NZ / NAZI ▲ [SCHMITZ] [Black Shirts] {Funerary Silver Fern} DEATH "culture"

Topaz

2017-09-03 12:34:49 UTC

Here is a quote from "The Battle for Berlin" by Joseph Goebbels:

We had no idea of the danger that threatened us then. I myself did not
yet know Marxism well enough to foresee the possible consequences. I
shrugged my shoulders as I read the dark prose of the red press and
awaited expectantly the decisive evening.
Around 8 p.m. we drove in an old rusty car from the city center to
Wedding. A cold gray mist hung under a starless sky. Our hearts were
bursting with impatience and expectation.
As we drove down Müllerstraße it was already clear that the evening
did not bode well. Groups of dark figures stood on every street
corner. They apparently planned to teach our party members a bloody
lesson before they even got to the meeting.

Dark masses of people stood outside the Pharus Hall, expressing their
rage and hate with loud and impudent threats.

The leader of the protective forces cleared a way for us and reported
briefly that the hall had been packed since 7:15 p.m. and had been
closed by police. About two-thirds of the audience were Red Front
Fighters. That was what we wanted. There would be a decision. We were
ready to give it all we had.

Entering the hall, we encountered a warm, stiffling aroma of beer and
tobacco. The hall was hot. A lively roar of voices filled the hall.
People were packed in tightly. We reached the podium only with
difficulty.

No sooner was I recognized than hundreds of voices filled with rage
and revenge thundered in my ears: "Bloodhound! Murder of Workers!"
Those were the mildest words they shouted. But a welcoming group of
some party members and S.A. Men answered with passion. Excited battle
cries sounded from the platform. I saw immediately that we were a
minority, but a minority determined to fight, and therefore win.

It was still our custom then for an S.A. leader to chair all of the
party's public meetings. Here too. Tall as a tree he stood up front
and asked for silence with his upraised arm. That was easier said than
done. Mocking laughter was the answer. Insults flew toward the
platform from every corner of the room. People growled and screamed
and raged. There were world revolutionaries scattered about who
apparently had gained the courage they needed by drinking. It was
impossible to quiet the hall. The class-conscious proletariat had not
come to discuss but to fight, to break things up, to put an end to the
Fascist specter with callused workers' fists.

We were not uncertain, even for a moment. We also knew that if the
enemy did not succeed this time in what he had threatened, the future
success of the movement in Berlin was assured.

Fifteen or twenty S.A. and S.S. men stood before the platform in
uniforms and arm bands, an impudent and direct provocation to the Red
Front Fighters. Behind me was a select group of reliable people ready
at any moment to risk their lives to defend me from the onrushing red
mob with brutal force.
The Communists made an obvious mistake in their tactics. They had
scattered small groups throughout the hall, but clumped most of the
rest in the right rear of the hall. I recognized immediately that
there was the center of unrest, and if anything was to be done, we
first had to deal ruthlessly with them. Whenever the chair tried to
open the meeting, a dark chap stood up on a stool and shouted "Point
of Order!" Hundreds of others yelled the same after him.

If one takes from the mass their leader or also their seducer, they
are leaderless and easily controlled. Our tactic therefore was to
silence this cowardly troublemaker at any cost. He felt secure back
there, surrounded by his comrades. We tried to do this peacefully a
few times. The chair shouted over the uproar: "There will be
discussion afterward! But we determine the rules of order!"

That was an ineffective attempt at an unsuitable object. The screamer
wanted to throw the meeting into confusion by his endless shouts and
bring things to the boiling point. Then a general melee would result.

As our efforts to bring the meeting to order peacefully proved
unsuccessful, I took the head of the defensive forces to the side, and
immediately after groups of his men slipped through the thundering
Communist masses. Before the astonished and surprised Red Front troops
realized what was happening, our comrades had hauled the troublemaker
down from his stool and brought him through the raging crowd to the
podium. That was unexpected, but what followed was no surprise. A beer
glass flew through the air and crashed to the floor. That was the
signal for the first major meeting hall battle. Chairs were broken and
legs ripped from tables. Glasses and bottles suddenly appeared and all
hell broke loose. The battle raged for ten minutes. Glasses, bottles,
table and chair legs flew randomly through the air. A deafening roar
rose; the red beast was set free and wanted its victims.

At first it looked as if we were lost. The Communist attack was sudden
and explosive, completely unexpected. But soon the S.A. and S.S. men
distributed throughout the hall and in front of the platform recovered
from their surprise and counterattacked with bold courage. It quickly
became clear that although the Communist Party had masses behind it,
these masses became cowards when faced with a firmly disciplined and
determined opponent. They ran. In short order the red mob that had
come to break up our meeting had been driven from the hall. The order
that could not be secured by good will was gained by brute force.

Usually one is not aware of the stages of a meeting hall battle. Only
later does one recall them. I still remember a scene that I will never
forget; on the podium stood a young S.A. man whom I did not know. He
was hurling his missiles into the on-coming red mob. Suddenly a beer
glass thrown from the distance hit him on the head. A wide stream of
blood ran down his face. He sank with a cry. After a few seconds he
stood up again, grabbed water bottle from the table and threw it into
the hall, where it clattered against the head of an opponent.

The face of this young man is engraved in my memory. This
lightening-fast moment is unforgettable. This gravely-wounded S.A. man
would soon, and indeed for all times, become my most reliable and
loyal comrade.

Only after the red mob had been driven howling, growling and cursing
from the field could one tell how serious and costly the battle had
been. Ten lay in their blood on the platform, most with head injuries,
two with severe concussions. The table and stairs to the platform were
covered in blood. The whole hall resembled a field of ruins.

In the midst of this bloody and ruined wasteland, our tree-high S.A.
leader resumed his place and declared with iron calm: "The meeting
will continue. The speaker has the floor."

Never before or since have I spoken under such dramatic conditions.
Behind me, groaning in pain and bleeding, were seriously injured S.A.
comrades. Around me were broken chair legs, shattered beer glasses and
blood. The whole meeting was icily silent.
We lacked then a medical corps. Since we were in a proletarian
district, we had to have our seriously wounded carried out by
so-called worker volunteers. There were scenes outdoors of
unimaginable inhumanity. The bestial people who were supposedly
fighting for universal brotherhood insulted our poor and defenseless
injured with phases like: "Isn't that pig dead yet?"

Under such conditions it was impossible to give a coherent speech.
Scarcely had I begun to speak when another group of volunteers entered
the hall to carry off a seriously wounded S.A. man on a stretcher. One
of them, encountering the brutal apostles of humanity outside the door
and their unflattering and crude language, shouted for me in
desperation. His voice could be heard loudly and unmistakably on the
platform I interrupted my speech and went through the hall, where
there were still scattered Communist commando groups. Still surprised
by what had happened, they stood quietly and shyly to the side. I bade
farewell to the seriously wounded S.A. comrades.

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