Sheer violence and hollow revelations: the legacy of the Mad Baron

Published July 28 in the UB Post 

It’s no stretch to say that the Mongolia we see today, the world’s fastest growing economy, has had a powerful and interesting past. With its colorful cast of historical figures and conquerors, none are more puzzling than psychopathic warlord Freiherr Roman Nikolai Maximilian von Ungern-Sternberg, or, as many called him, the “Mad Baron.”

The self-proclaimed last Khan of Mongolia, the Baron played an important role in deciding the twentieth century fate of Mongolia. Without the Baron’s interventions, antagonization, sheer violence, and hollow revelations, twentieth century might never have matured in the way it did.

Worshiped by many as a demon and by others as a living God, the Baron was born to a Baltic-Russian aristocratic family in Graz, Austria sometime in the mid-1880s. Adding to his tyrannical enigma, the Baron’s birthdate is difficult to pin down because of two reports that separate his birth by over a year. More puzzling is his last name, Sternberg, a traditional Jewish last name that means “star mounted,” especially when prefaced with Ungern, which means “unwilling.” Unwillingly star-mounted. Not a great fan of his own name, especially when taken into account with his anti-Semitism, the Baron would later have his name translated as “Great Star Mountain” during his reign in Mongolia.

His sadistic tendencies, which would later show up in the ways he punished his enemies and those around him, were seldom reported while the Baron was a child. He grew up during a trying time in Eastern Europe but had a more privileged childhood than most. The Baron claimed his lineage could be traced all the way back to Attila the Hun and that his family had always been “warlike and given to mysticism and asceticism.” He was fond of detailing his family lineage and their carnage, including his great uncle Baron Wilhelm Ungern, who had been known as “brother of Satan” due to his alchemical inclinations and general insanity.

Various descriptions of the Baron only add to his intrigue. Some described him as tall, others as short; some said he had green eyes, others blue. He’s been depicted as a raving lunatic and as a pseudo-philosopher of history and esoteric concepts. One of the few existing pictures of him depicts him in a shiny Mongolian deel adorned with the Russian Order of St. George lapel. Perhaps the best description of him comes from Ferdinand Ossendowski’s  Beasts, Men and Gods as a man with “a small head on wide shoulders; blonde hair in disorder; a reddish bristling moustache; a skinny, exhausted face, like those on the old Byzantine icons. Then everything else faded from view save a big, protruding forehead overhanging steely sharp eyes. These eyes were fixed upon me like those of an animal from a cave.”

The Baron’s philosophy was also baffling. “I have spent all my life in war or in the study and learning of Buddhism,” he once said, when asked about his religious preference. Practicing what he deemed “Military Buddhism,” the Baron took it upon himself to kill or punish as many as he could to help speed up their Buddhist rebirths. His admiration for Buddhism grew with his disgust for the Bolshevik revolution happening in Russia. The Baron claimed that Military Buddhism protected the processes of humanity by steering it towards evolution; this as opposed to revolution, which only led humanity “to bestiality” and same sword different leader mentalities.

His path of carnage began after the Baron volunteered as a soldier in the Russo-Japanese War, a war fought entirely on the collapsing Chinese Empire. By the time he had arrived at the front, the war had all but dissipated, leaving the Baron to gain his first appreciation of the Central Asian landscape. He continued his military service after his first taste of Asia by serving as an officer in East Siberia. While in Siberia, he became obsessed with the nomadic culture of passing Mongolians. In 1913, he was transferred to a small Russian consulate in Khovd, a small western city in Mongolia. At the start of the First World War, he joined the Austrian Front. As the war concluded and the Boleshevik Revolution began, he backed the Romanovs and earned the “Mad Baron” moniker which would stick with him in various forms until his death.

Believing himself to be a reincarnation of Chinggis Khan, the Baron rode with a horde of renegade soldiers to Mongolia on October 1, 1920. His goal was to establish a pan-Asiatic state founded on Buddhism, or more appropriately, Military Buddhism. He made plans to free the Bogd Khan, the emperor of Mongolia who had been imprisoned by the Manchu.  After three days of drunken horsemen galloping the streets shooting, raping, pillaging, and killing indiscriminately, the Baron successfully sieged Ulaanbaatar in February of 1921. Two weeks later, he freed the Bodg Khan, and was given the high title darkhan khoshoi chin wang. He began promoting order and cleanliness in Urga, forcing the citizens to clean the town, thread lights along the streets from the newly built electricity plant, build bridges, and set up schools and hospitals. He also protected trade by publicly hanging Russian and Mongolians guilty of stealing from Chinese merchants.

The violent nature of the Baron bloomed during his short reign over the now semi-sovereign nation of Mongolia. A fan of alcohol himself, he savagely tortured any soldiers found drunk or hung over by forcing them to camp naked on frozen rivers. Everyone was a suspect to the baron, who favored lashings by stick until flesh separated from the bone. He pooled many of his torture methods from Buddhist concepts of hell, such as burning in fire pots. His collection of soldiers, a group of about six thousand composed mostly of Cossacks and Mongolians, would flee like mice when the Baron stumbled around his encampments looking for someone to discipline.

As his rule continued, the Baron grew increasingly eccentric, and took to riding around shirtless and growing out his beard. He surrounded himself with shamans and fortune tellers, and grew increasingly bold on the battlefield. There are eye witness accounts of him taking tea breaks and smoking cigarettes during the heat of battle. Other accounts see him galloping blindly into seas of bullets with little or no armor. People around him started to grow frightened of the Baron, especially as his close circle began to question his stability and vision. Meanwhile, D. Sukhbaatar, the future Mongolian revolutionary leader, was bringing his Bolshevik-backed forces from Russian to Mongolia.

Several fights ensued in the summer of 1921, eventually leaving the Baron to retreat towards Tuva to prepare for an escape to Tibet. His soldiers—outnumbered, outgunned and frightened by their leader—mutinied and planned to kill the Baron and his inner circle. Days later, after an unsuccessful assassination attempt, the Baron was captured by a Soviet detachment. En route to his trial in Moscow, The Times reported in September 13, 1921 that the Baron was being publicly exhibited as a monster. He denied all charges levied against him, defending himself to the end by saying that all those who died because of him died because they were “too red.”  He was executed by a firing squad on September 15, 1921.

“My name is surrounded with such hate and fear that no one can judge what is the truth and what is false, what is history and what myth,” the Baron said in 1921. A special sort of crazy, the Baron lived according to his own truth but unfortunately for others, they too fell prey to his brutal madness. He was a sad man, filled with carnage, blood lust and burdens. “I am not a simply a man, I am a leader of great forces and have in my head so much care, sorrow and woes!” he once said to travel writer Ossendowski. While the change to Communism may very well had happened with or without the Baron, he played an important part in sparking the national grasp for Communism through his outlandish ideologies and wild abandon.  By inspiring fear in those who met him, the Baron created an opening and some would argue, necessity, for outside forces to swoop into Mongolia. 

The Battle of Khalkhiin Gol

By Cooper Baltis

published Friday May 18th in the UB Post

                       

Oftentimes, in the always dramatic stage of world history, the smallest acts go on to have the largest impacts.

A seldom mentioned engagement in the Western history classes, the 1939 Battle of Khalkhiin  Gol fought between Soviet/Mongolian forces and Japanese forces in Eastern Mongolia went on to have a fundamental impact on the way Japan conducted its World War II campaign.

While the month of May might mark the anniversary of the nearly three month battle, the conflict started two decades beforehand in the 1910s. As the Tsarist Empire dissolved due to the Communist powers, Japan briefly occupied pieces of Siberia and a handful of eastern Soviet provinces, leading to many disputes and petty battles. As Communist powers solidified in the early 1920s, the Japanese army slowly withdrew from the territories, tucking their tails between their legs and vowing to return. Regrouped and refueled by nationalistic imperialism, Japan drew back into the disputed areas in the 1930s, setting up the puppet state of Manchukuo and eventually seizing Shanghai and Nanking.

With Japan again on its borders, and fearing the possible repercussions of the Anti-Comintern Pact signed between Germany and Japan, Soviet Russia began sending financial and military aid to the Chinese. Tensions were also stirred by the ‘Strike North’ faction in the Japanese military strategy. Proponents of this faction argued that by cutting the Trans-Siberian lifeline, Japan could quickly expand into Mongolia and Siberia as well as eastern Soviet provinces. This buffer zone would then allow Japan to harness the natural resources of Manchukuo.

Bisected by the Holsten River, the Halhna River (Khalkhiin Gol) flowed north to south in the eastern Mongolian in the Dornod aimag. The conflict started when close to 100 Mongolian men entered the disputed territory in search of a grazing area for their horses. A Japanese cavalry attacked the Mongolians, driving them back across the Khalkin Gol. Two days later, Mongolian forces returned seeking vengeance.

By the end of May 1939, Soviet forces commanded by General Georgy Zhukov and the 6^th Japanese army, consisting of 20,000 men, had moved into the area. A battle was fought from May 28 to 29, eventually ending in a draw.

As June progressed, skirmishes increased near the village of Nomonhan, which lead to Japanese General Michitaro Komatsubara getting orders to use any means necessary to expel the invaders. The Japanese planned on a two prong attack, but were ultimately unsuccessful as the Mongolian and Soviet forces were able to prevent the two wings from meeting.

Supply problems arose in July for Soviet and Mongolian forces as nearest supply base was 748 kilometers away. The supply anguish was felt by the Japanese, as supply transports from Manchukuo were few and far between.  By the end of July, the battle had come to a standoff, and rather than risking more causalities, the Japanese army disengaged from the battle to give time for General Komatsubara to ready a counteroffensive. While casualties have been disputed on the Japanese side, deaths in the thousands were officially reported on both sides. Soviets claimed to have taken 60,000 Japanese lives, while the Japanese army records indicate this number was closer to 9,000. Mongolian and Soviet forces suffered over 8,000 deaths with 15,000 wounded.

Before General Komatsubara had a chance to attack, a cease-fire was signed in Moscow, which eventually led to the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact at the end of August. The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact was a non-aggression pact signed between Germany and the Soviet Union, which directly affected Japan’s expansionistic plans through Central Asia. It also the Soviets the opportunity to focus solely on one front if need be. By September 1, World War II had started and Japan had begun its preparations to focus on its campaign solely on the Pacific.

This change in strategy creates ripples regarding the historical outcome of World War II. With its South Strike Group policy in effect, Japan began aggressively pursuing Southeast Asian targets. The results of the Battle of Khalkhiin Gol also made it geographically impossible for Germany and Japan to unite their control through the Soviet landmass. It was also a victory for the Soviet General Zhukov, who would go on to become the most decorated general in the history of Russia. The Japanese decision to focus on Southeast Asia created a scenario in which the Soviet Union wasn’t fighting two fronts, allowing them to focus all their military might on fighting Nazism in the West. This put pressure on the Nazi regime, as the war on both of Germany’s borders became hard to handle.

About a nine hour drive from Choisbalsan, Khalkhiin Gol is now a war memorial site complete with a museum and the ten meter high Yalaltiin Khoshuu monument. It is a quiet place in the middle of nowhere, behind a border checkpoint and blanketed by cerulean Mongolian skies. It’s a site that many argue changed the course of Japanese aggression during World War II, a place where many men took their final resting ground.