He greeted Wilson’s “immortal deed”, the liberation of Europe from military tyranny, as the fulfilment of Kant’s “immortal idea” (F 501–7, 113).

Journalistic Spin and Humanistic Education

Even after the trauma of defeat, the German nationalist press was unwilling to acknowledge that militarism was discredited. European politics of the interwar period were dominated by the ideological struggle between conflicting myths of the First World War, designed not simply to recall the past but to shape the future. The pacifist movement interpreted the conflict as “the war to end wars”, while reactionaries cultivated myths of military prowess as the inspiration for a conservative revolution. They remembered the war as they wished it to have been (and as they intended it to be next time round): as a triumph for German military power.

Kraus repeatedly denounced the chauvinistic postwar mentality that threatened to produce further wars. As early as January 1921 he prophetically identified Germany as the country “where the swastika rises above the ruins of the global conflagration” (F 557–60, 59). Against this, he defended the independence of the Austrian Republic. Responding in May 1926 to the agitation in favour of “Anschluss” (German annexation), Kraus argued that the hypnotic power of newsprint was creating a “counterfeit reality” in which “nothing is real except for lies.” Newspapers in Berlin and Vienna, by appealing to racist conceptions of “Volkstum”, were generating a circular discourse that had no basis in any actual political event. To fill the vacuum, the press was recycling slogans deriving from “the latest beer-hall conversations of the two realms.” By confusing political identity with biological homogeneity, the media created a frame of reference that was essentially fictitious. But this gigantic apparatus had the capacity to turn “non-events” into “action and death” (F 726–29, 59–61).

In his campaign against mystification Kraus found a kindred spirit in Bertrand Russell, an outspoken critic of British militarism. In July 1931 he quoted in Die Fackel a passage from Russell’s Sceptical Essays about the need for teachers to encourage critical thinking:

For example, the art of reading the newspapers should be taught. The schoolmaster should select some incident which happened a good many years ago, and roused political passions in its day. He should then read to the schoolchildren what was said by the newspapers on the one side, and what was said by those on the other, and some impartial account of what really happened. He should show how, from the biased account of either side, a practised reader could infer what really happened, and he should make them understand that everything in the newspapers is more or less untrue. (quoted F 857–63, 71–72)

To counteract these tendencies Kraus transformed political memory into performative art. He excelled at mocking the chauvinists from the public stage, especially by reading scenes from The Last Days of Mankind. Only the Epilogue was staged during his lifetime, but the message of the play was conveyed in condensed form through antiwar poems such as “The Ravens” (from Act V, scene 55) and “The Dying Soldier” (from the Epilogue), which Kraus recited in public on numerous occasions. Another excerpt repeatedly featured in his programmes showed how false memories are constructed. A staff officer on the telephone is dictating a press release about the Austrian fortress of Przemysl, which has been captured by the Russians. The loss of the fortress, the pride of the Austro-Hungarian army, is now to be played down as insignificant. When this is queried by the journalist at the other end of the line, the Staff Officer replies: “My dear fellow, you can make people forget anything!” The corresponding scene in the following Act takes place after the recapture of Przemysl. This time the press release reverses the argument, reaffirming the fortress’s strategic importance. When this blatant deception is queried, the Staff Officer’s rejoinder shows the same contempt for the public: “You can make people forget anything!” (Act II, scene 16, and Act III, scene 22). In these ludicrous scenes the Staff Officer may appear to be a character from an operetta, but his technique of rewriting history anticipates that of the Ministry of Truth in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Kraus excelled in analyses of specific journalistic devices, some of which retain their exemplary character long after the occasion faded into history. In a further example dating from January 1921 he analysed the dangers of journalistic “spin.” In German this idea was commonly applied to devious arguments thought to be derived from Rabbinic Judaism—“der jüdische Dreh.” Kraus turned the tables by using the title “Ein christlicher Dreh” (“Christian Spin”) to introduce his analysis of the coverage of a debate at the League of Nations by the Catholic Reichspost. A report in this right-wing daily had attributed Austria’s enhanced international reputation to the electoral victory of the Christian Social Party. Citing the full text of the debate, Kraus exposed this tendentious report as a “disgraceful forgery” (F 557–60, 63–72).

During the mid-1920s the tone of Kraus’s writings became more hopeful as he supported the reforms of the Social Democrats, who were constructing a more egalitarian community in Vienna. Recognizing that the war had left a legacy of nationalist resentment and social deprivation, he actively engaged in the political struggle. It was in the sphere of culture that he became most directly involved, for he shared the Austro-Marxist view of “Bildung” (culture and education) as a force for social renewal. His recitals made a significant contribution to socialist cultural politics, as members accustomed to the tedium of party meetings were roused from their slumbers by his captivating performances. His gift for composing and reciting topical verses, inserted into works by Nestroy or Offenbach, revived one of the most potent of popular traditions, using hard-hitting epigrams to clinch the connections between culture and politics.

One of the primary aims of the educational reforms was to remove chauvinistic literature from libraries, and in 1922 a purge was undertaken of books that glamorized militarism, the Habsburg dynasty, and the Catholic Church.