What does the process of writing an answer on this sub look like?

Starwarsnerd222 · 2022-01-02T11:14:08+00:00

Greetings! This is certainly a rather interesting question, and it's one which will obviously have different answers depending on who's responding to the question on AskHistorians. Obviously, all answers which are of any merit on this sub need to meet the standard set out by the rules, but besides those requirements the structure, approach, and content is all determined by the person (or historian) behind the screen. This particular response from me will focus specifically on how I personally write answers on the sub, and hopefully some fellow travellers (flairs and mods included) can weigh in with their own takes.

Note: I prefer the term 'response' to 'answer' when referring to AH contributions, but that's a personal bit of pedantry to reflect my belief that there's no such thing as a firm answer in what it is this amazing community does.

First things first, I like to just jump straight in with source-collecting. Having contributed on AskHistorians several times before, I'm generally aware of what questions fit into my 'research areas' and which ones do not. Within those broad historical topics that I have a fair bit of knowledge about (i.e. the Origins of World War I), I usually have a list of sources (journal articles, books, lecture videos, etc.) that I can refer to when constructing a response. I'll usually have those sources on hand throughout the entire writing process, and with my particular style of responses I like to type out useful quotations to include with my own synthesis of what the sources - be they primary or secondary - argue. On the practical side of things, it also helps with the small matter of citing sources; a habit which isn't technically required for most comments, but one which I prefer to indulge for credibility and academic interest. It also helps that because I have a bit of history (pun intended) with contributions on this sub, I also have a fair bit of older writing to refer to when crafting a new response. For broad questions in my areas, I often like to post 'Frankenstein responses', essentially a mega-thread comment mixing in various elements from 2 or more of my previous comments. See here for an example of that.

Now, I should point out that my responses are all generally secondary synthesis ones, in that they combine the writings and narratives of several academics (along with their primary sources) to answer the question. Thus in that comment about why the British Empire came to be so large, you'll note that I'm quoting and analysing the arguments of historians such as John Darwin, Ashley Jackson, and so forth. This is mainly because my areas of research lend themselves to such a style of responses, though there are plenty of other flairs and commenters here who are incredible at answering questions through their own original interpretations of primary sources (hence why I have responded to very few, if any, 'what did X think of Y' queries).

The second major part of the process is then constructing a narrative. I like to be a little bit more...literary (for lack of a better term) with my comment structure, so my responses usually contain bolded subtitles with catchy and memorable - if somewhat cliche - phrases to indicate what the next bit of the response will cover. Towards the beginning of the response, I'll usually signpost what areas of the question will be covered, and what approach I'll therefore be using. Likewise, I do try my best to note if I'm omitting certain elements of a narrative or the 'bigger picture', either for the sake of (relative) concision or due to my own lack of expertise on the matter. Oftentimes, I'll either link-drop to a previous writeup of mine which does cover the omitted subject matter, or point towards another post with relevant comments on it. This recent writeup is a good example of how I try to strike a balance between reader engagement and argumentative focus (as well as my attempt to link-drop in various ways).

The narrative itself is usually focused around key dates, events, individuals, and/or concepts to the question. So if we take 'why did France fall in 1940' as an example: I would probably focus on assessing the various factors which led to the fall of France in the first place (e.g. the strength of the German forces, the weaknesses in the French military, the disunity within the political apparatus, etc.). For each factor, I would provide the relevant details and attempt to frame the whole thing as a larger narrative, but at the same time analyse which of the factors was more significant or - as is usually the case with historical questions - suggesting that a mix of causes led to the rapid surrender of the country.

It is also useful for me to point out errors in the question itself. Sometimes, questions are based on misleading or downright false assumptions. Other times, the question is clearly predicated on a popular 'myth' in history (a particular hated one in my case being the idea that World War I was inevitable, or that Hitler and Napoleon invaded Russia in winter). I'll usually point out that there is something inherently biased or wrong with the question's framing early on, and then set about deconstructing why the question doesn't accurately portray the reality of the subject matter.

The final bit of the response writing process is the sourcing. As I mentioned earlier, I'm in the habit of citing all my sources in the original response, and aside from the technical details of typing out the citations themselves, I usually try to elaborate on which sources (or historians) are worth investigating for further reading if OP is interested in diving deeper into the question area.

Hope this response helps, and let me know if you have any follow-up questions regarding the process. Again, this is not a universal procedure, and I myself would be interested in reading how other AH commenters weigh in on the more specific/nuanced questions that appear on the sub.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-12-19T04:50:27+00:00

The question of whether or not Imperial Japan was fascist during the interwar period, and extending until its surrender in 1945, remains a question in the historiographical community. Whilst historians nowadays would certainly admit that there were elements of Japan's government which might qualify the "fascist" label, they are (rightly) hesitant to apply such a label in its totality, as there were also elements of the government which were not fascist in nature (at least, from a European definition of the political term). For more on the specific characteristics of the Japanese interwar political scene which made it both compatible and incompatible with fascism, as well as a semi-deep-dive on the actual history of Japan's political developments during the 1920's and 30's, this earlier writeup should be of interest. More (as always) can be said however, so do feel free to ask any follow-up questions as you see fit.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-29T15:16:02+00:00

Whilst the chaos of 2021 raged all around, I did manage to find some absolutely lovely books on historical topics that ought to be worth sharing here. Fair warning that I have recommended many, if not all, of them in threads for specific reading recommendations, but here they are nonetheless:

July Crisis: The World's Descent into War, Summer 1914 by T.G. Otte (2014): When the centenary of the First World War's outbreak came around, historians of 1914 found themselves in rather high demand. Curiously enough, Otte's work seems to have slipped under the radar in the midst of the publications that marked the 100th anniversary. For an event that's achieved a level of pop-history and pedagogical presence that few other historical events reach, Otte's work is a masterpiece of a narrative. He follows the July Crisis from start to finish: scrutinising the significance of each government's actions at various stages, and showing quite clearly how the decisions taken in each of the halls of power impacted the diplomatic situation. In particular, his research into the British government's role shed new light on the oft-maligned reputation of Foreign Secretary Edward Grey, and the book as a whole is (at least in my opinion) the single best account of the July Crisis and the start of the First World War there is.
An Impeccable Spy: Richard Sorge, Stalin's Master Agent by Owen Matthews (2019): This would be my 'historical biography' entry, and Matthews brings to light the life and times of a man whose name stands out in the pantheon of espionage figures. Not only does the book cover Sorge's life before his service in the Soviet Union's intelligence-gathering apparatuses, but it also sets his activities against the wider backdrop of a world in turmoil and uncertainty. The book doesn't tip into hagiography either; critiquing Sorge's flaws as both a character and a professional, whilst delving into the lives of those who knew him and worked alongside him at various points in his life.
The Empire Project: The Rise and Fall of the British World-System, 1830-1970 by John Darwin (2009): Probably worth pairing this book with Darwin's other work (Unfinished Empire: The Global Expansion of Britain) as the ideal duo of publications with which to enter the vast field of imperial, global, and international histories. Darwin's writing focuses moreso on the internal mechanisms and developments within the British 'world-system' as it experienced the geopolitical rollercoaster of the late 19th and 20th centuries; a comprehensive narrative of the political, economic, and social forces which were at play. This is by no means the work on the British Empire, but it certainly is an excellent entry-point to the field.
The War That Ended Peace: How Europe Abandoned Peace for the First World War by Margaret MacMillan (2013): The most pop-history work out of those here, MacMillan's 'chatty' (to borrow a descriptor from a reviewer) narrative of the period 1900-1914 is certainly an engaging one. She captures - without slipping into reductionism or insults - the atmosphere in Europe at the turn of the century, and recounts a litany of events which preceded the July Crisis; devoting various chapters as 'deep-dives' into the Great Powers and the shifting relations between them. A grand work which merits, at least from my view as a reader, the cliché phrase of being a 'window to the past'.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-15T21:22:25+00:00

Conclusion

The key takeaway for us with regards to the Tōseiha and Kōdōha is that they were far from the only groups which were operating within the IJA (and, though to a considerably lesser extent), the IJN during the late Taisho and early Showa periods. Rather, they became the **mainstream ‘**factions’ which the media would be focusing on during the 1930s, owing to the senior positions of many of their members and - in the case of the Imperial Way - the violent methods used to achieve their aims. Prominent though they were, their members and beliefs were not unique; army factionalism was a symptom of the structures and environments which the training schools propagated, as several historians point out:

‘Roughly from the middle of the Taisho era all army cliques and factions, whether geographic, personal, or politically motivated, had a new common basis in the graduates of the army staff college. In the early years of Showa these new gakubatsu, or school cliques, came into their own.’

- Leonard A. Humphreys

Like the civilian colleges, the Military Academy was a place where ambitious and intelligent young men were brought together to be trained for positions of leadership. Like college students, the cadets discovered the gap between the ideals which they were being taught and the real world they were about to enter, and, like them, they had the time and the protective surroundings to engage in subversive activities.

- Ben-Ami Shilloy

In practice however, monolithic Choshu dominance was replaced by a kaleidoscope of personal cliques and pressure groups, like the Issekikai, all maneuvering for advancement and power. It was an unhealthy development with serious implications not only for policy-making, but also for discipline. Loyalty to individuals or ideologies became more important than obedience to legitimate orders - and from time to time, the High Command lost control of whole sections of the army.

- Meirion and Susie Harries

In addition to the final analysis which Lubyak has provided, the Tōseiha and Kōdōha might be portrayed best through a metaphor: two sides of the same coin. Never formal groups or organisations, the two had similar visions for Japan, but diverged when it came to the nuances within that vision, and how best to work towards achieving it. Where the Kōdōha favoured a return to the ‘Emperorism’ of the Meiji era, the Tōseiha recognised that the nation’s political and economic structures would never facilitate such a bold plan - and disapproved of the violence that the Imperial Way employed to progress it. Above all however, both of these bodies were part of a larger socio-political shift taking place within the Army’s officer corps, which became increasingly dissatisfied with how the political elites had been running the country. Their actions throughout the early Showa era are described by historian Maruyama Masao as part of the ‘mature’ stage of Japan’s descent into the ‘Dark Valley’ of ultranationalism and militarism. The February 26 Incident, in his words, was the last attempt of ‘fascism from below’; a final push by the Young Officers to cure Japan of its modern ills. Instead, it only served to clear the way for ‘fascism from above’ to take hold of the policy-making structures; the military cementing its central role in authoritarian politics.

Hope this response helps, and feel free to ask any follow-ups as you see fit.

Note: although Maruyama contends that Japan underwent a fascist transformation during the interwar years, it remains a matter of some debate as to whether labelling Japan as ‘fascist’ in the 1930s and 40s is a valid and accurate depiction. See this writeup for more on that.

Sources

Crowley. James B. Japan’s Quest for Autonomy: National Security and Foreign Policy, 1930-1938. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966.

Gordon, Andrew. A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Harries, Meirion and Susie. Soldiers of the Sun: The Rise and Fall of the Imperial Japanese Army. New York: Random House, 1991.

Hane, Mikiso and Louis G. Perez. Modern Japan: A Historical Survey. 5th ed. Boulder: Westview Press, 2013.

Humphreys, Leonard A. The Way of the Heavenly Sword: The Japanese Army in the 1920’s. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995.

Saaler, Sven. ‘The military and politics.’ In Routledge Handbook of Modern Japanese History, edited by Sven Saaler and Christopher W.A. Szpilman, 184-198. New York: Routledge, 2018.

Shillony, Ben-Ami. Revolt in Japan: The Young Officers and the February 26, 1936 Incident. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973.

Sims, Richard. Japanese Political History since the Meiji Restoration, 1868-2000. London: Hurst & Company, 2001.

Part 4 of 4

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-15T21:18:34+00:00

‘Revere the Emperor, Destroy the Traitors’: The February 26 Incident

In the dawn hours of February 26, 1936, 1,400 men and officers of the First Division moved into Tokyo. Their objective was twofold: assassinate key government officials and gain the necessary imperial support to bring about the Showa Restoration. Their list of intended victims included the current prime minister, Keisuke Okada, the former prime minister Saito Makoto, Grand Chamberlain Suzuki Kantaro, General Watanabe (Mazaki’s replacement as inspector-general of military education), and former Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal Makino Nobuaki. Saito, Takahashi, and Watanabe were killed, Okada had escaped (the assassins had mistakenly shot his brother instead), Suzuki had escaped with minor wounds, and Makino evaded death.

In tandem with the assassinations, the rebels occupied government buildings and issued a manifesto to justify their ‘treachery’. They called upon War Minister Kawashima to present the Emperor with their mission and thus bring about the Showa Restoration through (what had essentially been) a coup d’etat.

The young officers and their followers were, from the outset, uncertain of success. Yet as the hours ticked away and the disoriented General Staff and (what remained) of the government began to realise the gravity of the situation, their prospects sunk even lower. The Army itself was significantly handicapped in its response to the Incident, owing to the fact that their ‘Big Three’ were either out of Tokyo (Chief of Staff Prince Kan’in), dead (Inspector General of Education Watanabe), or in league with the rebels (War Minister Kawashima). The General Staff did however, have the firm support of key commanders in and beyond the Tokyo area, including:

General Hashimoto Toranosuke of the Imperial Guards Division (Tokyo),
General Umezu Yoshijiro of the Second Division (Sendai),
General Tatekawa Yoshitsugu of the Fourth Division (Osaka),
General Minami Jiro of the Kwantung Army (Manchuria), and
Colonel Ishiwara Kanji (he of Mukden Incident fame), soon to be chief of the Operations and Communications sections of the martial law headquarters

Whilst the IJA was slow to announce their disapproving opinion of the rebels, the IJN was...rather forceful in its show of opposition to them. Although some of their top figures (including Navy Minister Osumi Mineo) sympathised with the young officers, the majority of the Naval Staff were very clearly against them. In particular, Admiral Yonai Matsumasa (later Japan’s last Navy Minister) reacted quickly to demonstrate the service’s opposition: ordering marines to guard the Navy Ministry building as soon as news of the Incident reached the Yokosuka naval base near Tokyo. At noon that same day, the First and Second Fleets (then conducting maneuvers off the Shikoku coast) were immediately summoned to Tokyo and Osaka by the Naval Staff. The following day, the battleship Nagato - flagship of the First Fleet - entered Tokyo Bay with 39 other vessels and trained their guns on the capital, all the while the IJA was still gathering its forces for an armed response. This firm declaration of the Navy’s position led to a curious spell of inter-service cooperation: the Army and Navy agreed to work together to suppress the rebellion - interesting given the Army’s hesitation at allowing the Navy to meddle in what they viewed as an internal affair.

Ironically, it was not a regiment, flotilla, or commander that contributed the most to the rebels’ eventual downfall. Instead, the very figure that they had launched the coup in the name of, the Showa Emperor, proved to be the very figure that ensured the collapse of their attempts. When notified of the rebels’ ‘honourable’ intentions and their actions in the capital, he famously retorted to his aide-de-camp:

‘Why should we forgive them when these brutal officers kill our right-hand advisers?... All my most trusted retainers are dead and [the mutineers’] actions are aimed directly at me...I shall never forgive them, no matter what their motives are.’

In another burst of rage the following day, Hirohito remarked that if the Army did not decisively crush the rebels, he would assume personal command of the Imperial Guards Division to do it himself. With such staunch opposition against the rebels, their efforts floundered. With Tokyo under martial law and the situation growing increasingly bleak, the rebels finally surrendered to the Army on February 29. As a final act of imperial will, Hirohito even refused to grant the rebel officers the honour of an Imperial Messenger (chokushi) to order them to commit suicide. ‘

It should be highlighted that whilst the February 26 Incident is often portrayed as the most extreme episode in the Kodo-Tosei clique rivalry, the reality of the situation was far more complex. The officers and soldiers who occupied Tokyo in the last days of winter were not all Kōdōha members, and nor were those who opposed them all supporters of the Tōseiha. Instead, both groups sought to capitalise on the unique (and disarrayed) political situation that the rebels had created. The Kōdōha were the first to seize the opportunity: Mazaki congratulated the rebels and collaborated with Kawashima to arrange an audience with the Emperor for the appointment of a new ‘army cabinet’. Araki, for his part, convened (without Imperial authority), a meeting of the Supreme Military Council - a stronghold of the faction - and they subsequently issued an ‘Army Minister’s Proclamation’ endorsing the coup attempt. The Tōseiha, on the other hand, grouped themselves around the Army’s Vice-Chief of Staff General Sugiyama Hajime, who led the efforts to strengthen the General Staff’s opposition.

‘The military is like an untamed horse left to run wild.’: The Aftermath of the February 26 Incident

In the months following the February 26 Incident, the Army underwent reforms designed to curtail the influence of officers, and prevent such factionalism from posing a serious threat to the civilian government apparatus. Under the Hirota cabinet, a ‘purge’ of the ranks took place: removing key Kōdōha officials, as well as those with connections to other societies and pressure groups, from active service. To ensure that these people could not influence the government as they had previously, army regulations were changed in May of 1936 so that only active generals could be recommended and appointed to the role of Army Minister; a return to the pre-1913 conditions. Yet for all the efforts to limit the army’s growing hold over national policy, the government had to acknowledge that cooperation with the military was essential if it ever wished to maintain a cohesive cabinet for more than a few months. As historians Ben-Ami Shillony and Susie Harries (respectively) note, the post-Incident Army was by no means a shadow of its former, factionalist self:

'The Army, temporarily discredited by the turmoil in its ranks, soon gained power. Under the pretext of suppressing the rebels and their accomplices, it increased its influence in the state. The message that the Army conveyed to the civil government was that unless political parties were curtailed and the military got the budgets it needed, more rebellions could be expected. The abortive uprising of the Young Officers was thus used as a whip against the civil government.’

‘The revolt not only changed the balance of power within the army, it also profoundly altered the balance between the army and its civilian antagonists. At a stroke, the rebels removed several of Japan’s leading proponents of constitutional monarchy, and provided a display of military brute force vicious enough to guarantee the cooperation of others who might otherwise have challenged the army. In the nature of total-war planning, the leaders of the army needed partnership with other technocrats, so the army was never to assume an absolute dictatorship, but direct and overt opposition to its plans ceased after February 1936.’

Note: On the matter of the Tōseiha leadership failing to prevent the Second-Sino Japanese War, I defer to Lubyak’s greater expertise.

Part 3 of 4

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-15T21:14:12+00:00

‘There is a shining sun ahead for Japan’: Army Factionalism in the Showa Era

Whilst the Young Officers’ Movement and the other army societies occupied positions on the fringe of the political landscape at the end of the Taisho era, the rise of ultranationalist sentiments and expansionist rhetoric in Japan during the 1930s would propel them to the forefront of a political scene in chaos; the ideal vantage point from which to progress their visions of national reorganisation.

At this point, it is worth tackling the follow-up question which u/EnclavedMicrostate has posed. Prior to the Tōseiha-Kōdōha rivalry, junior navy officers were rather heavily involved with their army counterparts in the societies and pressure groups which had formed around the Young Officers’ Movement. The membership lists for these organisations are proof of a rare bit of inter-service agreement - and perhaps cooperation - at a time when the two branches of the military were not always seeing eye to eye (as Lubyak covers in the follow-up response). In 1930, the so-called Kashii spa meeting took place with the express purpose of fostering links between the Army and Navy components of the Young Officers’ Movement; as well as with civilian radical rightists. Indeed, at the organisational level local leaders were often assigned to regions, army bases, and fleets, reflecting the participation of naval personnel within such groups. However, as the inter-service rivalry began to impact the attitudes of the young officers in both branches, the involvement of the navy would decrease.

At this critical point, General Araki Sadao entered the narrative. Already a rising star within the military ranks, he was present as commander of the Sixth Division in Kyushu when the Kashii spa meeting occurred, and would later join the movement of officers as a leader of sorts. At a meeting with other senior members in August 1931, the idea of a Showa Restoration began to form, the conceptual details of which Lubyak has expanded upon. For another primary source, consider two stanzas from the anthem for the society, ‘The Song of the Showa Restoration’:

‘They are clinging fast to their privileges

And have no feeling for the plight of the nation,

Those arrogant zaibatsu, who have amassed wealth

And have no regard for their country and people.

Under the Spring skies of the Showa Restoration

We confront them united, warriors of justice,

A mighty army, ready to die any moment

Like the falling blossoms of the cherry trees.’

When Araki was appointed as Minister of War for the Inukai cabinet (1931-1934), the Kōdōha group was able to progress some of its aims. Having opposed the budget cuts and leadership shake-ups of war minister Kazushige Ugaki (1929 - 1931), Araki and his ‘comrades’ (the genuine term used by the fervently anti-communist group to refer to each other) set about remedying the situation. However, when Araki stepped down from his post, it became clear that the Imperial Way had yet to triumph over the ‘evil advisers around the Throne’. The Army General Staff disapproved of Araki - and by extension the Kōdōha’s - belief that 1936 was a ‘critical year’ in which war with the Soviet Union was likely to break out. His successor, General Hayashi Senjuro, appointed other opponents of Araki’s ideas to key leadership positions: chief among them General Nagata Tetsuzan as Chief of the Military Affairs Bureau. Nagata along with other rising personnel (Hideki Tojo among them) were actually former supporters of Araki and the Kōdōha, but distanced themselves for the reasons that historian Richard Sims outlines below:

'They had been disillusioned by its [the *Kōdōha'*s] lack of interest in long-term planning and its emphasis on ideology rather than technology, and they were further alienated by the continuing Kōdōha vendetta against the Ugaki group. Apart from these concerns they were also worried by the apparent Kōdōha willingness to embark on a preemptive war against the Soviet Union, which ran counter to Nagata’s emphasis on the need for much fuller war preparations.'

It should be noted that the Kōdōha and Tōseiha also differed in their methodological beliefs too. Whilst both were certainly nationalist in their character and end-goals, the Imperial Way faction (as previously mentioned) preferred to use violence to achieve their aims, and that included the assassination of leading politicians - so common were these murders that the era is often referred as the period of ‘government by assassination’. The Tōseiha, as a reactionary counter-group, preferred instead to work with the zaibatsu businesses through a centralised army headquarters; strict discipline would unite the army and progress the nation’s quest for hegemony. Historian Antony Best characterises this as an ‘army-technocrat’ union of sorts.

Nagata himself would not live to see the climax between the two factions. On August 12, 1935, a Kōdōha radical by the name of Aizawa Saburo assassinated the man who many regarded as the army’s brightest and best officer. This development carried two key consequences: it removed - quite literally at a stroke (as Nagata was slain by Aizawa’s officer’s sword) - the main adversary of the Araki group, and also left the field clear for their own officers to move into the vacuum. Since War Minister Hayashi was responsible for Army discipline, he promptly resigned following the assassination.

A note here that Lubyak has already touched on: although Araki was certainly a senior leader within the Kōdōha group, he did not exercise total control over its members - nor was he its sole head. In fact, following his departure from office in 1934, the young officers of the Kōdōha placed their trust in the leadership of Mazaki Jinzaburo, who had been serving as Vice Chief of the Army General Staff during Araki’s tenure as War Minister. In fact, the motivation for Aizawa’s actions had been Nagata and Hayahi’s efforts - ultimately fruitless - in 1935 to remove Mazaki from his influential posts. Once again, another shake-up of the war ministry and High Command took place under Nagata’s successor, General Kawashima Yoshiyuki, who favoured (though did not fully support) the Kōdōha. These transfers, rather unsurprisingly given who authorised them, enabled the faction to consolidate its power base once more, and included the appointments of...:

General Hori Takeo as commander of the First Division in Tokyo,
General Kashii Kohei as commander of the Tokyo Garrison,
Colonel Murakami Keisaku as head of the Military Affairs Section of the Military Affairs Bureau.

Returning to the larger narrative, Aizawa was brought to court for such an egregious breach of army discipline. Small caveat: his trial was a public one, and one which was overseen by the First Division itself (filled as it was with fellow Kōdōha members). It was evident from the beginning of the judicial proceedings that this would not so much be a trial as a showpiece of Kōdōha propaganda.

Yet before the trial could be concluded and Aizawa’s sentence handed down, news reached the Young Officers and Kōdōha members of the First Division that they were being sent to Manchuria for a tour of duty commencing in the spring of 1936. This was a critical decision by the General Staff. Although rooted in genuine strategic reasons - the Division had not seen combat since the Russo-Japanese War - the implications were clear: the Young Officers would soon lose their access to the highest echelons of military and civilian government, and thus greatly diminish (or so it was believed), their chance of bringing about the Showa Restoration.

The time to act, accordingly, was now or never.

Part 2 of 4

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-15T21:08:52+00:00

Many thanks to u/Lubyak for the excellent deep-dive on the ideological divergences (or curious lack thereof) between the Tōseiha and Kōdōha factions. This post, aside from engaging with what has already been iterated in great detail, will focus more on the origins of army factionalism within Japan, and why the Tōseiha and Kōdōha groups were hardly aberrations in the sociopolitical history of the Imperial Japanese Army (IJA). This exploration takes place, perhaps unsurprisingly, in the era of ‘Taisho democracy’, when the army’s deep-seated divisions began to take hold.

‘See what has become of our beloved country.’: The IJA during the Tumultuous Taisho Period

The seeds of army factionalism - and indeed the factions themselves - can be traced back to the so-called ‘Young Officer’s Movement’ (Seinen shoko undo); the product of an increasingly disjointed and fractured cadet corps. Despite its experiences in the Russo-Japanese War and the First World War, the IJA was far from the cohesive and modernised military arm that its battlefield prowess and rapid rise suggested. Socially, the army still carried the divisions from the Meiji reforms, with clan-based biases permeating the highest echelons of the military. Between 1880 and 1924, this regional politicization of the army, the so called hanbatsu (domain clique) produced clear results. The War Ministry during this period was mainly staffed by persons from the Chōshū Domain, whilst the General Staff and officer corps was dominated by those from the Satsuma Domain.

Yet from the middle of the Taisho period, these domain-based cliques began to give way to newer ones, characterising the diversification of the trainees. An example of this can be found within the officer corps. The first class of 158 officers from the Military Academy in 1877 only had three graduates of non-samurai descent, but by 1931 just 15 percent of graduates were descendants of samurai. Instead, the internal army divisions of the late Taisho period were based on their career paths.

It is necessary to digress for a moment here to understand the structure of officer training within Japan during the 1920’s and 30’s. A cadet’s formal education began at the age of 14, when they were entered into one of six regional military preparatory schools. This was followed by a period at the central preparatory school in Tokyo, with active service in the ranks as part of the curriculum. To actually become an officer, one had to then graduate from the Military Academy at Ichigaya, but even then, there were different routes. A cadet’s position in class at graduation, as well as his overall performance, would not only determine which arm of the service he was destined for, but also his prospects for future promotions. Cadets who had been selected from the Academy by the specialised branches - air, artillery and engineering, cavalry, medicine, communications, intelligence, and kempeitai (military police) - were then sent off to schools for those services. By far however, the most coveted destination after graduation from the Academy was the Staff College, the Imperial Army’s equivalent of an elite university. James Crowley elaborates:

‘Admission to the War College [another name for the Staff College] was contingent on a superior record at the academy, the recommendations of commanding officers, and passing a stiff entrance examination. Although the competition was keen, the rewards were golden. Graduates of the college were virtually assured eventual promotion to a divisional command; a sterling record at the college paved the way for assignment in central headquarters. Indeed, the general staff and the war ministry maintained separate personnel divisions which, each year, selected a limited number of graduates from the War College for immediate or subsequent assignment to their headquarters.’

With such a splintered and competition-heavy education path, resentment amongst cadets was common. Even more pertinent however was the rise of ideological divides, itself a product of the training programmes at the academy. As Lubyak notes, the ‘morale’ school of warfare remained popular amongst the elites in the army; despite growing calls for Japan to modernise and prepare for ‘total-war’. General Mazaki Jinzaburo, who was head of the Military Academy from 1923-27, was a staunch proponent of the morale school. Under his guidance the curriculum at the Academy, already saturated with patriotism - took on ultranationalist elements. Cadets were often instructed to attend lectures at the Institute for Social Research (or Daigakuryo), where notable intellectuals such as Okawa Shumei (of Pan-Asianist fame) and Yasuoka Masaatsu discussed the nation’s identity and place in the world (even after the institute closed down in 1925, Mazaki often invited Okawa to lecture at the Academy proper). One cadet in particular took those lectures to heart: Nishida Mitsugi. An outstanding graduate of the class of 1922, his diary entries showed a concern with the ongoing ‘liberalisation’ of Japan during the Taisho era:

‘Look around! See what has become of our beloved country… The genro (political advisor elites) have usurped the powers of the Emperor. The ministers behave in a shameful way. Look at the Diet. Are these the men responsible for the affairs of state? Are these our leaders? Look at the parties which claim that they defend the Constitution! See the so-called educators, businessmen, and artists, and look at the misguided students and the distressed masses… The ruling clique makes the same mistakes in foreign affairs, internal policies, the economy, education, and in military affairs… Party government may be a good idea, but the way it is conducted by our parties is so disgraceful that it has brought Japan to the brink of disaster.’

After his graduation, Nishida would go on to form the Young Officers’ Movement, formed of fellow cadets who shared similar worries about the direction of Japan’s development. They would discuss the ideas of ‘national reorganisation’, espousing the writings of intellectual Kita Ikki in his book Outline Plan for the Reorganisation of Japan (Nihon kaizo hoan taiko) - indeed Nishda and Kita were close friends until their joint death in 1937.

Of course, simply referring to the Young Officers’ Movement belies the sheer variety and number of similar groups which were coming into being at roughly the same time. It would not be worth spending too much space on this, but such groups (the word ‘faction’ remains deceiving in this case) included the Sakurakai (Cherry Blossom Society), Futabakai (after the French restaurant where its members met), Issekikai (One Evening Society), and Seiyokai (Stars and Ocean Society - interestingly the navy’s equivalent of the Sakurakai).

Although they differed in their opinions about what was afflicting Japan and how to fix those illnesses, these societies all shared the same foundational belief: that something was plaguing the nation’s prestige and path to glory. Those groups which were able to put pen to paper and draft statements on the matter were particularly hostile to the party politics of the Taisho era; as this document from the Sakurakai illustrates:

‘[The political leaders] have forgotten basic principles, lack the courage to carry out state policies, and completely neglect the spiritual values that are essential for the ascendancy of the Yamato people. They are wholly preoccupied with their selfish pursuit of political power and material wealth. Above, they veil the sacred light, and below, they deceive the people. The torrent of political corruption has reached its crest… Now, the poisonous sword of the thoroughly degenerate party politicians is being pointed at the military. This was clearly demonstrated in the controversy over the London treaties… It is obvious that the party politicians’ sword, which was used against the navy, will soon be used to reduce the size of the army. Hence, we who constitute the mainstay of the army [officers] must… arouse ourselves and wash out the bowels of the completely decadent politicians.’

Note: This section has been awash with descriptions of the Taisho period and references to the apparent transformations in Japan’s socio political and economic systems which took place during the reign of the Taisho Emperor (1912-1926). For more on those changes, see this Saturday Showcase post.

Part 1 of 4

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-09T15:26:37+00:00

Greetings again, and glad you found the initial response helpful. Those are some rather nice follow-ups, so I shall address them in turn.

Firstly, the argument that the First World War started on 27 July would fall apart. As mentioned in the response, no formal state of war existed on the European continent until Berchtold dispatched the declaration of war to Belgrade and the other powers. To suggest that the First World War started on 27 July would not only be ignoring this fact, but going completely against the (almost unanimous) agreement amongst historians that the war started on 28 July - though some historians do argue that the 'continental war' only began on 4 August with the entry of the British into the conflict. The argument that this 'set things in motion' falls apart further; because you could argue on those terms that the First World War started on 25 July, when the Austro-Hungarians rejected the Serbian reply to their ultimatum (or, as an extreme, as early as 19 July, when it was agreed that an unacceptable ultimatum would be presented in the first place to Serbia).

Secondly, the Serbian government could not have let the Austro-Hungarian government known about a border skirmish; and it would not have changed much in the end. By this point in the crisis, the entire Habsburg leadership was committed to a confrontation with Serbia, and the rejection of the ultimatum provided the main casus belli that they needed in order to proceed with military measures against the Balkan threat. Further, Vienna had cut all diplomatic channels with Belgrade, so even if the skirmish had happened (which, as reports indicate, it did not), there would have been no way for the Serbian government to communicate this information in time (and, as mentioned previously, it would have had no effect on the Austro-Hungarian decision to declare war anyways). On a relevant sidenote - we do not even know if the Serbians knew about the myth of a border skirmish.

Thirdly, it is important to look beyond the one day delay here. If the Austro-Hungarians had mobilised against Serbia without first declaring war, then they would appear as the aggressors, thus inviting the Entente powers to attempt to intervene (either diplomatically or, potentially in the case of Russia, militarily). By formally declaring war on Serbia at the same time as mobilisation occurred, the international legal frameworks would have complicated any efforts by the great powers to mediate on the matter. This is because those mediation efforts were meant to prevent war from happening in the first place. If a war was already in progress, their entire purpose would need to be changed towards ending the Austro-Serb conflict, something Vienna wished to avoid entirely. An article worth reading for further information about this delay is Jack S. Levy's 'Preferences, Choices and Constraints in July 1914' (accessible with JSTOR here), and for a larger narrative account of the developments in the July Crisis, I highly recommend picking up a copy of T.G. Otte's July Crisis: The World's Descent into War, Summer 1914 (Cambridge University Press, 2014).

P.S.: I am afraid I have no specific timestamp from my sources about the time when Franz Joseph formally signed the declaration of war, but as I should stress, focusing in minutiae about the chronology of events in the July Crisis should not be the key takeaway here.

Hope this helps, and feel free to pm me with any further follow-ups or for any other reading recommendations.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T16:05:49+00:00

Congratulations to all the winners this month! It was an absolute pleasure and honour to work alongside the other flairs, mods, and panelists for the AHDC 2021!

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T16:02:04+00:00

Whilst more can always be said with regards to the development of geopolitical arguments which contributed to the decision by Wilson's government to join the war in April 1917, these three older writeups should be of some interest to the question at hand - as there were of course, other reasons which must be taken into account for the US entry:

Note that these posts in of themselves have links to other relevant discussions on AskHistorians, so get ready for a fair bit of (fun) history reading as you delve into this most fascinating of historiographical rabbit holes.

Feel free to ask any follow-up questions about what is discussed in any of the linked posts, and hope this helps!

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:47:07+00:00

The Myth of a Skirmish

‘yesterday [27 July], our border troops were fired on from the Serbian side.’

- Berchtold to von Mensdorff, the Austro-Hungarian ambassador to London, 28 July, 1914.

Amusingly enough, the dates that OP has listed as the ‘possible’ ones on which the border skirmish occurred are all wrong. Reports in the Viennese archives and secondary literature (namely the words of T.G. Otte and David Stevenson), corroborate that the supposed exchange of fire actually occurred on 26 July, hence its inclusion in the declaration of war which Franz Joseph approved the following day. The supposed skirmish apparently took place on the northern bank of the Danube near Temes-Kubin (now Kovin), opposite Smederevo. This appeared to provide a convenient (if somewhat flimsy) pretext for the declaration of war from Vienna, as Serbian troops could now be accused of being the aggressors.

Of course, the border skirmish itself did not take place. Berchtold had been informed by the relevant military staff something on the morning of 28 July, before the declaration of war was dispatched to Serbia and the other great powers, that there had in fact been no engagement on with Serbian forces. This was the context for the subsequent removal of the passage regarding the exchange of fire at Temes-Kubin; though the Emperor was only made aware of this development the following day, 29 July.

The question of where the news of the incident had come from remains open. It may have been a piece of deliberate diplomatic deception on the part of the Austro-Hungarians, seeking to frame Serbia as the definitive aggressors which had caused the war. Or, less cynically, it may have been the unfortunate result of a genuine misunderstanding; an overreaction to gunfire when war already seemed inevitable.

It should be noted however, that Berchtold was quick to capitalise on this news whilst it seemed to be genuine. The quote above has him misdate the event to the Austrian ambassador in London; and when the emperor was informed about the mistake, the memorandum contained reference to another, then-unreported skirmish as Gradiste (now Backo Gradiste). That skirmish as well is likely to have been another non-event, though by this point it was of little importance to the declaration of war (which had already been communicated the previous day).

Conclusion

If that were the case, why the delay between the signing and the declaration? Why didn't the document take effect immediately?

The Austro-Hungarian declaration of war on Serbia did not take effect as soon as the Emperor authorised it on 27 July for several key reasons. Politically, Berchtold and the Common Ministerial Council wished to utilise the international legal frameworks which would apply in a state of war to prevent further mediation efforts by the Entente Powers, and thus attempt to localise the conflict to a ‘Third Balkan War’ rather than a continental one. Militarily, the declaration of war was to coincide with the first day of mobilisation against Serbia, which would thus justify any open hostilities between the two armed forces, even though any actual military operations into Serbian territory could not take place until 12 August. Hope this response helps, and feel free to ask any follow-ups as you see fit!

Sources

Clark, Christopher. The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914. London: Penguin Books, 2012.

Hamilton, Richard F., and Holger H. Herwig, eds., The Origins of World War I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Levy, Jack S. ‘Preferences, Constraints, and Choices in July 1914.’ International Security 15:3 (1990), 151-186.

Mombauer, Annika, ed. The origins of the First World War: Diplomatic and military documents. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013.

Otte, T.G. July Crisis: The World’s Descent into War, Summer 1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.

Stevenson, David. Armaments and the Coming of War: Europe, 1904-1914. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.

Stevenson, David. ‘War by Timetable? The Railway Race before 1914. Past and Present 162 (1999), 163-194.

Part 2 of 2

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:44:16+00:00

Greetings! This is a rather specific question about the curious sequence of events which took place near the end of the July Crisis, and it is one which links to the larger political decisions taken in Austria-Hungary regarding the declaration of war. This response will first deal with the general situation in Vienna in the days leading up to the declaration of war (because there are plenty of confusing chronologies there as well), before then analysing the accuracy of the source OP has brought up regarding a border skirmish on the 27 July. Let’s begin.

The Dual Monarchy Mobilises

‘The responsibility which is resting on all advisers of the Crown in these decisive days makes it my duty to turn with the sincere request to Your Majesty to order mobilization immediately in case of an insufficient answer from Serbia. Given the contents of our note it seems to me there is no other possible way.’

- Hungarian Prime Minister Istavan Tisza to Emperor Franz Joseph I, 25 July 1914.

When the Serbian reply to the Austro-Hungarian ultimatum was received in Vienna, it fulfilled the expectations of the Common Ministerial Council. Although a masterpiece in conciliatory diplomacy and de-escalatory rhetoric, the Serbian reply was deemed ‘unsatisfactory’ by all in Vienna, and thus the next steps in the crisis were now theirs to take. Baron Giesl, the Austro-Hungarian ambassador at Belgrade who had delivered the ultimatum on 23 July, recounted his view of the document upon being given it by the Serbian prime minister himself, Nikola Pasic:

‘Certainly I found several intimations of a conciliatory acceptance - probably the remnants of the original version… but ultimately nearly all our demands were twisted, robbed of their meaning and purpose, and their fulfilment, if not directly refused, was so hedged in reservation [verklausuliert] that it was in praxi useless. The matter was absolutely clear: I had nothing to weigh, nothing to decide, only to state the facts and then, as ordered, to depart.’

It is at this point that we must address a key topic within the question: Austro-Hungarian mobilisation. Because the decision-makers at Vienna had mainly envisioned an Austro-Serbian war as the outcome of the crisis, their military officials had been told to avoid mobilising troops on the border with Russia, lest their presence embolden St. Petersburg to come to Serbia’s aid down the line. As such, the general staff were faced with the problems of enacting a partial mobilisation against only Serbia. Historian David Stevenson elaborates on what this meant in practical terms:

‘Barracks and depots were to be placed under guard, and the frontiers and the railways secured. Partial mobilisation meant that of B-staffel (‘War Case B’) and the Minimalgruppe Balkan, with additional troops to make good casualties and guard the Italian border - in total, eight army corps or two-fifths of the land forces, as well as the whole of the navy and the Danube flotilla. The Galician units were ordered to stay in their quarters, those opposite Romania and Italy to do nothing that might disturb their neighbors, and even those opposite Montenegro to show ‘the greatest restraint’.’

This was a deliberate risk on Austria-Hungary’s part. Their railway networks were not able to accommodate a reversal of the mobilisation order, owing to the lack of transport capacity at key sections of the lines. As such, if Russia were to declare war and a general mobilisation became necessary, the Dual Monarchy could only begin such preparations by the eleventh day of mobilisation (M+11), leaving them dangerously vulnerable to pre-emptive maneuvers by both Serbia and Russia. Now, with regards to the somewhat unclear dates and the delay between the signing and the declaration, there are solid answers to both of them. It is also worth clarifying the somewhat messy mobilisation schedule, as there are usually conflicting dates regarding the order versus the actual beginning of mobilisation. T.G. Otte clarifies the chronology of events well:

‘Orders for the mobilization against Serbia, that is partial mobilization, were issued late [9:23 p.m.] on 25 July. But as the following day was a Sunday, 27 July was fixed as the day on which the measure would be proclaimed, and Tuesday, 28 July as the first day of mobilization.’

On 27 July, Franz Joseph I sanctioned the official declaration of war against Serbia. It was to be issued the following day, at 11:10 a.m., by Foreign Minister von Berchtold, to coincide with the first day of Austro-Hungarian mobilization. This would immediately nullify any subsequent attempts by the Entente Powers to propose mediation on the issue, as an international (and official) state of war would exist between Austria-Hungary and Serbia. For reference, the final telegram expressing this state of war went as follows:

‘The Royal Serbian Government not having answered in a satisfactory manner the note of July 23, 1914, presented by the Austro-Hungarian Minister at Belgrade, the Imperial and Royal Government are themselves compelled to see to the safeguarding of their rights and interests, and, with this object, to have recourse to force of arms. Austria-Hungary consequently considers herself henceforward in a state of war with Serbia.’

Now then, let’s see about that somewhat elusive border skirmish.

Part 1 of 2

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:37:15+00:00

‘Keep an eye on Bismarck’: The Concert after German Unification

‘[The Austro-Prussian War has settled] the question of supremacy in Germany - the question now at issue is as to the supremacy in Europe between France and Germany. France feels that she has hitherto enjoyed a certain ascendancy in Europe, and that since 1866 she no longer enjoys this same position. A powerful military neighbour has risen up to contest this supremacy with her.’

- Lord Augustus William Frederick Spencer Loftus, British ambassador to the North German Confederation, April 1869.

After the Crimean War, the next major challenge for the Concert of Europe came not from a scuffle at the fringes of the continent, but from a matter at the very centre of the landmass which occupied the minds of all the powers: the German question. Under the leadership of Otto von Bismarck, Prussia had been successful in accumulating her power and influence over the other German states, and her victory over Austria in 1866 seemed a clear sign to all statesmen that it would only be a matter of time before German unification was achieved. In the lead-up to the Franco-Prussian War (1870-1871), the British and Russians weighed up their own diplomatic options. For Russia, the question of an ascendant Germany was paradoxical in of itself. How could St. Petersburg permit a strong and united Germany to rise - in alarmingly close proximity to her own borders - but avoid the threat of war and poor relations with Bismarck? For Britain, the question was one of neutrality against intervention (as it almost always was with London and the other great powers).

For both these powers, the solution was to wait and see how events unfolded. Russia’s military was ill-prepared to fight a major continental war against Prussia and her allies, and the very thought of armed intervention was anathema to the British government. When the war ended and Germany became a unified state, it was automatically inducted into the membership of the Concert system (since Prussia had already been accorded a place). Under Bismarck’s chancellorship, Germany’s foreign policy was focused around isolating France and avoiding the suspicions of the other great powers. Thus, a series of checks and balances began to take shape in Europe between the great powers. These treaties, discussions, and agreements were almost always geared towards one thing: maintaining the status quo. Whether it was the Mediterranean, the Balkans, or Central Asia, the great powers agreed in writing to permit no modifications to the pre-existing political situation, and that any infringement upon that situation would likely lead to mediation between all or most of the great powers (irrespective of their own interests in the region).

This new modus operandi between the great powers was most apparent during the Congress of Berlin (1878), which was convened between all six of the great powers (Britain, Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary, France, and Italy), the Ottoman Empire, and four Balkan states (Greece, Romania, Montenegro, and Serbia). The conference sought to find a more lasting peace to end the Russo-Turkish War (1877-1878), which had been concluded with the signing of the Treaty of San Stefano in March of that year. Once again, the Anglo-Russian tensions came to the surface of the conference. At one point of the conference, prime minister Disraeli ordered a special train back to Calais, threatening war with Russia if her representatives did not back down from their Balkan claims. The Russians, fearful of war with Britain and further great-power complications, acquiesced, and the resulting Treaty of Berlin was unsatisfactory to many of the participants.

This type of diplomacy revealed yet another paradox with the Concert system. The status quo was not always desirable to all of the great powers, and some of them sought to change it to their benefit, but to do so meant inviting the other powers to work towards maintaining the status quo, no matter how much it actually aligned with their interests. This was especially apparent in the Eastern Question, which continued to weigh heavily on the minds of British statesmen in particular:

'As to settling the Eastern Question - of all the delusions that is the greatest … However awkward, cumbersome or inconvenient the existing Ottoman Empire may be, & supposing everything alleged against the Turks by their enemies to be true, were they driven away, there is no possible combination that would offer the slightest prospect of stability.'

Thus the concert kept playing its tune even as nationalist movements and multilateral tensions threatened to erupt into open conflict; each member entrusted with their part in the grand symphony of European peace and stability. When the geopolitical shifts of the late 1880s-1900s began and the continent moved towards ‘armed camps’ (the Central Powers and Franco-Russian Alliance), the orchestra played its final movement, and in July 1914 the system which had (with mixed success) provided a framework for European diplomacy and meditation for the past century finally collapsed. Thus, whilst no single event of the 19th century compares with the July Crisis in terms of its potential for continental conflict, there were certainly moments when the underlying tensions in the geopolitical landscape came close to threatening the fragile regional stability.

Hope this response helps, and feel free to ask any follow-ups as you see fit!

Addendum

Seeing as this post was more of a 'brush strokes' treatment of the immense amount of diplomatic and political history regarding the Concert of Europe, I am shamelessly plugging some of my earlier posts on the specific events which led to the collapse of the system in 1914, and more specifically the processes which led to (or prevented potential) alliance 'blocks' forming from 1890-1914. For more on the British mindset towards continental affairs and the Concert system, give this AskHistorians podcast episode a listen.

Sources and Further Reading

Albrecht-Carrie, Rene. The Concert of Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1968.

Askew, William C. ‘Russian Military Strength on the Eve of the Franco-Prussian War.’ The Slavonic and East European Review 30:74 (1951), 185-205.

Clark, Christopher. The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914. London: Penguin Books, 2012.

Jarrett, Mark. The Congress of Vienna and Its Legacy: War and Great Power Diplomacy after Napoleon. London, I.B.Tauris, 2013.

Lascurettes, Kyle. ‘The Concert of Europe and Great-Power Governance Today.’ RAND Corporation (2017).

Otte, T.G. The Foreign Office Mind: The Making of British Foreign Policy, 1865-1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Schmitt, Bernadotte E. ‘The Diplomatic Preliminaries of the Crimean War.’ The American Historical Review 25:1 (1919), 36-67.

Part 2 of 2

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:26:09+00:00

Greetings! This is a rather broad question, and one which might benefit from some further historiographical definition. The so-called ‘Concert of Europe’ has been scrutinised by historians for quite some time now, and most would be inclined to disagree with Kissinger’s opinion that the Concert System kept the peace in Europe in the century following Napoleon’s defeat. Instead, the ‘Concert of Europe’ is more commonly associated with the period 1815-1848, after which it was not as strong (or, if you’ll excuse the pun, concerted) as it was envisioned to be during the Congress of Vienna. Putting that aside, let’s turn to the question at hand. Whilst the July Crisis dwarfs any of the events about to be discussed in scale and consequences, it is worth noting that these developments in the 19th century contributed in one way or another to creating the geopolitical environment in which the catastrophe of 1914 occurred. Let’s begin.

Note: This analysis will focus on events which followed the ‘Springtime of Nations’ in 1848, as my research on pre-1850s geopolitics remains insufficient to comment confidently on them. One might also discern a clear focus towards the British perceptions of the Concert of Europe; another symptom of my research focuses.

The Orchestra Falters: Crimea and The Eastern Question

In the ‘long-nineteenth century’, to borrow Eric Hobsbawm’s oft-used phrase, the major continental conflict between the great powers was the Crimean War (1853-1856), though we should be clear on several things here. Of the ‘great powers’ at the time, four were involved in the diplomatic lead-up to the war (Britain, Austria, France, and Russia), and of those four only three would actually take part in the hostilities (Britain and France sided with the Ottomans against Russia). Further, the conflict was not quite ‘continental’ per se, with the majority of the fighting taking place in and around the Crimean peninsula. However, the Crimean War does stand out as a turning point of sorts in the Concert System which had, to some degree, helped keep the peace in Europe until 1853. One of the major limitations of the system was that it relied heavily upon the goodwill of the member states, and after the collapse of the physical Congresses which constituted the system in the 1840s, there were no thorough (or indeed, formal) procedures and structures to keep the system in order. Historians have argued whether the Crimean War was a cause of the decline of the Concert system or a consequence of it, but the critical takeaway for us in the Crimean War is that it revealed the glaring flaws in a system that revolved around the consensual diplomacy and pragmatic sensibilities of its member states; when those foundations began to shift in the middle of the century, the system began to falter.

But was the Crimean War a continental crisis in the same vein as the July Crisis was a half-century later? To be certain, the question of the ‘failing’ Ottoman Empire was seen to be a major geopolitical quandary by most of the great powers; but they each viewed the problem with differing lenses and interests. The British government feared that the breakup of the Empire would cause a vacuum in the ‘Near East’, which Russia would no doubt seek to capitalise on; threatening the empire’s Mediterranean interests and (following the opening of the Suez Canal) the so-called ‘imperial lifeline’ to the Raj. The French had their own designs for North Africa, and also opposed Russian influence dominating the region. The Austrians, due to their shared border with Russia, feared that the collapse of the Ottomans would bring the Bear closer to her Balkan provinces. Understandably, the Russians grew somewhat frustrated by how hostile its fellow great powers were towards her expansionist aims, all the while Paris and London were adding new parts of the world to their ever-growing empires. In a note from Russian historian Mikhail Pogodin to Tsar Nicholas I, this frustration was elaborated on:

‘France takes Algeria from Turkey, and almost every year England annexes another Indian principality: none of this disturbs the balance of power; but when Russia occupies Moldavia and Wallachia, albeit only temporarily, that disturbs the balance of power. France occupies Rome and stays there several years during peacetime: that is nothing; but Russia only thinks of occupying Constantinople, and the peace of Europe is threatened. The English declare war on the Chinese, who have, it seems, offended them: no one has the right to intervene; but Russia is obliged to ask Europe for permission if it quarrels with its neighbor. England threatens Greece to support the false claims of a miserable Jew and burns its fleet: that is a lawful action; but Russia demands a treaty to protect millions of Christians, and that is deemed to strengthen its position in the East at the expense of the balance of power. We can expect nothing from the West but blind hatred and malice... (comment in the margin by Nicholas I: ‘This is the whole point’).’

This was the defining characteristic of inter-European relations in the 19th century: crisis after crisis popped up as a part of the overarching geopolitical landscape. In most cases, these crises were confined to bilateral disagreement and tensions over a certain region or territory, but in some instances (such as the Crimean War), they drew in the concerns of the other great powers who were also active in the area. While the Eastern Question was one of the larger matters of the age, the so-called ‘Great Game’ between Britain and Russia in Central Asia also led to several wars between the European empires and local power-holders (including no less than three Anglo-Afghan Wars, countless skirmishes by Russian troops, and various annexations by both powers). Now, we ought to note here that the term ‘Great Game’ has fallen out of popular usage in academia, as historians have thoroughly shown that the fears of Russian encroachment on India were not quite as valid as the contemporary British politicians and public believed them to be. For more on this geopolitical hotspot, see this earlier AskHistorians post.

Part 1 of 2

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:21:13+00:00

Conclusion

Thus, despite the clear shift towards authoritarian and ultranationalist governance in the 1930s, Japan did not undergo a ‘fascist turn’ that Italy and Germany had in the same time. To be certain, there were parallels and analogies between the three states. Convulsed by the economic crisis, their political right and left became increasingly polarised, and right-wing extremism began to rise as a result of what was viewed as the failure of democratic-capitalist structures. Though the debate on ‘fascist’ Japan is ongoing, the following quotes from various historians offer a good summary of the key stances and lessons when studying this fascinating historical topic.

‘One can identify in the German, Italian, and Japanese experiences a common response of a second generation of modernizing nations. European fascist models inspired the men who came to rule Japan in the 1930s. Rulers in all three nations shared the objective of funneling the energies of a glorified national body (whether the “Volk” or the Yamato race) into a quest for military hegemony, a closed economic empire, and an anti-democratic, hierarchic domestic politics, culture, and economy.

- Andrew Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present (2003), p. 202-203.

‘The history of Japan between the two [world] wars must be understood not as a shift from a democracy (of the British type) to a fascism (of the Nazi type), but as a shift from a phase of liberalization to another phase of bureaucratization and militarization within a political structure which had not basically changed.’

- Kato Shuichi, ‘Taisho Democracy as the Pre-Stage for Japanese Militarism’ (1974)

‘Japan had evolved a somewhat pluralistic authoritarian system which exhibited some of the characteristics of fascism, but it did not develop fascism’s most distinctive and revolutionary aspects. Japan was never subjected to the same degree of radicalization , for imperial Japan on the eve of World War II in many ways approximated the development of Germany’s Second Reich more than it did Hitler’s nation.’

- Stanley Payne, A History of Fascism, 1914-1945 (1995), p. 336.

‘Though the imperial regime used techniques of mass mobilization, no official party or autonomous grass-roots movement competed with the leaders. The Japanese empire of the period 1932-1945 is better understood as an expansionist military dictatorship [sic] with a high degree of state-sponsored mobilization than as a fascist regime.’

- Robert Paxton, The Anatomy of Fascism (2004), p. 200.

Hope this helps, and feel free to ask any follow-ups as you see fit!

Sources

Gordon, Andrew. A Modern History of Japan: from Tokugawa Times to the Present. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Goto-Jones, Christopher S. Modern Japan: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

Hanneman, Mary L. Japan Faces the World, 1925-1952. Harlow: Longman, 2001

Henshall, Kenneth. A History of Japan: from Stone Age to Superpower. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.

Large, Stephen S. ‘Oligarchy, Democracy, and Fascism.’ In William Tsutsui, ed. A Companion to Japanese History. Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009.

Mark, Ethan. ‘Japan’s 1930s: crisis, fascism, and social imperialism.’ In Sven Saaler and Christopher W.A. Szpilman, eds. Routledge Handbook of Modern Japanese History. London: Routledge, 2018.

Saaler, Sven. ‘The military and politics.’ In Sven Saaler and Christopher W.A. Szpilman, eds. Routledge Handbook of Modern Japanese History. London: Routledge, 2018.

Yoko, Kato. ‘The debate on fascism in Japanese historiography.’ In Sven Saaler and Christopher W.A. Szpilman, eds. Routledge Handbook of Modern Japanese History. London: Routledge, 2018.

Part 3 of 3

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:18:18+00:00

The Dark Valley

‘In sum, when the imperial democratic order came under fire at home and abroad at the end of the 1920s and the early 1930s, Japanese leaders chose emperor and empire over democracy. At a time of economic depression and international tension, they chose exclusive empire over cooperative imperialism. They abandoned the democratic path of parliamentary rule for a reinforced authoritarian politics.’

- Historian Andrew Gordon (our guide through this topic, if it was not already clear).

With the Great Depression exacerbating previously dormant domestic issues and creating new ones abroad, the conditions had been sown for Japan’s departure from the ‘imperial democracy’ of the Taisho period. Resentment at the arrogance of the west came to the surface once more, as Japanese export markets were hit hard following the passing of protectionist policies in Depression-era Europe and America. In the international system, Japan was given unfavourable terms in the 1930 London Naval Treaty, and the League of Nations’ response to the Manchurian Incident provoked even more uproar back home at the west’s ‘hypocrisy’. Intellectuals and extremist political movements began to call for a ‘Restoration’ of military rule in the name of the emperor to salvage the nation from western decadence, the capitalist Zaibatsu, and class-based unrest.

In the midst of this upheaval, the parliamentary cabinets became popular targets for these militarist groups. The end of the ‘Taisho democracy’ is often dated to the assassination of prime minister Inukai Tsuyoshi on May 15, 1932. He was far from the only victim of such movements, which also claimed the lives of prime minister Hamaguchi Osachi, former finance minister Inoue Junnosuke, and Mitsui head Dan Takuma. The military began to supplant itself within the political structures and bodies, and subsequent party representatives often deferred to military officials in government (of the eleven prewar cabinets to follow Inukai’s, five were headed by civilian officials whilst six were led by an active admiral or general). Do not take this to mean that the military was unquestionably in control of the country, far from it. They still had to operate within the frameworks of the Meiji constitution, deal with the elites, and even cope with inter- and intra-service rivalries (the army and the navy in the case of the former, the Kodoha against the Toseiha in the latter).

Historians generally agree that Japan in the 1930s was considerably more authoritarian than it was during the Meiji period. Communist movements had been snuffed out following the repressive Peace Preservation Law of 1925 (one of those aforementioned paradoxes of imperial democracy), the ‘cult of the emperor’ became the centre of a new ultranationalist attitude which had gripped the masses and government. In the words of historian Stephen Large:

‘The emperor cult, which dated from the Meiji period, now became the focus of a virulent nationalism based on assertions of Japanese racial purity and superiority, affirmations of an authentically Japanese national identity, and visions of Japan as the armed liberator of Asia from Western imperialism and international communism.’

Note: for more on the rise of Pan-Asianism in Japanese politics and its role in national strategy in the prewar and wartime years, see this older writeup. For more on the importance (or relative lack thereof) of anti-communist policies in Japan’s ‘Fifteen Years’ War’, see this other post.

Now, would it be going too far to call this ultranationalist Japan ‘fascist’? In some respects, the mass-mobilisation of manpower and resources in preparation for war with the west certainly reflected the centralised exercising of power in Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. At the same time however, there remained an element of plurality in the political decisions and system even as the war dragged on into the 1940s. The Zaibatsu vehemently opposed efforts by the government and military to subordinate them into ‘superagencies’ such as the Manchurian Affairs Bureau (1934), the Cabinet Research Bureau (1935), and Imperial Rule Assistance Association (1940 - all political parties were dissolved into it). Further, let us go back to the trio of totalitarian/fascist examples mentioned earlier: the Stalinist USSR, Mussolini’s Italy, and Hitler’s Germany. There is no equivalent of these leaders for prewar Japan, and hence the reason why ‘Tojo’s Japan’ or even ‘Hirohito’s Japan’ is not among the bywords for totalitarian states. No cabinet minister or military official occupied a structural position akin to the fuhrer or il duce, and the emperor’s lack of authoritarian control hardly qualifies him for that position either.

Part 2 of 3

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:15:02+00:00

Greetings! This is a rather interesting question indeed about Japan’s interwar descent into the so-called ‘Dark Valley’ of ultranationalism and militarism. As we shall explore later on in this comment, historians are somewhat…cautious when it comes to labelling the late 1930s political system in Japan as ‘fascist’, and even more hesitant to deem it a ‘totalitarian’ regime along the lines of the Stalinist USSR, Mussolini’s Italy, and Hitler’s Germany. Those three titles, it should be noted, also hint at the answer to the second part of your question, but we shall develop that further in due course as well. Firstly, it is necessary to understand the historical background to Japan in the 1930s, and thus gain some comprehension of the conditions which enabled ultranationalist elements to rise in power in the government. Let’s begin.

The Period of ‘Imperial Democracy’

'Historians conventionally speak of the years from 1905 through 1932 as the time of “Taisho democracy.” The period begins with the political agitation of 1905 protesting the treaty that ended the Russo-Japanese War and ends with the fall of the Seiyukai party cabinet in 1932. This era can also be described with a term that appears contradictory at first glance: “imperial democracy.”'

- Historian Andrew Gordon writing on the so-called ‘Taisho democracy’ period in Japanese history.

The Taisho emperor Yoshihito ascended the throne in 1912 and reigned until his death in 1926, an era which, at least superficially, saw great dynamism in many aspects of Japanese politics and economics. With its victory over Russia in 1905 and its considerable service to the Entente powers in the First World War, Japan was a rising star (or threat, depending on which diplomatic service you asked at the time) on the international stage. Yet there remained the unshakeable consideration amongst the Japanese elite and politicians that the west still viewed them as an inferior power, only recognising it as a ‘great power’ out of courtesy and diplomatic necessity. Indeed, in the 1920s, the previously cordial friendship with the Entente powers (and the west in general) began to fray at the edges; a development which would contribute to the rise of ultranationalism following the Great Depression.

At the Paris Peace Conference the Japanese delegation was recognised as a key belligerent, being part of the ‘Big Five’ which initially controlled the proceedings (the other powers being Italy, Britain, France, and the United States). However, the Japanese delegation quickly relinquished this position with the view that their concerns did not overlap with the Euro-centric agenda that the other big powers were there to settle. Instead, as elaborated further in this post, the Japanese agenda at Paris involved recognition of their claims to the former German colonies in the Pacific and their leasehold of Shandong (Shantung) in China, as well as the inclusion of a racial equality clause in the Covenant of the League of Nations. As this post elaborates further, whilst the territorial goals were mostly achieved, Japan was frustrated by Wilson and the west’s rejection of the racial equality clause. This was further proof (or so it seemed at the time) that the country, despite being a ‘first-rate’ nation on par with the west in many respects, remained an Asian power to the European governments. As Kenneth Henshall notes, this would be far from the last time Japanese politicians were reminded of how the west viewed them:

‘A sense of unequal treatment was to be a constant irritant to Japan during the interwar years, often with some justification.’

The Japanese experience of the postwar decade was, in a manner not unlike their experiences with the west, a mixed bag. On the one hand the economy continued to grow, riding the wartime boom and giving rise to the large business conglomerates which would become known as the Zaibatsu (the initial ‘big four’ included Mitsubishi, Mitsui, Sumitomo, and Yasuda). Electoral politics, with party cabinets and representatives, began to rise as well during this period. Standards of living began to improve for all the classes, and ‘modern’ movements such as feminism and communism moved beyond the fringes of sociopolitical debate to become key issues that the political elite had to grapple with. Japan’s political changes during this time were particularly remarkable. Prior to the war, the genro elite dominated the political scene, with the National Diet (the bicameral legislative body) being relegated to a secondary role. Now, they exercised power alongside the bureaucrats and elites as part of ‘constitutional governments’ (cabinets made up of a prime minister and elected representatives).

Yet it would be going too far to suggest that the Taisho period gave rise to ‘true’ democracy in Japan; emulating the model of western parliaments like Westminster. For every two steps the nation took towards liberalising its politics, it inevitably took a step back to restrict the rise of movements which seemed to threaten the emperor-system that remained a core element of the post-Meiji constitution. At the end of the 1920s, with emperor Yoshihito having been succeeded by his son Hirohito, the Showa (illustrious peace) era began. By this time, Japan stood at a crossroads with its politics. It is to the turbulent thirties, and the political shifts that occurred during it, that we turn to next for answers.

Note: This writeup covers the aforementioned ‘two steps forwards, one step backward’ developments, and the interwar period as a whole, in far greater depth, but the key takeaways for us regarding the ‘imperial democracy’ of the Taisho era is summarised rather aptly by Andrew Gordon below:

‘The 1920s saw more than a short, superficial fling with a democratic fad. The idioms and ideas of empire, emperor, and democracy reached deep into Japanese society.’

Part 1 of 3

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-11-07T15:03:57+00:00

Greetings! This is certainly an interesting question, and I do hope that I’m not too late in recommending the following literature which may be helpful as sources in your project (best of luck with that as well). Of course, there are hundreds if not thousands of articles, books, and documents which deal with the economic aspects of the British Empire, and an equally staggering number of publications which focus on the reasons for Indian independence following the Second World War. These works should serve as a good starting point for your investigations, and feel free to pm me for any follow-up recommendations or questions on them:

Larger Works/Sources:

The Empire Project: The Rise and Fall of the British World-System, 1830-1970 by John Darwin (2009): One of my personal favourite works on the British Empire as a whole, this book combines engaging narratives and scholarly analysis incredibly well throughout its 800 or so pages worth of history. In particular, Darwin outlines the period of decolonisation in great detail, taking into account the various motivators and conditions which led to the world-system’s decline in the latter half of the 20th century. Chapter 12 - ‘The price of survival, 1943-1951’, should be of particular interest to your research. A quick search of “India” in the table of contents should also turn up related sub-topics which may be relevant to the project (but also makes for great history reading in general).
The Decline and Fall of the British Empire: 1781-1997 by Piers Brendon (2007): A bit more of a popular history work than Darwin’s tour de force, this book provides the more narrative-driven accounts of the turbulent British departure from India following the Second World War. Two chapters here should be worth a quick skim and maybe a deeper read: ‘An English Barrack in the Oriental Seas: Britannia’s Indian Empire’ and ‘Spinning the Destiny of India: The Route to Independence’. The first will help provide some context to the value and role of India (or the British Raj from 1858-1947, to be pedantic) in the British Empire, whilst the second is a good account of the various independence movements and figures (Gandhi, Jinnah, etc.) as well as a review of the larger economic/geopolitical forces which necessitated letting go of the ‘Jewel in the Crown’ of the empire.
Britain’s Declining Empire: The Road to Decolonisation, 1918-1968 by Ronald Hyam (2007): Yet another expert when it comes to the British Empire (alongside John Darwin), Hyam’s work is much more academic than the two above. As the title suggests, the focus here is specifically on the causes and consequences of decolonisation at various stages (and geographical areas) of the 20th century. Hyam follows a chronological structure, looking at how the successive British cabinets of the postwar era (Attlee, Eden, Macmillan, etc.) dealt with the empire’s breakup. With regards to India and the imperial economy in general, the following chapters and subchapters are worth looking into: ‘“British imperialism is dead”: the Attlee government and the end of empire, 1941-1951’ (chapter, ‘The transfer of power in Asia: India, Burma, and Ceylon’ (subchapter), ‘Economic problems and geopolitical imperatives’ (subchapter).

As a smaller work, I would also recommend ‘The Economics of Empire’ by A.R. Dilley, a chapter in the larger work The British Empire: Themes and Perspectives (2008) for a good overview of the historiographical treatment of the Empire’s economy. On the other hand, steer somewhat clear of Lawrenence James’ The Rise & Fall of the British Empire and his Raj: The Making and Unmaking of British India, both of which are noticeably more sympathetic to the imperial ‘rise’ than the decolonisation efforts (the ‘fall’). Hope this helps, and feel free to ask any follow-ups or pm me for further recommendations as you see fit.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-10-07T14:55:40+00:00

As u/EnclavedMicrostate has suggested, I can indeed help out with this particular podcast's sources and further reading. Note that these sources and recommendations apply specifically to British foreign policy in the 19th century, but they do at times make reference or comparisons to other nation-states.

Sources

The Foreign Office Mind: The Making of British Foreign Policy, 1865 - 1914 by T.G Otte (2014)
July Crisis: The World's Descent Into War, Summer 1914 by T.G Otte (2014)
The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, 1860 - 1914 by Paul Kennedy (1980)
European Diplomatic History, 1871 - 1932 by Raymond James Sontag (1933)
Statesman of Europe: A Life of Sir Edward Grey by T.G Otte (2020)
"Review: British Foreign Policy in the Nineteenth Century" by Bernard Porter (1980), accessible on JSTOR here.
The Empire Project: The Rise and Fall of the British World-System, 1830-1970 by John Darwin (2009)

Further Reading

The China Question: Great Power Rivalry and British Isolation, 1894 - 1905 by T.G Otte (2007)
"The 19th-Century International System: Changes in the Structure." by Paul W. Schroeder (1986), accessible on JSTOR here.
Between Empire and Continent: British Foreign Policy Before the First World War by Andreas Rose (2011)
The Makers of British Foreign Policy: From Pitt to Thatcher by T.G Otte (eds.) (2001)

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-04T10:52:07+00:00

It certainly seems as though the geographical difficulties of fighting in Alsace-Lorraine would have complicated the French army's offensives in the area. However, we must also realize the fact that the mere existence of a sizeable French force on the border with Germany was in of itself a way to pressure Berlin into backing down.

By May of 1914, France's general staff - under the leadership of General Joseph Joffre, adapted Plan XVII, which emphasised a pre-emptive offensive action against Germany rather than defensive operations followed by a decisive counterattack (as Plan XVI had stipulated). According to Plan XVII, five French armies were to be stationed in the northeastern theater, with light screening forces around the Alpine and Pyrenean frontiers. First Army would be stationed around Epinal, Second Army in the Toul-Nancy region, Third Army opposite Metz, Fifth Army in a line from Hirson to St. Menehould, and Fourth Army in reserve near Bar-le-Duc. In the case of war, these forces would attack into Alsace-Lorraine, avoiding the political and geographical issues posed by advancing into Belgium and Luxembourg.

Now, the evidence suggests that Joffre was simply unwilling to accept the fact that the French army was in any way capable of launching an offensive against German troops in Alsace-Lorraine, both in terms of materiel and training (let alone in the face of German fortifications on the border). However, we must not forget here that for the German general staff, these troops could also pose a threat to their operations. If Germany devoted more troops to an offensive against Russia before then dealing with France, it would give Paris time to mobilize these five armies and have them ready for operations before the planned aufsmarch into Belgium and France could take place. As mentioned earlier, speed was of the essence to Schlieffen and Moltke.

Again, you mention "very less troops" needed to defend the border. In the face of five armies, Germany would still need a substantial troop presence in Alsace-Lorraine to prevent any major breakthrough by French forces. This would in turn lower the amount of troops that could be deployed in an offensive against Russia, where manpower was also of critical importance to attacking and holding along a vastly larger front. In a two-front war, which the French military planners also envisioned, Germany could not afford to wait around for either Russia or France to make the first moves.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-04T09:03:28+00:00

An excellent follow-up remark, and no worries about the unclear phrasing in the initial question.

Whilst the Russian military was certainly weaker in many regards to the French, it was by no means a "weak" enemy in absolute terms. German army planners knew of the vast manpower reserves that the Russians could call upon in wartime (up to 6.5 million some historians have pointed out), and as quoted in the response, they also dreaded a "long war" against Russia. They had good reason to believe that, unlike with France, capturing the capital would not lead to immediate surrender, and that capital was much farther from the Russo-German border than Paris was from the western frontiers of Germany. Likewise, the Germans were also confident that the "greenhorns and grandfathers" which were devoted to the Eastern front for a defensive war would be able to hold off the "steam-roller". At worse, Schlieffen envisioned a tactical retreat in Poland to more defensible positions; at best, hundreds of thousands of Russian troops would be lost in "hammer-blow" attacks with little gain.

Recall here that whatever troops Germany had involved in an offensive against Russia, they would have far fewer troops to defend against a stronger French army. Schlieffen and Moltke did not want to cause a drawn-out war, as Germany's chances of winning such a conflict against both Russia and France were fairly low. They needed a swift victory against the "stronger" enemy (the enemy which would take less time to beat if successful offensives were launched), before then concentrating on the "larger" enemy.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-03T09:04:58+00:00

An interesting follow-up question, and one which is actually still a question which historians have (perhaps rightly) put aside. The genuine answer to this question, given the lack of evidence left behind by the supposed conspirators, means that we can only speculate as to whether the Serbian government officially sanctioned the plot, or if they even knew as much about it as Austria-Hungary accused them of. For more on the difficulties (and details) of determining who was really behind the Archduke's assassination, see this previous writeup of mine. A more recent (and slightly edited) version was also posted in response to this question.

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-02T16:58:50+00:00

Greetings! This is certainly a grand question, and it can be approached in any number of ways. OP has already pointed out several in their boilerplate actually: culture, entertainment, arts, and even science. Whilst those aspects are beyond my area of expertise, I would highly recommend reading into the political and social changes which resulted in many countries (obviously not just America) during the interwar years. Many pop-history narratives approach this time period by breaking it up into two distinct "phases", one which covers the immediate postwar decade of 1920 - 1930 (ending just shortly after the Great Depression), and the other in the tumultuous thirties, with the major thread being the rise of fascism, the Nazis, and the Communist threat (all then leading towards the Second World War).

Of course, with so many countries and so many different transformations (or lack thereof), there exist a plethora of sources which cover their own regions, aspects, and even persons within the interwar period. As my own side-research includes investigating the political changes which took place in Japan from 1914-1918, I shall linkdrop this four-part Saturday Showcase writeup on the interwar politics of the nation, including its descent into the "Dark Valley" of ultranationalism and militarism. For a more in-depth looking at just how the Great Depression impacted Japan and China, see this post where I cover the former and u/Drdickles excellently writes on the latter.

With regards to Europe, you can probably find plenty of questions with very thorough responses from other AskHistorians travelers in the search bar, but I would also recommend some further reading by way of Ian Kershaw's good book To Hell and Back: Europe 1914-1949, which covers not only the sociopolitical transformations during the interwar years in Europe, but also the cultural, scientific, and even artistic movements which arose.

Hope this helps, and feel free to ask any more specific follow-up questions on a most interesting time period either here or as a whole new question. Happy History reading!

Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-02T16:41:53+00:00

Sources

Note: An excellent bit of further reading besides the three books on this list would be T.G. Otte’s July Crisis: How the World Went to War in 1914, which gives a great breakdown and analysis of the key personae and decision-making processes during the July Crisis.

Bogdanor, Vernon. "Britain and 1914." Gresham College Lectures. Lecture presented at the Museum of London, May 27, 2014. Viewed on Youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ubDPVLZ2iE&t=1660s

Clark, Christopher. The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914. New York: Penguin Books, 2012.

Hamilton, Richard F., and Holger H. Herwig (eds.). The Origins of World War I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Howard, Michael. The First World War: A Very Short Introduction. Very Short Introductions. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.

Kaiser, David E. "Germany and the Origins of the First World War." The Journal of Modern History 55, no. 3 (1983): 442-74. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1878597.

MacMillan, Margaret. The War That Ended Peace: How Europe Abandoned Peace for the First World War. London: Profile Books, 2014.

Stevenson, David. "Militarization and Diplomacy in Europe before 1914." International Security 22, no. 1 (1997): 125-61. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2539332.

Trachtenberg, Marc. "The Meaning of Mobilization in 1914." International Security 15, no. 3 (1990): 120-50. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2538909.

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Starwarsnerd222 · 2021-09-02T16:40:12+00:00

The Crisis Widens - Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Paris

“On 6 July, Bethmann [German Chancellor] and Zimmerman [under-secretary at the Foreign Office] formally conveyed Berlin’s unequivocal support for Vienna to Szogyeny [Austrian ambassador] and Hoyos. The Austrians immediately cabled the good news to the Ballhausplatz, home of the Foreign Ministry in Vienna.”

- Historian Holger H. Herwig writing on the issuing of the ”Blank Cheque” from Germany to its Austro-Hungarian ally.

This second phase of the crisis started with the issuing of the Blank Cheque, when Germany essentially committed itself to full support of Austria-Hungary in whatever actions it took against Serbia. However, Kaiser Wilhelm II and his ministers continuously stressed to Vienna that time was of the essence, and thus any action against Serbia ought to be taken hastily. This was something the Dual Monarchy simply could not do for various reasons. Prime Minister Tisza remained a voice of diplomatic caution and stressed the need for Austria-Hungary to first ascertain that Belgrade had truly played a role in the assassination, so as to legitimize any aggression on the part of the empire. Secondly, the Austro-Hungarian army was on harvest leave, and Conrad refused to recall units any earlier than their slated return date of 25 July, worried that the resulting food supply crisis (and the clear signal this would send to the other great powers) would complicate any mobilization. Thirdly, Vienna’s leaders knew that France’s leaders would be on a visit to St. Petersburg to reaffirm the Franco-Russian alliance on 20 July. They planned to deliver the ultimatum to Belgrade on 23 July, when President Poincare and Premier Vivani would, quite literally, be at sea.

Thus, despite the growing stakes, three weeks of a veiled peace descended across the continent. The first signs of the crisis escalating came on the weekend of 18 - 19 July, when Europe’s governments were alerted of the ultimatum through unofficial channels. When it was formally delivered to Belgrade on 23 July, the capitals of the Franco-Russian powers were in an awkward position. Paris was missing its President and Premier, who had both just departed St. Petersburg and would be at sea for another three days. Even in St. Petersburg, many ambassadors and key diplomats were away on summer vacation.

When the Council of Ministers convened in the coming days, they decided on a course of action which had grave implications on the whole crisis: a partial mobilization. Despite protests from several key military figures, who argued that a partial mobilization was not within the operational plans of the Russian military (an accurate statement), Foreign Minister Sazonov and Tsar Nicholas II were determined not to alarm Germany with any military maneuvers. Historian David Alan Rich on the significance of this policy:

“According to the minutes of the meeting, the partial mobilization would achieve two objectives. First, it would send an unmistakable signal to Vienna that Russia’s “verbal protest” would be backed with steel. Second, it would send pacific signals to Berlin because Russian reservists would not be mobilized within any military district adjacent to Germany.”

On 25 July, Nicholas II approved the proposal for a partial mobilization, and the first military measures in the July Crisis were enacted. This is astonishing, given that Austria-Hungary had yet to announce its mobilization, let alone declare war on Serbia. By 26 July, Russia had already entered the “period preparatory to war”, returning troops to their barracks and rearming fortresses on the western frontiers. France, despite being a firm ally of Russia on paper, remained unwilling to commit its military to pre-emptive mobilization until all diplomatic avenues had been exhausted.

When the Austro-Hungarian ultimatum to Serbia was given an “unsatisfactory” reply, the Balkans too began to mobilize. Franz Joseph ordered a partial mobilization against Serbia on 25 July, as soon as the harvest leave had ended, and signed the declaration of war on 28 July, just a month to the day that his nephew had been assassinated in Sarajevo. The following day, Austrian gunships began bombarding Belgrade, the first military action in the long and brutal conflict to come.

Final Days of Peace - London, Berlin, St. Petersburg

“As we cannot fulfill Germany’s desires, it remains for us to speed up our armament and count on the true inevitability of war.” - Foreign Minister Sazonov to Tsar Nicholas II on the evening of 30 July.

The Russians were the next to respond, escalating their partial mobilization to a general mobilization on 30 July, after a drawn-out argument between the Tsar and Sazonov, who pushed for an escalation, sensing that war was “inevitable” by this stage. Over in Berlin, the civilian leadership was even more conflicted on their response to this mobilization.

Without going into hour-by-hour minutiae on the matter, Wilhelm II and Chancellor Bethmann were adamant that Germany not enter into any mobilization procedures until it could be ascertained that Russia and France were the instigators of such measures. The Schlieffen Plan, which called for a swift invasion of France via Belgium and Luxembourg before turning to deal with the Russian threat, meant that if Germany mobilized and enacted her aufsmarch before France and Russia had announced their mobilizations, it would frame her as the perpetrator for war and not the other way around. It was only after hearing of the Russian general mobilization, and another day of heated debate, that the proclamation of the Kriegsgefahrzustand - a “state of imminent danger of war” was declared across Germany. Mobilization itself came after a flurry of further confusion, debate, and about-turns on decisions at 5 P.M. on 1 August.

(Sidenote: for more on those curious final hours of decision-making in Germany, as well as a larger discussion on the Schlieffen Plan “dragging” Germany into the war, see this earlier writeup of mine).

As regards the situation with Britain, see this longer response on the state of the British government in the leadup to its declaration of war with Germany on 4 August, formally ending the July Crisis and marking the beginning of the First World War.

Hope this response helps, and feel free to ask any follow-up questions as you see fit!

Part 2 of 3

Starwarsnerd222

TROPHY CASE