Chapter 310: The Monarchy of Public Opinion
As the war intensified, the bombing of industrial districts and residential neighborhoods was, in truth, neither surprising nor unusual.
Modern war had already begun moving toward total war.
Within Germany's Weapons Research Department, engineers were not merely developing increasingly destructive incendiary bombs. Some departments had even discussed the feasibility of delivering chemical agents from the air.
Bombing a city, by itself, was no longer enough to shock governments accustomed to war.
But when such a bombing was captured on film, carefully edited, and placed in the hands of a nation that effectively held dominion over Western public opinion, its destructive power could exceed that of any conventional bomb.
It became a political weapon.
And in Berlin, that weapon was about to be unleashed.
After returning from Helsinki, Laro and Sonila immediately surrendered their film to the German Ministry of Propaganda.
The reaction came faster than either of them expected.
Early the next morning, both men's residences were surrounded by agents from the Internal and External Intelligence Department.
Neither had any idea what was happening.
Before they could properly ask questions, they were half escorted and half invited into an Imperial Eagle automobile bearing the unmistakable license plate:
0-2.
The vehicle ignored traffic signals almost entirely as it raced through Berlin's newly developed districts.
It crossed Roman Central Street, the grand avenue named after Jörg von Roman, passed rows of government buildings and black-uniformed guards, then finally stopped outside the headquarters of the Ministry of Propaganda.
From there, the two men were brought directly to the top floor.
Waiting for them was Goebbels.
The second most powerful figure within the Progress Party.
When the office door opened, Laro and Sonila immediately stiffened.
Neither dared to speak.
They stood near the entrance like decorative plants placed there by an attendant, barely breathing and unwilling to advance even half a step without permission.
Goebbels ignored them at first.
He sat behind his desk, examining the footage frame by frame.
The peaceful streets of Helsinki.
Children in the square.
Workers near the harbor.
The Finnish flag.
Then came the sirens.
The panic.
The bombers.
The burning cathedral.
The explosions.
The bodies.
The flames consuming entire streets.
For a long while, only the faint mechanical sound of the projector filled the room.
Finally, Goebbels raised one hand.
"Come here."
The two men hurried forward.
"Minister Goebbels."
"Sit."
His tone was unexpectedly pleasant.
"Coffee?"
Neither man answered immediately.
Goebbels smiled.
"You've produced excellent work."
The tension in the room eased slightly.
He leaned back in his chair.
"Germany needs this. More importantly, Europe needs this. The entire Western world needs to see what happened in Helsinki."
His expression sharpened.
"Not rumors. Not speeches. Not diplomatic accusations."
He tapped the film canister on the table.
"This."
"Authentic evidence of Soviet brutality."
Praise from Goebbels was rare enough.
Praise from Goebbels directed at two ordinary journalists was almost unheard of.
Sonila swallowed.
"You are too generous, Minister. Most of the important footage was filmed by Laro."
He admitted it almost instinctively.
The pressure of standing before one of Germany's most powerful men was enough to strip away any thought of claiming undeserved credit.
Goebbels immediately shook his head.
"No. Don't underestimate your own contribution, Sonila."
He pointed toward the projector.
"If we only had the bombing itself, the footage would certainly be impressive. Powerful, perhaps. But it would not be art."
He stood and walked slowly toward the screen.
"The quiet streets matter."
"The children matter."
"The workers matter."
"The ordinary life before destruction matters."
His finger traced an invisible line through the air.
"Without tranquility, there is no contrast."
"Without peace, destruction has no scale."
"Without showing people what existed before the bombs fell, the audience cannot understand what was taken away."
Goebbels turned back toward them.
"The first half makes the second half devastating."
"It is like watching a peaceful painting and suddenly seeing a wolf tear its way through the canvas toward your throat."
His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.
"That is what creates anger."
"That is what creates pain."
"That is what creates memory."
He returned to the desk.
"The two sections are inseparable."
Goebbels rested one hand on the film reels.
"You brought back more than one hundred minutes of usable material. I intend to turn it into a full-length film."
He looked between them.
"This will belong to both of you."
Then, almost casually, he asked:
"What do you want?"
The room seemed to become even quieter.
This was no ordinary question.
Goebbels was the German Minister of Propaganda, one of Jörg's closest political associates, and a man whose influence stretched across newspapers, radio, cinema, literature, and public culture throughout the European Union.
A single sentence from him could transform an unknown journalist into a national celebrity.
A promotion that might normally require twenty years could be accomplished before lunch.
For men like Laro and Sonila, this was the sort of opportunity that appeared perhaps once in an entire lifetime.
Laro answered first.
"I don't require anything, Minister."
Goebbels raised an eyebrow.
Laro continued respectfully.
"I am already satisfied that my work can contribute to Germany and to the European Union."
Goebbels waved dismissively.
"I've heard enough speeches like that."
He smiled faintly.
"Brave soldiers receive medals. Brave journalists should receive rewards as well."
He glanced at a document beside him.
"I've been told photography is your obsession."
Laro hesitated.
"Yes, Minister."
"The German Photography Association, under the Ministry of Propaganda, happens to require a new president."
Goebbels spoke as though appointing the head of a national institution were no more complicated than ordering another cup of coffee.
"You'll take the position."
Laro froze.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he stood abruptly.
"Minister, I..."
Goebbels raised his hand.
"Accept it."
Laro bowed deeply.
"Thank you."
Goebbels turned toward the other man.
"Sonila?"
Sonila had clearly prepared his answer.
"I want to participate in producing the film."
Goebbels immediately understood.
Fame.
That was what Sonila wanted.
Not money.
Not office.
Not an administrative title.
His name attached to this film.
A production supported by the full propaganda apparatus of Germany and, through Germany, almost the entire European Union.
If successful, millions would see it.
Perhaps tens of millions.
Its images might survive long after the war itself ended.
To participate meant attaching one's name to history.
Goebbels smiled.
"Very well."
Sonila visibly relaxed.
"You will both participate."
He gathered several folders from the desk.
"Now go. I have to visit the Presidential Residence."
His gaze briefly returned to the film.
"Jörg is very interested in what you brought back."
Two days later, Europe erupted.
The images from Helsinki spread through newspapers, cinemas, newsreels, illustrated magazines, and radio broadcasts.
Across nearly every European capital, the Soviet bombing became the subject of condemnation.
Public opinion had rarely been so unified.
German newspapers led the assault.
"SOVIET RUSSIA'S ATROCITIES ARE NOTHING LESS THAN BARBARISM. THEIR ARMIES HAVE INVADED FINNISH SOIL WITH CANNONS, WHILE THEIR AIRCRAFT BOMB INNOCENT CIVILIANS FROM THE SKY!"
Germany Propaganda Daily.
The European Union's official newspapers followed immediately.
"WAR IS APPROACHING. EVERY EUROPEAN MUST UNDERSTAND THAT ONLY UNITY CAN PROTECT OUR CONTINENT!"
EU Daily.
France joined the chorus.
"SOVIET RUSSIA HAS REVEALED ITS TRUE AMBITIONS. TO DEFEND FINLAND IS TO DEFEND EUROPE ITSELF!"
France Daily.
Even Britain's newly realigned press participated.
"SOVIET RUSSIA AND THE ILLEGAL CHURCHILL GOVERNMENT ARE COMMON THREATS TO EUROPEAN PEACE. BRITAIN MUST BEWARE THE APPETITE OF THE RED BEAR!"
The Times.
The political effect was immediate.
Government after government across the European Union announced the severing of diplomatic relations with Soviet Russia.
Embassies closed.
Diplomatic missions withdrew.
Trade negotiations were suspended.
Even countries that had previously preferred caution found themselves unable to resist the pressure generated by their own newspapers and populations.
The storm crossed the Atlantic.
The United States, already wary of Soviet expansion, was dragged into the debate by its own public opinion.
Under the justification of humanitarian concerns, Washington announced the suspension of trade with Soviet Russia.
Within days, Moscow found itself facing an international isolation unlike anything it had experienced in years.
Only a handful of governments remained conspicuously silent.
The Free British and Free French governments refused to condemn Moscow.
Japan also avoided taking a public position.
Tokyo still depended on Soviet cooperation to reduce pressure in the Far East, while Japanese military planners were secretly preparing for further operations in East Asia.
Thus, the enormous Soviet state stretching across Europe and Asia increasingly resembled an island surrounded by hostile waters.
More than a decade of diplomatic effort appeared to disintegrate almost overnight.
Yet even that was something Molotov believed Moscow could endure.
Then came the second blow.
The Finnish Communist Party announced its withdrawal from the Comintern.
The announcement sent tremors throughout the international communist movement.
Soon afterward, the Fourth International was formally established under Trotsky's leadership.
Organizations in several countries declared their support.
That development was far more dangerous than severed embassies.
The diplomatic blockade threatened Soviet influence abroad.
The ideological schism threatened Soviet legitimacy itself.
For years, Moscow had presented itself as the unquestioned center of international communism.
Now people began asking a forbidden question.
Why?
Why should communist legitimacy belong exclusively to Moscow?
Why should Stalin determine what constituted orthodoxy?
Why should revolutionary movements thousands of kilometers away accept Soviet authority as though it were religious doctrine?
The cracks that had once remained hidden beneath political discipline were suddenly visible.
Molotov had no choice but to face the consequences publicly.
At the press conference, he barely managed to reach the podium before questions began raining down upon him.
"Mr. Molotov, do you feel any shame over these massacres?"
"Mr. Molotov, answer directly. Are you constructing a utopia or a hell?"
"Mr. Molotov, how many Finnish civilians have been killed?"
"Mr. Molotov!"
"Mr. Molotov!"
"Please answer!"
Molotov raised one hand.
Nothing happened.
The reporters continued shouting.
He raised his voice.
"Enough!"
The room gradually quieted.
Molotov gripped the edges of the podium.
Then, with a perfectly straight face, he delivered a statement so detached from the images already circulating throughout Europe that even several correspondents looked stunned.
"Every accusation currently directed against Soviet Russia is false."
A murmur swept through the room.
Molotov continued.
"We have never bombed Finnish civilians."
Someone laughed.
"We have never deliberately bombed civilian districts."
The laughter grew.
Molotov's expression did not change.
"Our aircraft merely delivered bread to Finnish citizens suffering beneath the oppression of their government."
For half a second, the room remained silent.
Then it erupted.
Laughter rolled through the press hall.
Some journalists openly covered their faces.
Others whispered to one another.
One man nearly dropped his notebook.
Molotov waited.
His expression hardened.
Then his next sentence cut through the laughter.
"We will not accept responsibility for military actions we did not commit."
The room slowly quieted again.
"And if the international press suddenly wishes to discuss responsibility for aerial warfare, then perhaps we should discuss Germany."
That drew their attention.
Molotov leaned forward.
"How many bombs fell upon Warsaw?"
No one answered.
"How many cities have German aircraft bombed?"
Silence.
"How many bombs has Germany dropped across Europe and beyond?"
His voice grew stronger.
"Ten times ours?"
"A hundred times?"
Molotov's gaze swept across the journalists.
"Why do you not condemn Jörg?"
"Why do you not surround German diplomats and demand apologies from them?"
The room had become noticeably quieter.
Molotov immediately pressed the advantage.
"Our military action against Finland is lawful and justified."
"They oppress their own citizens."
"They arbitrarily execute members of the Finnish Communist Party."
"And now they even steal the name of that party, pretending to speak for communist workers while persecuting those who remain loyal to the revolutionary cause."
His palm struck the podium.
"So tell me."
"What is unreasonable about declaring war against such a government?"
Molotov straightened.
"In my view, Soviet Russia's actions in Finland are ten thousand times more justified than Germany's occupation of Czechoslovakia or its annexation of Austria."
....
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