The Fruits of Victory. Norman Angell
of our own domestic problems.’[4]
It is not merely the productivity of Russia which is involved. Round Germany as a central support the rest of the European economic system grouped itself, and upon the prosperity and enterprise of Germany the prosperity of the rest of the Continent mainly depended. Germany was the best customer of Russia, Norway, Poland, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, and Austria-Hungary; she was the second best customer of Great Britain, Sweden, and Denmark; and the third best customer of France. She was the largest source of supply to Russia, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Poland, Switzerland, Italy, Austria-Hungary, Rumania, and Bulgaria; and the second largest source of supply to Great Britain, Belgium, and France. Britain sent more experts to Germany than to any other country in the world except India, and bought more from her than any other country in the world except the United States. There was no European country except those west of Germany which did not do more than a quarter of their total trade with her; and in the case of Russia, Austria-Hungary, and Poland, the proportion was far greater. To retard or prevent the economic restoration of Germany means retarding the economic reconstruction of Europe.
This gives us a hint of the deep causes underlying the present divergence of French and British policy with reference to the economic reconstruction of Russia and Central Europe. A Britain of sixty or seventy millions faced by the situation with reference to America that has just been touched upon, might well find that the development of the resources of Russia, Siberia, and the Near East—even at the cost of dividing the profits thereof in terms of industrial development with Germany, each supplying that for which it was best suited—was the essential condition of food and social peace. France has no such pre-occupation. Her concern is political: the maintenance of a military predominance on which she believes her political security to depend, an object that might well be facilitated by the political disintegration of Europe even though it involved its economic disintegration.
That brings us to the political factor in the decline in productivity. From it we may learn something of the moral factor, which is the ultimate condition of any co-operation whatsoever.
The relationship of the political to the economic situation is illustrated most vividly, perhaps, in the case of Austria. Mr. Hoover, in testimony given to a United States Senate Committee, has declared bluntly that it is no use talking of loans to Austria which imply future security, if the present political status is to be maintained, because that status has rendered the old economic activities impossible. Speaking before the Committee, he said:—
‘The political situation in Austria I hesitate to discuss, but it is the cause of the trouble. Austria has now no hope of being anything more than a perpetual poorhouse, because all her lands that produce food have been taken from her. This, I will say, was done without American inspiration. If this political situation continues, and Austria is made a perpetual mendicant, the United States should not provide the charity. We should make the loan suggested with full notice that those who undertake to continue Austria’s present status must pay the bill. Present Austria faces three alternatives—death, migration, or a complete industrial diversion and re-organization. Her economic rehabilitation seems impossible after the way she was broken up at the Peace Conference. Her present territory will produce only enough food for three months, and she has now no factories which might produce products to be exchanged for food.’[5]
To realise what can really be accomplished by statesmanship that has a soul above such trifles as food and fuel, when it sets its hand to map-drawing, one should attempt to visualise the state of Vienna to-day. Mr. A. G. Gardiner, the English journalist, has sketched it thus:—
‘To conceive its situation one must imagine London suddenly cut off from all the sources of its life, no access to the sea, frontiers of hostile Powers all round it, every coalfield of Yorkshire or South Wales or Scotland in foreign hands, no citizen able to travel to Birmingham or Manchester without a passport, the mills it had financed in Lancashire taken from it, no coal to burn, no food to eat, and—with its shilling down in value to a farthing—no money to buy raw materials for its labour, industry at a standstill, hundreds of thousands living (or dying) on charity, nothing prospering except the vile exploiters of misery, the traffickers in food, the traffickers in vice. That is the Vienna which the peace criminals have made.
‘Vienna was the financial and administrative centre of fifty million of people. It financed textile factories, paper manufacturing, machine works, beet growing, and scores of other industries in German Bohemia. It owned coal mines at Teschen. It drew its food from Hungary. From every quarter of the Empire there came to Vienna the half-manufactured products of the provinces for the finishing processes, tailoring, dyeing, glass-working, in which a vast population found employment.
‘Suddenly all this elaborate structure of economic life was swept away. Vienna, instead of being the vital centre of fifty millions of people, finds itself a derelict city with a province of six millions. It is cut off from its coal supplies, from its food supplies, from its factories, from everything that means existence. It is enveloped by tariff walls.’
The writer goes on to explain that the evils are not limited to Austria. In this unhappy Balkanised Society that the peace has created at the heart of Europe, every State is at issue with its neighbours: the Czechs with the Poles, the Hungarians with the Czechs, the Rumanians with the Hungarians, and all with Austria. The whole Empire is parcelled out into quarrelling factions, with their rival tariffs, their passports and their animosities. All free intercourse has stopped, all free interchange of commodities has ceased. Each starves the other and is starved by the other. ‘I met a banker travelling from Buda-Pest to Berlin by Vienna and Bavaria. I asked him why he went so far out of his way to get to his goal, and he replied that it was easier to do that than to get through the barbed-wire entanglements of Czecho-Slovakia. There is great hunger in Bohemia, and it is due largely to the same all-embracing cause. Formerly the Czech peasants used to go to Hungary to gather the harvest and returned with corn as part payment. Now intercourse has stopped, the Hungarian cornfields are without the necessary labour, and the Czech peasant starves at home, or is fed by the American Relief Fund. “One year of peace,” said Herr Renner, the Chancellor, to me, “has wrought more ruin than five years of war.” ’
Mr. Gardiner’s final verdict[6] does not in essence differ from that of Mr. Hoover:—
‘It is the levity of mind which has plunged this great city into ruin that is inexplicable. The political dismemberment of Austria might be forgiven. That was repeatedly declared by the Allies not to be an object of the War; but the policy of the French, backed by the industrious propaganda of a mischievous newspaper group in this country, triumphed and the promise was dishonoured. Austria-Hungary was broken into political fragments. That might be defended as a political necessity. But the economic dismemberment was as gratuitous as it was deadly. It could have been provided against if ordinary foresight had been employed. Austria-Hungary was an economic unit, a single texture of the commercial, industrial, and financial interests.’[7]
We have talked readily enough in the past of this or that being a ‘menace to civilisation.’ The phrase has been applied indifferently to a host of things from Prussian Militarism to the tango. No particular meaning was attached to the phrase, and we did not believe that the material security of our civilisation—the delivery of the letters and the milk in the morning, and the regular running of the ‘Tubes’—would ever be endangered in our times.
But this is what has happened in a few months. We have seen one of the greatest and most brilliant capitals of Europe, a city completely untouched by the physical devastation of war, endowed beyond most with the equipment of modern technical learning and industry, with some of the greatest factories, medical schools and hospitals of our times, unable to save its children from death by simple starvation—unable, with all that equipment, to provide them each with a little milk and a few ounces of flour every day.
5
The Limits of Political Control
It is sometimes suggested that as political factors