’ was often used to gain political legitimacy during the revolution, while the desired features – such as the electability and recallability of officials or even a grassroots-democratic structure – were not necessarily present. The Council of Intellectuals even tried to present this deficit as a positive feature when justifying its constitution in elitist ideological terms. Tellingly, only rudimentary constructive relations developed between these two intellectuals’ councils and the actual, proletarian council movement. It is therefore only with great reservations that such bodies can be counted as part of the council movement at all. The pupil councils at Berlin’s secondary schools, at any rate, were completely disconnected from the movement, nor did they even seek to establish relations with it. Another important example of the limitations of the council system was the involvement of women in general and housewives in particular. In the latter case, besides the complications involved in reaching out to individual female voters, there was also the disdain of parts of the male-dominated council movement, which was seldom openly articulated but no less effective for that. Unlike in other cities, no independent women’s councils were formed in Berlin – and in the other councils, women played only a marginal role. Certain reservations traditionally also existed in the labour movement about the independent political activity of apprentices and the unemployed. But these were easier to organise as groups because they were concentrated in certain places, namely the vocational schools and employment offices. The lack of a functioning council structure also had a considerable impact on political influence, as the situation after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch demonstrated. Rival institutions, first and foremost the trade unions, had long since taken the initiative by the time the councils were belatedly set up after the attempted coup.

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Cooperation with the councils of other regions was entirely inadequate – it hardly extended beyond loose contacts, which rendered effective joint activities impossible. This deficit was evident in practically all spheres, for example in the strike movement of spring 1919, in the pupil councils, after the KappLüttwitz Putsch and – to a lesser extent – in the unemployed councils. Even in the case of the Central Office of Factory Councils, which was founded with a view to uniting the regional movements under a common umbrella, after all, there is hardly any evidence of coordinated action. The problem was therefore clearly not just a matter of poor individual decisions, but was a structural deficit of the council system as such. It resulted from the strict grassroots orientation of the movement, which set distinct limits to centralised politics. The relationship to the other organisations of the workers’ movement, i.e. to the left parties and Free Trade Unions, as essential for the council movement as it was multilayered. Supporters of the council system could be found in all left parties and trade unions, in Berlin even more than in other regions. However, their ideas with regard to the fundamental importance they attached to the councils, or the concrete tasks and competences they wanted to assign to them, varied greatly. Because of its general strength in Berlin and because it played a central role in the councils in particular, the uspd was the most important pole. Some of its Berlin members even developed the concept of a ‘pure council system’, which in the long run would make parties redundant altogether. The Independents also provided a high proportion of council officials and were the most important link to councils in other regions. In second place was the spd, which was also prominently represented in the council organs and played a key role, not least as an intermediary with governments and bourgeois groups. Gradually, though, its participation in the council movement declined. The party also played a decisive role in the few instances in which councils were permanently institutionalised in the constitution and legislation. The two Communist parties, for their part, perceived themselves as politically and ideologically leading forces. However, they only lived up to this claim sporadically because their influence was often too small. The leading functionaries of the Free Trade Unions initially met the new phenomenon of councils with undisguised mistrust and saw them primarily as a challenge to their claim to represent the working class. Later, they pursued a more council-friendly policy. This was prompted by a growing internal opposition, which was exceptionally strong in Berlin, vehemently campaigning for a reappraisal of the councils. Later, after the revolutionary wave had subsided, the Free Trade Unions succeeded in transforming the councils into their exten-

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ded arm in the enterprises. In the long run, then, they benefited greatly from a movement about which they had originally had great reservations. Because of their strong focus on parties and trade unions, some historians failed to recognise that the council movement was essentially a mass movement from below. Consequently, this movement was often not perceived as a truly independent phenomenon, but chiefly as a supplement to traditional forms of organisation. This is not only true of gdr historiography, as discussed earlier, but also of some Western authors such as Winkler and Miller.6 We must therefore stress that the activities of the council movement were by no means largely initiated or directed by the governing bodies of these organisations. Considerable numbers of spd, uspd and Free Trade Unions members and supporters were actively involved in the council movement, sometimes against the express will of their respective leaderships. But no matter whether the council system was understood as a supplement or as a substantial alternative to the established ways of organising society, it explicitly or implicitly challenged these structures either way. The councils were a visible, politically effective expression of a profound discontent, directed not only against the state and the economic order, but also against the traditional organisational structure of the workers’ movement, i.e. parties and trade unions. This goes a long way to explaining the sometimes blunt rejection of the council movement by these institutions, especially by their top functionaries. It is also another reason why the more cautious and the more uncompromising tendencies within the council movement cannot be separated in principle, but only by the degree of radicalism by which they challenged the established organisations. Another aspect was shared by the different trends in the movement. Neither wing orientated itself towards the still existing or recently disempowered councils of the first revolutionary stage. They both wanted to replace them with new organs that were yet to be created. Thus, the council movement was not only challenging the state’s and the employers’ entitlement to ‘rule the roots’. It also represented an alternative to the bureaucratised, often quite authoritarian organisational structures of the workers’ movement. In this respect, the council movement was not a completely new phenomenon, but part of a long-standing tradition, even if the protagonists themselves hardly ever explicitly said so. The Jungen (youngsters) in the spd in the 1890s and the alternative trade union structures created by the Lokalisten (localists) had already articulated very similar reservations

6 Winkler 1998, pp. 600–601; Miller 1978, p. 241.

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about official Social Democracy in days of the Kaiserreich.7 Both tendencies had enjoyed strong support in Berlin in particular. Robert Michels formulated a theoretically well-founded critique in his 1911 study of the spd that was also noted within the party.8 According to Michels, democratic aspirations and actual internal party practice diverged considerably, which he attributed to inherent laws: ‘It is organization which gives birth to the dominion of the elected over the electors, of the mandataries over the mandators, of the delegates over the delegators … Every party organization represents an oligarchical power grounded upon a democratic basis.’9 He explained the technical impossibility of direct-democratic decisionmaking by pointing, for instance, to fact that the Greater Berlin Party District had around 90,000 members at the time.10 Michels believed that the rule of the leaders over the led could never be completely eliminated, but at least reduced.11 He did, however, not make any concrete proposals to this end. Notably, despite the reservations on both sides, the ties between the council movement and the traditional organisations of the workers’ movement were close and often indispensable for the councils. Trade union members played an essential role in the new movement from the very beginning. The most important bodies of the Berlin council movement, namely the Executive Council and the General Assembly, were factionalised along party lines, as was the later General Assembly after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. Disputes did not always but frequently run along party-political lines. The pupil councils were also in close touch with the two large party-affiliated youth associations, and this was especially true of the fsj. uspd members dominated in the Central Office of Factory Councils, while the Communists were strongly represented in the unemployed councils. Finally, the role of the party press as a means of communication, both in political campaigns and in theoretical debates, can hardly be overstated. Its role was all more critical as Berlin’s high-circulation bourgeois papers in Berlin rarely met the council movement with sympathy: if they did not simply ignore it, they were openly hostile. Apart from the two periodicals Der Arbeiter-Rat and Räte-Zeitung, the councils had no newspapers of their own and had to fall

7 8

9 10 11

See Bock 1993 and Müller 1985. See Michels 2001. Michels was himself a member of the spd for a time and attended several party congresses. Later he turned first to syndicalism, then to Italian Fascism. On the history of the reception of his work, see Hetscher 1993, pp. 147–62. Michels 2001, p. 241. Michels 2001, p. 22. Michels 2001, pp. 243–44.

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back on those of other left-wing organisations. This was a structural weakness for several reasons. The council movement was exposed to the bourgeois media backlash but had only limited means to articulate its ideas independently and in a way that might have influenced the public. Under such conditions, the movement was bound to lose the battle for public opinion, and in this field it made insufficient effort to actively shift the balance. During the general strike in spring 1919, the communication policy pursued by the council movement was even downright amateurish. To date, the aspect of mass media has hardly received the attention it deserves in the historiography of the council movement. In many respects, then, the general relationship between the council movement and the parties and unions could be described as symbiotic rather than one of sharp opposition or unmediated coexistence. Admittedly, relations were always fragile and subject to numerous changes. This was exemplified by the split of the General Assembly into a left wing and a right wing and the transformation of the ‘red’ Executive Council into the Central Office of Factory Councils. The spd was keen on a rapid depoliticisation of the councils especially after March 1919, while the left opposition parties tied their hopes for a Second Revolution to their preservation and expansion. The council movement placed high demands on itself. Its aspirations included the unification of ‘manual and intellectual workers’ in a common organisation, the non-partisan character of the councils, and the integration of socalled secondary contradictions. A nuanced assessment is necessary to determine whether it was able to meet these specific aspirations and to what extent. Mass actions and various organisational efforts showed that the council idea was not only attractive to the classical type of industrial worker employed in a large enterprise, but also to other social groups such as white-collar workers and civil servants, intellectuals and apprentices. Nonetheless, the large factories were the most important bases. Beyond them, the council movement did not always find it easy to integrate social strata other than wage labourers and small salaried workers. It is true: apprentices, unemployed workers and intellectuals modelled their council organs on the regular councils with regard to organisation and modes of action, as well as sought direct cooperation. Thus, some intellectuals played an important role within the core of the council movement – for example Ernst Däumig, Alfons Goldschmidt and Alexander Schwab. The involvement of teachers and the liberal professions in the General Assembly was achieved especially through the Democratic fraction. When the unemployed and students founded their own council bodies, however, they tended to stand on the sidelines and were often met with benevolent disinterest rather than determined support and inclusion. The relationship with

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women was even more problematic: they were extremely underrepresented in the general councils and were rarely offered any help in setting up their own councils. And so, the council movement deprived itself of a potentially broader base, which in turn also limited its effectiveness. The students of the higher educational institutions in Berlin, for their part, did set up councils, but politically they had a completely different background and consciously demarcated themselves from the rest. The movement was non-partisan insofar as a number of different parties were involved and accepted. But one result was that the councils were often instrumentalised for the inter-party struggle. On several occasions, however, the council bodies provided the context for cross-party actions and made them possible in the first place. In a handful of cases, the grassroots of different parties joined forces in united initiatives that went against the wishes of the leaders, as was especially the case in the general strike of March 1919. Without the structural framework provided by the councils, this campaign would hardly have come to fruition. It was precisely in the organisational sphere that the enormous range of the council movement became evident. The core of the Berlin movement were the Executive Council and the General Assembly until they split in the summer of 1919. Not only did they represent the most comprehensive council structure, they were also a focal point for other council bodies organisationally and in terms of ideas. Whereas historians have so far been almost exclusively concerned with workers’, soldiers’ and factory councils, we have shown that there were a great many other areas of activity considering that apprentices, the unemployed, intellectuals and artists formed councils too. In this context, we also mention the interfactory Central Office of Factory Councils, which has hardly ever been researched before. Finally, the second spring of the Berlin councils deserves attention, during which extensive council structures were rebuilt in the aftermath of the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. This development has also been virtually ignored by historians. These council organisations generally gained major relevance ideologically and politically when, in the opinion of many historians, the council movement had already passed its peak, namely from the spring of 1919 onwards. Thus, we have gained new perspective on the council movement as a whole, which was both more multifaceted and more enduring than generally assumed.

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Modes of Action The scope of concrete actions was just as broad as the objectives and the organisational structure. The powerful general strikes in spring 1919 and March 1920 were certainly the most spectacular walkouts in which the councils were involved, but by no means the only ones. The political strike was the most important form of struggle in the Berlin council movement. In our study, we have examined some of these actions in detail for the first time, e.g. the apprentice strike in the summer of 1919, which was largely carried out by pupil councils. In the case of the general strikes of 1919 and 1920, we have mapped out numerous hitherto unknown details: for instance, the key influence of the grassroots, the role of the media, the connections with other regions and the very fact that in 1920 the interfactory council structures were rebuilt. Finally, the strike wave in the spring of 1919 brought a new quality compared to the first phase of the revolution. A mass action of such a scale, crucially supported by the councils, had simply never taken place in the months leading up to January 1919. A large number of smaller demonstrations and a few large ones, initiated by the student and unemployed councils, took place in residential areas, on central squares and outside official buildings. The demonstration outside the Reichstag on 13 January 1920, which was largely launched by the Central Office of Factory Councils and involved more than 100,000 participants, is still the bloodiest demonstration in the history of Germany, with 42 deaths. Despite its undisputed relevance, it has not been exhaustively studied of it so far. As we were able to show, the reconstruction and interpretation of the events by contemporaries and historians has been extremely tendentious and is therefore in need of correction. Moreover, the event is highly symbolic for the reserved attitude of large sections of the council movement towards the newly founded Weimar Republic. The council movement succeeded, at least to a degree, in providing continuous public education and information – for example, in the council school or with its periodicals, information brochures, leaflets and similar measures. On several occasions, leading representatives also expressed the hope that political action and involvement in the council movement would have a direct consciousness-raising, emancipatory effect. This expectation was evident, for example, in the context of the March 1919 general strike. But Däumig also stated more generally that he wanted the council idea to counteract the ‘gregarious habits’ of the working masses. The council delegates and supporters met in countless assemblies to hold elections, exchange information and make decisions. This was done in the Gen-

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eral Assemblies, which congregated regularly and comprised several hundred delegates, in public event halls and in the factories. Last but not least, the two National Congresses of Workers’ Councils and the large-scale Factory Councils Congress were held in Berlin. It goes without saying that the close feedback between voters and elected that is essential for the council system requires intensive communication. In addition to the various publications, face-to-face exchange played an extremely important role. In some cases, actions escalated into armed struggles, although these were not initiated by the council movement. Rather, they broke out spontaneously or were started by their opponents. The councils always dissociated themselves from such incidents and sought to de-escalate. As a rule, the council movement did not regard violence as a suitable means of political struggle. At most, armed actions were interpreted as self-defence, for example against the rightwing putschists of March 1920 or against the Freikorps the year before. Factory occupations, by contrast – such as those that occurred in northern Italy during the same period or in Spain in 1936 – were conspicuously rare. When they did happen, the occupiers were not the workers themselves, but the unemployed. There were no seizures of company property or assumption of factory leadership by workers in Berlin – in this, too, the Berlin council movement differed from other revolutionary centres. The reason for this orientation towards mass action across enterprises can probably be found in the history of the German workers’ movement, where syndicalist methods of struggle were traditionally viewed with scepticism. For this reason, the council system was generally not interpreted as a tool of what was negatively viewed as ‘company egoism’. Instead of entrusting the enterprises to the staff, the council supporters always had the coordination and management of society as a whole in mind. This conceptual orientation was also reflected at the level of action. The chronological sequence of concrete activities clearly shows that the council movement gradually went on the defensive. This development was not linear, however. The general strike of March 1919 was undoubtedly the strongest offensive action to force an immediate concession from the government while also creating the conditions for a new revolutionary wave. The school strike in the summer of the same year and many actions of the unemployed councils were similarly offensively-minded. The protest against the Factory Councils Act in January 1920, on the other hand, was an attempt to halt the deteriorating conditions for the councils as well as their domestication – it was therefore a defensive measure. This defensive character became even clearer two months later, when the primary matter was to fend off the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. After the putsch had been successfully defeated by means of a massive general strike, however, the struggle quickly developed into an offensive action, which also

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saw the restoration of a political council structure. But within a short time, this new attempt came to nothing. The strike itself, unlike a year earlier, was in any case no longer crucially shaped by the council movement, even if the factory councils played a significant role early on and the General Assembly at the end. The hope of a new revolutionary wave persisted only for a short time in the Central Office of Factory Councils and a little longer among the unemployed. But the council movement had practically ceased to exist as a real movement soon after the demise Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. What remained were revolutionary niches from which little influence could be taken on the course of events. All in all, the actions we have examined show how central the importance of the council movement was. This also highlights their leading role in the Second Revolution of 1919–1920. The roots of the movement in the workplaces were reflected not least in the concrete forms of action, such as its use of the general strike as a means of political pressure. After all, it often succeeded in bringing about a broad mobilisation for political action that went far beyond the membership of the radical left organisations We can draw three conclusions from this: first, the council movement was attractive to numerous blue- and white-collar workers even in its second phase. Secondly, it was at least partially successful in positioning the more moderate supporters and members of the spd and trade unions against their own leaders. Feldman, Kolb and Rürup’s thesis that only supporters of the radical organisations were involved in this phase must therefore be revised, at least for Berlin.12 Third, these mass-scale actions proved that the revolution had by no means ended with the elections to the National Assembly. Especially the two big general strikes massively challenged the new state and economic order once more.

Relationship to the State External agents played a significant role in the council movement, the most important of them being the state. Relations with the state had to be considered not only theoretically, but also in terms of practical politics. The answers of the council movement to this question were very varied. In general, the relationship was deeply ambivalent as the state was both the addressee of the council movement’s demands and its opponent. This ambiguous relationship can be seen particularly clearly in the integration of the councils into the Weimar constitution and the concrete legislation

12

Feldman, Kolb and Rürup 1971, p. 99.

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that followed from it. On the one hand, it was pressure from below, i.e. primarily from the ranks of the council movement, that led to the incorporation of the councils in Article 165, which had not been intended originally. Moreover, the Factory Councils Act institutionalised the factory councils and endowed them with state-guaranteed competences. In a modified form, works councils still exist in Germany today, the legal framework being the repeatedly amended Works Constitution Act (Betriebsverfassungsgesetz). This, then, was the only truly enduring concrete achievement of the council movement. While it was a considerable success overall, it was hardly satisfactory when judged against its own aspirations. Not only were the concrete possibilities of councils severely restricted, they also lost their revolutionary character. At any rate, once they were completely integrated into the existing social system, they and their constituents were no longer a movement. Only in individual cases did the kpd later try to claim them for its politics. Broad-based, independent initiatives no longer emanated from them, however. This integration went hand in hand with massive, recurrent acts of state repression that made the second phase of the revolution incomparably bloodier than the first. The executive did not shy away from violence and sometimes from unlawful measures to put the council movement in its place. This applied in particular, but by no means exclusively, to three exceptionally drastic cases. The first was Noske’s order for the uncompromising use of weapons and its further aggravation by the military in March 1919. Excesses also occurred later, e.g. the ruthless behaviour of the Security Police on 13 January 1920 and the harsh crackdown during and after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch. In Berlin alone, such acts of violence yielded several thousand deaths. The events of March 1919 marked a tragic climax. Then there were the countless, often arbitrary arrests, house searches, bans on meetings and organisations, and the frequent use of press censorship. These measures could hardly be reconciled with the high claim to be the ‘most democratic democracy in the world’.13 They were also some of the most important external factors in the failure of the movement. The massive, politically motivated violence also forcefully demonstrated the degree to which governments had made fatally flawed decisions with regard to armed bodies after 9 November 1918. In other revolutions, the development of politically loyal and organisationally innovative armed forces was resolutely pursued and became an important building block of success. Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army, the French post-1789 revolutionary army based on the levée 13

These were the words used by the parliament deputy and Minister of the Interior Eduard David (spd) to characterise the new republic during a speech. See Negotiations National Assembly, pp. 2194–5.

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en masse or the Bolsheviks’ Red Army with its institution of political officers are worth mentioning here. In Austria, too, the Social Democrats succeeded in reorganising the army after 1918, even if their example shows that this alone did not guarantee democratic conditions in the long term. In the German revolution, however, those in charge believed that without the imperial officers they would not even be able to repatriate troops from the Western Front. This is why the governments relied on the Freikorps and the Supreme Army Command (ohl), both of which pursued their own political agenda without being significantly obstructed by the political leadership. Moreover, the various cabinets themselves relied massively on violence in their confrontation with the left-wing opposition: the Minister of Defence Noske in particular was emblematic of this. By making themselves dependent on the military, they further strengthened its position. In the end, this intransigence drove many former government supporters into the opposition camp. The council movement, in contrast, repeatedly highlighted the urgent need for a thoroughgoing reform of the army. The soldiers’ councils could have been a possible instrument for its implementation. The ‘seven Hamburg points’ decided on by the first National Congress of Workers’ Councils in Berlin were a widely discussed programme towards this end. During the general strike in March 1919, these points were explicitly part of the demands. The consequences of the movement’s lack of success in asserting such a policy were directly felt by the movement itself. The question of army reform was one of the fateful questions of the revolution and the council movement alike. But it was decided in favour of its opponents, which proved to be a heavy burden not only for the councils but also for the Weimar Republic. The combination of limited concessions and severe confrontation ensured that the council movement was successfully neutralised by the state. Moreover, the subsequent lack of a powerful movement made clear that without such a force, further progress was not feasible. The provisions of Article 165, then, remained confined to a rudimentary minimum, just as the socialisation measures that were fervently demanded by the council movement and then hastily announced by the government. And yet, such limited reforms would have been perfectly possible within the framework of the Weimar Republic. The end of the revolutionary wave and the temporary stabilisation of the state and economic order, however, prevented this quite effectively. For many grassroots activists, revolutionary aspirations were eclipsed by the smaller concerns and hardships of everyday life in the workplace. The more radical forces within the movement had repeatedly warned against cooption by the state. Their ideas were, in any case, incompatible with the existing state and economic structures. The way in which the councils were ultimately integrated spelled the rejection of fun-

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damental social change. The integrating power of the spd and trade unions in this process, then, must not be underestimated as a factor in the failure of the Second Revolution – even if the council system had considerably stronger support in their Berlin district organisations than elsewhere. As a result of the continued failures, the council system was increasingly losing its appeal. Simultaneously, and closely linked to this, the strictly hierarchical vanguard party, inspired by the ostensibly more successful revolution of the Bolsheviks in Soviet Russia, became the new beacon of hope for radicals. The councils now served an accessory at best: for German party Communism after 1923, the council idea was little more than a phrase devoid of content. It is therefore not unjustified to interpret the Stalinisation of the kpd as a consequence of the failure of the grassroots-democratic council movement – a circumstance that has not yet been sufficiently considered in kpd research. With the replacement of the Council of People’s Deputies by a new coalition government on a purely parliamentary basis at the latest, Germany’s political system no longer had a dual power character as had been the case in the first months of the revolution. Back then, the Greater Berlin Executive Council had considerable monitoring rights over the government at least formally, and the councils had substantial powers in Prussia as well as in the municipal authorities. This changed completely after the election of the parliamentary delegations in the second phase of the revolution. The councils, and with them the council movement, became almost exclusively a fighting movement and organisation, which contributed in no small measure to their radicalisation during this period. Only rarely were they – e.g. the pupil councils or the unemployed councils – granted a limited say in the political sphere. On the whole, the council movement increasingly took on an oppositional role, but it also distanced itself from the council structures of the first revolutionary phase deliberately.

Council Movement and Revolution The revolution was far more than the toppling of the monarchy on 9 November 1918. The council movement, which continued to pursue its aims, illustrates this particularly clearly. The term ‘November Revolution’ thus proves to be an inadequate designation of a process that lasted at least until the weeks after the Kapp-Lüttwitz Putsch, i.e. until early April 1920. Isolated activities of the council movement can be traced even later. It would therefore be more appropriate to refer to the entire period as the ‘1918–1920 German Revolution’. It is also possible to identify a more radical second phase in other revolutions: one might mention the February and June Revolutions in France in 1848, for instance, or

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the February and October 1917 revolutions in Russia. However, research has so far considerably neglected the German Second Revolution from the spring of 1919 onwards – or it even identified the election of the National Assembly in January as the culmination and end point of the revolutionary awakening. This had consequences for the appraisal of the council movement. The German Revolution of 1918–1920 was not only a missed opportunity for democratisation from above, as West German research of the 1960s and 1970s emphasised – for the role of the councils was by no means limited to the temporary safeguarding of such democratisation. Rather, considerable parts of the movement were actively engaged in democratisation from below. They combined the aim of a council order with the will to implement it through the councils. This means that they were no longer hoping for reforms to come from the government, as had often been the case in the first phase of the revolution. Instead, the council movement came to oppose the government more and more. This stance, this will to take the realisation of one’s aims into one’s own hands, was the essence of democratisation from below. It almost goes without saying that the council movement was closely linked to socialist ideas, even if socialism was understood in a variety of ways. The council movement was also a key influence on the predominantly socialist character of the revolution in Berlin. Although the revolution was strongly socialist in orientation, then, its outcome was not. This apparent contradiction can be explained by the fact that Berlin and the other revolutionary centres were not representative of Germany as a whole. Another factor was the powerful counter-movement that emerged in parallel to the revolutionary activities. Many of the hopes and gains of the revolutionaries fell victim to it – and in some cases the revolutionaries themselves did. On the whole, though, the upheavals from 1918 onwards were more than just a catch-up ‘bourgeois-democratic revolution to a certain extent carried out by proletarian means and methods’, as leading instances of gdr historiography put it.14 This misinterpretation resulted not least from the fact that East German historians routinely overstated the role of parties and understated the role of grassroots movements for political reasons. In their view, the lack of a strong Leninist vanguard party was the decisive cause of the non-socialist character of the revolution. Where the only legitimate bearer of a socialist revolution was not present, no such revolution could exist.15

14 15

Zentralkomitee der sed 1958, p. 21. There were controversies about this interpretation in the gdr, but the divergent assessments hardly played a role in public and in research – indeed, sometimes they were even

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The ideas of the council movement were more ambitious and their means were the councils themselves to a much greater degree than earlier studies have shown. Both particularly applied to the subject of our study, the Second Revolution in Berlin from the spring of 1919 onward. Its aims, combined with its independent forms of organisation and mass actions, accounted for the basic character of the Berlin council movement. The movement was a specific implementation of socialist and grassroots-democratic ideas in the political practice of the broad masses. The important role of the grassroots was evident in a whole range of aspects – e.g. in elections for the factory councils and for the Greater Berlin General Assembly, but even more in the successful implementation of mass actions. The two general strikes alone had about one million participants each, and there were other demonstrations and rallies with up to 100,000 participants. All this underlines the importance of the council movement for the revolution in Berlin as a whole. In conceptual, organisational and practical terms, Berlin often served as a model for other council movements across Germany. Apart from indicating the prominent position of the capital in the revolution, this also reveals the gap that opened up between the metropolis and large parts of the periphery. It is true that there were other important revolutionary centres in the German Reich, as we have shown using the strike wave of February–April 1919 as an example. These strongholds included central Germany, Upper Silesia, the Ruhr region and some other industrial centres. We should not lose sight of the fact, however, that the population in many other regions was not as radical. The council movement never found an adequate solution to this fundamental problem. Also from this point of view, it is appropriate to speak of the Weimar Republic and not the Berlin Republic: the sedate province triumphed over the revolutionary metropolis. As the influential historian Erdmann pointed out, a Bolshevik takeover was never imminent during the revolutionary period.16 The council movement was undoubtedly radicalised, but this did not make it ‘Bolshevist’. The idea of democratisation from below diametrically contradicted the idea that the revolution could only be ‘made’ by a tightly hierarchical cadre party that represents the vanguard of the proletariat. True, there is evidence of ideological references to the Russian soviets, and Russia did play a prominent role in the foreign policy orientation of the coun-

16

bureaucratically suppressed. See the work of Bauer 1958 and Bramke and Heß 1988. On the reconstruction of these conflicts Kessler 2008 and John 2002. Erdmann 1959 and 1979.

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cil movement. However, the actual contacts were minimal, and even the flow of information about the respective political situation was rather modest. So if Russia, the soviets and the Bolsheviks exerted influence, it was more as a projection screen for revolutionary hopes, especially for the unemployed councils and in the kpd. The Independents, by contrast, explicitly stressed for a long time that they wanted to follow their own revolutionary path. The Social Democrats clearly dissociated themselves from Soviet Russia anyway and occasionally even demonised the developments there. Paradoxically, the Russian October Revolution did more harm than good to the German council movement. It frightened off the moderates and drove them into the arms of the counterrevolution, which justified its repressions with the looming peril of ‘Russian conditions’. The more radical forces, in turn, could hardly hope for concrete support from Russia. And if they did receive any, this only occurred later and at the price of a substantial subordination to the Soviet Russian leadership and hierarchisation of the organisational structure. Symptomatically, this manifested itself in the 21 conditions for joining the Comintern.17 One of these conditions explicitly called on the Communist parties to make use of the workers’ and factory councils. But the only way in which Russia really helped the radicals in the German council movement was as a vague blueprint. The forces that were counting on a Russian-style revolution played a rather insignificant role in any case – not only in Germany generally from 1918 to early 1920, but also in the council movement specifically. We cannot answer whether the development path of the Second Revolution that ultimately did not come into fruition had real potential by looking only at Berlin. We would have to place the question in a broader historical context, which is outside the scope of the present study. Such a comprehensive account would have to undertake a detailed analysis of the other revolutionary centres in Germany, of the more moderate regions, and even of other countries. An exhaustive general survey of the German Revolution of 1918–1920 thus remains one of the desiderata of historical research. It would be too simplistic to deny a priori that the Second Revolution could have been successful – but this is precisely what research has repeatedly done, using an argument borrowed from Eduard Bernstein: in highly developed modern industrial societies, unlike in pre-industrial social arrangements up to and including Russia in 1917, revolutions are simply no longer feasible, especially because their economy is based on a sensitive division of labour.18 The years 17 18

The 21 conditions were adopted at the Second Congress of the Comintern on 6 August 1920 – see Lenin 1920 for the translated document. Bernstein 1921; Löwenthal 1981.

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after 1989, however, have categorically proven the opposite, albeit under quite different auspices. A systematic comparison of the events of 1918–1920 and 1989 is yet to be made, and it could undoubtedly reveal much about the character of revolutions in modern societies.19 The Berlin council movement of 1919–1920 stood for an alternative path that the revolution could have taken. As regards the envisioned aims of the Second Revolution, the council system played a central role. But despite its temporary importance, the movement failed to achieve its aspirations. The reasons for this were manifold. A number of external factors, such as the flexible tactics of the state authorities, reservations in the traditional organisations of the workers’ movement, and the inertia of the social elites were only one side of the story. There were also the weaknesses within the movement itself: poor communication, organisational and political fragmentation within Berlin, inadequate cross-regional cooperation. To date, historians have mainly dealt with the first weeks of the revolution, when a moderate approach prevailed. The more radical second push has often been overlooked despite the fact that it was capable of powerful, broadly effective campaigns, as this study has clearly shown with respect to Berlin. The organisational diversity and lifespan of the council movement have also been greatly underestimated – here, too, a reappraisal is necessary. The legacy of the council movement lived on in various political currents – including, for instance, the Council Communist tendency around theorists such as Anton Pannekoek, Otto Rühle and Karl Korsch. In different ways, all three of them were even directly linked to the council movement. Politically though, Council Communism hardly made any impact at all. Mommsen also reads the ideas of the German anti-Nazi resistance group known as the Kraisau Circle as a ‘conservative variant of the council system’.20 This seems too much of a stretch.21 In fact, the similarities did not go beyond a few isolated programmatic overlaps, for example with regard to a decentralised structure of society and economic co-determination. There were stronger similarities between the council movement and protest movement of 1968.22 The latter had the same fundamentally anti-authoritarian thrust and contributed to the rediscovery of

19

20 21 22

A very succinct but thoroughly readable attempt at a comparison of the revolutions is found in Bramke 2009, pp. 304–308. Also brief is a more specific comparison between round tables and councils in Weil 2011, pp. 216–22. The author identifies some similarities and differences, but cannot draw on any research of her own with respect to the councils. See Mommsen 1994, pp. 246–261; quote on p. 257. Ebbinghaus also rejects this interpretation: see Ebbinghaus 2004, p. 73. Allmendinger 2009.

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the former. It is generally possible to find analogies with the aims and practices of many political movements around the world, even if most of them do not directly relate to the German councils.23 The almost complete failure of the council movement relates not only to the course of the German Revolution of 1918–1920, but also to the tragic upheavals of the twentieth century as a whole. Rosenberg highlighted the fragility of the Weimar Republic after the half-hearted revolution early on.24 All in all, the present study ties in with the body of historical research on the workers’ movement in the last century: the Berlin council movement proves that there existed a socialist and grassroots-democratic alternative to both Social Democracy and Stalinism.

23 24

See pars pro toto the anthology by Azzellini and Ness 2011 with examples from Europe, North and Latin America and Asia. Rosenberg 1936.

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Index Abendroth, Wolfgang 346 afa (General Federation of Free Employees) 25, 54, 151, 182, 184, 195, 225, 228, 230, 232, 330, 343–45, 393 Agricultural Workers’ Union 230 Alexanderplatz 31, 121–22, 129, 181 Andreas-Salomé, Lou 302 antisemitic demagogy 178 Arendsee, Martha 314 Aron electricity meter factory 71 art 272, 302, 309 assemblies 76, 78, 86, 90, 139–40, 158, 160, 163, 181–82, 205–6, 251–53, 259, 267

bourgeois democracy 12, 190, 209, 382 bourgeois-democratic revolution 11, 420 Bramke, Werner 12, 16, 420, 423 Brandenburg 176, 183, 347 Breitscheid, Rudolf 215, 377–79, 393, 403 Brigl-Matthiaß, Kurt 217, 233–34, 328, 397, 436 brz (Betriebsrätezentrale) 147, 184, 198– 200, 217–30, 232–37, 294–95, 406 Büchel, Franz 353, 429 Bukharin, Nikolai 97 bureaucratism 56, 235, 387 Büsch, Otto 105

banks 93, 166, 199 Barth, Boris 25 Barth, Emil 66 Bauer, Gustav 36, 336 Bavaria 38, 41, 239, 310, 347 Bayerlein, Berhard 235 Berlin Central Office of Factory Councils 143 Berlin Central Strike Committee 200 Berlin Executive Council 4, 27, 61, 63, 147, 218–20 Berlin Federation of Railway Officials 102 Berlin metal industry 146, 374 Berlin Municipal Tramway 87 Berlin strike leadership 66, 193, 201 Berlin Trade-union Commission 53, 86, 105, 143, 158, 184, 193, 195, 198, 203, 229, 233 Berlin Trade Union School 225 Berlin Unemployed Council 297 Bernstein, Eduard 7, 21, 374, 422, 429 Beutin, Heidi 301 Bieber, Hans-Joachim 13, 111, 241, 301–2, 307, 326, 328–30, 435 Bielefeld Agreement 213 Biennio rosso 18 Bierhoff, Oliver 244 Bölke, Gundula 310, 313 Bolsheviks 17, 366, 371, 385, 404, 419, 422 Bolshevism 5, 7, 168, 179, 359, 364 Borsig 99, 111, 183, 200 Bötzow brewery 117, 201, 251

capital 23, 40–41, 47, 63–64, 98–99, 118, 172, 180, 182, 217, 250–51, 271, 348, 350–51, 383–84 capitalism 60, 197, 227, 280, 283–84, 299, 314, 378, 383, 392, 394 Central Office of Factory Councils 14– 15, 148–51, 198–200, 211–12, 277–78, 293–94, 342, 394, 398, 409, 411–12, 414, 416 Charlottenburg gasworks 103 Chemnitz 187, 235, 250 civil servants 16, 19, 93, 96–97, 101, 105, 111– 12, 204, 208, 301–2, 312 co-determination rights 36, 72, 148, 151, 226, 244, 265, 313, 338, 394, 402 Cohen, Max 349–51, 355, 357, 397, 402 Comintern 375, 422 Communists 12, 31, 50–53, 60, 82–83, 85– 86, 92, 107–8, 163, 191, 193, 212, 233–35, 295–96, 364, 368–69, 373–7 companies 45, 77–78, 99–100, 109, 150, 221, 224, 322, 325, 327, 329 comradeship 239 Constituent German National Assembly 38, 43, 68–69, 130, 140, 147–48, 159– 63, 324, 331–32, 347–48, 363, 368–69, 377, 379–80, 392–93 Control Commission 353 council delegates 109–10, 123, 135, 142, 206, 295, 342, 379, 414 council idea 292, 299, 322, 329, 383, 388, 394, 396, 398, 406, 412, 414, 419

450 council movement 1–10, 12–17, 19–24, 28–31, 88–89, 96–97, 132–33, 170–217, 235, 237–38, 240–41, 263–66, 299–301, 308–23, 328, 346–47, 372–73, 375–76, 397–98, 400–424 council system 18, 34–36, 71, 75, 88, 141–43, 172, 226–27, 270, 282–84, 313–16, 333, 336–43, 367–68, 381–85, 387–89, 398– 400, 402, 404, 407–10 courts martial 31, 125–26, 137, 140 criminals 54, 282, 394 Crusius, Reinhard 335 Daimler 40, 52, 87, 99, 150 Däumig, Ernst 52, 54, 56–57, 59, 196, 199 ddp (Deutsche Demokratische Partei [German Democratic Party]) 5, 42, 156, 162, 192, 197, 347 ddr (Democratic Republic of Germany) 25, 363, 425, 439, 447 Demirovic, Alex 13 democracy 167, 170, 173, 208–10, 354, 357, 360, 362, 365–66, 378–80, 389, 392, 404 democratisation 2, 8–9, 43–44, 133, 215, 357, 380, 420 Dißmann, Robert 150, 231, 295, 341–42 dmv (German Metalworkers’ Federation) 24–25, 36, 147, 330, 336, 338–40, 342– 43, 345–46 dnvp (German National People’s Party) 111, 163, 177, 286 Döblin, Alfred 103, 110, 121, 123–24, 431 Dresden 41, 68, 177 Düsseldorf 277 Ebert, Freidrich 5, 8, 37, 49–50, 135, 151, 190, 197, 288, 380 Eisner, Kurt 71, 96 entrepreneurs 4, 209, 283, 327, 334, 337–38, 349–50, 367 executive powers 88, 91, 157, 348, 366, 381 factories 43–45, 48–49, 53, 69–71, 74–76, 99–100, 148–49, 181, 198–99, 205–6, 243–46, 264, 290–91, 322–23, 327–28, 331–33 factory councillors 37, 71, 181, 195, 199, 220– 22, 231–32, 234, 295, 367, 394 Factory Councils Act 146–49, 172–73, 222–

index 23, 228, 323–24, 326, 328–30, 335, 337–39, 342–43, 345, 351–52, 357–58, 369–70, 391–96 Feldman, Gerald 3, 9, 11, 16, 106, 387, 416 First World War 1, 21, 239 Fischer, Richard 121, 123, 129, 133 Flechtheim, Ossip 361, 363, 369 Frank, Otto 43, 46, 80, 131 Free Trade Unions 15, 211, 224, 228–30, 232– 34, 297, 330, 343, 347, 396–97, 409–10 Freikorps 51, 53, 87, 92, 95, 111–12, 116–17, 128–31, 134, 137, 140, 165–67, 175–76, 415, 418 fsj (Communist Youth League) 243, 246– 49, 251, 254–57, 259, 262–63, 266, 268, 411 Führer, Karl Christian 14, 232, 236, 270, 272, 278, 286 Gallus, Alexander 13 General Assemblies 31–32, 44–46, 50–58, 60, 68–70, 72–73, 75–79, 81–86, 88–92, 94–95, 98–99, 101–2, 107–10, 199–208, 210–16, 218, 264–65, 274–75, 317–19, 411–13 General Commission of German Trade Unions 54, 56, 331, 335–36, 338 German Revolution 10–11, 13, 17, 350, 366, 418–20, 422, 424 Geyer, Curt 17, 37–38, 61, 147, 154, 156, 161, 164, 168, 219, 226, 329, 385, 394–95 Gotha Programme 284, 431 government troops 32, 47, 52, 64–65, 87, 104, 122, 124, 126, 128, 213 Grzesinski, Albert 28, 358 Guard Cavalry Riflemen Division 103, 116– 17, 125, 137, 165–66, 168, 258, 265, 282 Haase, Hugo 49, 119, 376, 378, 388–89 Halle 32, 35–38, 61, 63–64, 66, 160–61, 219, 226, 347, 352, 392–93 Hamburg 68, 219, 317 Heckmann, Richard 331, 332 Heimann, Siegfried 127 Henke, Alfred 156, 324 Herfurth, Bruno 51, 92, 114, 132 Hildebrandt, Paul 240 Hilferding, Rudolf 374, 377–78, 403 Hiller, Kurt 302, 304–6, 430

index Hoch, Gustav 357 Hoelz, Max 28, 277, 279, 287 Hoffrogge, Ralf 13, 63, 217, 232–33, 239, 339, 373–74, 386 insurgents 32, 114, 117, 122–25, 196 insurrections 128, 368, 439 intellectuals 15, 18–19, 303–5, 307–9, 365, 386, 406, 408, 412–13 council of 303–4, 306, 308, 408 intellectual workers 24, 226, 301–5, 307–9, 386, 406–8 Jentsch, Willy 186, 235 Jogiches, Leo 126 Junge Garde 79, 191, 241, 243, 246–47, 250– 51, 254–55, 257, 259–63, 268 Kaliski, Julius 92, 197, 350, 397 kapd (Communist Workers’ Party) 185, 189, 207–8, 277, 286, 291, 296, 361, 368–69, 403 Kapp, Wolfgang 174, 176–79, 182, 186, 193, 432 Kapp-Lüttwitz putsch 11, 14, 23, 27, 174–216, 222, 225, 405, 408–9, 411, 413, 415–17, 419 Kessel, Hans von 28, 118, 124, 154–55, 166– 67, 175 Kessler, Mario 11, 75, 81, 127–28 Keuscher, Carl 72, 150 Knoll, Regina 11, 50, 80, 92, 121, 133–34 Kolb, Eberhard 2, 9–10, 24, 32, 41, 347–49, 357, 364 kpd (Communist Party of Germany) 12, 48–49, 51–53, 132–33, 147–50, 182–83, 185, 189–93, 195–96, 198–99, 201, 206– 8, 209, 210–11, 229–30, 232–34, 361–65, 367–70, 372–75, 403–5, 425 Krüger, Franz 177, 179, 184, 188, 193, 195, 197 Kurzweg, Rudolf 239–40 labour movement 236, 263, 312, 321–22, 398, 403, 408 Landauer, Gustav 308 Lange, Paul 13, 75, 80, 105, 111, 116, 121–22, 127, 133, 338 Lassalle, Ferdinand 164, 396 Legien, Carl 186, 230, 331–32, 339

451 Leipzig 35, 37, 39, 62–64, 66, 296, 302, 383, 388, 390, 393 Levi, Paul 49–50, 52, 79, 82, 98, 101, 104, 157, 183, 203, 205, 369, 371 Lichtenberg 32, 78, 103–4, 116–17, 122–24, 133, 164, 185, 280, 291, 301 Liebknecht, Karl 71, 90, 166, 240, 362–63 Löwenheim, Walter 247 Luxemburg, Rosa 21, 71, 90, 96, 166, 317 Malzahn, Heinrich 79, 80, 199, 205, 218, 226 Marienfelde 53, 73, 76–77, 90, 150 Marx, Karl 1, 98, 111, 156, 170, 284 Marxism-Leninism 27–28 mass movements 4, 19, 21–22, 24–25, 112, 143, 172, 298–99, 309, 410 mass strikes 54, 69, 141, 226, 368 Materna, Ingo 11, 14, 27, 75, 80, 104, 218 metal industry 35, 225, 234, 289, 343 Michels, Robert 411 military policy 27, 59, 67, 71, 95, 131, 214–15 militias 40, 112, 128, 130–32, 134, 137, 168, 176, 179, 185, 203–5 Miller, Susanne 8, 80, 88, 147–48, 150, 155, 182, 192, 346, 357, 360, 410 miners 33–37, 40, 63, 73, 79, 157, 171, 219 mines 34, 135, 286, 291, 371 Moabit 185, 291, 301 Mommsen, Wolfgang 9, 98, 107, 144, 197, 423 monarchy 176, 323, 419 money 105, 111, 134, 166, 229, 281 Moses, Julius 273 Müller, Richard 6, 32–34, 50–52, 55, 57–59, 65–68, 82, 84–86, 91–92, 94–95, 104– 5, 107–9, 121–25, 130, 132–33, 220, 222, 228–29, 232–33, 295–96, 336–39, 341– 42, 363, 384–87 Müller, Dirk 4, 12 municipalities 70, 257, 272–73, 280, 286, 288, 290, 332 murders 41, 71, 96, 116, 164 National Congress of Factory Councils 221, 229, 231–32, 235, 280, 283–84, 287, 294– 95, 343, 432–33 National Unemployed Committee 270, 276–79, 283, 287, 291, 294, 296–97, 319

452 Nettball, Kurt 100, 249–50, 255–56, 261–63, 265 Neukölln 126, 129–30, 158, 180, 183, 263, 320 newspapers 1, 32, 38, 74, 118–20, 139, 154, 157–58, 172, 182, 290 Noske, Gustav 5, 49–50, 95, 119–20, 124–25, 128–30, 137, 139–40, 152, 154, 169, 171, 182, 188, 190, 358–59 November Revolution 6, 11, 13–14, 210, 215, 220, 239, 246, 249, 310, 359 Oeser, Rudolf 163 Ollenhauer, Erich 245 Pannekoek, Anton 423 parliamentarism 209, 362, 366, 391, 404 parliamentary system 48, 173, 348, 379, 390–91, 402 Pechstein, Max 309 Pesendorfer, Alfred 13 Pieser, Robert 90 police 31, 130, 133, 155, 159, 161, 170, 181, 186, 254, 258 Potsdam 23, 41, 183, 438 production 89, 91, 94, 224, 283, 288, 325–26, 328–29, 333, 338, 340, 343, 350 programme 92, 98, 144, 207, 226, 252, 302, 304, 306–7, 364–65, 378 proletariat 50, 72, 202–3, 207–8, 211, 216, 244, 326, 329, 352–53, 364–65, 368–69, 383–84, 389–91, 403–4 proportional representation system 313, 316 Prussia 23, 26–27, 74, 165, 175, 239, 275–76, 400–401, 419 pupil councils 238–69, 306–7, 320, 406, 408–9, 411, 414, 419 putschism 36, 364 radicalisation 5, 18, 20, 72, 84, 191, 198, 333, 369, 391, 419 railway workers 35–36, 62, 85, 101, 107, 109, 146, 150, 157–58, 162–63, 171 Reichswehr 130, 137, 165, 167–69, 176, 179, 187, 206, 213, 291 rent strike 289–90 Republican Soldiers’ Guard 107, 122, 128, 132 revolution 1–8, 10–17, 20–21, 23–24, 49– 50, 68–69, 174–75, 192, 242–44, 308–11,

index 330–34, 363–64, 372–73, 376, 379–84, 404–5, 416–23 revolutionary period 2, 14, 16, 41, 103, 310, 313, 386, 396, 400, 404 revolutionary wave 40, 174, 287, 409, 418 new 216–17, 226, 235, 406, 415–16 Rhineland-Westphalia 39, 61, 203, 206, 210, 361 Rhine-Ruhr region 277 roadblocks 104, 125 Rosenberg, Arthur 8, 186, 210, 354, 424 Rote Fahne 48–50, 71–73, 90, 163–64, 204– 7, 225, 229–30, 264–65, 274–76, 279–81, 284–85, 291, 294–96, 319–20, 364–65, 368–70 Ruck, Michael 230, 234 Ruhr 33, 57, 64, 72, 157, 187, 206, 211, 213, 215 Rusch, Oskar 63, 195, 339, 342 Russia 17, 90–91, 93, 96–97, 114, 290, 292, 312, 385, 420–22 Saefkow, Anton 250, 252–56, 259, 261, 265 sailors 3, 126, 153–54 Saxony 35, 62, 157, 176, 187, 210–11, 214–15, 219, 239 Scheidemann, Philipp 28, 37, 47, 49–50, 90, 136–38, 351, 354, 356, 358 Schildt, Axel 14 Schiller, Paul 249, 252–55, 259, 266, 320 Paul 242–43, 256 Scholem, Werner 373 Schönberg, Arnold 359 Schöneberg 276, 280 schools 7–8, 10, 223–25, 239–40, 242, 244– 57, 259, 261, 263–64, 266–68, 320 school strike 245, 251, 262–63, 265–66, 408, 415 Schulze, Ernst 27, 139, 159, 176–79, 183–84, 188, 191–93, 195, 199, 201, 204 Schwab, Alexander 223, 308 Security Police 152–55, 159–61, 163, 165–68, 176, 178–79, 185–87, 212, 291, 417 sed (Socialist Unity Party) 11–12, 27, 334, 363, 420 self-management 247, 337, 389 Sender, Toni 313–14, 316, 384, 391, 393 shop stewards 35, 40–41, 43, 46, 69, 71–72, 83, 87, 101, 104, 181, 244–45, 363– 64

453

index Sinzheimer, Hugo 306–7, 309, 351, 355, 357, 377 socialisation 33–34, 36, 43–44, 71–72, 87, 89, 91, 114–15, 135–36, 222, 224, 226, 380–81, 402–3, 405 socialism 74, 76, 312, 314, 326, 329, 334, 336, 352–53, 360, 362, 365, 389, 392, 394 social partnership 237, 325–27, 329, 334, 345 soldiers 4, 15–16, 33–34, 36–38, 60–62, 92– 93, 119, 123–25, 127–30, 132–34, 281–82, 311, 349, 365–66, 376 Spandau 72–73, 79, 90, 99, 122, 131, 183–84 Spartacus League 5, 128, 362–64, 367 spd (Social Democrats) 4–5, 7–8, 28–29, 40–46, 49–53, 56–61, 78–80, 106–8, 143–44, 172–73, 306–8, 345–47, 349–54, 358–59, 361–62, 369–71, 375–78, 392– 95, 397–99, 409–12 Stalinisation 362, 372, 419 state authorities 29, 142, 164, 171, 218, 237, 259, 285–86, 311, 352, 371 Stock, Robert 77, 90 Stöcker, Helene 302, 304 street fighting 85, 121 strike campaign 56, 59, 73, 83, 131, 141, 257, 397 strike leadership 31–32, 36, 38, 51–55, 58, 79–80, 84–86, 92, 94, 106–11, 119–20, 142–43, 201–2, 250, 256 Stuttgart 24, 40, 68, 174, 177, 186 suburbs 23, 72, 122, 184, 188, 287 summary executions 126 syndicalists 55, 163, 219 teachers 16, 42, 224–25, 239–40, 247, 250, 252–53, 255, 259–60, 262, 267 telephone systems 77 Tenner, Armin 45 Textile Workers’ Union 228 Thälmann, Ernst 362, 372–73 Thuringia 37, 62, 66, 187, 205, 239 trade unionists 34, 55, 106, 192, 195, 212, 228, 235, 332–3 Triebel, Alexander 102

Ulbricht, Walter 12 unemployed councils 14, 225, 270–300, 307, 319–20, 406, 409, 411, 414–15, 419, 422 unemployment 91, 105, 130, 230, 271–72, 275, 279, 282, 293, 299, 406 Upper Silesia 32, 39–40, 66, 146, 421 uspd (Independent Social Democrats) 11, 15, 25, 31–33, 35, 36, 40, 41–47, 56–58, 60–69, 79–86, 92, 103, 107, 148–59, 172– 77, 185, 189, 193–96, 198–207, 226–33, 295–96, 306, 317, 343, 348, 361–66, 370– 398, 402, 405, 409–11 vocational schools 241–43, 246–51, 253, 255, 260–62, 264–67, 408 Vorwärts 41, 43–47, 71–75, 80–81, 99–105, 109–10, 114, 117, 119, 128, 134–36, 147–50, 157–58, 161–62, 228–29, 255–58, 280– 83, 347–48, 357–58 wages 30, 33, 87, 94, 97, 103, 105, 285, 325, 327, 340, 343, 345 Walcher, Jacob 183, 187, 200, 205–6 Weber, Heinrich 70, 361–64, 366–68 Wegmann, Paul 205, 220, 226, 230–31 Weimar Constitution 155, 160, 241, 265, 272, 304, 306, 323–24, 335, 345, 351 Weimar Republic 1, 6–7, 28–29, 174, 234, 328, 346–47, 398, 418, 421, 424 Weißensee 71 welfare 272, 285, 298 white-collar workers 16, 19, 97, 99, 102, 104– 5, 141, 143, 147, 150, 172, 343, 346, 386 wildcat strikes 114 Wissell, Rudolf 134, 136, 337, 351 workplaces 44–45, 53, 76, 78, 88, 90, 101–2, 109–10, 143–44, 148, 150, 172, 316, 318, 380 youth 151, 244, 246, 251–52, 256, 262, 264 Zeitz 38, 61 Zepler, Wally 311, 315, 357 Zetkin, Clara 315, 317, 320