CHAPTER SIX Our struggle in the early days.
The importance of public speaking
The reverberations of our first assembly, held on February 24, 1920, in the Munich Hofbräuhaus banquet hall, still lingered when preparations for the next meeting began. Contrary to the previously held view of the risk involved in holding small political assemblies once a month, and perhaps once every two weeks, we resolved that from then on, a large meeting should be held weekly.
At that time, the Hofbräuhaus’s banquet hall took on an almost sacramental significance for us National Socialists. Every week, a rally was held, and the hall grew ever more crowded, as did the audience, ever more fervently. In our lectures, we discussed “war guilt,” a topic that no one was concerned with at the time; we were also interested in peace treaties and, ultimately, in everything that, ideologically or from the point of view of political agitation, seemed appropriate or necessary.
A large-scale popular meeting, made up of excited proletarian elements rather than phlegmatic bourgeois, and whose theme was the “Treaty of Versailles,” was then considered an attack on the republic and a symptom of a reactionary, if not monarchical, tendency. Already at the first words implying criticism of the “Treaty of Versailles,” the violent exclamation of the stereotyped phrase could be heard in the audience: “And what is the Treaty of Brest-Litowsk?” “Brest-Litowsk!” the crowd continued to shout until they were hoarse or until the speaker gave up his attempt to persuade. Faced with such a people, one might have banged one’s head against a wall in despair. They were a deaf people, unwilling to understand that Versailles was a disgrace and a disgrace, and even refusing to acknowledge that the treaty represented an iniquitous plundering of the German nation. The destructive work of Marxism and the poison of
Enemy propaganda had nullified the reason of those people. In reality, there was no right to complain, since the blame rested heavily on our bourgeoisie. What had it done to halt such a terrible divisive work and combat it by imposing upon itself the duty to pave the way for the truth through well-directed and thorough publicity?
At that time, it was clear to me that for the small core of our movement, in its early days, the question of war guilt had to be resolved by establishing the historical truth. Even in those days, without fearing unpopularity, hatred, or strife, I openly opposed the prevailing view on the great questions of principle, on which the entire public held an erroneous view.
Naturally, especially for a movement still in its infancy, there is a great temptation to join in and shout with the others when a much more powerful adversary has succeeded, thanks to its art of seduction, in inducing the people to an absurd resolution or to adopt a false attitude. And this precisely when a few reasons, even if only superficial, judged from the point of view of the movement itself, could contribute to that very goal.
More than once, I have experienced cases in which the utmost energy was required to prevent the ship of our movement from launching itself, or rather, from being swept away by the artificially provoked general current. We have certainly not “implored” the favor of the masses, but have confronted the absurdities of this people everywhere.
In a short time I had learned something very important, that is, how to snatch the weapon of rebuttal from the enemy’s hand. It soon became clear that our adversaries, particularly their controversial orators, appeared on the scene with a specific “repertoire” in which the same arguments against our assertions were always repeated, so that the systematic nature of the procedure allowed us to deduce that it was a matter of a definite and unitary training. And so it was indeed. Here we were given a glimpse of the extraordinary discipline of propaganda put into action by our adversaries, and even today I am proud of having found the means to neutralize the effectiveness of this propaganda and
to nullify even their authors. Two years later I had become a master of this art.
In each of the speeches, it was essential to orient oneself beforehand as to the probable content and form of the objections that might be formulated in the course of the discussion.
It was appropriate from the outset to mention the opponent’s possible objections and demonstrate their inconsistency.
That was the reason why today, after my first lecture on the “Peace Treaty of Versailles,” which I gave to the troops of my regiment in my capacity as “educator,” I decided to change the subject by speaking simultaneously from then on about the “Peace Treaties of Brest-Litowsk and Versailles.” For, after a short time, and indeed already in the course of the first of my new lectures, I was able to ascertain that people actually had not the slightest idea what the Treaty of Brest-Litowsk was, but that nevertheless, thanks to the skillful propaganda of their political parties, it had been possible to present it, and not the Treaty of Versailles, as one of the most shameful acts of violence in the world. The persistence with which such a lie was spread among the great mass of the people led millions of Germans to believe that they saw in the Treaty of Versailles just compensation for the crime we committed at Brest-Litowsk, and consequently considered any opposition to the Treaty of Versailles unjust. And this was also one of the reasons that contributed to the establishment in Germany of that shameless and monstrous word “reparation.” A vile simulation that truly appeared in the eyes of millions of our incited compatriots as the demonstration of a higher justice. Horrible, but it was so!
In my lectures, I confronted both treaties, comparing them point by point, demonstrating how immensely humane the Treaty of Brest-Litowsk truly was compared to the inhuman cruelty of the Treaty of Versailles. The result must have been astonishing. I addressed the subject in assemblies of two thousand people, where the hostile gaze of eighteen hundred was often concentrated upon me. But three hours later, I found myself surrounded by a crowd seized by holy indignation and unprecedented fury. Once again, a great lie had been uprooted from the hearts and minds of thousands, and in its place had been inculcated a truth.
These meetings also had the advantage for me that I gradually adapted to the character of a speaker at large rallies;
I had become familiar with the pathetic tone and mimicry required to speak in a large hall before an audience of thousands.
We also used printed propaganda to help us spread the word, and that’s why the first meetings were characterized by tables covered in flyers, newspapers, magazines, brochures, etc., etc. However, we attached capital importance to the spoken word, because in reality, only it is capable of initiating great developments, and this was due to simple psychological reasons.
The speaker has a permanent point of reference in his addressee, provided he can read his listeners’ expressions to what extent they are able to follow and understand his ideas, and also to determine whether the impression and effect produced by his words are conducive to the desired purpose. The writer, on the other hand, knows nothing about his readers. Consequently, he cannot focus on a specific audience within his immediate sight, but must give his presentations a general tone.
A printed publication with a particular tendency will, in most cases, be read only by people who already count themselves among the followers of that movement. A flyer or advertisement may, due to its conciseness, have the possibility of briefly attracting the attention of someone who thinks differently. Graphic propaganda in all its forms, including film, has a better chance of success. A graphic provides an explanation in a much shorter time, almost instantly, than would be obtained in writing only after a laborious reading.
The orator will always allow himself to be influenced by the crowd, so that, instinctively, the very words he needs to touch the souls of his listeners flow from his lips. If he sees that they do not understand him, he will formulate his concepts in such primitive and clear forms that undoubtedly the last of them will understand him; if he realizes that they are not capable of following him, then he will develop his ideas so carefully and slowly that the most ignorant among them will not be left behind; and if, finally, he notices that his listeners do not seem to be convinced of the truth of what he has said, he will choose to repeat the same thing as many times as necessary, always in the form of new examples, refuting the objections that, without being expressed to him, he perceives from the audience, replying and breaking them down until finally, the last segment
of opposition reveals, through its attitude and the expression of those who form it, that it has capitulated to the logical argumentation of the speaker.
Furthermore, it is not uncommon to try to destroy prejudices in people that are not rooted in their intellect, but are unconsciously based solely on instinct. Overcoming this barrier of instinctive animosity, passionate hatred, and preconceived repulsion is a thousand times more difficult than rectifying a deficient or erroneous scientific opinion. False conceptions and poor instruction are susceptible to correction through teaching; however, emotional resistances will never be rectified by the same means. Only an appeal to these mysterious forces is capable of acting upon these resistances. The writer can achieve this with great difficulty, for perhaps this power is the exclusive privilege of the orator.
What gave Marxism its astonishing power over the masses was not at all the written work, which was Jewish in character, but rather the enormous avalanche of oratorical propaganda that, over the years, seized the masses. Among one hundred thousand German workers, there are not, on average, one hundred who are familiar with Marx’s work, a work which from the beginning was studied a thousand times more by intellectuals, and above all by Jews, than by the true adepts of Marxism situated in the vast lower echelons of the people; for this work was not written for the masses either, but exclusively for the intellectual leaders of the Jewish machine of world conquest, a machine that was later fueled by a very different fuel: the press. This is what distinguishes the Marxist press from our bourgeois press. The Marxist press is written by agitators, while the bourgeoisie, even though it also wishes to agitate, uses only “pen-writers.”
It fully corresponds to the impracticality of the German mentality, the belief that the writer must logically be of superior intelligence to the speaker.
This view is amusingly illustrated by the comment of a nationalist newspaper, which states that it is often disappointing to see the speech of a notable orator published. This reminds me of a similar criticism I encountered during the war. The speeches of Lloyd George, then Minister of Munitions, were minutely analyzed, leading to the ingenious conclusion that those speeches, morally and scientifically considered, were of secondary value and otherwise banal and simple products. I myself received, in the form of a small booklet, some of the
Lloyd George’s speeches and I couldn’t help laughing out loud, thinking that, naturally, a common scribbler couldn’t possibly have the capacity to understand these masterpieces of mass psychological capture. That little writer judged those speeches solely by the impression they made on his own presumptuous mind, when in reality the great English demagogue focused his speeches solely on the purpose of exerting the greatest possible influence on the masses of his listeners and, in a broader sense, on the entire lower classes of the people. Seen from this point of view, Lloyd George’s speeches were admirable productions because they testified to a truly astonishing knowledge of the psychology of crowds.
Compare these speeches with the impotent babble of Bethmann-Hollweg. The truth is that the latter’s speeches were apparently of more intellectual significance, but in reality they demonstrated nothing more than the man’s inability to speak to his people. That Lloyd George was not only equal to, but a thousand times superior to, Bethmann-Hollweg in wit was proven by the fact that Lloyd George found in his speeches that form and expression that should have opened the hearts of his people and that ultimately reduced those people to his unconditional will. The outstanding political talent of this Englishman is manifested precisely in the simplicity of his language, in the elementality of his forms of expression, and in his use of simple and easily understandable examples.
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The popular assembly is, of course, indispensable because the individual who, as a future proselyte of a nascent movement, feels shy at first, easily giving in to the fear of isolation, finds there the framework of a large community, which has, for most people, a comforting and encouraging influence.
The same individual, as part of a company or battalion, surrounded by all his comrades, will rush into an assault more recklessly than when he is alone. Grouped together, he would always feel protected.
to a certain extent, although practically a thousand reasons prove otherwise.
The sense of community inspired by collective demonstration not only instills lessons in the individual, but also unites and contributes to creating esprit de corps. The will, the desire, and even the energy of thousands accumulate in each person. The person who, filled with doubts and hesitations, enters such an assembly, emerges deeply comforted: he has become a member of the community.
The National Socialist movement must never forget this!
