Unlike most other soldiers that returned to civilian life, Hitler elected to remain a part of the military, eventually being recruited to the Information Office under Captain Karl Mayr. He excelled in this line of work, and impressed Mayr with his oration skills, to such a point where Mayr asked him to respond to a letter from a soldier about the Jewish Question. This became one of Hitler’s first, and most notable, antisemitic writings.
[T]he Jews are unquestionably a race, not a religious community. And the Jew himself never describes himself as a Jewish German, a Jewish Pole or a Jewish American, but always as a German, Polish or American Jew. Never has the Jew absorbed more from the alien people in whose midst he lives than their language. […] There is hardly a race in the world whose members all belong to a single religion. Through inbreeding for thousands of years, often in very small circles, the Jew has been able to preserve his race and his racial characteristics much more successfully than most of the numerous people among whom he lives. As a result we have living in our midst a non-German, alien race, unwilling and indeed unable to shed its racial characteristics, its particular feelings, thoughts and ambitions, and nevertheless enjoying the same political rights as we ourselves do. [A Jews] activities produce a racial tuberculosis among nations. And this has the following result: Antisemitism stemming from purely emotive reasons will always find its expression in the form of pogroms. But antisemitism based on reason must lead to the systematic legal combating and removal of the rights of the Jew […]. [A governments] final aim, however, must be the uncompromising removal of the Jews altogether.
Hitler’s letter to the soldier
As a part of his job in the Information Office, he’d often infiltrate parties suspected of communist sentiments. In September of 1919, he attended a meeting at the German Workers Party, also known as the Deutsche Arbeiterpartei in German or DAP for short. However, he found that the party did support Marxism, like the title of the party suggested, but instead was incredibly nationalist and antisemitic, both of which Hitler agreed with.
He eventually formally joined the party and resigned from his position at the information office. He’d often speak at party meetings, impressing Party Chairman, Anton Drexler, with his oration skills. Drexler allowed Hitler to publicly speak at rallies, and became a mentor to him. However, Hitler was less than impressed by the disorganisation of the party, asking Drexler if he could enact vast changes within the party. Drexler agreed and Hitler quickly got to work. He became the head of recruitment propaganda and organised massive rallies, where he would often speak. His oratory skills made him a vital asset to the party.
Hitler speaking early on in his career.
One of his most notable changes was the rebranding of the party to the National Socialist German Workers Party, which in German translates to Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei and was commonly abbreviated to the NSDAP or the Nazi Party. He also created a party logo, which consisted of a black swastika, a Hindu symbol meaning prosperity, in a white circle with a red background, the colours of the former Imperial German Flag.
Eventually, Hitler announced a massive reworking of power inside the party, which would remove a democratically elected chairman and replace them with a “Führer” with absolute power. If his demands were not met, Hitler would resign from the party. Fearing the loss of the party’s greatest speaker, Drexler conceded, stepping down from the role of Chairman and allowing Hitler to ascend to the title of Führer of the Party. This is the first example of Hitler assuming absolute power, by any means necessary.
During these early years of the Nazi Party, many men, who would soon become high ranking members of the party, joined, inspired greatly by Hitler’s words. Ernst Röhm joined around the same time as Hitler and the two became fast friends. Röhm became the only person who would refer to Hitler by his first name, often referring to him as “Adi”. As the party developed and rose in popularity in the 1930s, Röhm would become the head of the Stormtroopers, also known as the SA, a violent paramilitary arm of the Nazi Party.
Ernst Röhm in 1924
Through Röhm another notorious figure within the ranks of the party would enter, a man named Heinrich Himmler. Known for his cunning, loyalty and brutality, he would later become the head of the Schutzstaffel, more commonly known as the SS, another paramilitary group of the Nazis, who differed from the SA in their brutality and loyalty.
Heinrich Himmler in 1929
Finally of note was Hermann Göring. Having met Hitler in 1921, he was appointed as Supreme Leader of the SA in March 1923, and later became a key figure in the political rise of the Nazis throughout the 1930s via the democracy of the Weimar Republic.
Herman Göring during his service in the First World War
In June 1921, there was a mutiny in the party, which kicked out Drexler and Hitler became the party chairman, where he spoke at beer halls, a type of large German pub. Early followers included Hermann Goering, a former flying ace, Ernst Rohm, a WW1 veteran and was later found out to be homosexual, and Rudolf Hess, another WW1 veteran and met Hitler at one of his speeches in 1920. Rohm later became the head of the Nazi’s Paramilitary force, the Stormtroopers or SA.
Alcohol had long been a central part of social and cultural life in the United States. From the earliest days of European settlement, it was widely consumed across all levels of society. Colonial settlers brought beer and spirits with them across the Atlantic, and by the time of the American Revolution, alcohol was already deeply embedded in daily life. Even prominent figures such as George Washington were known to provide their troops with regular rations of alcohol. By the 19th century, consumption had reached particularly high levels. Americans drank significantly more alcohol per person than they do today, with whiskey, beer, and cider forming a routine part of everyday life.
A group of Americans drinking in a bar in the 19th Century
However, this widespread consumption increasingly became a source of concern. Excessive drinking was associated with poverty, domestic violence, and declining workplace discipline, particularly in rapidly industrialising urban centres. Much of the early opposition to alcohol emerged from religious and social reform movements. Among the most prominent was the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, founded in 1874. Its members, many of them women affected by the consequences of alcohol abuse within the home, campaigned for temperance, initially advocating moderation, and increasingly promoting complete abstinence. Their activism took the form of public demonstrations, petitions, and organised campaigns aimed at closing saloons and restricting access to alcohol.
Over time, the movement expanded beyond moral persuasion into political action. A key turning point came with the rise of the Anti-Saloon League in the late 19th century. Unlike earlier reform groups, the League focused almost exclusively on prohibition and operated with a highly organised and strategic approach. Under the leadership of Wayne Wheeler, it became one of the most effective lobbying organisations in American history. Wheeler and the League built broad support by tailoring their arguments to different audiences. To industrialists, alcohol was presented as a threat to productivity and efficiency. To workers, it was framed as a social ill that worsened living conditions. Religious groups were mobilised on moral grounds, while others were persuaded through appeals to public order and national strength. This flexibility allowed the movement to unite groups with otherwise very different political and social views.
A photo of Wayne Wheeler
By the early 20th century, prohibition had become a major national issue. At the same time, broader developments were helping to shift opinion further in its favour. When the United States entered the World War I in 1917, temporary restrictions were placed on alcohol production in order to conserve grain for the war effort. Anti-German sentiment also played a role, as many breweries were owned or associated with German-American communities, making beer in particular a target of suspicion and criticism. Another significant factor was economic. Alcohol taxes had long provided a substantial portion of federal revenue. However, the ratification of the Sixteenth Amendment in 1913, which introduced a federal income tax, reduced the government’s reliance on alcohol-related income. This removed one of the major financial obstacles to prohibition.
With public support growing and political resistance weakening, the movement achieved its ultimate goal. In 1919, the Eighteenth Amendment was ratified, banning the manufacture, sale, and transportation of intoxicating liquors across the United States. Its provisions were enforced through the Volstead Act, which defined the scope of the ban and established mechanisms for enforcement. Prohibition was introduced as a solution to a range of social problems, from crime and poverty to public health and morality. Yet almost immediately, it became clear that enforcement would be far more difficult than its supporters had anticipated. Despite the legal ban, demand for alcohol did not disappear. Instead, it moved underground, setting the stage for a new and often more dangerous phase in American social and political life.
By the autumn of 1918, Germany was collapsing both militarily and politically. The Spring Offensive had failed, Allied counterattacks were steadily forcing the German armies back towards their own borders, and the arrival of hundreds of thousands of fresh American troops made it increasingly clear that Germany could not win the war. The situation at home was equally severe. The Allied blockade had contributed to severe shortages of food and fuel, while years of war had exhausted the German population. Strikes and demonstrations were becoming increasingly common, and support for the imperial government was weakening.
The German military leadership itself had begun to recognise that the war could not be won. In late September, senior commanders Paul von Hindenburg and Erich Ludendorff informed the government that Germany should seek an immediate armistice. Their recommendation was partly intended to secure the best possible peace terms before the military situation deteriorated further. It also transferred responsibility for ending the war from the military leadership to the civilian government, a decision that would later contribute to the damaging “stab-in-the-back” myth that Germany’s defeat had been caused by politicians rather than military failure.
(L-R) Hindenburg, Kaiser Wilhelm and Ludendorff discussing military strategy
Germany’s allies fell one after another. Bulgaria surrendered in September, the Ottoman Empire signed an armistice in October, and Austria-Hungary began to disintegrate as its many nationalities declared independence. Germany now stood alone. Prince Maximilian of Baden became Chancellor in October and began introducing constitutional reforms intended to transform Germany from an authoritarian imperial system into a parliamentary democracy. The Kaiser remained head of state, but responsibility for government was increasingly transferred to the Reichstag. These reforms, however, came too late to prevent the revolutionary movement that was already developing. The immediate trigger came from the German navy.
On October 24th 1918, the German naval command ordered the High Seas Fleet to prepare for one final operation against the British Royal Navy. The plan was effectively a last gamble: the fleet would sail out and engage the much larger British fleet in what many sailors believed would be a suicidal battle. After four years of war, the sailors had little interest in dying for a war that was already effectively lost. On October 29th, sailors at Wilhelmshaven began refusing orders. The mutiny spread to Kiel, where thousands of sailors refused to participate in the operation. The authorities attempted to suppress the rebellion by arresting some of the mutineers, but this had the opposite effect. Workers joined the sailors, demonstrations broke out and workers’ and soldiers’ councils began forming.
A group of soldiers holding a sign stating “”Soldiers’ council […] long live the socialist republic”
These councils were inspired partly by the soviets of the Russian Revolution, although the German movement was not simply a copy of Bolshevism. They generally demanded an end to the war, political democracy, improved conditions for workers and the removal of the old imperial political establishment. Germany’s existing political parties were themselves divided over how far the revolution should go. The rebellion spread rapidly across the country. Councils emerged in cities including Hamburg, Bremen, Lübeck, Hanover, Cologne and Munich. In Bavaria, the monarchy was overthrown and a socialist-led republic was proclaimed under Kurt Eisner. Germany was now experiencing a political crisis alongside its military defeat.
The largest socialist party, the Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD), wanted to prevent the country from descending into the kind of revolutionary civil war that had devastated Russia. Its leaders supported parliamentary democracy and believed that Germany should become a democratic republic rather than a socialist state governed through workers’ councils. More radical socialists disagreed. The Independent Social Democratic Party (USPD) wanted a much more extensive transformation of German society, while the revolutionary Spartacus League, associated with Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, advocated a socialist revolution inspired by the Russian Bolsheviks. The possibility of a Bolshevik-style revolution terrified Germany’s conservative establishment. The SPD therefore found itself in an unusual position: it was leading the movement towards democracy while simultaneously attempting to prevent the revolutionary left from overthrowing the parliamentary system.
A group of socialists declaring the Bremen Soviet Republic
The crisis reached its climax in Berlin. On November 9th 1918, Chancellor Prince Maximilian of Baden announced that Kaiser Wilhelm II had abdicated, although the precise constitutional circumstances of his departure were complicated and the announcement was made before Wilhelm had formally signed an abdication document. Wilhelm had lost the support of much of the military and political establishment and eventually fled across the border into the neutral Netherlands. Germany’s monarchy had effectively collapsed. On the same day, two competing visions for Germany’s future were publicly proclaimed. Philipp Scheidemann, an SPD politician, announced from a window of the Reichstag that Germany was a republic. Only a few hours later, Karl Liebknecht proclaimed a “free socialist republic” from the Berlin Palace.
The distinction was significant. The German Revolution had not produced a single unified revolutionary movement. Republicans, parliamentary social democrats, revolutionary socialists, conservatives and military leaders all had different visions for what should replace the Kaiser. Friedrich Ebert, leader of the SPD, became the dominant figure in the provisional government. His priority was to end the war and establish order. He reached an agreement with the army’s senior commander, Wilhelm Groener, in which the military leadership agreed to support the new republican government in return for the government’s commitment to preserving the army and preventing a communist revolution. The new government requested an immediate armistice. To negotiate it, a German delegation led by politician Matthias Erzberger travelled through the devastated battlefields of northern France before arriving in the Forest of Compiègne. There, deep in the woods, stood the private railway carriage of Marshal Ferdinand Foch, the Supreme Allied Commander. It was an intentionally symbolic setting. Germany, which had dictated harsh peace terms to defeated Russia just months earlier, now found itself on the receiving end.
A carriage of the same design on display in a museum. The original carriage was destroyed by the SS in 1940
When the German delegation entered Foch’s railway carriage during the early hours of 8 November, they hoped that President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points might provide the basis for a relatively moderate peace. Instead, Foch bluntly asked what they wanted before presenting them with a lengthy list of Allied demands. There would be virtually no negotiation. Germany was ordered to evacuate Belgium, France, Luxembourg and Alsace-Lorraine, withdraw all forces east of the Rhine, and allow Allied occupation of bridgeheads on the river. Thousands of artillery pieces, machine guns, aircraft, locomotives and railway wagons were to be handed over, while the powerful German High Seas Fleet was to be interned. The Allied naval blockade would remain in place until a permanent peace treaty had been signed.
The German delegates considered refusing the terms. They knew they were severe and feared the reaction at home. Yet the alternative was equally bleak. The German Army was exhausted, revolution was spreading through the country, and the Allies were preparing to continue their offensive if negotiations failed. With no realistic prospect of improving their position, Erzberger signed the armistice shortly after 5 a.m. on 11 November 1918.
An illustration of the French and German delegations discussing the terms of surrender
Although the agreement had been signed, the fighting did not stop immediately. The ceasefire would not take effect until 11 a.m., giving armies six more hours of combat. Across the Western Front, artillery continued to fire, patrols continued to clash, and commanders launched attacks to improve their positions before the deadline. More than 10,000 men became casualties during those final hours, including around 2,700 killed. Among the last was the American soldier Henry Gunther, who charged a German machine-gun position just one minute before the armistice came into force and was shot dead at approximately 10:59 a.m.
Then, at exactly 11 o’clock on the morning of 11 November 1918 – the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month – the guns fell silent. After more than four years of industrialised warfare, the First World War had finally come to an end. The armistice did not bring lasting peace, however. It merely paused the fighting while diplomats prepared the Treaty of Versailles, whose controversial terms would reshape Europe and sow many of the grievances that contributed to the outbreak of the Second World War just two decades later.
I was in a fever of excitement as I listened to the address. The reverend old gentleman seemed to be trembling when he informed us that the House of Hohen-zollern should no longer wear the Imperial Crown, that the Fatherland had become a ‘Republic’, that we should pray to the Almighty not to withhold His blessing from the new order of things and not to abandon our people in the days to come. […] A feeling of profound dismay fell on the people in that assembly, and I do not think there was a single eye that withheld its tears. As for myself, I broke down completely when the old gentleman tried to resume his story by informing us that we must now end this long war, because the war was lost, he said, and we were at the mercy of the victor. […] It was impossible for me to stay and listen any longer. Darkness surrounded me as I staggered and stumbled back to my ward and buried my aching head between the blankets and pillow. I had not cried since the day that I stood beside my mother’s grave.
Adolf Hitler, Corporal in the German Army, Mein Kampf
In the months following the Bolshevik seizure of power in 1917, the new government faced an immediate and pressing challenge, that being how to survive. Russia remained at war, its economy was collapsing and opposition to Bolshevik rule was growing rapidly across the former Russian Empire. For Vladimir Lenin, the priority was clear. The war had to end. Without peace, the new regime would not last. Negotiations began with Germany, with Leon Trotsky, the People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, playing a central role. The terms offered were severe. Russia would lose vast territories in Eastern Europe, land that contained significant industry, agriculture, and population. Many within the Bolshevik leadership saw this as unacceptable.
Delegates at negotiations for Russo-German peace
Trotsky attempted a compromise, declaring a policy of “neither war nor peace,” wherein Russia would withdraw from the fighting but refuse to sign a treaty. The strategy failed. German forces resumed their advance, meeting little resistance and pushing deeper into Russian territory. Faced with the possibility of total collapse, Lenin insisted that the terms be accepted. In March 1918, the Bolsheviks signed the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Russia exited the war, but at a heavy cost. Large areas of land were ceded, and the decision proved deeply unpopular. For many, it confirmed fears that the new government was willing to sacrifice the country to maintain power.
At the same time, opposition to Bolshevik rule was hardening into armed resistance. Across the former empire, a wide range of groups, such as monarchists, liberals, moderate socialists, and regional separatists, began to organise against the new regime. These forces would come to be known collectively as the White movement. What united them was opposition to the Bolsheviks. Beyond that, they shared little. Some wanted to restore the monarchy, others to establish a democratic republic, and still others fought primarily for regional independence. This lack of unity would prove to be one of their greatest weaknesses.
British Army soldiers with White soldiers
The Bolsheviks, by contrast, moved quickly to consolidate control. Their forces, known as the Red Army, were reorganised under the leadership of Trotsky as People’s Commissar for Military and Naval Affairs. Drawing on former Tsarist officers, strict discipline, and control of key transport networks, Trotsky transformed what had been a loose collection of militias into a more effective fighting force. Geography also favoured the Bolsheviks. They held the central regions of Russia, including major cities such as Moscow, which became the new capital in 1918, and Petrograd. This gave them control over industry, railways, and communication lines, allowing them to move troops more efficiently than their opponents, who were scattered across distant fronts.
As the civil war intensified, the Bolsheviks also turned to more extreme measures to maintain control. Policies later known as “War Communism” were introduced, including the forced requisition of grain from peasants to feed the army and cities. At the same time, a campaign of political repression, often referred to as the Red Terror, targeted suspected enemies of the regime. Amid this growing conflict, the fate of the former Tsar became a matter of increasing concern.
Nicholas II and his family were being held under guard in the city of Yekaterinburg, at the Ipatiev House. As anti-Bolshevik forces advanced in the region, there were fears that they might capture the Romanovs and use them as a symbol to rally support. In July 1918, the decision was made to eliminate that possibility. During the night of July 16–17, Nicholas, his family, and several loyal attendants were taken to a basement room under the pretext of relocation. There, they were executed by Bolshevik guards. The killings were carried out quickly but chaotically, and the bodies were later disposed of in secret. The exact chain of command remains debated, but the event marked a definitive end to any realistic restoration of the monarchy.
The wall of the basement after the execution. The wall was torn apart by investigators in 1919 in search of bullets
The conflict soon expanded beyond Russia’s borders. Several Allied powers, including the United Kingdom, France, and the United States, sent limited forces to support anti-Bolshevik elements. Their aim was partly to reopen the Eastern Front against Germany and partly to prevent the spread of revolutionary ideas. However, this intervention was fragmented and ultimately insufficient to turn the tide. By 1919 and 1920, the civil war reached its most intense phase. White forces launched major offensives from multiple directions, but their lack of coordination and conflicting goals undermined their efforts. The Red Army, operating from a central position and benefiting from unified leadership, was able to defeat these advances one by one.
By 1921, organised resistance had largely collapsed. The Bolsheviks emerged victorious, though at an enormous cost. The country had been devastated by years of war, famine, and economic breakdown. In 1922, the Bolsheviks formally established a new state: the Soviet Union. The revolution that had begun with the collapse of Tsarist rule had now culminated in the creation of a new political system, one that would endure for much of the 20th century. Yet the victory in the civil war also shaped the nature of that system. The centralised power, reliance on force, and suppression of opposition that had developed during the conflict did not disappear with peace. Instead, they became defining features of the new state that had emerged from the ruins of the Russian Empire.
Despite the fall of Tsar Nicholas II in early 1917, the problems that had brought down the monarchy did not disappear. The Russian Empire remained locked in the World War I, the economy was still collapsing, and food shortages continued to plague the cities. What had become increasingly clear was that the crisis ran deeper than the Tsar himself. Russia’s uneven industrialisation lagged behind much of Western Europe, its political system remained rigid and unresponsive, and its vast population had little faith that the state could meet their needs. The war had simply exposed these weaknesses. Many Russians no longer saw the old system as merely flawed, but as incapable of surviving in the modern world.
In the months that followed the February Revolution, power rested uneasily between two rival institutions in Petrograd. On one side stood the Provisional Government, formed by members of the State Duma. It aimed to guide Russia toward a democratic future, continuing the war alongside its allies while preparing elections for a new political system. Figures such as Alexander Kerensky believed that Russia could become a modern republic, similar to those developing elsewhere in Europe. On the other side was the Petrograd Soviet, representing workers and soldiers. Dominated by socialist parties such as the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries, it held real influence on the streets and within the army. This uneasy arrangement, often described as “dual power,” left authority divided and uncertain. The Provisional Government could issue orders, but the Soviet could decide whether those orders were followed.
A photo of members of the Provisional Committee of the State Duma
Into this unstable situation returned Vladimir Lenin. With the assistance of Germany, which hoped to weaken Russia’s war effort, Lenin travelled from exile in Switzerland to Petrograd in April 1917. His arrival marked a decisive shift. While many socialists were willing to cooperate with the Provisional Government, Lenin rejected it outright. Drawing on the ideas of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Lenin argued that the existing system, based on private ownership, profit, and inequality, could not be reformed and had to be replaced. In its place, he envisioned a society in which workers would collectively control industry and resources, eliminating the divide between rich and poor and reorganising society around need rather than profit. To many, this was a radical and uncertain vision, but to workers facing hunger, and soldiers facing endless war, it was a powerful promise.
[There should be no] support for the Provisional Government; the utter falsity of all its promises should be made clear. [This government is] a government of capitalists, [and] should cease to be an imperialist government.
Lenin’s writings about the Government in his April Theses
Lenin’s slogans were simple: “Peace, Land, and Bread,” and “All power to the soviets.” In contrast to the cautious reforms of the Provisional Government, they offered immediate solutions to the crises people were living through. Meanwhile, the government struggled to maintain control. It introduced reforms, expanding civil liberties, removing old restrictions, and dismantling the Tsarist secret police, but these changes did little to address the most urgent problems. Most importantly, it chose to continue fighting in the war. In the summer of 1917, Alexander Kerensky, now Minister of War, launched a major military campaign known as the Kerensky Offensive. The aim was to restore morale and prove that Russia could still fight effectively. Instead, the offensive collapsed within days. Soldiers deserted in large numbers, discipline broke down, and the army’s confidence was shattered. The failure deepened the sense that the government was incapable of solving the country’s problems.
By July, unrest in Petrograd erupted into armed demonstrations. Workers and soldiers took to the streets, calling for power to be handed to the soviets. The uprising was chaotic and lacked clear leadership, and although the Bolshevik Party had encouraged such demands, they were not fully prepared to take power. The government responded with force, restoring order and arresting Bolshevik leaders. Lenin fled into hiding, accused of being a German agent. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the Provisional Government had regained control. But its position remained fragile.
Shooting on Nevsky Avenue, 17 July (4 July O.S.)1917
In August, a new crisis emerged when General Lavr Kornilov, the army’s commander-in-chief, moved troops toward Petrograd. Whether this was an attempted coup or a miscommunication remains debated, but it was widely seen as a threat to the revolution itself. Faced with this danger, Kerensky turned to the very groups he had recently suppressed. Bolsheviks were released from prison, and workers were armed to defend the capital. Under the leadership of figures such as Leon Trotsky, they organised resistance, disrupted railway lines, and persuaded many of Kornilov’s troops to abandon their advance. The crisis collapsed without major fighting.
The outcome was transformative. The Bolsheviks, once seen as extremists, now appeared as defenders of the revolution. Their influence grew rapidly, particularly within the Petrograd Soviet, where they gained a majority. At the same time, the Provisional Government was left weakened, increasingly isolated, and unable to command either the army or the streets. By the autumn of 1917, the balance of power had shifted. Lenin, now returned from hiding, argued that the moment for a second revolution had arrived. Unlike the spontaneous uprising that had overthrown the Tsar, this would be carefully organised and directed.
In early November (late October in the Russian calendar), Bolshevik forces moved across Petrograd, seizing key points in the city. Bridges, railway stations, and communication centres were taken with little resistance. The operation was swift and largely bloodless, reflecting the extent to which the Provisional Government had already lost control. Attention soon turned to the Winter Palace, where members of the government remained. On the night of November 7th, Bolshevik forces entered the building and arrested those inside. Alexander Kerensky had already fled the city. The Provisional Government had fallen.
The Bolsheviks beginning to storm the Winter Palace
In the aftermath, Lenin and the Bolsheviks moved quickly to consolidate power. They declared that authority now rested with the soviets and issued decrees promising peace and land reform. Yet their position was far from secure. When elections were held for a national assembly, the Bolsheviks failed to win a majority. Rather than accept this result, they dissolved the assembly and sidelined rival parties. What had begun as a revolution promising power to the people was rapidly becoming more centralised. Opposition was suppressed, and a new political order began to take shape, one dominated by a single party. Later in 1918, Lenin survived an assassination attempt by Fanny Kaplan, an event that intensified repression by the new regime. The Bolsheviks expanded their security apparatus and moved decisively against perceived enemies. The events of 1917 did not end with the seizure of power in Petrograd. Instead, they marked the beginning of a far longer and more violent struggle over Russia’s future. What had begun with the collapse of Tsarist rule had led, within the space of a single year, to the rise of a radically different system, one built not on monarchy or liberal reform, but on revolutionary ideals that would shape the course of the 20th century.
By the beginning of 1917, the Russian Empire was no longer simply under strain, it was beginning to break. Years of involvement in the World War I had taken a devastating toll. Millions of soldiers had been killed, wounded, or captured, and those still fighting often lacked even the most basic equipment. Back home, the war effort placed enormous pressure on an already fragile economy. Food supplies struggled to reach the cities, prices rose sharply, and long queues for bread became a daily reality in Petrograd. Much of the blame fell upon Tsar Nicholas II. His decision in 1915 to take personal command of the army had tied him directly to Russia’s failures at the front, while political authority in the capital had been left in the hands of Tsarina Alexandra. Her reliance on the controversial mystic Grigori Rasputin only deepened the sense that the government was out of touch and increasingly unstable.
A photo of the Russian Royal Family
By the winter of 1916–17, confidence in the monarchy had eroded to a dangerous degree. The crisis finally broke in early March. On the 8th of March 1917, known in Russia at the time as February 23rd, thousands of women workers took to the streets of Petrograd. They marched not for ideology, but for bread. Years of shortages had pushed them to the limit, and what began as a protest over food quickly gathered momentum. The following day, more workers joined them. Factories began to close as strikes spread across the city, and within days the crowds had grown into the tens of thousands.
At first, the demands were simple, that being food and relief from rationing, but they rapidly escalated. Cries for an end to the war were soon joined by calls for political change, and then, increasingly, for the removal of the Tsar himself. What had begun as a protest was becoming a mass uprising against the entire system. As the crowds swelled, the authorities responded in the only way they knew how. Troops were ordered onto the streets to restore order. In previous crises, this had been enough. This time, it was not. Some soldiers did fire on the demonstrators, and casualties mounted, but others hesitated. Many had come from the same backgrounds as the protesters, and after years of war, hunger, and exhaustion, their willingness to enforce the Tsar’s authority was fading.
A photo of soldiers protesting
Within days, that hesitation turned into open defiance. Soldiers began to refuse orders. Then they began to mutiny. Weapons were handed out to the crowds, and entire regiments abandoned their officers to join the protests. The balance of power in Petrograd shifted almost overnight. Without the support of the army, the Tsar’s government had no real means of control. As order in the capital collapsed, attention turned to the State Duma. For years, it had existed in a limited and often frustrated role, repeatedly dismissed by the Tsar whenever it challenged his authority.
Now, faced with the breakdown of the state, its members refused to stand aside. Instead, they formed a provisional committee, stepping into the vacuum of power that was opening in the capital. At the same time, workers and soldiers began organising themselves once more, reviving the Petrograd Soviet. This body, representing the interests of those on the streets, quickly became a powerful force in its own right. Two centres of authority now existed side by side, one rooted in the old political system, the other emerging from the revolution itself. Neither fully controlled the situation, but together they marked the end of the Tsar’s monopoly on power.
A photo of the Petrograd Soviet Assembly
Far from the capital, Nicholas attempted to return to Petrograd, but events were already moving beyond his control. His train was halted before it could reach the city, and messages from generals and political leaders made the situation clear. The army could no longer be relied upon. The government had effectively collapsed. There was no force left willing or able to defend his rule. Faced with this reality, Nicholas had little choice. On March 15th, 1917, he agreed to abdicate the throne, bringing an end to more than three centuries of rule by the House of Romanov. The empire he had inherited no longer existed in any meaningful sense. Power had slipped away not through a single decisive blow, but through a rapid and total loss of authority.
In the aftermath, a new government was formed from members of the Duma, presenting itself as a temporary authority until elections could be held. It promised reform, freedom, and a new political future for Russia. However, even as it took power, it faced a fundamental problem. The conditions that had brought down the Tsar, the war, economic collapse, and popular unrest, remained unresolved. The February Revolution had succeeded in ending autocratic rule, but it had not stabilised the country. Instead, it created a fragile and uncertain system, in which authority was divided and the future unclear. Within months, that instability would lead to a second, more decisive revolution, one that would reshape Russia, and the world, entirely.
Many Russians had grown disillusioned with the Tsarist government due to political and economic strife throughout the 1900s and 1910s, but the outbreak of the World War I initially brought a wave of patriotism. A defeat at the hands of Germany was widely feared because it could expose the weakness of the regime and potentially lead to its collapse. As part of the war effort, even the capital, Saint Petersburg, was renamed Petrograd in 1914 to sound less German.
An image of marching Russian Infantry during the war
Not everyone supported the war. Vladimir Lenin, a communist revolutionary living in exile, condemned it as an imperialist conflict between rival powers. He argued that workers should not fight for their rulers, but instead turn the war into a revolution against them, a position that was highly controversial at the time.
On the battlefield, Russia struggled. Poor leadership, weak logistics, and outdated equipment led to a series of defeats. In 1915, Tsar Nicholas II made a critical decision: he took personal command of the army. While intended to boost morale, this move had serious consequences. It tied the Tsar directly to Russia’s military failures and left the government in Petrograd under the authority of his wife, Alexandra Feodorovna. This is where one of the most controversial figures in Russian history comes into play: Grigori Rasputin.
Tsar Nicholas observing his troops on the Front Line
Rasputin was not a “wizard” in the literal sense, nor simply a madman. He was a Siberian peasant and self-proclaimed holy man who had gained a reputation as a spiritual healer. His rise to influence came through the royal family’s private crisis: the Tsarevich, Alexei, suffered from haemophilia, a life-threatening condition that caused uncontrolled bleeding. On several occasions, Rasputin appeared to ease the boy’s suffering, possibly by calming him, advising doctors to stop certain treatments, or through sheer coincidence. To the Tsarina Alexandra, however, this seemed like a miracle. She came to believe that Rasputin was sent by God to protect her son and, by extension, the monarchy itself. Because of this, Alexandra trusted Rasputin deeply and began to rely on his advice, even in political matters.
While there is little evidence that Rasputin directly controlled government policy, his influence over the Tsarina, combined with her influence over the absent Tsar, created the perception that he was effectively running the country. This perception proved disastrous. Rasputin’s behaviour, which included heavy drinking and alleged affairs, scandalised the aristocracy and damaged the reputation of the monarchy. Even more damaging was the fact that Alexandra was German-born during a war against Germany, leading to rumours that she, and by extension Rasputin, were undermining Russia from within.
A cartoon depicting the alleged control Rasputin had on the Royal Family
By late 1916, a group of nobles had decided that Rasputin had to be removed. Among them were Felix Yusupov and Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, both closely connected to the royal family. On the night of December 30th, 1916 (December 17th in the old Russian calendar), they lured Rasputin to Yusupov’s palace in Petrograd. What happened next is partly known and partly myth.
According to Yusupov’s later account, Rasputin was offered cakes and wine supposedly laced with cyanide, yet appeared unaffected. However, historians widely doubt this version, as the poison may never have been used or may have been ineffective. What is more certain is that Rasputin was eventually shot. When he did not immediately die, he was shot again, likely multiple times, and finally killed. His body was then taken and thrown into the Neva River. Later reports claimed that water was found in his lungs, suggesting he may have still been alive when thrown into the river, but this remains disputed. Much of the dramatic story of his death, involving poison, survival, and near-supernatural endurance, comes from unreliable or exaggerated accounts, which helped fuel the legend of Rasputin as an almost indestructible figure.
The basement where Rasputin was murdered
When the conspiracy was uncovered, the punishments were relatively mild. Yusupov was exiled to his family estate, while Dmitri Pavlovich was sent away to serve in Persia (modern-day Iran). The leniency reflected both their noble status and the widespread belief among the elite that Rasputin’s removal had been necessary. However, Rasputin’s death came too late to save the monarchy. By this point, the damage to the Tsarist regime’s reputation was already severe. The association of the royal family with such a controversial figure had eroded public trust and contributed to the growing sense that the government was incompetent, corrupt, and out of touch.
As the Ottoman Empire joined the Central Powers, the war against Russia in the Caucuses had reached a stalemate. One thing Russia desperately needed was supplies. First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, believed that they needed to secure the land around the Dardanelles Strait, which would then lead into the Sea of Marmara and the Black Sea beyond, allowing a secure supply line to Russia. It could also possibly help the Western Front, by opening up a new front to divert the German forces onto 3 fronts.
A map of the area
The first attempt at securing the strait was on March 18th, 1915 via a naval attack through the straight in an attempt to take out the Ottoman artillery guns. However, Ottoman sea mines had been placed in the strait and that, combined with the Ottoman gun fire, sank 3 battleships and the ships eventually had to retreat. On the 25th of April, 75,000 troops, comprising of French, British, Australian and Kiwi troops, commanded by General Ian Hamilton landed on the beaches of the Gallipoli Peninsula. Despite not having proper landing craft, instead having to row over, a decent beach head was formed.
The Anzac forces had landed North of their intended target and were now inside a cove. Due to their valiant efforts, the cove was named Anzac Cove.
British Officers in a trench at Gallipoli
However, once the beach head was formed, trench warfare soon began to set in. What made the trench warfare here worse was the glaring sun and the dysentery epidemic. Hamilton ordered another 60,000 men to attack Suvla Bay from the water. However, due to hesitation from Allied high command, the Ottoman’s had managed to dig defences and the bay was eventually recaptured by Mustafa Kemal Pasha on August 10th. The attempt to break the stalemate was a disastrous failure.
As allied and Ottoman casualties began to increase, the stalemate was no closer to breaking. Eventually, on December 7th, an evacuation was ordered, with the last troops leaving Gallipoli on January 6th of the next year.
Despite its significance in Australian, Kiwi and Turkish history, the Gallipoli campaign is still considered to be one of the greatest catastrophe for the allies during the war. One of the main problems with the campaign was that, despite the Allied advantage, no orders were issued and due to the lack of coordination the allies could not advance. They were instead ordered to dig in, which was considered to be highly counterproductive. The campaign ultimately failed to take the pressure off Russia, which many attribute as the reason of the Russian Revolutions of February and October of 1917.
Well, I thought the same as everybody else. Everybody said ‘It’ll be over by Christmas and you’ve got to get out soon, otherwise you won’t see anything’. But I don’t know if it was my opinion, or if everybody was saying it. One certainly changed one’s mind when we found how well-organised Jerry was compared with us for instance.
Bill Haine, a British Soldier in WW1
Despite what many claimed at home, the war was not over by Christmas. Winter was setting in and the fighting had slowed even more than before. Whilst the Christmas Truce of 1914 is seen as a unique one, ceasefires had been occurring all over the Western Front. A “turn a blind eye” attitude was becoming common place, despite orders from command. The harsh winter was also getting to the soldiers. The feeling of the first Christmas away from home was beginning to set in so gifts were sent. Kaiser Wilhelm sent cigars for the officers and pipes for the ranks while Princess Mary of Harewood sent out cigarettes, sweets and cards.
On Christmas Eve, the rain that had been flooding trenches for weeks had finally stopped, and the ice froze the floor of the trenches over, reducing the risk of trench foot significantly. Soon, snow fell upon No Mans Land and the gun fire slowly but surely dwindled into silence. Filled with merriment and joy, the German’s began to sing Silent Night in their trenches. The British officers, hearing this, believed it to be a challenge and began singing their own carols back at the Germans. However, what began as a competition eventually turned into a harmonisation of English and German voices. Many officers met by the wire, agreeing not to exchange gunfire the next day. However, such friendliness was not shared with the French or Belgian troops, as they were under occupation by the Germans at the time. However, they did agree to stop shooting in order to bury their dead.
Christmas Day came. Many British soldiers looked over the parapet to see German Soldiers standing upright in No Mans Land. The two sides got out and buried their dead. The two sides found they shared a communal experience, of having had their friends die and being sick of the war. Extra gifts given to them by their wives and families were exchanged. One notable exchange was between Captain Edward Hulse of the Scots Guard and Lieutenant Thomas of the 15th Westphalians. Thomas gave Hulse a Victoria Cross and a series of letters belonging to an officer who had been killed in a German trench in a previous attack, hoping to have them returned to his family. Touched by his empathy, Hulse gave Thomas his scarf he had received the night prior. Not having anything to give back, Thomas ordered a German troop to find the gloves given to him by his family in order to give them to Hulse. Unfortunately, Hulse ended up being killed in action the following April at the Battle of Neuve-Chappelle while trying to help his commanding officer. Thomas’ fate remains unknown
German and British troops playing football together on the battlefield
The most famous part of this truce were the football matches played between the two sides. Both sides brought out their own footballs, playing kick-about between the two trenches. However, not all was done with best intentions. This time of peace was used to repair dugouts and spy on the enemy. Some were cautious, with incidents of people spotting daggers being drawn and British soldiers not wanting to smoke German cigarettes for fear of poisoning.
Eventually, high command stepped in, fearing that the war would not go on if their troops knew their enemy as people. For some, the armistice was swift and done with by Boxing Day. Others carried on, pushing until New Years Eve. German command dispatched snipers whilst the French ordered artillery barrages. For high command, they believed the war machine had to go on and all human connection must be stamped out. There was never another ceasefire like this, not just in this war but any war since then.
For much of the nineteenth century, war still retained an element of glamour in the European imagination. Military service could be portrayed as an adventure, a test of courage and a path to honour. Paintings, newspapers and patriotic literature often presented battles as dramatic clashes between soldiers and their commanders, with cavalry charges, colourful uniforms and heroic acts of individual bravery. This did not mean that nineteenth-century people were unaware of the horrors of war. The Napoleonic Wars had killed hundreds of thousands, whilst conflicts such as the Crimean War and the American Civil War demonstrated just how destructive modern weapons could be. However, the image of the soldier as a heroic figure remained powerful. The First World War would fundamentally challenge that image.
A notoriously glorified painting of Napoleon Bonaparte crossing the Alps during the War of the Second Coalition
The nineteenth century inherited much of its image of warfare from an earlier age. Battles were often depicted as grand spectacles in which generals directed armies from horseback whilst soldiers demonstrated courage and discipline on the battlefield. The Napoleonic Wars had helped create this mythology. Napoleon Bonaparte became one of the most celebrated military figures in European history, whilst paintings of battles emphasised movement, colour and heroic leadership. Military uniforms themselves were often deliberately striking, helping commanders distinguish units and contributing to the ceremonial character of armies. Nationalism strengthened this romantic view. As European nation-states developed, military service increasingly became associated with patriotism and citizenship. Soldiers were portrayed as men willing to sacrifice themselves for their country, whilst military victories became symbols of national greatness. By the late nineteenth century, this image could still be seen in popular culture. Young men were encouraged to view military service as an opportunity for adventure, friendship and honour. Yet warfare was already changing.
The technology of warfare was developing much faster than the romantic image surrounding it. The invention and improvement of the machine gun, modern artillery, smokeless powder, rapid-fire rifles and increasingly accurate ammunition meant that crossing an open battlefield was becoming extraordinarily dangerous. The American Civil War had already demonstrated some of these dangers. Rifled muskets increased the range and accuracy of infantry fire, whilst railways and telegraphs allowed armies to mobilise and coordinate on an unprecedented scale. The Crimean War had also demonstrated the consequences of industrial-age logistics and weaponry. The Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71 provided another warning. Modern artillery and mass armies could produce enormous casualties in a relatively short period of time.
A painting of the declaration of the German Empire after the Franco-Prussian War
Yet military thinking did not always keep pace with technological change. Many European armies continued to place considerable emphasis on offensive spirit, discipline and morale. The belief that determined soldiers could overcome defensive positions remained powerful. When the First World War began in 1914, millions of men marched to war believing that the conflict would be relatively short. Few understood what industrial warfare was about to become.
The first trenches of the First World War were relatively simple defensive positions. Soldiers dug into the ground for protection from enemy fire, often creating little more than elongated foxholes. As the war on the Western Front settled into stalemate, however, these temporary positions developed into enormous defensive systems. A typical trench system was not simply one trench facing another. There could be several lines of trenches, connected by communication trenches and supported by dugouts, machine-gun positions, artillery batteries, supply areas, command posts and medical facilities. Reserve units could be stationed behind the front line, ready to reinforce troops during an attack. The front itself stretched for hundreds of miles from the Belgian coast to the Swiss frontier. What had initially been expected to be a war of movement had become a war in which armies could remain within the same general positions for months or even years.
An image of early trenches on the Western Front
Life in the trenches was rarely glamorous. Rain could turn the ground into mud, whilst poor drainage created an environment in which soldiers were constantly wet and cold. One of the most notorious consequences was trench foot, a condition caused by prolonged exposure to cold and damp conditions which could result in severe swelling, tissue damage and, in extreme cases, amputation. Rats became common around trench systems, attracted by food waste and the bodies of dead soldiers. Lice spread rapidly and contributed to the misery of daily life. Soldiers were also constantly exposed to the possibility of death. Artillery shells could strike without warning. Snipers targeted exposed soldiers. Machine guns could sweep exposed areas of the battlefield, whilst mines and grenades created additional dangers. Even when there was no major attack, the psychological pressure could be enormous. Soldiers could spend days or weeks waiting for an enemy bombardment or attack, knowing that they might be ordered over the parapet at any moment.
Between opposing trench systems was the area that became known as No Man’s Land. It was rarely the completely empty space suggested by the name. It was often covered in shell craters, barbed wire, broken equipment, destroyed trees and the remains of buildings. In some sectors, the landscape had been so heavily bombarded that it bore little resemblance to the countryside that had existed before the war. Crossing it was extraordinarily dangerous.
An image of No Man’s Land
A typical attack might begin with an artillery bombardment intended to destroy enemy positions, cut barbed wire and suppress defending troops. Once the barrage lifted or moved forward, infantry would leave their trenches and attempt to cross No Man’s Land. Defenders could respond with machine-gun and rifle fire, artillery and grenades. The resulting casualties could be enormous. However, the popular image of commanders simply ordering soldiers to walk slowly in straight lines into machine-gun fire is misleading. Tactics evolved throughout the war. Armies experimented with creeping barrages, infiltration tactics, improved communications, grenades, mortars, tanks and coordinated infantry-artillery attacks. The problem was that military technology was developing so quickly that armies were constantly trying to adapt to it.
The quality of trenches varied enormously depending on the location, the soil, the length of time a position had been occupied and the resources available. German forces generally had an advantage in the construction of defensive positions, particularly in sectors where they had time to establish permanent fortifications. Their trenches were often deeper and more elaborate, with substantial dugouts beneath the ground. Some German dugouts could contain sleeping quarters, command rooms, medical facilities and storage areas. Certain positions were remarkably sophisticated by the standards of the battlefield. Allied trenches varied considerably. British and French forces also constructed extensive defensive systems, and their positions became increasingly sophisticated as the war continued. The difference was partly a consequence of strategy. After the German retreat to the Hindenburg Line in 1917, German forces deliberately constructed deeply fortified defensive positions designed to absorb artillery bombardments and resist infantry attacks. The idea that British trenches were universally shallow while German trenches were universally deep therefore oversimplifies the reality. Conditions varied substantially across the Western Front.
Although machine guns became one of the defining symbols of trench warfare, artillery was responsible for the majority of battlefield casualties. Artillery could destroy trenches, bury soldiers alive and turn entire landscapes into craters. Soldiers could be exposed to bombardments lasting hours or even days. The psychological consequences could be devastating. Men subjected to prolonged bombardment sometimes experienced uncontrollable shaking, paralysis, blindness, nightmares, panic and emotional collapse. During the war this was often called shell shock. At first, many military authorities believed that men suffering from shell shock were cowards or were attempting to avoid combat. As the scale of the problem became apparent, however, medical understanding gradually changed.
An image often used to demonstrate shell shock
What we now recognise as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is not exactly synonymous with shell shock, and historians and psychologists debate how closely the two conditions correspond. Nevertheless, the experience of shell shock demonstrated something that the romantic image of warfare had largely ignored: modern warfare could inflict psychological injuries as profound as its physical ones.
In 1915, another terrifying weapon appeared on the Western Front. Germany used chlorine gas at the Second Battle of Ypres in April 1915. The gas was released from cylinders and carried towards Allied positions by the wind. The attack demonstrated the terrifying potential of chemical warfare. Chlorine damaged the lungs and could cause suffocation. Other chemical agents, including phosgene and mustard gas, were introduced later. Chemical weapons had been restricted by international agreements before the war, including the 1899 Hague Declaration concerning the use of projectiles intended to diffuse asphyxiating or deleterious gases. The First World War nevertheless saw their widespread use by both sides. Gas did not become the dominant killer of the war – the vast majority of casualties were still caused by conventional weapons – but it became one of its most feared symbols. Protective equipment also evolved. Soldiers were issued increasingly effective gas masks, and armies developed warning systems and procedures for responding to attacks. The image of soldiers choking beneath clouds of poisonous gas became another powerful reminder that warfare had entered a new technological age.
An image of German Soldiers releasing some chemical gas
The greatest shock of trench warfare was perhaps not any individual weapon, but its duration. The soldiers who went to war in 1914 had often expected a short conflict. Instead, the Western Front became a largely static battlefield lasting for more than four years. The Battle of the Somme in 1916 became one of the clearest demonstrations of the scale of industrial warfare. On the first day alone, the British Army suffered tens of thousands of casualties. The offensive ultimately produced enormous losses on both sides for relatively limited territorial gains. Verdun, Passchendaele and numerous other battles produced similar experiences. This did not mean that every attack achieved nothing. Armies learned, adapted and sometimes captured strategically important territory. But the enormous cost of attempting to break through heavily defended positions demonstrated how difficult it was to achieve decisive results against a prepared industrial defence. The battlefield had become a machine in which enormous quantities of ammunition, equipment and human lives could be consumed.
The First World War therefore transformed the popular image of warfare. The cavalry charge remained a powerful symbol of military heroism, but tanks, aircraft, machine guns, heavy artillery and poison gas increasingly defined the battlefield. Individual bravery still mattered, but courage could not protect a soldier from an artillery shell exploding hundreds of metres away. This was perhaps the most important change in the perception of war. The nineteenth-century image of war had often focused on the individual soldier’s courage. The First World War increasingly demonstrated the power of impersonal forces: industrial production, artillery, logistics, communications and mass mobilisation. A soldier could perform an extraordinary act of bravery and still be killed moments later by an artillery barrage whose source he could not even see. Artists and writers increasingly reflected this change. The patriotic literature of the early war years gradually gave way to a much darker cultural memory. Poets such as Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon described the mud, exhaustion, fear and destruction of the trenches rather than the glory of battle. Owen’s poetry in particular challenged the idea that dying in war was inherently noble, famously describing the experience of soldiers dying from gas and the suffering of men exposed to industrial warfare. Photography and newspapers also brought the war closer to civilians, although censorship meant that the public did not see the full reality of the front. For millions of families, however, the absence of a son, husband or brother made the cost of war impossible to ignore. The war had not simply changed warfare. It had changed the way Europeans understood it.
Stormtroopers Advance Under a Gas Attack, an anti-war piece of art by Otto Dix
The First World War did not completely destroy the romantic image of military service. Heroism, patriotism and sacrifice remained important ideas throughout the twentieth century. Governments continued to use them to encourage recruitment and maintain morale. But the experience of industrialised warfare made it increasingly difficult to portray war simply as an exciting adventure. The trenches became a symbol of something fundamentally different: a war in which ordinary soldiers endured prolonged fear, disease, exhaustion and bombardment, often for objectives they could barely understand from the front line. The transformation was not instantaneous, nor was it entirely caused by the trenches. The nineteenth century had already seen devastating industrial wars, and people had long understood that warfare could be brutal. What the First World War did was bring the consequences of modern technology, mass armies and industrial production together on an unprecedented scale. By 1918, the old image of the glorious battlefield had been profoundly damaged. War could still be presented as heroic. But it could no longer so easily be presented as glamorous. The trenches had become one of the defining symbols of the twentieth century: a reminder that modern warfare was no longer primarily a contest between individual warriors seeking glory, but an industrial struggle capable of consuming entire generations.