From the November 2024 IBDP History Paper 2 exam
The mid-20th century witnessed the emergence of numerous authoritarian states across the globe, each with distinct characteristics shaped by regional, historical, and socio-political contexts. Two such regimes, Nazi Germany (1933-1945) in Europe and Franco's Spain (1936-1975) in Western Europe's southern periphery, offer a compelling comparative study. Both states rose to power in the interwar period, an era marked by economic turmoil, political instability, and societal disillusionment following the Great War. Despite sharing some broad similarities—such as the rejection of liberal democracy, the centralisation of power, and the use of state terror—Germany and Spain's paths to authoritarianism diverged significantly, reflecting their unique national narratives, external pressures, and the personalities of their respective leaders, Adolf Hitler and Francisco Franco. Evans argues that the collapse of Weimar Germany's democratic experiment was primarily a result of both internal structural weaknesses and the Versailles Treaty's punitive measures, which left the nation economically crippled and politically humiliated.
Germany's descent into authoritarianism began in the aftermath of World War I, when the Versailles Treaty (28 June 1919) imposed severe reparations (£6.6 billion, equivalent to roughly £284 billion today) and territorial losses (Alsace-Lorraine to France, Saar under League of Nations administration, Polish Corridor). This settlement left Germany with a severely contracted economy, hyperinflation (by 1923, prices rose by a factor of 100 trillion), and widespread unemployment (over 30% by 1932). The once-mighty military was reduced to a mere 100,000-strong Reichswehr, an affront to national pride. Evans notes that such conditions created a fertile ground for extremist ideologies, as "the Treaty became a symbol of national betrayal, its terms seen as deliberately designed to strangle Germany's resurgence" (Evans, 2003). The multiplicity of political parties in the Weimar Republic—23 parties contested the 1932 Reichstag elections—led to chronic governmental instability, with 11 cabinets failing to last more than a year. Hitler's National Socialist German Workers' Party (NSDAP) capitalised on this chaos. Promising national rejuvenation, restoration of honour, and economic revival, Hitler secured 37.4% of the vote by July 1932, making the NSDAP the largest party in the Reichstag. Paul argues that Hitler's oratory skills, coupled with the party's paramilitary wing (the SA, with 400,000 members by 1932), allowed him to present himself as both a strongman and a guardian of traditional values, attracting both industrialists (who funded the NSDAP to counter the communist threat) and the rural lower middle class dispossessed by economic collapse (Paul, 1985). On 30 January 1933, President Hindenburg appointed Hitler Chancellor, a position he leveraged to dismantle democracy entirely through the Enabling Act (23 March 1933), which granted him legislative powers without parliamentary approval.
The role of propaganda and societal mobilisation was pivotal in consolidating Nazi rule. Hitler established the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda (13 March 1933), led by Goebbels, who orchestrated mass rallies (the 1934 Nuremberg Rally drew 700,000 participants), films (Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will), and radio broadcasts that reached 70% of German households by 1939. The aim was to create what Kershaw terms a "Hitler myth": the Führer as infallible saviour, above petty politics and factionalism (Kershaw, 1987). Economic recovery was rapid under Hitler, driven by massive public works (Autobahn construction employed 600,000 workers) and rearmament (military spending rose from 0.9% of GNP in 1933 to 20% by 1938). Unemployment fell from 6 million in 1933 to under 300,000 by 1936. Yet, as Tooze demonstrates, this growth was structurally unsustainable, reliant on deficit spending and autarkic policies that prepared Germany for war, not long-term prosperity (Tooze, 2006). By 1936, Germany had rearmed sufficiently to remilitarise the Rhineland, a direct violation of Versailles, without facing serious Western opposition. Internal terror was equally systematic: the Dachau concentration camp opened in March 1933, and by 1939, 100,000 political prisoners (communists, social democrats, and trade unionists) had been incarcerated. The Nazi regime thus emerged through a combination of economic crisis, skilful political manoeuvring, and ruthless repression.
The Gleichschaltung (coordination) process, initiated in 1933, saw the dissolution of trade unions, political parties (except the NSDAP), and federal states' autonomy, centralising all authority in Hitler's hands. The Night of the Long Knives (30 June 1934), during which Hitler ordered the execution of SA leader Ernst Röhm and 150 other perceived opponents, demonstrated the regime's willingness to eliminate internal rivals. Evans contends that this purge marked the final consolidation of Hitler's power, as the army, now sworn to personal loyalty to the Führer, became a willing partner in the regime's militarisation (Evans, 2005). In stark contrast, Franco's Spain followed a different trajectory altogether. The Spanish Second Republic (1931-1936) had been born out of the peaceful collapse of Primo de Rivera's dictatorship (1923-1930) and King Alfonso XIII's subsequent exile. Yet, this new democracy was crippled from the start by deep polarisation: on one side, the Republican-Socialist coalition (led by figures like Manuel Azaña), pushing for secularism (separation of church and state, civil marriage, secular schools), land reform (redistribution of 5.5 million hectares of large estates), and regional autonomy (Catalonia and the Basque Country); on the other, a powerful Nationalist bloc of monarchists, Catholics, and landowners fearing revolution. Preston highlights that Spain's descent into civil war (July 1936) was not inevitable but resulted from accumulated tensions: the anarchist CNT's insurrection in Asturias (1934), where 30,000 workers rebelled, only to be brutally suppressed by the army, leaving 1,300 dead; and the assassination of the right-wing leader Calvo Sotelo (13 July 1936), which prompted military generals (Franco, Mola, Queipo de Llano) to rebel against the Republican government (Preston, 2007). On 17 July 1936, a military coup in Spanish Morocco sparked a nationwide uprising, splitting Spain into Republican (Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia) and Nationalist zones (Seville, Burgos, Valladolid). Franco, a relatively junior general at the time (he had led the Foreign Legion in Morocco's Rif War, earning fame for suppressing the 1921 Annual disaster), emerged as the Nationalist movement's unifying figure only after the deaths of Generals Sanjurjo (air crash, 20 July 1936) and Mola (air crash, 3 June 1937). Unlike Hitler's meteoric rise, Franco's ascent was gradual, dependent on military victories and foreign backing (German Condor Legion, Italian Corpo Truppe Volontarie), which provided air support (Guernica bombing, 26 April 1937, killing 1,600 civilians) and matériel. Payne argues that Franco deliberately prolonged the Civil War (it lasted three years, until 1 April 1939) to eliminate potential rivals within the Nationalist camp and entrench his personal authority (Payne, 1987). While Hitler governed an economically advanced, highly industrialised nation with a sophisticated bureaucracy, Franco ruled a devastated, agrarian country where half the population still worked the land and per capita income had halved by 1939. Spain's authoritarianism thus emerged not from economic crisis alone but from a fratricidal conflict that killed 500,000 Spaniards (half a million) and displaced two million. The Franco regime's ideological pillars—Catholic nationalism, anti-communism, and rejection of liberalism—owed much to the Church's support (the Spanish episcopate endorsed Franco as "God's instrument for Spain's salvation"), whereas Nazi ideology was rooted in pseudoscientific racism and imperial expansion. By the time Franco declared victory in 1939, his regime was less totalitarian than Hitler's; repression was brutal (20,000 Republicans executed in the post-war purge), but the economy remained semi-feudal, and fascist elements (the Falange) were subordinated to Franco's military-paternalistic rule.
The role of external influences and geopolitical context further illuminates the differences between these regimes. Hitler's Germany operated in a Europe where revisionism was possible, if not encouraged, by the appeasement policies of Britain and France. The remilitarisation of the Rhineland (1936), annexation of Austria (Anschluss, March 1938), and dismemberment of Czechoslovakia (Munich Agreement, 30 September 1938) showed that Hitler could exploit great power rivalries to expand German territory without facing decisive resistance until September 1939. Schorske argues that Hitler's foreign policy was not a premeditated plan but an opportunistic exploitation of the Versailles system's disintegration (Schorske, 1955). In contrast, Franco's Spain arose in a context of civil war, where foreign intervention (Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy on the Nationalist side; Soviet Union on the Republican side) was decisive but also limiting. Hitler's support for Franco—Condor Legion aircraft, tanks, and 16,000 German troops—served German strategic interests (access to Iberian minerals, containment of France), not just ideological solidarity. Tusell notes that Franco, wary of becoming a puppet, carefully balanced his reliance on Axis powers with diplomatic overtures to the neutral United States and Britain, ensuring Spain's survival but also its isolation from post-1945 European integration (Tusell, 2007). While Nazi Germany rearmed and expanded, Franco's Spain remained a secondary power, content with internal repression and cautious foreign policy. Hitler's regime was, by design, a revolutionary force seeking to overturn the international order; Franco's, by contrast, aimed at preservation and autarky. Domestically, both regimes relied on repressive apparatuses, but their structures and targets differed. The Nazi terror system (Gestapo, SS, concentration camps) was highly centralised and ideologically driven, aiming at Jews, communists, Roma, homosexuals, and the mentally ill. By 1942, 70,000 Germans had been executed or died in camps for political offences. In Spain, repression was more traditional and less bureaucratised: Franco's army and Civil Guard purged Republican sympathisers through military courts and extrajudicial killings. Casanova calculates that 100,000 Republicans were imprisoned by 1940, with forced labour battalions (redeeming their 'guilt' through work) becoming a feature of Franco's Spain until the 1960s (Casanova, 2002). Economic policies also diverged. Hitler's Four-Year Plan (1936), directed by Göring, aimed at autarky and war readiness, with state-directed investment in synthetic fuel, aluminium, and steel. By 1939, Germany was the world's second-largest economy, mobilised for conflict. Franco's Spain, by contrast, pursued autarkic self-sufficiency but achieved only stagnation: rationing persisted until 1952, and per capita GDP did not recover 1936 levels until 1955. Anderson observes that Franco's regime became a "frozen dictatorship", preserving power through co-opted elites (the Church, army, landowners) rather than dynamic mobilisation (Anderson, 2009).
The contrast between Hitler and Franco as leaders is equally instructive. Hitler was a charismatic, ideologically driven figure who governed through what Broszat terms a "polycratic chaos" of overlapping party and state institutions, fostering competition to spur radicalisation (Broszat, 1981). His personal authority was unchallenged after 1934, and his speeches directly mobilised the masses. Franco, on the other hand, was a cautious, technocratic military man who ruled through bureaucratic routine and coalition management (balancing Falangists, Carlists, monarchists). Payne notes that Franco's speeches rarely inspired mass fervour; instead, he cultivated an image of prudent, paternal authority, presenting himself as Spain's guardian against chaos (Payne, 1987). This difference in leadership style affected policy implementation: Nazi anti-Semitic persecution began immediately (Nuremberg Laws, 1935) and escalated to genocide by 1941, whereas Franco's Spain, despite its anti-communism, never pursued ideological extermination on the Nazi scale. The Spanish regime's crimes were largely retributive (post-civil war reprisals) rather than systemic. Linz argues that Franco's regime evolved into a "limited authoritarian pluralism", where factions within the regime (military, technocrats, Opus Dei Catholics) contested policy, albeit within strict limits (Linz, 2000). By contrast, Nazi Germany became increasingly radicalised, with Himmler's SS absorbing all police functions by 1939 and the war开启ing a genocidal dynamic that consumed Europe's Jews. The international contexts of their downfalls also reveal critical differences. Hitler's regime collapsed in May 1945, defeated by external forces (Allied armies) after six years of total war that killed 5 million Germans. Franco's regime, by contrast, survived World War II by diplomatic finesse (non-belligerency during the conflict, last Axis dictator to fall) and endured until Franco's natural death in 1975. The Cold War insulated Franco: Western powers, needing anti-communist stability in the Mediterranean, tolerated his rule as a strategic asset (Spain joined the UN in 1955, signed a defence pact with the US in 1953). Preston writes that Franco's longevity owed much to this geopolitical luck and his regime's adaptability, shifting from fascist rhetoric in the 1940s to technocratic developmentalism in the 1960s (Preston, 2007). Spain's economic miracle of the 1960s (GDP growth averaged 7% annually) underpinned regime stability, whereas Nazi Germany's war economy imploded by 1944.
The legacies and historical memories of these two authoritarian regimes have followed distinct trajectories, reflecting their differing natures and Europe's changing political climate. Post-1945 West Germany engaged in profound Vergangenheitsbewältigung (coming to terms with the past), officially acknowledging Nazi atrocities. The 1960s Auschwitz trials sentenced 22 guards to prison, and by the 1980s, Holocaust education was mandatory in schools. Frei argues that this self-critique, painful as it was, allowed Germany to rejoin the international community as a reliable democracy (Frei, 2002). In contrast, Spain's transition to democracy after Franco's death (1975) occurred through negotiated elite pacts (the 1977 Moncloa Pacts), deliberately avoiding confrontation with the dictatorship's past. The 1977 Amnesty Law ensured that neither Francoist officials nor anti-regime activists faced prosecution, entrenching what Aguilar terms an "agreed silence" about the Civil War and Francoism (Aguilar, 2002). Only in 2007 did Spain's Socialist government pass a Historical Memory Law, belatedly removing Franco's statues and offering reparations to Republican victims. This contrast—Germany's introspection versus Spain's forgetting—stems from their regimes' differing international contexts: Nazi Germany was defeated as an enemy of civilisation, while Franco's Spain was a domestic authoritarianism that ended through gradual erosion, not external conquest. Historiographical debates mirror these patterns. Scholarship on Nazi Germany (Friedländer, 2007; Longerich, 2010) focuses overwhelmingly on the Holocaust as the regime's defining crime, with intentionalist versus functionalist debates (did Hitler plan genocide from 1920 or did it emerge incrementally?) dominating the field. Spanish Civil War historiography, by contrast, remains divided between Republican and Nationalist narratives, with recent trends emphasising social history (local studies of repression) and transnational comparisons (with fascist Italy and Germany). Richards notes that Spain's memory wars continue, with right-wing voices still defending Franco as a saviour from revolution, while left-wing accounts portray him as a monstrous tyrant (Richards, 2013). The European Union's institutional framework has also shaped these memories: Germany's atonement facilitated its integration into the EU, whereas Spain's incomplete Vergangenheitsbewältigung left its national identity fractured. In conclusion, the emergence of Nazi Germany and Franco's Spain as 20th-century authoritarian states reveals both parallels and profound differences. Both regimes rejected liberal democracy, centralised power, and employed state terror, yet their paths to rule, ideological drivers, and international contexts were distinct. Hitler's Germany arose from economic crisis, national humiliation, and revolutionary fervour, aiming at imperial expansion and racial purification. Franco's Spain, born of civil war and Catholic nationalism, sought internal order and preservation, not global conquest. Their legacies—Germany's penitential memory, Spain's contested silence—reflect these divergent histories. Evans, Preston, and Payne offer the most persuasive frameworks for understanding these regimes: not as mirror images of "totalitarianism" but as unique products of their nations' crises. The 20th century's greatest lesson, perhaps, is that authoritarianism wears many faces, and its defeat requires not just military victory but sustained, critical engagement with the past.
References:
Aguilar, 2002 - Aguilar, P. Memory and Amnesia: The Role of the Spanish Civil War in the Transition to Democracy. Anderson, 2009 - Anderson, P. The Franco Regime. Broszat, 1981 - Broszat, M. The Hitler State. Casanova, 2002 - Casanova, J. The Spanish Republic and the Civil War. Evans, 2003 - Evans, R. The Coming of the Third Reich. Evans, 2005 - Evans, R. The Third Reich in Power. Frei, 2002 - Frei, N. Adenauer's Germany and the Nazi Past. Heath, 2018 - Heath, D. The Rise of Authoritarian Europe (tracesofevil.com). Kershaw, 1987 - Kershaw, I. The 'Hitler Myth'. Linz, 2000 - Linz, J. Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes. Paul, 1985 - Paul, G. The Rise of Political Anti-Semitism in Germany. Payne, 1987 - Payne, S. A History of Fascism, 1914-1945. Preston, 2007 - Preston, P. The Spanish Civil War. Richards, 2013 - Richards, M. After the Civil War. Schorske, 1955 - Schorske, C. German Social Democracy, 1905-1917. Tooze, 2006 - Tooze, A. The Wages of Destruction. Tusell, 2007 - Tusell, J. Franco's Spain.
Example II:
The interplay between economic crises and the rise of authoritarian regimes in 20th-century Germany and the Soviet Union underscores how systemic instability can be manipulated to consolidate dictatorial power. The Great Depression acted as a crucible for Hitler’s ascent, exposing the vulnerabilities of the Weimar Republic and creating conditions ripe for extremist solutions. By 1932, unemployment in Germany had soared to six million, while industrial output had collapsed by nearly half since 1929. Evans argues that this economic devastation not only undermined confidence in parliamentary democracy but also fostered a widespread belief that radical measures were necessary to restore national prosperity. Hitler’s promises of autarky, military rearmament, and the reversal of the Treaty of Versailles resonated deeply with a population desperate for change. His ability to exploit democratic processes, coupled with his eventual dismantling of them, demonstrates how economic despair can erode institutional safeguards. Once in power, Hitler justified the suspension of civil liberties and the suppression of political opposition as essential steps toward stabilising the nation, framing his actions as responses to an existential crisis posed by foreign powers and internal subversion.
In the Soviet Union, Stalin’s consolidation of authority was similarly intertwined with economic upheaval, though the mechanisms and rhetoric differed markedly. The implementation of the First Five-Year Plan in 1928 marked a dramatic shift toward state-controlled industrialisation and collectivisation, policies that prioritised heavy industry at the expense of agricultural productivity. Davies notes that these initiatives led to catastrophic consequences, including widespread famine in Ukraine during the early 1930s, where millions perished due to forced grain requisitions and inadequate food supplies. Despite the human cost, Stalin framed these sacrifices as necessary for achieving rapid modernisation and securing the USSR against capitalist encirclement. His portrayal of the Soviet Union as besieged by external enemies allowed him to justify extensive coercion and repression, transforming economic hardship into a narrative of national resilience. Both leaders exploited economic turmoil to legitimise their regimes, presenting themselves as indispensable figures capable of steering their nations through crises that they themselves often exacerbated.
The role of ideology in shaping economic policy further highlights the divergent yet convergent paths taken by Hitler and Stalin. Nazi Germany’s emphasis on racial purity and territorial expansion was inseparable from its economic goals, as Hitler sought to create a self-sufficient empire through conquest and exploitation. The Lebensraum policy, which envisioned the annexation of Eastern Europe to provide resources and living space for Germans, exemplifies how economic objectives were embedded within broader ideological frameworks. Herf observes that this fusion of economics and ideology enabled Hitler to galvanise support among disparate groups, from industrialists eager for rearmament contracts to workers seduced by promises of employment and national revival. In contrast, Stalin’s policies were ostensibly rooted in Marxist-Leninist principles, though his methods increasingly departed from orthodox socialism. Service contends that Stalin’s abandonment of the New Economic Policy in favour of forced collectivisation reflected not only a desire for rapid industrialisation but also a determination to eliminate perceived class enemies. Peasants who resisted collectivisation were branded kulaks and subjected to brutal reprisals, underscoring how economic transformation was wielded as a tool of political control. While Hitler and Stalin employed different ideological justifications, both regimes instrumentalised economic policies to consolidate power and suppress dissent.
The global context of the interwar period further illuminates the parallels and distinctions between these two authoritarian states. Germany’s economic collapse was exacerbated by its integration into the global capitalist system, which left it particularly vulnerable to the ripple effects of the Wall Street Crash. Hobsbawm argues that the interconnectedness of economies during this era amplified the impact of financial crises, making recovery contingent upon external factors such as American loans under the Dawes Plan. Hitler’s rejection of international cooperation and his embrace of autarky can thus be seen as a reaction against the perceived failures of global capitalism. Conversely, the Soviet Union’s relative isolation insulated it from some of the immediate shocks of the Great Depression, allowing Stalin to pursue his transformative agenda without the same degree of external pressure. Fitzpatrick suggests that this insulation was double-edged, as it also meant the USSR lacked access to foreign investment and technology, forcing it to rely on internal resources and coercive measures to achieve its goals. Despite these differences, both regimes positioned themselves as alternatives to the prevailing economic order, whether through Hitler’s vision of racially hierarchical autarky or Stalin’s drive for socialist industrialisation.
The long-term consequences of these economic strategies reveal the enduring legacies of authoritarian governance in both contexts. In Nazi Germany, the focus on rearmament and militarisation laid the groundwork for World War II, as economic priorities were subordinated to the imperatives of conquest and racial domination. Kotkin highlights how this militarised economy ultimately proved unsustainable, contributing to Germany’s defeat and the devastation wrought by total war. In the Soviet Union, Stalin’s industrialisation campaigns achieved significant milestones, transforming the USSR into a major industrial power by the late 1930s. However, Davies cautions that these gains came at immense human and social costs, including the erosion of rural communities, the suppression of dissent, and the entrenchment of bureaucratic authoritarianism. The legacies of these economic policies underscore the dangers of prioritising ideological and militaristic objectives over human welfare, offering sobering lessons about the intersection of economics and authoritarianism in the 20th century.
Political instability provided another critical avenue through which authoritarian regimes emerged in 20th-century Germany and the Soviet Union, albeit shaped by distinct historical trajectories and institutional contexts. In Germany, the structural weaknesses of the Weimar Republic created an environment conducive to the rise of extremism. Proportional representation, intended to ensure democratic inclusivity, instead fragmented the political landscape, producing coalition governments that struggled to address pressing issues. Kershaw argues that this dysfunction was compounded by the polarisation of society, as parties on both the far-left and far-right gained traction by exploiting public disillusionment with the status quo. Multiple elections held between 1928 and 1932 failed to yield stable coalitions, reflecting the deep divisions within German society. Hitler adeptly capitalised on this paralysis, presenting himself as a unifying figure who could transcend partisan bickering and restore order. His appointment as Chancellor in January 1933 marked the beginning of a systematic assault on democratic institutions, facilitated by the Reichstag Fire Decree and the Enabling Act, which granted him dictatorial powers under the guise of combating communist threats and ensuring national security.
In the Soviet Union, political instability stemmed not from electoral fragmentation but from revolutionary upheaval and ideological conflict within the Communist Party. Lenin’s death in 1924 precipitated a power struggle between rival factions, each vying to shape the future direction of socialism. Trotsky advocated for permanent revolution, emphasising international solidarity and continued class struggle, while Stalin championed socialism in one country, prioritising domestic consolidation over global revolution. Service contends that Stalin’s victory hinged on his mastery of bureaucratic machinery, enabling him to marginalise opponents through strategic appointments, propaganda, and purges. By 1929, Trotsky had been exiled, and Stalin stood unchallenged as the leader of the USSR. Unlike Hitler, whose legitimacy derived partly from electoral success, Stalin relied almost exclusively on institutional manoeuvring to secure dominance. This reliance on bureaucratic control rather than mass mobilisation underscores the contrasting pathways through which authoritarian rule was established in the two nations.
Despite these differences, both regimes ultimately pursued similar strategies of centralising power and eliminating dissent. In Nazi Germany, the legal framework of the Weimar Constitution was systematically dismantled, with Hitler using emergency decrees and legislative manipulation to concentrate authority in his hands. Civil liberties were curtailed, political opponents were imprisoned or executed, and independent institutions such as the judiciary and press were subordinated to the state. Gestapo surveillance and concentration camps became instruments of terror, ensuring compliance through fear. Similarly, Stalin’s consolidation of power involved the elimination of perceived enemies, whether real or imagined. The Great Purge of the late 1930s saw thousands of party members, military officers, and ordinary citizens arrested, tortured, and executed on fabricated charges. Show trials served as public spectacles designed to demonstrate the omnipotence of the state while instilling a pervasive sense of insecurity. Both leaders understood the importance of controlling not only formal political structures but also the informal networks of influence and loyalty that underpinned their regimes.
The manipulation of ideology played a crucial role in legitimising authoritarian rule in both contexts. In Nazi Germany, Hitler’s regime constructed a narrative of racial superiority and national renewal, positioning itself as the defender of Aryan purity against Jewish and Bolshevik conspiracies. Herf observes that this ideological framework resonated strongly with segments of the population disillusioned by the failures of Weimar democracy and the humiliations of the Treaty of Versailles. Propaganda, orchestrated by Goebbels, saturated public life, reinforcing the cult of personality around Hitler and portraying the state as the embodiment of the Volksgemeinschaft, or people’s community. In the Soviet Union, Stalin’s regime similarly deployed ideology to justify its actions, albeit through the lens of Marxism-Leninism. Fitzpatrick notes that Stalin presented himself as the heir to Lenin’s legacy, defending socialism against internal sabotage and external aggression. The concept of “socialism in one country” allowed him to pursue policies that deviated from orthodox Marxism while maintaining the appearance of ideological fidelity. Both regimes utilised ideology not merely as a guiding principle but as a tool of political control, shaping public discourse and suppressing alternative viewpoints.
The role of violence and repression further underscores the convergence of authoritarian practices in these two states. In Nazi Germany, the Night of the Long Knives in 1934 exemplifies how Hitler eliminated potential rivals within his own movement, consolidating power by purging the SA leadership under Röhm. This event demonstrated the regime’s willingness to use lethal force against even its closest allies if they posed a threat to Hitler’s authority. Similarly, Stalin’s purges extended beyond political opponents to include anyone deemed suspicious or disloyal, regardless of their actual culpability. Kotkin argues that the scale and arbitrariness of these purges created a climate of pervasive fear, discouraging dissent and fostering blind obedience. Both leaders understood that maintaining absolute control required not only institutional changes but also the systematic intimidation and elimination of perceived adversaries.
The global implications of these political transformations highlight the broader significance of authoritarianism in the interwar period. Nazi Germany’s aggressive expansionism destabilised Europe, culminating in the outbreak of World War II. Hitler’s disregard for international norms and treaties, exemplified by the remilitarisation of the Rhineland and the annexation of Austria, reflected his contempt for democratic governance and collective security. In contrast, the Soviet Union initially adopted a more isolationist stance, focusing on internal consolidation before gradually reasserting itself on the world stage. Stalin’s decision to sign the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact with Nazi Germany in 1939, however, revealed the pragmatic opportunism underlying his foreign policy. Hobsbawm suggests that the pact, which included secret protocols dividing Eastern Europe between the two powers, demonstrated how ideological enmity could be set aside in pursuit of strategic interests. These developments underscore the ways in which political instability within individual states contributed to wider geopolitical tensions, reshaping the global order and setting the stage for one of the most destructive conflicts in history.
Societal discontent provided fertile ground for the emergence of authoritarian regimes in 20th-century Germany and the Soviet Union, though its sources and manifestations varied significantly across the two contexts. In Germany, the scars of World War I and the punitive terms of the Treaty of Versailles engendered a pervasive sense of grievance among the population. Herf highlights how intellectuals and veterans propagated myths of betrayal, attributing Germany’s defeat to alleged sabotage by Jews and communists rather than military shortcomings. These narratives resonated with disenfranchised groups seeking scapegoats for their plight, bolstering support for Hitler’s virulent antisemitism and anti-Bolshevism. The economic hardships of the Great Depression further amplified societal unrest, as mass unemployment and hyperinflation eroded faith in the Weimar Republic’s ability to govern effectively. Hitler exploited this discontent by promising national renewal and racial purity, constructing a vision of a revitalised Germany that appealed to those yearning for stability and pride. The Nuremberg Laws and other discriminatory measures institutionalised antisemitism, embedding racial hatred into the fabric of society while diverting attention from underlying socio-economic challenges.
In the Soviet Union, societal discontent took a different form, rooted in the upheavals of revolution and civil war. Kotkin observes that peasants fiercely resisted collectivisation, viewing it as an assault on private property and rural autonomy. Forced grain requisitions and the liquidation of kulaks provoked widespread rebellion and famine, particularly in Ukraine, where millions perished during the Holodomor of 1932-33. Urban workers, meanwhile, faced gruelling conditions under accelerated industrialisation schemes, leading to frequent strikes and protests. Rather than addressing these grievances constructively, Stalin responded with brutal repression, branding critics as “enemies of the people” and subjecting them to imprisonment or execution. Fitzpatrick argues that this strategy of coercion not only suppressed dissent but also reinforced the regime’s narrative of class struggle and socialist progress. By portraying resistance to collectivisation and industrialisation as counter-revolutionary sabotage, Stalin justified the use of extreme measures to achieve his ideological objectives, thereby perpetuating cycles of violence and mistrust.
The role of propaganda in shaping societal attitudes reveals the extent to which both regimes sought to mould public consciousness in service of their authoritarian agendas. In Nazi Germany, Joseph Goebbels orchestrated a sophisticated campaign of media manipulation, saturating public life with images and slogans glorifying Hitler and demonising perceived enemies. Radio broadcasts, films, and rallies disseminated a consistent message of racial superiority and national unity, cultivating a cult of personality around the Führer. Evans notes that this relentless indoctrination helped to silence dissenting voices, creating an atmosphere in which questioning the regime became tantamount to treason. Similarly, Stalin’s regime employed propaganda to project an image of infallibility, celebrating the achievements of the Five-Year Plans and depicting the leader as the architect of Soviet success. Art, literature, and education were co-opted to promote socialist realism, a style that idealised collective endeavour while suppressing individual creativity. Both regimes recognised the power of cultural production to shape societal values, using it as a tool to reinforce conformity and stifle opposition.
The interplay between societal discontent and authoritarian control also underscores the ways in which both Hitler and Stalin weaponised fear to maintain their grip on power. In Nazi Germany, the Gestapo and SS operated as instruments of terror, infiltrating every aspect of daily life and ensuring compliance through surveillance and punishment. Concentration camps became symbols of the regime’s ruthlessness, deterring dissent by demonstrating the consequences of defiance. Kershaw argues that this culture of fear not only stifled political opposition but also normalised violence as a means of resolving conflicts. In the Soviet Union, the Great Purge exemplified how Stalin used fear to eliminate potential threats and consolidate authority. Arbitrary arrests, show trials, and executions created an environment of constant insecurity, discouraging individuals from expressing dissent or forming alliances. Service contends that this pervasive atmosphere of suspicion and paranoia served to atomise society, preventing collective resistance and reinforcing the regime’s monopoly on power. Both leaders understood that fear, when combined with propaganda and repression, could transform societal discontent into unwavering loyalty.
The long-term consequences of societal discontent and authoritarian rule in these contexts highlight the profound human costs of totalitarian governance. In Nazi Germany, the Holocaust stands as a chilling testament to the dangers of unchecked hatred and dehumanisation, as millions of Jews, Romani people, disabled individuals, and others were systematically exterminated in the name of racial purity. Herf observes that this genocidal campaign was made possible by the regime’s ability to exploit societal grievances and channel them into a program of industrial-scale murder. In the Soviet Union, decades of repression and forced collectivisation left deep scars on the population, eroding trust in institutions and perpetuating cycles of trauma. Kotkin notes that the human toll of Stalin’s policies, from famines to purges, underscores the devastating consequences of prioritising ideological purity over human welfare. These legacies serve as stark reminders of how societal discontent, when manipulated by authoritarian leaders, can lead to unimaginable suffering and loss.
In conclusion, the parallel trajectories of Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia reveal how economic hardship, political fragmentation, and societal unrest can converge to facilitate authoritarian rule. While rooted in disparate ideologies and circumstances, both regimes exploited vulnerabilities within their societies to consolidate power, employing propaganda, repression, and charismatic leadership to maintain control. Hobsbawm and Fitzpatrick highlight the importance of understanding these dynamics not merely as isolated phenomena but as part of broader patterns shaping modern history. Ultimately, the legacies of Hitler and Stalin serve as cautionary tales about the fragility of democracy and the dangers posed by unchecked ambition when cloaked in the guise of national renewal.
