In Europe on the Brink, 1914, students portray political and military leaders of the European powers and must decide how they (and their governments) will respond to the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary. In that capacity they will decide within their factions whether the crisis can be settled peacefully; if not, whether to enter the war or remain on the sidelines; and whether, how, and against whom to mobilize their armed forces. If war breaks out, the decisions made by the participants will have a direct effect on the course of the war in its initial months.
Players’ decisions will be influenced by a number of important texts related to international relations, including works by Emer de Vattel, Richard Cobden, Heinrich von Treitschke, Giuseppe Mazzini, Nikolai Danilevskii, Norman Angell, and Friedrich von Bernhardi. Excerpts from all of these are included in this gamebook.
The main intellectual clash in the game is between “balance of power” and nationalism. The former had been championed by European statesmen since the eighteenth century and was regarded as the best means for maintaining a stable international system that protected the sovereign rights of each state. The latter emerged in the late eighteenth century and gained strength through the nineteenth. Nationalists regarded ethnicity as the most important source of group identification for individuals and claimed that each sovereign “nation” deserved a government of its own choosing. While early nationalists such as Giuseppe Mazzini remained focused on national unification, later ones such as Nikolai Danilevskii and Friedrich von Bernhardi embraced a far more expansive vision of national interest, one that justified aggressive wars aimed at asserting the greatness and power of the nation-state. For these later nationalists, concepts such as the balance of power or international law were nothing more than tools used by weaker states to hold back the strong.
Sunday, June 28, 1914
The Orient Express
As you deposit your luggage in your sleeping compartment, you feel the jolt as the train begins its departure from Paris’s Gare de l’Est. The train is crowded with people returning from weekend holidays, so you make your way to the saloon car for a drink, hoping to pick up some of the latest gossip.
You were in Paris as a correspondent for the Hearst newspapers, covering what everyone was calling l’Affaire Caillaux—the “crime of the century.” In March, Henriette Caillaux, Parisian socialite and wife of Finance Minister Joseph Caillaux, visited the office of Gaston Calmette, editor of the venerable newspaper Le Figaro. Calmette, a critic of J. Caillaux, had obtained some of the finance minister’s political correspondence and embarrassed him by publishing it. Henriette feared that Calmette might publish letters of an even more personal nature, showing that she and Joseph had been involved romantically with one another years before their marriage—when in fact they were both married to other people. When she went to see Calmette on March 16, she did so with a concealed .32 Browning automatic pistol on her person. After a brief exchange of words, she drew the weapon and fired six rounds at the editor. Four of them found their mark, killing Calmette. Mme. Caillaux’s trial is slated to begin next month; rumor has it that her lawyer will plead her innocence on the grounds that it was a crime passionnel. How utterly French.
You had just managed to secure a reasonably cheap apartment in Paris when you got wind of another potentially big story: the archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, had been shot and killed along with his wife while on an official visit to Sarajevo. L’Affaire Caillaux could wait. You bought a ticket to Vienna and set out that same day on the famed Orient Express.
Once inside the saloon car, you order a whiskey neat, and you’re lucky enough to find a place to sit. Three gentlemen are seated nearby, engaged in a rather heated conversation in French. Fortunately, you’re fluent—fluent enough to pick up on the fact that one of them speaks with an English accent, and another with a German one. The third has a patois that you associate with Alsace, a province that was at one time French but that has been part of Germany since 1871. No wonder they’re arguing—nobody hates Germans like Alsatian Frenchmen. The subject of the conversation is the assassination of the archduke. You listen in, hungry for details.
“They say the killer is a Serbian terrorist,” says the German—let’s call him “Fritz.” “It is a well-known fact that the Serbian government has long been driven by hatred of Austria-Hungary. Can there be any doubt that Belgrade is behind this outrage?”
The Frenchman—we’ll call him “Pierre”—makes a face. “Such a conclusion is not warranted. A government can’t be responsible for every single thing that one of its citizens does.”
“Yes,” agrees the Englishmen, whom we’ll call “Thomas.” “I’ve been to that part of Europe, and I can tell you that nationalism runs deep there. Secret societies abound. And while I won’t condone such a savage act as murder, one can’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the Serbs—after all, five million of their countrymen live in Austria-Hungary. Is there any doubt that they’d prefer to live under a Serbian ruler, rather than a German one?”
Fritz snorts. “Serbians are savages. It wasn’t that long ago that they killed their own king and queen. Now they’ve gone too far, and must be punished. The honor of Austria-Hungary is at stake. But let’s not forget Russia’s role in all this.”
“Russia’s role?” Pierre asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Be careful, monsieur, that you do not insult an ally of the French Republic.”
“Do not be naïve,” the German quips. “The Russians have been stirring up trouble in the Balkans for years. They were behind the formation of the Balkan League back in 1912. They want to cause as much trouble for Austria-Hungary as they can. They look forward to the day when the empire falls apart, so they can set up reliable satellite states among the Slavic populations of Central Europe.”
Now Thomas speaks up. “You must be joking. The collapse of Austria-Hungary would bring chaos to that part of Europe, and none of the Great Powers wants to see that. Too many investments are at stake.”
“Bah,” Pierre chimes in. “Germans are always trying to sow discord between us and our allies. Remember the fuss they made over Morocco in 1905 and 1911? But that didn’t work out so well for you, did it? Today England and France are closer than ever.”
Thomas looks uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t think it’s quite correct to say that we are allies. Good friends, perhaps.”
“Morocco?” Fritz snaps. “You want to bring up Morocco, where you French and English banded together like thieves to rob Germany of its legitimate interests? This is what you and the Russians have been up to for the last ten years—denying the German people their rightful place in the world—or, as the kaiser put it, our place in the sun.”
“Now wait one moment,” says Thomas. “While it is true that there is an alliance between France and Russia, there is no such arrangement between those countries and England. We have no more than a series of understandings concerning colonial matters.”
“So, then, what would happen if a war were to break out between France and Germany?” Fritz fires back.
“You’re asking me to address hypotheticals, of course,” replies Thomas. “We would naturally think first and foremost of our national interests, and, as always, those lie in the upholding of the balance of power. We cannot allow Germany to dominate Europe any more than we could allow France to do so under Napoleon.”
“Balance of power.” Fritz repeats the words scornfully. “That’s nothing more than a phrase that you English always trot out to justify your meddling in the affairs of the European continent. If you were really concerned about this ‘balance of power,’ you wouldn’t be flirting with the Russians, who stand poised to overrun Europe and Asia. Have you ever read the work of Nikolai Danilevskii? He laid it all out back in the 1870s. It’s called pan-Slavism—all the Slavs of Europe living together in a single gigantic confederation spanning from Central Europe to the Pacific Ocean. The final passing of power from the West to the East. But rather than standing alongside Germany and Austria-Hungary in the defense of Western Civilization, you English and French are helping Russia to tear it down! And for what? To begrudge us a few colonies in Africa?” He turns to Pierre. “To get back Alsace-Lorraine?”
At that Pierre stands up abruptly, obviously struggling to contain his anger. “To you, Alsace-Lorraine may be a trifle. To me, it is not. I was born in Alsace, like our President Poincaré. I was only a boy when German troops marched into our town. It was the only time I recall seeing my father cry. We moved away rather than be ruled over as if we were Africans. Mark my words, monsieur—we French do not want war, but neither shall we shrink from one if you push it upon us. And if you do, Alsace and Lorraine will once again be French!”
He slams down his glass and storms out. Fritz remains behind only a few minutes as he finishes his drink and mutters under his breath. Then he too rises to his feet and walks away without a word.
Thomas notices you staring. “American?” he asks. You haven’t said a word, but Europeans somehow always know.
“Yes,” you answer. “Do you think there will be a war?”
Thomas waves his hand. “Don’t be absurd. A war over the murder of an Austrian nobleman in a city most people in our countries have never heard of? Assassinations are hardly even newsworthy any more. Kaiser Franz Josef’s own wife was stabbed to death by an Italian about fifteen years ago. And wasn’t your President McKinley killed around the same time?”
You need more convincing. “That was different. They were murdered by anarchists with no ties to foreign governments. And your friends there looked like they were about to start fighting on this train.”
“Nationalism and liquor,” Thomas responds breezily. “A heady combination. A Frenchman and a German will always find something to squabble over, but wars are a thing of the past. We Europeans have outgrown them.”
“How do you figure?”
“There’s a book that came out a few years ago by a man named Angell. The Great Illusion, it was called. War is a thing of the past, because it’s so bloody bad for business. Look at the French and the Germans. Much as they claim to hate one another, the great steel works of the Saar Valley run thanks to French iron ore and German coal. Without both, the mills would cease to function. Meanwhile the Germans drink French wine, while the French drink German beer. A war would prevent the people of Europe from getting what they want. Why do you think we haven’t had a war since 1871, or a major European war since the days of Napoleon? Trust me, this will all blow over in a week or so.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely. Besides, there are far more important things going on in the world. The French are preoccupied with this Caillaux trial. There are massive labor struggles taking place in Germany and Russia. And right now, His Majesty’s government is trying to keep a civil war from breaking out in Ireland.”
“That’s comforting, I suppose.”
“And if this Serbia thing does look like it’s getting a bit out of hand, my government will call an international conference, and the professional diplomats will smooth things over. Lord Grey, our foreign secretary, is good at that sort of thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment in Munich tomorrow, and I need to return to my compartment to read over my notes. Good evening.”
You return the salutation and watch as he exits the car. You hope the Englishman is right, but even if he’s wrong, there is little reason for Americans to be concerned about a war on the other side of the Atlantic. Indeed, it could be very good for your career; folks back home love to read about other people’s wars.
You turn to the bartender and motion for another whiskey. It’s a long way to Vienna.
This is a “reacting” game. Reacting games are complex role-playing games, used to teach about moments in history. Students are given elaborate game books, which place them in moments of historical controversy and intellectual ferment. The class becomes a public body of some sort; students, in role, become particular persons from the period, often as members of a faction. Their purpose is to advance a policy agenda and achieve their victory objectives. To do so, they will undertake research and write speeches and position papers, and they will give formal speeches, participate in informal debates and negotiations, and otherwise work to win the game. After a few preparatory lectures, the game begins and the players are in charge; the instructor serves as adviser or “gamemaster.” Outcomes sometimes differ from the actual history; a postmortem session at the end of the game sets the record straight.
The following is an outline of what you will encounter in reacting games and what you will be expected to do. While these elements are typical of every reacting game, it is important to remember that every game has its own special quirks.
Your instructor will spend some time before the beginning of the game helping you to understand the historical background. During the setup period, you will read several different kinds of material:
You may also be required to read primary and secondary sources outside the gamebook (perhaps including one or more accompanying books), which provide additional information and arguments for use during the game. Often you will be expected to conduct research to bolster your papers and speeches.
Read all of this contextual material and all of these documents and sources before the game begins. And just as important, go back and reread these materials throughout the game. A second reading while in role will deepen your understanding and alter your perspective: ideas take on a different aspect when seen through the eyes of a partisan actor.
Players who have carefully read the materials and who know the rules of the game will invariably do better than those who rely on general impressions and uncertain recollections.
Once the game begins, certain players preside over the class sessions. These presiding officers may be elected or appointed. Your instructor then becomes the gamemaster (GM) and takes a seat in the back of the room. While not in control, the GM may do any of the following:
Presiding officers may act in a partisan fashion, speaking in support of particular interests, but they must observe basic standards of fairness. As a failsafe device, most reacting games employ the “Podium Rule,” which allows a player who has not been recognized to approach the podium and wait for a chance to speak. Once at the podium, the player has the floor and must be heard.
In order to achieve your objectives, outlined in your role sheet, you must persuade others to support you. You must speak with others, because never will a role contain all that you need to know, and never will one faction have the strength to prevail without allies. Collaboration and coalition-building are at the heart of every game.
Most role descriptions contain secret information which you are expected to guard. Exercise caution when discussing your role with others. You may be a member of a faction, which gives you allies who are generally safe and reliable, but even they may not always be in total agreement with you.
In games where factions are tight-knit groups with fixed objectives, finding a persuadable ally can be difficult. Fortunately, every game includes roles that are undecided (or “indeterminate”) about certain issues. Everyone is predisposed on certain issues, but most players can be persuaded to support particular positions. Cultivating these players is in your interest. (By contrast, if you are assigned an “indeterminate” role, you will likely have considerable freedom to choose one or another side in the game; but often, too, indeterminates have special interests of their own.)
Cultivate friends and supporters. Before you speak at the podium, arrange to have at least one supporter second your proposal, come to your defense, or admonish those in the body not paying attention. Feel free to ask the presiding officer to assist you, but appeal to the GM only as a last resort.
Immerse yourself in the game. Regard it as a way to escape imaginatively from your usual “self”—and your customary perspective as a college student in the twenty-first century. At first, this may cause discomfort because you may be advocating ideas that are incompatible with your own beliefs. You may also need to take actions that you would find reprehensible in real life. Remember that a reacting game is only a game and that you and the other players are merely playing roles. When the other players offer criticisms, they are not criticizing you as a person. Similarly, you must never criticize another person in the game. But you will likely be obliged to criticize their persona. (For example, never say, “Sally’s argument is ridiculous.” But feel free to say, “Governor Winthrop’s argument is ridiculous”—and you would do well to explain exactly why! Always assume, when spoken to by a fellow player—whether in class or out of class—that that person is speaking to you in role.
Help to create this world by avoiding the colloquialisms and familiarities of today’s college life. Never should the presiding officer, for example, open a session with the salutation, “Hi guys.” Similarly, remember that it is inappropriate to trade on out-of-class relationships when asking for support within the game. (“Hey, you can’t vote against me. We’re both on the tennis team!”)
Reacting games seek to approximate of the complexity of the past. Because some people in history were not who they seemed to be, so, too, some roles in reacting games may include elements of conspiracy or deceit. (For example, Brutus did not announce to the Roman Senate his plans to assassinate Caesar.) If you are assigned such a role, you must make it clear to everyone that you are merely playing a role. If, however, you find yourself in a situation where you find your role and actions to be stressful or uncomfortable, tell the GM.
Your instructor will explain the specific requirements for your class. In general, a reacting game will require you to perform several distinct but interrelated activities:
A recent Associated Press article on education and employment made the following observations:
The world’s top employers are pickier than ever. And they want to see more than high marks and the right degree. They want graduates with so-called soft skills—those who can work well in teams, write and speak with clarity, adapt quickly to changes in technology and business conditions, and interact with colleagues from different countries and cultures.… And companies are going to ever-greater lengths to identify the students who have the right mix of skills, by observing them in role-playing exercises to see how they handle pressure and get along with others … and [by] organizing contests that reveal how students solve problems and handle deadline pressure.
Reacting games, probably better than most elements of the curriculum, provide the opportunity for developing these “soft skills.” This is because you will be practicing persuasive writing, public speaking, critical thinking, problem-solving, and collaboration. You will also need to adapt to changing circumstances and work under pressure.
Limited number of participants: There were many, many more people involved in the decision-making processes of the great powers in 1914 than are represented in the game. To keep the required number of players to a manageable level, the group of people involved has been reduced to a handful of individuals for each country. Not only do they represent the most important figures in European governments; they represent the range of views that would have been found within those governments.
No ambassadors: Historically, ambassadors played a critical role in the negotiations. Rarely did government leaders communicate directly with one another; instead, leaders would convey instructions to their ambassadors abroad, who would engage in discussions with the governments of the states to which they were posted and then report back to their own leadership. In the process communications would often be distorted, sometimes accidentally, sometimes intentionally (usually because ambassadors often developed sympathies for the country to which they were posted). Because this would require many more players—forty if only the five primary powers are used—this element has been eliminated. Players are permitted to send messages directly to other nations’ leaders.
Mobilization plans: In many cases, the debates in the game over how best to mobilize each country’s armies would have been resolved in the years preceding the July Crisis. They are included in the game to provide a better sense of how these plans influenced the way that the war developed.
Pulitzer Prize: If journalists are used in the game, they will be competing for the 1914 Pulitzer Prize for news reporting. In fact, there was no such thing in 1914, as the Pulitzer Prizes were not awarded until 1917. However, they are included to provide the journalists with a tangible goal.