[Part 5]One of the most poignant anecdotes from World War I is the famous Christmas Truce of 1914. In the bleak and brutal trenches of the Western Front, something extraordinary happened. British and German soldiers, entrenched in the mud and misery of war, spontaneously declared an unofficial ceasefire on Christmas Eve. As night fell, the sound of gunfire was replaced by the haunting melody of Stille Nacht ("Silent Night") sung in German. The British responded with their own carols. By Christmas morning, soldiers emerged from their trenches—not with weapons, but with gifts, smiles, and handshakes. They exchanged chocolates, cigarettes, and buttons. There are even accounts of an impromptu football match played between the two sides in No Man’s Land. Though short-lived, this human moment stood in stark contrast to the mechanised horror of the war.And one striking anecdote for World War II comes from the story of Hiroo Onoda, a Japanese intelligence officer who refused to believe the war had ended. Stationed in the Philippines, Onoda continued his guerrilla campaign for nearly 30 years after the official Japanese surrender in 1945. Living in the jungle, he believed leaflets announcing the end of the war were Allied propaganda. It wasn’t until 1974—after his former commanding officer personally flew to the island to relieve him of duty—that Onoda finally surrendered. His unwavering dedication, though tragic in hindsight, is both fascinating and deeply symbolic of the psychological cost of war.World War I (1914–1918) shattered the old European order. Empires such as the Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman, Russian, and German collapsed. The war did not merely kill millions—it created the conditions for fascism, revolution, and the modern nation-state system. In The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 by a historian, Christopher Clark (2012, Allen Lane), shows how political miscalculations and alliances turned a regional crisis into global cataclysm. Here, war didn’t just shape history—it fractured it.Clark argues that the outbreak of the First World War was not the result of a single nation's grand design or overwhelming aggression, but rather the consequence of a series of reckless decisions made by political and military elites across Europe. These elites, according to Clark, acted like "sleepwalkers"—not fully aware of the magnitude of the catastrophe they were about to unleash, yet proceeding with alarming confidence, as if blind to the looming disaster.Clark's metaphor of "playing with fire" describes the way these leaders toyed with volatile alliances, military plans, and nationalist sentiments, assuming they could control or contain the risks. Instead, their overconfidence, misjudgments, and diplomatic brinkmanship turned Europe into a ticking time bomb. When the spark came in the form of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, the continent exploded—plunged into a war whose scale and horror none had truly anticipated.Rather than pinning blame squarely on Germany or any other single nation, Clark emphasises the complex web of causes: the rigid alliance systems, imperial ambitions, ethnic tensions in the Balkans, the arms race, and a fatalist belief among many leaders that war was inevitable or even necessary. The decision-makers, in his view, were not evil masterminds, but men caught in a structure of power, pride, and panic. They stumbled into war, believing they were defending their honour or national interest, but in fact they were guiding the world into a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions.In A History of the First World War by B. H. Liddell Hart, the renowned British military historian presents a comprehensive and critical narrative of the Great War, highlighting not just the battles and military strategies, but also the political decisions, human errors, and systemic flaws that shaped the course of the conflict. Liddell Hart, writing with the insight of a former soldier and strategist, argues that the war was not only tragically wasteful in terms of human life but also strategically misguided, prolonged by outdated doctrines and the stubbornness of commanders unwilling to adapt.One of Liddell Hart's central themes is the futility of attritional warfare, particularly on the Western Front, where millions perished in trench warfare with little strategic gain. He is especially critical of generals like Haig and Joffre, whom he views as inflexible and overly committed to frontal assaults, rather than embracing manoeuvre-based strategies that could have shortened the war and saved lives. He praises commanders who sought innovative approaches, such as General Allenby in Palestine, and he advocates for the so-called "indirect approach" in warfare—an idea that became a hallmark of his military philosophy.Liddell Hart also pays significant attention to the Eastern Front, the collapse of empires, and the political upheavals that followed, including the Bolshevik Revolution and the reshaping of Europe after 1918. He contends that the Treaty of Versailles sowed the seeds of future conflict, arguing that its harsh terms and vindictive spirit created fertile ground for the rise of extremism in Germany.In his work, Hart provides a damning assessment of how the war was conducted, arguing that it was largely characterised by unimaginative and rigid military thinking. He asserts that most of the senior commanders, particularly on the Western Front, relied far too heavily on frontal assaults and attritional warfare—a strategy that led to staggering casualties for negligible territorial gains. To Hart, this revealed a dangerous obsession with outdated 19th-century concepts of honour, mass, and brute force, instead of adapting to the technological and logistical realities of modern warfare.Hart argues that the war might have been waged more wisely through what he calls the "indirect approach"—a doctrine based on movement, deception, flexibility, and striking at the enemy’s weak points rather than hammering directly at their strongest defences. He praises commanders who applied this method, such as Allenby in the Middle East, who used manoeuvre warfare effectively to outflank and disorient Ottoman forces. Hart believes that, had more generals adopted this approach, the war could have been significantly shorter and far less bloody.He also critiques the failure of political leaders and military planners to coordinate better, to learn from early blunders, and to adapt quickly to new realities such as trench warfare, machine guns, and chemical weapons. For Hart, the war became a prolonged disaster because of institutional inertia and a leadership culture more focused on maintaining prestige than preserving life or seeking victory through ingenuity.Ultimately, the book is not merely a chronicle of battles but a powerful critique of how war was conducted and how it might have been waged more wisely. Liddell Hart seeks to draw lessons from the failures of World War I so that future generations might avoid repeating them.In The First World War (1998, Hutchinson), military historian John Keegan presents a sweeping yet accessible account of the Great War, blending operational detail with human insight. Unlike some historians who dwell heavily on diplomacy or assign primary blame to one nation, Keegan takes a broader and more humane approach, portraying the war as a tragedy of miscalculation, misunderstanding, and missed opportunities. He challenges the notion that the war was inevitable, arguing instead that it was the product of flawed decisions, inadequate leadership, and deeply ingrained military doctrines that failed to keep pace with the technology of the age.Keegan is especially concerned with the human experience of war. He delves into the lives of soldiers in the trenches, the futility of their suffering, and the psychological toll of mechanised slaughter. His narrative does not glorify battles; instead, he lays bare their chaotic, often pointless brutality. While he analyses the strategic dimensions of the conflict, Keegan is sceptical of the rigid command structures and outdated ideas that led to mass casualties and long stalemates—particularly on the Western Front.Though not as scathing as B. H. Liddell Hart, Keegan still critiques military leaders who lacked imagination or adaptability. However, he also acknowledges the immense pressure and uncertainty under which they operated. His analysis seeks to humanise the war, to understand how millions of people endured its horrors, and to convey how such a monumental conflict reshaped the modern world—politically, culturally, and morally.The World War I published by Dorling Kindersley (DK)—part of their renowned illustrated history series—is sending a message that World War I was a total war that reshaped the modern world in every dimension: politically, socially, culturally, and technologically. It highlights the devastating human cost of industrialised warfare, the transformation of societies under the pressure of total mobilisation, and the way in which the war redrew borders and ideologies. Through a wide range of individual stories, from soldiers and nurses to factory workers and generals, the book stresses that this was not simply a clash of empires, but a deeply personal and human tragedy experienced on a global scale.World War I was not just a prelude to World War II, but a colossal event in its own right—a rupture in history that shattered old orders and planted the seeds of many of the twentieth century’s greatest challenges, from nationalism to revolution to mechanised destruction. By blending historical analysis with personal testimony and visual storytelling, the book urges readers to remember the war not as a distant conflict, but as a cautionary tale about what happens when ambition, fear, and technology collide without foresight.World War II (1939–1945) restructured the world entirely. It gave rise to the United Nations, ushered in the Cold War, accelerated decolonisation, and triggered the creation of institutions like the World Bank and the IMF. The atomic bomb changed the logic of war itself. As Ian Kershaw outlines in To Hell and Back: Europe 1914–1949 (2015, Allen Lane), war during this period was not only about territory but about ideologies: fascism, communism, and liberal democracy locked in a brutal clash for survival.Sir Ian Kershaw masterfully illustrates how the clash between fascism, communism, and liberal democracy formed the brutal core of Europe’s twentieth-century catastrophe. He does not simply recount events; rather, he frames the Second World War as the culmination of a long, harrowing struggle between these ideologies—each vying for dominance in a continent shaken by economic despair, national humiliation, and the collapse of old certainties after the First World War.Communism as a political and economic ideology formally emerged in the 19th century, during the height of the Industrial Revolution, though its philosophical foundations can be traced to earlier concepts of shared property and classless societies. The modern theory of communism was most famously articulated by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels in The Communist Manifesto, published in 1848, amid widespread social unrest and revolutionary movements across Europe.The backdrop to its emergence was a rapidly changing world marked by the rise of capitalism, urbanisation, and a stark division between the bourgeoisie — the owners of production — and the proletariat — the working class. Industrialisation brought immense wealth to factory owners while subjecting workers to miserable conditions, long hours, and poverty. Marx and Engels argued that this system was inherently exploitative and would inevitably lead to class conflict. They envisioned a society where the workers would rise, overthrow the capitalist class, abolish private property, and create a classless, stateless society where wealth and power were shared collectively.Communism gained traction throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries, especially among the working class in Europe. Its most dramatic realisation came in the Russian Revolution of 1917, when Vladimir Lenin and the Bolsheviks overthrew the Tsarist regime and established the first communist state — the Soviet Union. This event gave communism not just theoretical weight but geopolitical power.Communism emerged as both a critique of industrial capitalism and a revolutionary call to restructure society entirely—one that promised equality but often delivered authoritarian rule when implemented. Communist regimes in the 20th century, while claiming to fight for equality and justice, were responsible for a number of mass killings and brutal repressions in the name of ideological purity, political control, and economic transformation. These massacres occurred in several countries where communism was established as the ruling system, often under authoritarian leadership.In the Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin, millions perished during the Great Purge (1936–1938), where perceived political enemies were arrested, executed, or sent to gulags. An earlier catastrophe, the Holodomor (1932–1933), a man-made famine in Soviet Ukraine, resulted in millions of deaths due to forced collectivisation policies.In China, Mao Zedong's rule witnessed the Great Leap Forward (1958–1962), a disastrous campaign to industrialise the countryside, which led to one of the deadliest famines in human history, killing an estimated 15–45 million people. This was followed by the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), where intellectuals, religious figures, and anyone deemed “counter-revolutionary” were persecuted, often violently.Cambodia under Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge (1975–1979) is one of the most notorious examples. In pursuit of an agrarian utopia, they emptied cities, abolished money, and executed intellectuals, teachers, and even people wearing glasses. Nearly two million Cambodians — a quarter of the population — died from execution, starvation, or forced labour.Similar violence occurred in North Korea, Ethiopia under the Derg regime, Vietnam, and parts of Eastern Europe. These acts were often justified as necessary sacrifices to build a “classless” or “utopian” society, but they resulted in unimaginable suffering and authoritarian rule.But why is the suppression of G 30 S PKI in Indonesia called a human rights violation even though they (the PKI) rebelled and killed ordinary people?The suppression of the G30S PKI (Gestapu) in Indonesia is considered by some to be a human rights violation, despite the communist party's rebellion and the killings of ordinary citizens, primarily due to the extrajudicial nature of the killings and detentions that followed. While the PKI's actions were undeniably brutal and sparked widespread fear, the subsequent reprisal involved mass killings, often without trial or due process, of alleged communists and their sympathizers. Estimates of the death toll vary widely, but many sources suggest hundreds of thousands were killed, with countless others imprisoned and subjected to torture. This scale of retribution, targeting not only active participants in the coup but also those merely suspected of affiliation, is what raises concerns about human rights abuses. Furthermore, the long-term stigmatisation and discrimination against former political prisoners and their families are also considered significant human rights issues. The argument that communism is a dangerous ideology, and therefore its suppression was justified, is a complex one. While many viewed communism as a threat, particularly during the Cold War era, the principle of human rights dictates that even in the face of perceived threats, the state must adhere to legal and ethical standards. The question of whether the government and people were wrong to suppress the PKI is therefore debated, with some arguing that the ends justified the means given the perceived existential threat, while others contend that the methods employed constituted grave human rights violations, regardless of the ideological context.However, there is an arguable "right side" to the suppression of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) in 1965. The primary justification often put forth is that the PKI posed a significant and immediate threat to the Indonesian state and its chosen ideology of Pancasila. The attempted coup on September 30, 1965, known as the G30S, involved the brutal murder of several high-ranking army generals. This act was widely perceived as a direct challenge to the legitimate government and an attempt to fundamentally alter the nation's political and social fabric, potentially leading Indonesia towards a communist system.
At the time, the Cold War was at its peak, and communism was viewed globally, particularly by Western powers and many non-aligned nations, as an expansionist and inherently totalitarian ideology. Within Indonesia, the PKI had grown significantly in strength, leading to concerns among religious groups, conservative elements, and the military about its increasing influence and potential for a communist takeover. Therefore, from the perspective of those who believed in the imperative to protect the existing state order, Pancasila, and prevent a communist revolution, the decisive action taken to dismantle the PKI was seen as a necessary evil or even a justifiable act of self-preservation. They would argue that had the PKI succeeded, Indonesia might have faced a different, potentially more repressive, future under a communist regime, similar to what occurred in other parts of the world. The suppression, in this view, prevented a larger catastrophe and preserved the nation's independence and chosen path.
That old adage, "You can't please everyone," certainly applies to the historical debate surrounding the suppression of the G30S PKI. While there are undeniable arguments from some quarters that the actions taken constituted human rights violations, it is equally important to acknowledge that the Indonesian nation, at that critical juncture, had its own profound considerations and justifications for decisively quelling the perceived brutality of the PKI. Therefore, from this perspective, one cannot simply condemn Indonesia's actions in their entirety. The true failing, in this view, lies with those who uncritically surrender to external narratives and passively accept the blanket assertion that the eradication of the G30S PKI was a violation of human rights, without considering the complex domestic context and the existential threat felt by the nation at the time.
Fascism emerged in the early 20th century, specifically after the First World War, as a reaction to the perceived failures of liberal democracy, socialism, and the chaos that followed the war’s devastation. Its intellectual roots can be traced to the late 19th century, when thinkers such as Georges Sorel and Friedrich Nietzsche questioned Enlightenment ideals of reason, equality, and progress. However, fascism as a political movement first crystallised in Italy under Benito Mussolini, who founded the Fasci di Combattimento in 1919, which later evolved into the National Fascist Party.The background to its rise was a Europe left traumatised by the Great War, with economies in ruins, class conflict escalating, and a widespread fear of communism following the Russian Revolution of 1917. Many people lost faith in the ability of parliaments and liberal governments to restore order and national pride. Fascism offered a new vision — one that promised unity, strength, and a return to greatness, but through authoritarianism, ultranationalism, and often brutal suppression of dissent.Mussolini’s fascism glorified the state, militarism, and the supremacy of the nation over the individual. It was anti-communist, anti-liberal, and sought to mobilise the masses not through democratic engagement, but through spectacle, propaganda, and violence. This model later inspired Adolf Hitler and the Nazis in Germany, giving fascism its most infamous form.So, in essence, fascism was born out of disillusionment — a mix of broken dreams, angry veterans, economic instability, and a thirst for a “strong hand” to bring order to a fragmented world.The term fascism comes from the Italian word fascio, meaning a bundle or group. It originates from the Latin fasces, which referred to a bundle of rods tied around an axe — a symbol of authority and unity used in ancient Rome. Benito Mussolini, the founder of Italian Fascism, adopted this term to symbolise strength through unity: just as a single rod can be broken easily, a bundle is far stronger. Thus, fascism was named to reflect its core belief in national unity, authoritarian rule, and the subordination of the individual to the state.Meanwhile, communism derives from the Latin communis, meaning "common" or "shared." The name reflects the ideology’s foundational principle: the abolition of private property and the establishment of a classless, stateless society where resources and production are owned collectively by the people. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels used the term in The Communist Manifesto (1848) to describe a political movement that aimed to replace capitalism with a system based on common ownership and the communal good.So, the names are not arbitrary. “Fascism” emphasises unity through force and obedience, while “communism” focuses on common ownership and class equality — at least in theory. Both names reflect their creators’ core ideals, though in practice, they often strayed far from them.According to Kershaw, fascism rose in places like Germany and Italy as a reaction to both the perceived chaos of liberal democracy and the threat of Bolshevism. Fascist leaders such as Mussolini and Hitler promised order, national glory, and ethnic purity, capitalising on fear and resentment. Meanwhile, communism, rooted in the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, aimed to dismantle the capitalist world system and establish a classless society through revolutionary means—often enforced with totalitarian ruthlessness. Liberal democracies, such as Britain and France, clung to a fragile idealism but were often slow to respond, divided internally and haunted by the trauma of the First World War.World War II, then, was not merely a conflict between nations, but a lethal contest of incompatible worldviews. Kershaw emphasises that the war’s devastation was intensified by the ideological fervour that drove it: Nazi Germany’s genocidal racism, Stalin’s paranoid purges, and the Allies’ hesitant but eventual resolve to defend a liberal order. Ultimately, the defeat of fascism in 1945 left liberal democracy and communism to vie for supremacy in the post-war world—a contest that would define the Cold War era.In The Origins of the Second World War (1961, Hamish Hamilton), British historian A. J. P. Taylor offers a highly provocative reinterpretation of the causes of the Second World War. He rejects the traditional view that the war was the product of an evil masterplan carefully orchestrated by Adolf Hitler from the very beginning. Instead, Taylor presents a far more nuanced — and controversial — argument: that the war resulted from a sequence of misjudgements, diplomatic failures, and structural weaknesses within the European political order after World War I.Taylor suggests that Hitler was not a uniquely demonic figure bent on global conquest from the outset, but a German nationalist who operated within the same parameters of power politics as other leaders. Hitler’s ambitions, in Taylor’s view, were not dramatically different from those of previous German statesmen, and his actions were often reactive and opportunistic. The Treaty of Versailles had left Germany humiliated and economically strangled, and the international community — especially Britain and France — failed to create a stable and just order to replace it.Taylor also blames the appeasement policy of the 1930s, arguing that it wasn’t simply weakness or cowardice, but a logical response to a misunderstood situation. By continually making concessions to Germany — most notably in allowing the annexation of Austria and the Sudetenland — Britain and France emboldened Hitler rather than containing him. They assumed he could be managed like any other statesman, not recognising the ideological nature of Nazism until it was too late.Thus, in Taylor’s telling, the Second World War was not inevitable. It was the tragic outcome of diplomatic missteps, flawed assumptions, and an international system that had already been deeply broken by the aftermath of the First World War.B. H. Liddell Hart's History of the Second World War, published in 1970 by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, is more than just a chronicle of battles and leaders. As one of Britain’s most influential military theorists, Liddell Hart offers a deeply analytical narrative that re-evaluates the conduct of the war through the lens of his own strategic philosophy — particularly the "indirect approach." Rather than glorifying military might, Hart questions decisions made by both Axis and Allied powers, highlighting the missed opportunities, flawed assumptions, and political blunders that prolonged the conflict and amplified its horrors.One of his key messages is a warning against rigid thinking in both military and political leadership. He criticises the high command structures, especially those that failed to adapt or learn from earlier mistakes — such as France’s overreliance on the Maginot Line or Britain's delayed recognition of armoured warfare. Moreover, he is openly sceptical of some of the Allied leaders, including Churchill, whom he believed often acted more from political impulse than sound military logic.Perhaps most poignantly, Hart underscores the idea that victory alone is not proof of wisdom. The devastation of the Second World War, he insists, should push future generations to study war not for glorification, but for prevention. He essentially makes a plea for humility in statecraft, strategic restraint, and intellectual adaptability — lest humanity sleepwalk into another catastrophe.
[Part 3]
