The renewed emphasis, already visible in the mid-1980s, on the intertwined fates of the Soviet Union and Germany, especially in the Stalin and Hitler eras, has become greatly intensified in the wake of the upheavals in Eastern Europe. The sharpened focus on the atrocities of Stalinism has prompted attempts to relativise Nazi barbarism – seen as wicked, but on the whole less wicked, than that of Stalinism (and by implication of communism in general).1 The brutal Stalinist modernising experiment is used to remove any normative links with humanising, civilising, emancipatory or democratising development from modernisation concepts and thereby to claim that Hitler's regime, too, was – and intentionally so – a ‘modernising dictatorship’.2 Implicit in all this is a reversion, despite the many refinements and criticisms of the concept since the 1960s, to essentially traditional views on ‘totalitarianism’ and to views of Stalin and Hitler as ‘totalitarian dictators’.

The years that followed the return of Alsace and Lorraine to France after World War I proved that reunion was a complicated and painful process. The potential for misunderstanding, if not outright conflict, between Alsatians and French policy-makers was from the outset grossly underestimated by virtually everyone on both sides. Alsatians saw no incompatibility between the wish to preserve their regional cultural personality, or particularism, and their loyalty to France. The believers in the ‘Republic one and indivisible’, however, did. The preservation of Alsatian particularism, especially in language and religion, was regarded by French politicians as the perpetuation of German cultural and political influence. The end of the armistice celebrations and the introduction of a transitional administration brought the realisation that the cultural gulf between France and Alsace, widened by years of separation following the Treaty of Frankfurt of 1871, could not be legislated away. With few exceptions, the people on both sides of the Rhine who welcomed the end of the annexation had assumed that the commitment to reunion was sufficient to make it a success.1 This belief was nowhere more rapidly disproven than in the matter of religion. The enforcement of French legislation ending the role of the state in overseeing the congregations became the flash-point between the Catholic majority in Alsace and the Third Republic.

The point has to be made at once that any attempt to quantify public reaction to Nazi propaganda is fraught with difficulties. Accurate measurement of the effectiveness of Nazi propaganda is weakened by the absence of public opinion surveys and the fact that, in a society that resorted so readily to coercions and terror, reported opinion did not necessarily reflect the true feelings and moods of the public, especially if these views were opposed to the regime. Nevertheless, to state that public opinion in the Third Reich ceased to exist is not strictly true. After the Nazi ‘seizure of power’ in 1933, Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels stressed the importance of co-ordinating propaganda with other activities. In a dictatorship, propaganda must address itself to large masses of people and attempt to move them to a uniformity of opinion and action. But the Nazis also understood that propaganda is of little value in isolation. To some extent this explains why Goebbels impressed on all his staff at the Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda the imperative necessity constantly to gauge public moods. Goebbels therefore regularly received (as did all the ruling élites) extraordinarily detailed reports from the Secret Police (SD reports) about the mood of the people and would frequently quote these in his diary. Hitler, too, was familiar with these reports, and his recorded determination to avoid increasing food prices at all costs for fear that this would undermine the regime's popularity suggests a political sensitivity to public opinion. To assure themselves of continued popular support was an unwavering concern of the Nazi leadership, and of Hitler and Goebbels in particular.

Perhaps the most cherished prerogative of French intellectuals is the right to take a position, to have a public opinion on any and every matter. This power to pronounce judgement has crumbled somewhat in the electronic age before the pressures of the public opinion poll and the occasionally surreal media star syndrome, but generally intellectual and cultural leaders in France have retained highly visible and respected roles within national life.

After 1945, the reordering of international affairs around the ideological polarities of Washington and Moscow initiated for European social democrats an extended period of self-examination. Accustomed to a place at the centre stage of ideas on the evolution of advanced capitalist economies, they suddenly found themselves in a smaller Europe, the principal theatre of the superpower confrontation. At the point when it seemed only reasonable to suppose that the crisis of industrial capitalism in the 1930s, followed by six years of war, would at last bring a durable electoral majority to the cause of reconstruction under democratic socialism, both domestic and international politics were full of new ambiguities. The hope of the immediate post-war years gave way to uncertainty. That uncertainty, however, could not be attributed to altered circumstances alone. The fact that the decade of the 1950s turned out to be ‘long’ – involving electoral defeats to which there appeared to be no obvious answers – was due in no small part to the nature of the social democratic tradition itself.1

In 1930, the Romanian Jewish community, one of the largest in Europe, numbered 756,930 members. Of these, about 150,000 lived in Northern Transylvania, which was occupied by Hungary in the summer of 1940; the remaining 600,000 Jews remained in territories ruled by Romania. In 1944, the Jews from Northern Transylvania shared the fate of the Hungarian Jews; only about 15,000 of them survived the deportations.

These days, the institutions of the European Community, and especially the Commission, are criticised for being, if anything, too effective and for submerging the sovereignty of member states in the interests of a concept of European union not universally shared. In the late 1970s the perceived problem was very different. The economic crisis following the breakdown of Bretton Woods and the oil price hike had caused a resurgence of nationalism within the Community and the reemergence of barriers to trade. ‘[S]ince about 1973, trade integration among the original six members has largely stagnated, as new market barriers outweighed new liberalising action, and economic growth was cut in half.’2 The one recent achievement, the European Monetary System (EMS), had been largely created outside the machinery of the Treaty of Rome. There was resentment within the Community at its failure to protect member states against the onset of crisis or to help them to find a way out of it. There was resentment at the way in which, at a time of crisis, France, Germany and the UK tended to ignore the Community, and their obligations under the Treaty of Rome, and to enter into consultations with the USA and Japan about matters which affected all member states.

(The Melians to the Athenians, 416/15 BC)

We see that you have come prepared to judge the arguments yourselves.… If we surrender, then all our hope is lost at once, whereas, so long as we remain in action, there is still a hope that we may yet stand upright.… We put our trust … in the help of men – that is of the Spartans.

Statistics, as all other sciences, used to be a class-science in the service of capitalists and that is what it should remain to be in the interests of socialism as well. (Szabad Nép, 21 July, 1949)

The German Democratic Republic was long noted for its apparent stability, efficiency and political quiescence, in contrast to the more turbulent domestic histories of neighbouring Poland and Czechoslovakia. In established narratives of East German history, the sole evidence of mass popular unrest before the autumn of 1989 was the June Uprising of 1953. After this, with a few isolated exceptions, East Germans simply kept their heads down. ‘Dissent’ was for the most part an activity associated with a few intellectuals–Harich, Havemann, Bahro–until the growth of oppositional movements associated with unofficial peace initiatives and environmentalist groups in the 1980s1. To all outward appearances, this sketch was correct. What now requires reconsideration, however, are the underlying reasons for these appearances, and the evaluation – indeed, the very characterisation – of patterns of popular political dissent in the GDR.

When the United Kingdom joined the European Community on 1 January 1973 it became entitled to send thirty-six representatives to the European Parliament. For the first six years of Britain's membership – from January 1973 to June 1979 – these members were nominated from the two Houses of Parliament and hence held a dual mandate. From January 1973 to June 1975 only twenty-one British members, Conservative, Liberal, Ulster Unionist and a cross-bench peer, attended the Parliament; Labour members attended from the first session after the referendum on British membership of the European Community in June 1975.

Based on the international colloquium held in Florence in September 1987, which involved more than a hundred British, French, German and Italian historians, Power in Europe? is part of a larger collaborative research project designed to investigate perceptions of power in Western Europe over the period 1938 to 1958. Although collections of this kind are bound to be uneven in quality, most of the contributions to Di Nolfo's book reach a high standard, and it will be an important source of information and ideas for scholars working on Western European history in the 1950s.

Historians of Europe need to take into account these two new books of general business history, as they throw new light on the European economy and society. Their approach, however, is different: Chandler, an historian of America, ventures into two European countries; Lazonick, an historian of Britain, now deals also with the US; Chandler's ambitions are to attempt a comparative history of industrial organisations, whereas Lazonick focuses on the workplace.