The publication of Samuel Beckett’s German Diaries 1936–1937, a 1,352-page record of the writer’s six-month journey through Nazi Germany, has been met with widespread acclaim. Editors Mark Nixon and Oliver Lubrich present the diaries as Beckett’s “final major work,” revealing both his artistic development and his capacity as a historical observer. Yet reception has tended to elevate Beckett into a “prescient antifascist witness,” a figure whose moral clarity supposedly anticipates later understandings of fascism. This celebratory framing obscures the essential truth: Beckett’s diaries are testimony, not analysis. They record a sensibility recoiling from barbarism, but they do not grasp fascism as a class phenomenon. Beckett “draws no systematic connections between the museum purges he catalogued and the broader class dynamics of the Nazi seizure of power.”¹

This limitation is not Beckett’s personal failure. It is symptomatic of the broader liberal intelligentsia of the 1930s, which responded to fascism with moral outrage, aesthetic recoil, and political paralysis. Writers such as Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig described fascism’s cultural destruction but refused to confront the class struggle that made it possible. Testimony became a substitute for strategy; witness became a surrogate for analysis. To understand fascism’s rise in the 1930s and its re-emergence today, one must go beyond testimony. One must turn to Marxist analysis, above all Leon Trotsky’s writings from 1930–33, which remain the most penetrating examination of the German catastrophe. Beckett’s diaries are valuable precisely because they reveal the limits of liberal witness and the necessity of a materialist understanding of fascism.

Beckett travelled through Hamburg, Berlin, Dresden, and Munich between September 1936 and April 1937. His diaries catalogue paintings, museum inventories, street names, and conversations. Yet beneath this catalogue lies what one reviewer called “a mounting, wordless dread.” He observed the removal of modernist and Expressionist works labelled “degenerate,” the disappearance of artworks into storage, and the disturbing conversations of ordinary Germans. He saw the cultural purge accompanying the consolidation of Nazi rule. He saw barbarism becoming normal. One passage from the diaries captures this aesthetic recoil: Beckett notes the “barbarism around him” and refuses to “turn away from these events,” even though he was not a political figure.² This honesty is admirable. But it is not political clarity.

Beckett’s observations align with the cultural destruction documented by historians of Nazi Germany. Richard J. Evans describes the Nazi cultural policy as “a systematic assault on modernism, intellectual freedom, and artistic experimentation,” designed to “reshape German consciousness in the image of the Volksgemeinschaft.”³ Ian Kershaw similarly emphasises that the cultural purge was integral to the regime’s consolidation of power, serving to “eliminate dissent, enforce conformity, and create a unified national community.”⁴ Beckett witnessed this process firsthand, but he did not analyse its social roots. His diaries record symptoms, not causes.

Beckett did not attempt to theorise fascism. He did not link the museum purges to the destruction of the German labour movement, the role of German heavy industry, or the betrayals of the Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the Stalinised Communist Party (KPD). He did not connect cultural repression to class repression. Beckett “did not fully grasp fascism as a class-based phenomenon.”⁵ This is precisely the limitation of liberal testimony: it describes symptoms without analysing causes. Liberalism recoils from barbarism but cannot explain it. It sees fascism as a moral aberration rather than a bourgeois class strategy.

Thomas Mann, writing in exile, described fascism as “the triumph of barbarism over culture,” a “demonic eruption” of irrational forces.⁶ Stefan Zweig similarly portrayed fascism as a “collective madness,” a “plunge into darkness.”⁷ These formulations capture the emotional experience of fascism but obscure its material foundations. They elevate witness into politics and mistake personal sensibility for historical understanding. Beckett’s diaries belong to this tradition. They record the destruction of modernism, the atmosphere of dread, and the cultural purge accompanying Nazi consolidation. They reveal a sensibility recoiling from barbarism. But they do not explain why barbarism triumphed.

To understand fascism, one must turn to Marxist analysis. Leon Trotsky’s writings from 1930–33- The Only Road, What Next?, The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany remain the most incisive examination of the German catastrophe. Trotsky argued that fascism was not a cultural phenomenon but a class strategy of the bourgeoisie, designed to crush the working class and preserve capitalist rule. Trotsky wrote in 1932: “Fascism is not a psychological phenomenon but a political one. Its roots lie not in the ‘madness’ of the petty bourgeoisie but in the crisis of capitalism.”⁸ He emphasised that the united front was the only means of stopping Hitler: “The proletariat can defeat fascism only through the united front. The refusal of the SPD and KPD leaderships to unite is the decisive factor in Hitler’s rise.”⁹

Trotsky demonstrated that the collapse of the united front was not inevitable but the result of political errors. The SPD defended bourgeois legality and sabotaged every independent struggle. The KPD, under Stalin’s direction, adopted the disastrous theory that the SPD was “social fascist,” the main enemy of the working class. Hermann Weber documents how this policy “paralysed the working class” and “prevented any united front against Hitler.”¹⁰ The most notorious example was the 1931 Prussian referendum, where the KPD collaborated with the Nazis to overthrow the SPD government, an act Trotsky described as “political insanity.”¹¹ Beckett could not see this. Liberal testimony rarely does.

Richard J. Evans emphasises that the SPD leadership “remained committed to parliamentary legality even as the Nazis prepared for civil war.”¹² Evans notes that the SPD “undermined every independent struggle” and “confused the working class” by insisting that the Weimar constitution could restrain Hitler. Ian Kershaw similarly argues that the SPD’s strategy amounted to “passive fatalism,” a refusal to mobilise the working class against fascism.¹³ Under Stalin’s direction, the KPD adopted the disastrous “social fascism” line, treating the SPD as the main enemy of the working class. Weber documents how this policy “paralysed the working class” and “prevented any united front against Hitler.”¹⁴ Trotsky wrote: “The working class has been disarmed by its own organisations. The question is not one of ‘self-deception’ but of betrayal.”¹⁵ Beckett’s diaries do not address these political dynamics. They record the cultural symptoms of fascism but not its class roots.

The reception of Beckett’s diaries today mirrors the liberal response to fascism in the 1930s. Contemporary reviewers describe rearmament and the far right as spontaneous trends, and they treat “historical amnesia” as a cultural mood rather than a political strategy. “The far right is not gaining power despite mainstream parties and media; rather, they actively support it.”¹⁶ The media and political establishment have systematically normalised the Alternative for Germany (AfD). The WSWS has documented how major German outlets have advocated rearmament for a decade, urging increased military spending and the restoration of Germany’s global influence.¹⁷ This is not amnesia. It is policy. Just as in the 1930s, liberal testimony recoils from barbarism but cannot name its social roots.

Beckett’s diaries teach us how dictatorship permeates everyday life, how cultural destruction accompanies political consolidation, and how individuals respond to barbarism aesthetically and emotionally. But they do not teach us how fascism arises, how fascism consolidates power, or how fascism can be stopped. A lack of witnesses did not cause the deaths of workers in concentration camps. Their own organisations betrayed them. Diaries cannot protect today’s working class. Its fate depends on politically rearming itself as an independent force against the SPD, the trade union bureaucracy, the pseudo-left, and the capitalist state preparing for war and authoritarianism. Testimony is valuable. But testimony without politics is evasion.

Samuel Beckett’s German Diaries is an honest and perceptive work. It records the destruction of German modernism, the atmosphere of dread, and the cultural purge accompanying Nazi consolidation. It reveals a sensibility recoiling from barbarism. That is its achievement and its limit. Understanding fascism is not a task of memory. It is a task of Marxist analysis and political organisation. And it begins where Beckett’s testimony ends: with the class forces that produced fascism in the 1930s and are preparing new dangers today.

Endnotes

1. Samuel Beckett, German Diaries 1936–1937, ed. Mark Nixon and Oliver Lubrich (New York: Grove Press, 2026), quoted in the attached document.
2. Ibid.
3. Richard J. Evans, The Coming of the Third Reich (London: Penguin, 2003), 142–165.
4. Ian Kershaw, Hitler: Hubris (London: Penguin, 1998), 256–290.
5. Beckett, German Diaries, quoted in the previous document.
6. Thomas Mann, Essays of Three Decades (New York: Knopf, 1947), 142–150.
7. Stefan Zweig, The World of Yesterday (London: Pushkin Press, 2009), 280–310.
8. Leon Trotsky, The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany (New York: Pathfinder Press, 1971), 75.
9. Leon Trotsky, What Next? Vital Questions for the German Proletariat (1932), in The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany, 112–130.
10. Hermann Weber, The German Communists and the Rise of Nazism (London: Palgrave, 2010), 88–120.
11. Trotsky, The Only Road (1932), in The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany, 45–60.
12. Evans, The Coming of the Third Reich, 210–230.
13. Kershaw, Hitler: Hubris, 300–315.
14. Weber, The German Communists and the Rise of Nazism, 121–150.
15. Trotsky, The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany, 90.
16. Previous Draft.
17. Johannes Stern, “The Victory of Fascism and the Founding of the Fourth International,” WSWS Lecture Series (2023); International Committee of the Fourth International (ICFI), “The Promotion of the AfD by the German State,” WSWS (2017–2026).

Bibliography

Primary Sources

Beckett, Samuel. German Diaries 1936–1937. Edited by Mark Nixon and Oliver Lubrich. New York: Grove Press, 2026. Trotsky, Leon. The Only Road. 1932. In The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1971. Trotsky, Leon. What Next? Vital Questions for the German Proletariat. 1932. In The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1971. Trotsky, Leon. The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1971.

Secondary Sources

Adorno, Theodor W. Prisms. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1981. Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations. Edited by Hannah Arendt. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. Evans, Richard J. The Coming of the Third Reich. London: Penguin, 2003. Fulbrook, Mary. A Small Town Near Auschwitz. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Kershaw, Ian. Hitler: Hubris. London: Penguin, 1998. Mann, Thomas. Essays of Three Decades. New York: Knopf, 1947. North, David. The Frankfurt School, Postmodernism and the Politics of the Pseudo-Left

In 2016, when Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf reappeared on Germany’s bestseller charts after the Bavarian state’s copyright expired, the German political scene responded with pride and complacency. The annotated edition by the Institute for Contemporary History (IfZ) was celebrated as a democratic milestone, seen as an educational achievement that would help the public engage with the origins of National Socialism under expert guidance. The book’s commercial success was viewed not as a sign of political risk but as a sign of civic maturity—suggesting Germans were now prepared to read Hitler “critically.”

This narrative was false from the beginning and has become even more unsustainable over the years. The annotated edition of Mein Kampf does not signal enlightenment; it signals a deeper political crisis. Its popularity does not show the resilience of democratic culture but highlights the weakening of the postwar order and the reassertion of far-right ideas within Germany. The threat of fascism is not simply about reading material; it stems from social conditions, class dynamics, and capitalism’s economic struggles during crises.

This essay explores the return of Mein Kampf as an indicator of current political conditions, placing it in the context of the German ruling class’s historical failures. It contends that combating fascism cannot be limited to academic references or liberal education alone. Instead, it demands independent action by the working class, equipped with a Marxist analysis of fascism’s class origins and lessons from the disastrous defeat of 1933.

The Official Narrative: Enlightenment Without Politics

The German state’s portrayal of the IfZ edition was consistently uniform. Its critical apparatus—comprising nearly 2,000 pages, 3,500 footnotes, and detailed contextual commentary—was designed as a form of intellectual cleansing. By positioning scholarly corrections, historical clarifications, and condemnations of Hitler’s pseudo-scientific racism alongside his text, the edition was said to have “defanged” the book. It was claimed that readers would be protected from its ideological influence.

This narrative is built on two incorrect assumptions. First, it believes fascism mainly revolves around false ideas, and the real threat comes from those ideas spreading unchecked. If the public can be led to see Hitler’s mistakes, the danger is considered eliminated. This view reflects a liberal perspective, seeing fascism as a corrupt way of thinking rather than a result of social and political forces. Second, it presumes that Germany’s postwar government has already addressed the fundamental political and historical issues related to Nazism. The annotated edition is portrayed as the culmination of Germany’s democratic development—implying that, after confronting its past, Germany can now publish Hitler’s writings without fear of ideological influence. Both assumptions collapse under scrutiny.

The threat of fascism doesn’t stem from Mein Kampf itself but from the conditions that cause it to resonate: economic crises, political instability, the collapse of bourgeois democracy, and the ruling class’s willingness to adopt authoritarian measures. No amount of footnotes can replace an analysis of these underlying factors. Additionally, the postwar German state failed to address Nazism’s legacy fully; it merely suppressed it. De-Nazification was quickly abandoned due to Cold War pressures, as Nazi jurists, bureaucrats, and police officials were reabsorbed into the state.

The Federal Republic sought to suppress this history with legal bans rather than open political debate. Banning Mein Kampf represented political evasion rather than democratic resilience. Consequently, the annotated edition functions more as historical preservation than enlightenment: it makes the text academically accessible by removing it from the social forces that produced it.

The Bestseller Lists: A Symptom of Political Crisis

The commercial success of the IfZ edition was dismissed as a harmless curiosity, but it actually served as a warning. Its rise to bestseller status occurred amid a backdrop that included the ascent of the Alternative for Germany (AfD), the mainstreaming of anti-refugee policies by established parties, the resurgence of far-right movements across Europe, and the weakening of the postwar political consensus amid capitalist crises. The fact that a scholarly edition, rather than a cheap pamphlet, topped the charts tells us little about its readers’ political leanings. However, it confirms a significant public appetite for direct engagement with the foundational text of National Socialism. The German ruling class has spent decades pretending this interest didn’t exist, but the bestseller lists show otherwise.

This appetite is intentional, reflecting a political climate where nationalism, xenophobia, and authoritarianism have been normalised by the very parties claiming to uphold democracy. The AfD did not appear out of nowhere; CDU/CSU, SPD, and FDP policies shaped it —both indirectly and directly—by long prioritising austerity, militarism, and anti-refugee rhetoric, which the far right later exploited. The resurgence of Mein Kampf thus signals a ruling class that, facing its deepest crisis since World War II, is once again willing to legitimise the extreme right.

The IfZ edition thoroughly corrects historical inaccuracies but omits discussion of fascism’s political economy. This omission is deliberate and highlights the ideological boundaries of bourgeois historiography. A comprehensive analysis of fascism should examine: the involvement of German big business in funding the Nazi Party, the class forces opposing the German Communist Party (KPD) and Social Democracy (SPD), and the culpability of reformist and Stalinist leaders whose policies hindered the working class.

The key cause of the 1933 disaster was the Comintern’s embrace of the “social fascism” theory in 1928. Guided by Stalin, the KPD labelled Social Democracy as fascism’s “twin” and cut all relations with SPD workers. By 1931, the KPD even partnered with the Nazis in the Prussian Landtag referendum to remove the SPD-led government — an act Trotsky predicted as a major mistake. Trotsky’s insights remain crucial: Social Democracy relies on the working class for support and cannot stay in power without it. Fascism, however, depends on the petty bourgeoisie and must destroy workers’ organisations to solidify itself. Comparing the two was “absolute balderdash,” leaving Europe’s strongest working class vulnerable at its greatest peril.

The 1933 defeat was not unavoidable; it resulted from leadership betrayals—Stalinist sectarianism on one side and Social Democratic capitulation on the other. The working class was not overwhelmed by a lack of revolutionary potential but because its organisations were led by groups opposed to revolutionary unity. This perspective is missing from the IfZ edition because it highlights the class nature of fascism and the ruling class’s role in its rise. Bourgeois historiography cannot openly recognise this without challenging the legitimacy of the current order.

The resurfacing of Mein Kampf coincides with a political shift in Germany that reflects, albeit distorted, the patterns of the early 1930s. The AfD has transformed from a protest party into a far-right entity deeply embedded in state institutions, with connections in the police, military, and intelligence agencies. Its rhetoric mirrors the ideological themes of National Socialism, including ethnonationalism, historical revisionism, and disdain for parliamentary democracy. More significantly, the traditional parties have facilitated its growth. The SPD and CDU have pursued austerity measures that weakened social protections and increased political unrest. The political elite has adopted militarism, rearmament, and a more assertive foreign policy stance. Anti-immigrant rhetoric has become mainstream, normalising xenophobic narratives that the AfD merely echoes.

The current threat isn’t just the AfD itself, but the fact that the ruling elite is once again preparing to work with the far right, as its predecessors did in the early 1930s. The parties now claiming to “stop the AfD” are actually the ones responsible for creating the conditions that allowed its growth. The popularity of Mein Kampf must be seen in this same light; it’s not merely a cultural artefact but a political warning. Much of the liberal discussion on fascism rests on the idea that the working class is no longer a revolutionary force, but this is an ideological assumption, not a factual analysis.

The Frankfurt School, reflecting on the failures of the 1930s, argued that the working class had been incorporated into mass consumer society. Postmodernism expanded this outlook into a broader rejection of class politics. Modern liberal anti-fascism carries this sense of discouragement, viewing fascism mainly as a cultural or psychological issue rather than a class-related one. Consequently, the approach shifts from active struggle to educational methods, relying on footnotes rather than organisation and emphasising classroom “awareness” over large-scale mobilisation.

Marxism asserts that the working class is the only force capable of preventing fascism, which it sees as a tool used by the bourgeoisie against the proletariat. The 1933 defeat stemmed from leadership failures, not the working class itself. These lessons are still urgent today. The reappearance of Mein Kampf on Germany’s bestseller lists is not an isolated incident but a sign of the current political climate, where the ruling class, facing a severe crisis in its postwar order, is once again willing to endorse and rehabilitate the far right.

The response to this threat cannot be limited to classroom discussions or footnotes. It demands a Marxist analysis of fascism’s class origins, a critical view of bourgeois democracy’s stability, and the independent political activism of the working class. While the annotated edition of Mein Kampf may correct Hitler’s historical inaccuracies, it cannot explain the causes of fascism’s rise, its victory, or its resurgence today. Only a movement grounded in the political economy of capitalism — equipped with the lessons of 1933 — can effectively confront fascism in the twenty-first century. This is not an academic issue but a political one, and it is urgent.