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The Shooting at Chartres, 1935

On 21 June 2013, I spoke at the Maison Francaise d’Oxford during a conference organised by Alison Carrol (Brunel) and Ludivine Broch (Birkbeck/EUI), titled ‘A Century Later: New Approaches to French History, 1914-1945′.

My paper concerned an incident of political violence at Chartres in January 1935.   On 20 January, the Jeunesses Patriotes (JP), an extreme right-wing paramilitary group, held a meeting in the town of Chartres, 60 miles south west of Paris.   The announcement of the meeting in Chartres, and the fact that JP leader Pierre Taittinger himself was scheduled to speak, caused a stir among local left wingers.  A counter-demonstration was quickly organised.  Several hundred local JPs attended the meeting, reinforced by four coachloads of activists from Paris.  Meanwhile, over 1000 counter-demonstrators attended their own meeting before making for the square in front of the meeting venue.  The JP meeting passed off without incident.  But violence flared as the leaguers returned to their coaches and took the road back to Paris.  JP activists, believing themselves to be under attack from communists on the roadside, opened fire from the coaches, and a passer-by was shot in the foot.  The communists responded with a hail of bricks, stones and bottles.  On the road back to Paris police stopped and searched the vehicles.  They found a large number of rubber and wooden truncheons, clubs, knuckledusters, and rubber helmets – but no revolvers.  Following conflicting witness statements from both sides, police were unable to identify the aggressor and the case was ultimately dismissed.

YOU CAN LISTEN TO MY PAPER BY CLICKING THE ‘PODCAST’ TAB AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE AND FOLLOWING THE INSTRUCTIONS.

80 years ago today: 6 February 1934, French fascists topple government

As today is the 80th anniversary of the riots of 6 February 1934, I thought I’d post something on this event that redefined French interwar politics.  On that night, extreme right-wing activists and war veterans descended on central Paris to protest about the alleged corruption of the ruling centre-left government.  The demonstration soon turned violent.  Thirteen rioters were killed and hundreds were injured as police fought off repeated attempts to storm the French parliament. The following day, the government resigned.  Street violence had successfully removed the elected administration.

In 1941, French author Robert Brasillach looked back on the night of 6 February 1934 with fondness:

‘For us, we did not have to repudiate the 6 février. Every year we went to place violets on the Place de la Concorde, in front of this fountain that had become a cenotaph, in memory of the twenty-three dead.  Each year the crowd diminished, because French patriots are forgetful by nature.  Only the revolutionaries understood the meaning of the myths and the ceremonies.  But if the 6 February was a malicious intrigue, it was a night of sacrifices, which remains in our memory with its odour, its cold wind, its pale common faces, its groups of humans on the pavement, its invincible hope for a National Revolution, the very birth of social nationalism in our country.  What does it matter if, later, everything was exploited, by the right and the left, of this burning fire, of these dead who were pure.  One cannot prevent from being what has been.  (from Notre avant-guerre [1941])

Historians have spilled much ink over the intentions of the rioters on the night of 6 February 1934.  The debate is split along the lines of what is called the ‘immunity thesis’ debate (a term coined by French political scientist Michel Dobry). The immunity thesis pertains to France’s alleged ‘allergy’ to fascism.  Developed in the 1950s and 1960s, under the influence of the resistance-centric history of the Vichy years and the totalitarian model that sought to compare fascist and communist regimes in order to discredit the latter, the immunity thesis has proved robust.  Defence of the immunity thesis most often entails reference to a political culture founded upon the long implantation of democracy in France.  Immunity thesis historians argue that certain groups spread their values and ideas to a diverse set of social formations, especially the middle classes, and so oriented them towards democracy.  One such group, the mouvement ancien combattant, was essential to the edification and maintenance of this democratic culture.  Veteran anti-parliamentarianism therefore expressed a legitimate dissatisfaction with a regime that no longer functioned, rather than a desire for fascist government.  The associations’ true convictions lay in their ideas on a democratic reform of the state.

Rioters on the Place de la Concorde

Rioters fight with police in central Paris

In recent years, a largely Anglophone group of historians (Dobry being a notable exception) has challenged the French orthodoxy on fascism.  The anti-immunity thesis school stresses that fascism was a significant force in France on the level of ideas and political movements.  Moreover, the argument for the existence of a common political culture is problematic.  However widely a group may publicise its doctrine or ideology, the internalisation of such a culture on an individual level, that is to say for ‘ordinary’ citizens, is subjective.  Each person has prejudices and preconceptions that would make them more or less receptive to one idea or another.  One cannot credit a whole nation with the same fundamental political values.

As for the riot of 6 February 1934, some French historians argue that the failure of the rioters to install a fascist regime attested to the democratically minded French people’s rejection of fascism and their ‘immunity’ to the doctrine.  For René Rémond the events of 6 February were little more than a protest that went wrong.  Had the night not turned to tragedy, it would have been quickly forgotten. Serge Berstein claims that the lack of co-ordination between the nationalist leagues and the absence of a plan to invade the Chamber prove that the riot was not an attempted coup.  The heterogeneity of the six février groups underlines the disjointed nature of the protest.  Pierre Pellissier suggests that the rioters in no way threatened the Republic as the failed insurrection did not follow the ‘strict rules’ of past revolts, such as Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte’s coup of 2 December 1851.  A successful coup requires the utmost secrecy in preparation, the selection of one supreme leader and the use of arms or the threat of armed action.  The action failed in February 1934 as agitation throughout January alerted the authorities to trouble, no group would submit to the leader of another, and arms were not employed.

Brian Jenkins has specifically questioned the immunity thesis as applied to 6 February.  Firstly, immunity thesis historians mistakenly equate a fascist takeover with a violent coup.  This was neither true in the case of the Nazis in Germany nor the Italian fascists.  Secondly, despite Berstein’s judgement on the alleged heterogeneous nature of the groups, Jenkins writes that the organisations that took part on the night shared common ideas and an anti-democratic attitude. Their memberships often overlapped and were largely drawn from the same social groups.  Thirdly, there is evidence that despite the apparently disparate nature of rioting groups, a collective mood took hold as the evening progressed.  Witness statements do give some indication of a common feeling among protesters.  Finally, an argument that uses the outcome of events to presume the intentions of actors is dubious.  In short, the failure of rioters to enter the Chamber does not prove that no such intentions existed.  Moreover, the disappointment of the extreme right on one night should not neutralise the threat that it posed during the decade.  In France, extra-parliamentary movements like the Croix de Feu grew while parliament gradually gave way to a government reliant on decree powers.

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Veterans of the Union nationale des combattants march on 6 February 1934

Admittedly, there is a lack of documentation to prove that an alliance between the various rioting groups existed.  No blueprint for the overthrow the Republic has been found.  Immunity thesis historians cite this shortage of evidence in their argument.  However, in reference to the French penal code Marcel Le Clère argues that a plot did exist.  Though it is largely futile to re-classify the riot as a plot largely based on a legal technicality, as Le Clère does, he makes several valid points.  The leagues had co-operated throughout January.  Activists of the Action Française (AF) and the Fédération nationale des contribuables worked together on 9 January, as did members of the Je4nesses Patriotes (JP) and the Solidarité Française on 11 January.  On 23 January, the call to demonstrate saw the names of the AF, the JP and the Contribuables on the same poster.  On 6 February, the arranged meeting time for each group would see them converge on the Place de la Concorde, over the river Seine from the French parliament building, between 8 and 9pm.  Le Clère concludes that this synchronisation shows a devised plan and an evident entente among the groups.

Whatever the case, the riot witnessed collaboration between individuals of different groups.  Town councillors Charles des Isnards and Puymaigre joined the marches of the JP and the Croix de Feu respectively.  Prominent members of several groups were in regular contact and had met before the riot.  The Parisian municipal council included veterans’ leaders Georges Lebecq and Jean Ferrandi.  JP leader Pierre Taittinger was also a member of the council and a deputy in the Seine.  His name appeared alongside veteran leader Jean Goy’s and twenty-eight other deputies at the bottom of an open letter of protest to interior minister Eugène Frot.  This was turned into a poster and stuck up around Paris on the night of 5 February.

Collusion on the night should not be discounted simply because it was not ‘total’.  Thus whether or not a plan existed does not mean that the riot did not undermine the Republic, which six years later gave way to an authoritarian regime.  Even if their action was apparently uncoordinated the organisations nevertheless secured the eviction from power of an elected left-wing government.  The riot of February 1934 is therefore best viewed as part of a longer process of political radicalisation that destabilised the democratic regime in the years preceding the defeat of 1940.

References

Numerous works were consulted for this post.  There are several works in French on the 6 February 1934.  The most influential, particularly for the immunity thesis, is Serge Berstein, 6 février (Paris 1975).  See also Maurice Chavardès, Une campagne and  Le 6 février: La République en danger (Paris: Calmann-Lévy, 1966).  Pierre Pellissier’s 6 février (Paris: Perrin, 2000) offers a detailed if rather dramatic account of the events.  For a ‘dissenting’ interpretation in French see Marcel Le Clère, 6 février and Michel Dobry, ‘Février 1934’ (or ‘February 1934’).  Books in English are lacking.  The fullest treatment is that of Brian Jenkins, ‘The Paris riots of February 1934: The crisis of the Third French Republic’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of London, LSE, 1979).  See Jenkins’ historiographical article, ‘The six février 1934 and the ‘survival’ of the French Republic’, French History, 20 (2006), pp. 333-351 and Chris Millington ‘February 6, 1934: The veterans’ riot’, French Historical Studies (2010). Works written at the time include Laurent Bonnevay, Les journées sanglantes de février 1934: pages d’histoire (Paris: Flammarion, 1935) and Philippe Henriot, Le 6 février (Paris: Flammarion, 1934).  See also the collection of essays in Le mythe de l’allergie française au fascisme especially Dobry, ‘La thèse immunitaire’; William D. Irvine, ‘Fascism in France: The strange case of the Croix de Feu’,  Journal of Modern History, 63 (1991), 271-295; Kevin Passmore, From liberalism to fascism: The right in a French province, 1928-1939 (Cambridge: CUP, 1997); Robert Soucy, ‘French fascism and the Croix de Feu: A dissenting interpretation’, Journal of Contemporary History 26 (1991), pp. 159-188; and French Fascism: The Second Wave (1995).

Investigating political violence: ‘Physical’ sources

   

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A selection of canes, clubs, truncheons and knives at the Museum of the Police, Paris.

In December I took part in the Swansea European History Research Workshop.  The workshop provides an informal setting for staff and postgraduates in the department to discuss their current and future research.  It allows all those involved in Swansea’s history research community to exchange comments and ideas on each other’s work.  Past workshops have concerned policing in Mussolini’s Italy and the memory of 1968.

My session was entitled ‘Investigating Political Violence in Interwar France’.  Rather than presenting specific outcomes of my research so far, I spoke to colleagues and students about methods for investigating violence.  In particular, I was keen to tell colleagues and students about a discovery I made during the summer spent researching in Paris.

This discovery concerned the ‘physical’ nature of my sources.  My project on political violence relies in the main on archival documents and newspapers from the period.  These sources can provide useful information, such as the details of an incident and the statements of witnesses recorded within hours of the violence.  Such documents are certainly useful given that my approach involves the detailed examination of violent incidents in order to interpret and explain the behaviour of protagonists.

Yet over the summer I began to question whether written sources such as archival papers were sufficient for understanding what were essentially physical acts.  This thinking was in part informed by two French historians of the First World War, Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau and Annette Becker.  In their study of battlefield violence, Audoin-Rouzeau and Becker have argued that, when it comes to violence, historians are too often cut off from the physical nature of their object of study.  A historian might know the caliber of a firearm, how many were produced and how this affected a battle – but the historian is likely less familiar with the feel of a weapon, its weight, how it operates and the damage it can inflict.  Consequently, when it comes to weapons, ‘tactile contact is not a superfluous historical experience.’[Audoin-Rouzeau and Becker, 14-18: Understanding the Great War, p.19]

How might this approach inform my own research?  While working in the archives of the Prefecture of Police in Paris, I decided to visit the museum there.  The museum holds a collection of weapons seized by police. During my visit, I saw a collection of weapons including firearms, clubs and truncheons, knives and knuckledusters.  Seeing these weapons changed the way I understood the violence I had read about in the archives.  For example, I had consulted many reports about political activists who suffered gunshot wounds.  More often than not, these victims survived the injury- it seemed that only a shot to the heart could kill.  When I saw the revolver on display in the museum, the first thing that struck me was its size – it was small, about the size of the palm of my hand.  The size of a weapon was an important consideration to political groups:  police could only stop and search a suspect if they could see the weapon.  The size of the revolver meant it was ideal for being concealed, yet it was perhaps not as lethal (or accurate) as I had initially assumed it should be.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA Revolver circa. 1890-1914.

Of course, at the museum I was not allowed to handle a weapon.  Yet the visit taught me that physical encounters with sources are far from useless.  I was prompted to ask new questions of my research.   Did practical considerations, such as concealment, inform the choice of weapon, or were smaller, non-lethal arms simply intended to intimidate?  Did groups who employed such small weapons really intend to kill?

I thank the staff and postgraduate students at Swansea for their comments.  I thank the staff of the Museum of Police in Paris for their assistance.