A Not-So-Short (Tendentious) History of the Short Twentieth Century
Historiography has come a long way since the age of positivism, when it was conceived as the practice of collating historical "facts" and letting them "speak for themselves", of telling history "as it happened," to paraphrase empiricist Leopold von Ranke. The purview of the historian's profession has now expanded to encompass the pursuit and articulation of a deeper analysis and explication of the meaning of historical facts read in conjunction with one another, not their mere compilation and narration. In this respect, Hobsbawm has ably carried out his duty in The Age of Extremes, 1914-1991, a historical survey of the so-called "short" twentieth century betwixt the outbreak of the First World War and the collapse of the Soviet Union. I was born in the twilight of that turbulent century, and thus I consider myself a product of that unique phase of human history, an heir to its cumulative impact (for no man can escape the crucible of his respective historical context). But what precisely was its impact? One can only begin to appreciate the thrust of something as extensive as a century - even a "short" one - by looming over it from aloft, which Hobsbawm does on the wings of his advanced contemporary age and command of historical knowledge, bringing the reader into flight with him and periodically swooping down to treat him to a closer look at its particulars. This was precisely the kind of treat I was expecting from Hobsbawm, and he delivered. I walk away from his tome with an idea of the twentieth century as a period of profound and paradoxical progression and regression - hence, “extremes” - in human affairs. Moreover, the seeds of many - perhaps most - of the twenty-first century's most pressing problems were sown in the preceding one hundred years. Apprehension of these general trends makes reading Hobsbawm's book, although a lengthy slog at times, well worth the effort.
However, as the modest three-star rating I gave this book suggests, I am not wholly enamoured of it. Hobsbawm is remiss, in my opinion, in his (seemingly intentional) avoidance of certain controversial subjects of key importance to the twentieth century, most notably that of genocide. Apart from a passing glance in its direction (pp. 50-51), there is no meaningful or in-depth engagement of this highly important concept in all 600 pages of a text whose title emphasizes the supposed "extremeness" of the century it purports to describe. That so-called "ethnic cleansings" were a salient idiosyncrasy of the twentieth century can be easily apprehended from their punctuation of its beginning, the Armenian Genocide of 1915, and its end, the massacres in the Balkans and Rwanda, the latter of which unfolded just as Hobsbawm's book was being published. His curious avoidance of the subject of the Holocaust - much less the term - strikes me as very bizarre. Hobsbawm avows that the purpose of his text is not to “tell the story of the period which is its subject,” but rather “to understand and explain why things turned out the way they did, and how they hang together,” but even given this design, such a stunning omission is inexcusable.
Then there's the matter of Hobsbawm’s political sympathies; he is, by his own admission, a Marxist. To be fair, I felt that Hobsbawm restrained his politics a lot of the time - or at least tried to - perhaps out of respect for his mainstream readership. Nevertheless, his overt leftism is palpable throughout the text and he is prone to what I can only describe (in McCarthyist parlance) as
fellow traveller
interpretations of communist regimes. Based on the periodization of the book (1914-1991) one can infer that the rise and fall of the Soviet Union serves as the anchor of Hobsbawm's analysis of the century, and his subtle admiration for that regime is apparent in his rather...sanguine...interpretation of its legacy and his almost comical tendency to rationalize or understate its moral outrages. Hobsbawm's apologetic tone towards the USSR is inversely related to his barely-concealed repugnance toward the USA and dim assessment of its global footprint, an interpretation that appears to be based mostly on traditional British anti-American snobbery, European chauvinism and subaltern claptrap rather than on even-handed judgment.
Despite these and other shortcomings, Hobsbawm competently charts the course of the twentieth century, offering sound, if somewhat tendentious, explanations for its key developments and trajectory. His book will help to satisfy two basic questions of the contemporary reader: (1) what brought us to where we are? and (2) what are some of the challenges that face us as we embrace a new century, indeed, a new millennium?
Overview
Hobsbawm divides the Short Twentieth Century into three periods: the Age of Catastrophe, corresponding to the period between the beginning of the First World War and the ending of the Second, the Golden Age, which encompasses three decades of global prosperity and global economic progress, from 1945 until 1975, topped off by the Crises Decades, the period ranging from the world economic troubles of the late 1970s until the fall of the USSR in 1991.
The springboard that determined the course of the twentieth century was, as Hobsbawm calls it, the "thirty-one years' war" (22) stretching from 1914-1945, which rent asunder the "material, intellectual and moral progress" of the so-called "long" nineteenth century (13). This reversal of moral progress is a key, recurring theme with Hobsbawm. He argues, unconvincingly, that the "democratization" of war, by which he means the mutation of (Western?) warfare from limited aristocratic conflicts to total-war national struggles between entire peoples, legitimized the use of torture and evermore brutal forms of coercion, especially when these were seen as "operational necessities" in the paramount victory and survival of a particular warring party, thereby proving "beyond serious doubt" that there was moral regression during the course of the twentieth century (Of this interpretation, I am skeptical. Can one who knows anything about the Belgian colonization of the Congo honestly believe that there was any kind of moral height in the nineteenth century from which humanity descended in the twentieth? There was, owing to technological advancement, an enhancement of the scale of destruction, but that is a logistical matter, not a moral one). The destruction unleashed by the First World War destabilized the globe and was only rectified with the outbreak of the Second.
The Russian Revolution added a further complicating factor to the Age of Catastrophe. It posited a second way forward for humanity, one of stark opposition to conventional capitalist development. Hobsbawm makes the ridiculous argument that the Bolsheviks did not foist themselves on the Russian people, but merely responded to their desires: "the radicalized groundswell of their followers pushed the Bolsheviks inevitably towards the seizure of power. In fact, when they moment came, power had not so much to be seized as to be picked up" (62). This sort of the-devil-made-me-do-it explanation should be dismissed as fellow traveller propaganda. He further argues that the backward peasant demographics of Russia "pressed" the Bolsheviks into abolishing any kind of democracy in the area which they controlled, thereby resorting to the progressive argument that 'the few' instinctively knew was was better for 'the many' and were therefore justified in confiscating the latter's freedom.
In any event, the October Revolution was an "earth-shaking" event, but Hobsbawm recognizes that it was stillborn from the beginning; the Bolshevik vision could only really be realized if the revolution spread to the rest of the globe, and when that eminently failed to happen by 1920, the Soviet regime was thereby exiled to the landmass of the former Tsarist empire, and forced to develop in isolation from the rest of the world (66-67). This played directly into the hands of Stalin, who modified the original Bolshevik vision to mean "socialism in one country" and proceeded to build up the USSR at the expense of fomenting revolution elsewhere in the world.
Just as this was transpiring, the Western world was entering the Great Slump of economic hardship known as the Great Depression, an economic downturn that Hobsbawm attributes to the destruction of the First World War and a post-war economic world system that depended on German war reparations and U.S. loans. Although fluctuations are simply an inevitable part of a capitalist economy, the Great Depression was a ditch out of which the capitalist system appeared incapable of extricating itself. And this is the decisive point: the economic malaise of the 1930s, coupled with the preceding destruction wrought by the Great War, "was a catastrophe which destroyed all hope of restoring the economy, and the society, of the long nineteenth century. The period 1929-1933 was a canyon which henceforth made a return to 1913 not merely impossible, but unthinkable" (107).
For Hobsbawm, the Depression vindicated Keynesian economics in two respects. First, no solution to the economic malaise was found apart from government intervention and regulation of the economy - in other words the market, left alone, did not 'fix' itself. Second, and perhaps more importantly, the concomitant rise of fascism in central Europe demonstrated the social need for interventionist economics, particularly full employment, for an impecunious and disengaged population proved to be receptive to Hitlerian political agitation.
Thus, by the mid-1930s, with Russia and Eastern Europe firmly in the hands of communists, and Central Europe in the grip of fascism, liberal democracy and capitalism were confined to the western fringe of that continent. Their only hope of salvation was reform and modulation of classical liberalism itself. This process was already underway to a certain extent with FDR's "New Deal" in the United States, and it eventually became necessary for Western Europe to follow suit as the crisis in capitalism became more apparent. Moreover, the bellicosity of fascism eventually forced Western democracies to tilt to the Left ideologically as some of the original revulsion towards socialistic institutions yielded to a more acute fear of fascism. Hobsbawm chalks this up to the fact that fascism, while itself an extreme reaction to Bolshevism in Russia, was ultimately even more incompatible with the Western powers because it was essentially a German phenomenon. Hobsbawm is adamant that Nazism could not be transplanted to other states, and that its worldview was fundamentally at odds even with that of conservative elements in countries such as Great Britain. This eventually produced a "united front" of disparate elements in all of the non-fascist countries - what Hobsbawm elsewhere refers to as the "era of anti-fascism" - uniting conservative imperialistic throwbacks like Winston Churchill with elements of the Communist International to defeat Hitler on the basis that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend". Hobsbawm declaims: "In many ways this period of capitalist-communist alliance against fascism - essentially the 1930s and 1940s - forms the hinge of twentieth-century history and its decisive moment", for "it is one of the ironies of this strange century that the most lasting results of the October [Russian] revolution, whose object was the global overthrow of capitalism, was to save its antagonist, both in war and in peace - that is to say, by providing it with the incentive, fear, to reform itself after the Second World War, and, by establishing the popularity of economic planning, furnishing it with some of the procedures for its reform" (7-8).
This rapprochement between the capitalist world and the socialist camp did not survive the end of the successfully-prosecuted Second World War. Nevertheless, as the front between capitalism and communism congealed "from Stettin to Trieste" as the Cold War set in, the structural changes to Western democracies that came as a result of their wartime shift to the Left remained in place, even in America, where there was no return to classical liberalism. This paved the way for what Hobsbawm calls the "Golden Era", the third quarter of the twentieth century in which not only the developed world, but the developing world experienced profound economic growth. This period "marked the end of the seven or eight millennia of human history that began with the invention of agriculture in the stone age, if only because it ended the long era when the overwhelming majority of the human race lived by growing food and herding animals" (9). This era was characterized by the proliferation of the welfare state and near full employment (the unemployment rate was 1.5% in Europe during this period).
The greatest immediate threat to this prosperity came from the spectre of a nuclear exchange between the two superpowers. Hobsbawm avers that the concept of mutually assured destruction (M.A.D.) should have rendered this a remote possibility, but for what he considers the damnable recklessness of United States' foreign policy (surprise, surprise!); supposedly benighted and apocalyptically-minded Americans were manipulated by their cynical, vote-grubbing demagogic politicians (think Joseph McCarthy and Ronald Reagan), the latter of whom consistently threatened to up the ante of nuclear confrontation for domestic political gain. It was Americans who infused the conflict with "crusader rhetoric", he declaims.
The greatest long-term threat to Golden Age prosperity came from prosperity itself. In the fascinating middle of Hobsbawm's text - where his powers of analysis are probably at their most acute - he demonstrates that the welfare state and affluence eroded social capital, particularly the class-consciousness of the working class. Life became individualized and fractures formed between certain segments of the proletariat, in which "I" took precedence over "we". Lines between labour and management became blurred. This was coupled with technological displacement of industrial labour which further reduced the proportion of blue-collar citizens in Western countries and created the 'rustbelt' phenomenon. However, the welfare state guaranteed the minimum living standards of people thrown out of labour jobs, creating an underclass of indigents. They had no one to rely on but the state.
For who else was there to turn to? Coupled with this revolution in the economic order, there was a
social
revolution during the same period. The rise of untrammelled individualism accompanied the destruction of the family as divorce rates soared. To my surprise, Hobsbawm bemoans the student radicalism of this period which, he asserts, had more to do with anarchism and hedonistic self-indulgence than the classical Marxism it claimed to identify with. Individual desire became the measuring rod of what was 'good'.
During the Crisis Decades, this cultural hyper-individualism, coupled with the economic malaise, paved the way for the sages of neoliberalism, an ideology which sought to return the world economy back to the economic individualism of the nineteenth century. Thatcherite Britain and Reaganite America of the 1980s were the paragons of this shift to laissez-faire economics. Hobsbawm does not conceal his annoyance that the communist economies of the Eastern bloc were collapsing just as neoliberalism was being touted as the wave of the future in the West, thereby allowing the scions of von Hayek and Friedman to claim credit for the former's downfall.
In fact, Soviet collapse was the result of the Kremlin's deferral of badly-needed reform. As previously mentioned, Hobsbawm believes that the germ cells of the Soviet Union's collapse were present at the beginning of its existence. The system of crash industrialization based on a military-style communist party command structure was able to produce a Soviet society in which the state guaranteed a minimum level of existence for its population (food, clothing, shelter) but not much else. As the world economy moved beyond heavy industry to more knowledge- and information-based industries, the Soviets fell increasingly behind. Rather than reform their socio-political structure they relied on oil exports until the structural deficiencies of the regime were unavoidable. Perestroika and glasnost were last ditch reforms that undermined the military-style structure that had allowed the Soviet Union to survive all this time, precipitating its collapse.
With its chief ideological competitor in the grave, neoliberalism reigned ascendant - until the economic downturn of the early 1990s demonstrated its own limitations. Hobsbawm considers this nadir of the Crisis Decades proof that laissez-faire economics itself is not viable, that Adam Smith's 'Invisible Hand' proved to be a mirage time and time again during the twentieth century when government had to intervene to jumpstart and regulate anarchic and failed economies. But in what seems like a plot-hole in his analysis, the Keynesian economics of the Golden Age was likewise unsustainable even by Hobsbawm's own admission. So, what then, is the solution? Hobsbawm concedes that a return to classical Keynesian economics is no longer a possibility in a world in which the nation-state and its traditional powers and mechanisms to control the economy are rapidly prostrating themselves before the mercy of the globalized marketplace. And at the same time, the rapidly expanding population of the Third World and the increasing international and intranational economic stratification of humanity makes the need for some kind of reform to the global economic system that much more urgent: "If these [Crisis] decades proved anything it was that the major political problem of the world, and certainly of the developed world, was not how to multiply the wealth of nations, but how to distribute it for the benefit of their inhabitants" (577). But how is this to be done? Hobsbawm has no solution for the reader other than some vague sense of badly-needed "reform". But, as he points out, there is scarcely impetus for such reform right now, in a world in which unbridled capitalism has no real competitor anymore - whether it be fascism, communism, or another Great Depression - challenges that encouraged a return to "realism," as he puts it . The conclusion is a kind of pessimistic, hand-wringing despair from Hobsbawm. This impetus to reform, he speculates, may eventually come from the global environmental degradation that the marketplace is unable or unwilling to correct when simply left to itself.
Final Words
The greatest irony of The Age of Extremes is its year of publication (1994) and periodization (1914-1991). Cynically echoing Francis Fukuyama's "End of History" thesis of the same period, but giving it a more pessimistic bent, Hobsbawm avers that: "there can be no serious doubt that in the late 1980s and early 1990s an era in world history ended and a new one began. That is the essential information for historians of the century" (5). But can this really be said, in hindsight? Will not historians extend the "Short" Twentieth Century just a little bit longer, to 2001? For wasn't that more truly the watershed year between one era and another. For those who have lived to experience it, the 1990s are a bygone and halcyon period scarcely recognizable today; I doubt any reasonable mind would merge them with the post-9/11 world.