If Lenin were alive today and to find himself in Stalin's hands, without any doubt, he would have confessed being a German spy – and, maybe, with some more justification [than others who had done so in 1937-1938]. (Georgii Fedotov after the third show trial (as quoted in Liuks [Luks], Istoriia Rossii i Sovetskogo Soiuza 258)).

On 14 December 1995, an agreement as the Elysée Treaty (earlier initialled in Dayton after weeks of difficult negotiation) was signed in Paris by the Heads of State of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Republic of Croatia, and the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. One of the witnesses at the ceremony was the Secretary-General of the United Nations, Dr. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, and, in a real sense, it marked the nadir of his term of office. In June 1992, amidst the euphoria of U.S. President George Bush's articulation of hopes for a new world order, Boutros-Ghali had presented a report to U.N. members entitled An Agenda for Peace which painted an ambitious picture of the opportunities for constructive involvement of the U.N. in conflict resolution. Yet ironically, this was almost the moment at which the intensification of intergroup conflict precipitated Bosnia-Hercegovina's slide into social and political disarray. The ultimate humiliation for the U.N. came in July 1995 when the massacre of Bosnian Muslims by Bosnian Serb forces in the U.N.-declared “safe area” of Srebrenica triggered the chain of events which saw responsibility for Bosnia-Hercegovina decisively removed from the U.N.'s grasp, and assumed by the United States and its NATO allies. The U.N. may recover from the shame of its Balkan entanglement, but the scars are likely to prove permanent.

Most European early-modern states transitioned from composite monarchies into centralized ones. Essentially, composite monarchies were “more than one country under the sovereignty of one ruler.” As Moscow expanded and acquired the surrounding principalities either by inheritance or force, its grand princes enacted a series of legal and administrative reforms to dissolve the differences among its territories and create a centralized monarchy. These political reforms began under Ivan III, who instituted a standardization of Muscovite legal practice and formalized a defined system of social precedence, mestnichestvo, which accorded high rank to his newly acquired provincial elites within the Muscovite social system. Change could not happen overnight, and further legal reforms by Ivan IV, in addition to new religious reforms to eradicate differences of practice among his subjects, centralized the Grand Prince's political and religious authority.

After a two-year tug-of-war between the US, the UN, and Phnom Penh, the Cambodian government, supported by massive international intervention, brought some of those accused of committing Khmer Rouge atrocities to trial before an independent court. The atrocities, which verged on genocide, were perpetrated between 1975 and 1979. The plan was to create a special tribunal consisting of both indigenous and foreign judges to try the perpetrators. Newspapers from 2002 reported that the first indictment would be issued some time during that year. As we know today, this proved to be a rosily optimistic prediction.

Konrad Henlein founded the Sudeten German Heimatfront (SHF) in October 1933 and in less than a year and a half it would become the largest party in the First Czechoslovak Republic. This achievement is all the more remarkable in light of the initiative undertaken by the Czech and German Social Democrats, as well as the Communists to have the SHF banned in the year before the elections. This initiative would most likely have succeeded had the matter not been referred to Czechoslovakia's ailing President, Tomáš Masaryk. After the state had banned both the Sudeten German Nazi and Nationalist parties on account of their alleged ties to Hitler, Masaryk concluded one month before the 19 May 1935 general elections that the SHF should be allowed to campaign.1 Masaryk, however, mandated that the Heimatfront must change its name to the more democratic “Sudeten German Party” (SdP). Despite the specter of a ban that still haunted the party in the month before the election, the SdP succeeded in transforming itself from a political pariah into a majority German party by using the legal protections and security forces of Czech democracy to wage a legalistic campaign against the state. In light of this stunning success, how then did the party leadership perform this act of political alchemy and what strategies did it deploy in campaigning against the state?

Much has been made in the social sciences of the ambiguity of nationalism in Central Asia, where not only the boundaries between republics but between nations, languages, and peoples were drawn by the Soviet state. The similar ambiguity of Central Asian religiosity, however, has remained largely ignored. Perhaps religiosity, unlike the more recent idea of nationalism, is considered too fixed a construct for the modern and artificially created states of Central Asia. The division of religions into specific sects, each with its own explicit doctrine and precepts, would seem to preclude definitional necessity. Yet in the 1980s it was religiosity, malleable and stubborn, which proved as essential to the decline of the Soviet Union as did nationalism. As a vital component of identity, religion can exist without any clergy, place of worship, or understanding of sacred text, much as a nation can exist without a state or a government. The illusory aspects of religion, the comforts and mystery of rite and ritual, are as difficult for a state to control as national sentiment, and often prove the impetus behind the latter.

The history of Judaism in the Soviet Union is not a happy one. The Soviet Union, in a policy reminiscent of the premodern age, has persecuted the Jewish religion and not—with the exception of the 1948-53 period—Jews as persons. This does not mean that there was not discrimination. Anti-Jewish discrimination began about 1944 and presumably still continues in spite of Gorbachev's reported attempts to ease it. But we see no clear signs that the purges of the thirties were directed at Jewish party members as such. Recent research also does not credit the once common belief that the liquidation of the “Evsektsiia” (Jewish sections of the Communist party) in 1930 was an anti-Jewish act.

In 1920 the Belarusian Soviet Socialist Republic emerged upon the ruins of German and Polish occupation. It replaced the short-lived Belarusian Democratic Republic as the embodiment of national statehood. The ensuing decade came to be an important but ambiguous period in Belarusian history. New state institutions such as the Commissariat of Public Enlightenment, the Institute of Belarusian Culture, and the Belarusian State University carried out unprecedented “nation-building” policies designed to reverse the effects of tsarist Russification and foster the development of Belarusian national culture. Parodoxically, many of the same institutions also implemented various aspects of “Sovietization.” A myriad of measures under the label “socialist construction” served to integrate ever more closely Belarus into the Soviet Union.

The purpose of this article is twofold: to provide a critical account of the Piteşti experiment and its significance within the history of Romanian Communism and to examine current public disputes relative to memorializing the Piteşi experiment that concern issues of legitimacy, collective memory, and identity construction. The main argument pursued here is that within the recent postcommunist politics of memory, one major prevailing trend is to reincorporate a nationalist ideology within a postcommunist rhetoric. This leads to the conclusion that such mnemonic practices indicate a strong relationship between collective memory and political culture.

Since 1990 Lithuania has been claiming that what happened there during Soviet occupation is genocide, as per the 1948 Genocide Convention, which embodies universal justice for suppressed nations and other groups. Due to Soviet actions in Lithuania throughout the periods of 1940-1941 and 1944-1990, the country lost almost one fifth of its population. The application of Lithuanian national legal regulations regarding this issue has been recently discussed in the framework of another postwar international legal instrument – the European Convention of Human Rights (1950). The goal of this article is to examine the main debates, which were revealed by the European Court of Human Rights in the cases of Vasiliauskas v. Lithuania (2015) and Drėlingas v. Lithuania (2019), regarding the killings of Lithuanian partisans, including the recognition of the significance of partisans for the Lithuanian nation, the foreseeability of genocide “in part,” as well as the punishment for complicity in killing Lithuanian partisans.

This article revisits the French region of Brittany on the basis of sustained empirical research over a 25-year period. It identifies the twin use of influence and identity as forming a key part of an accepted and largely diffused territorial repertoire, based on affirming distinctiveness for reasons of vertical linkage, as well as horizontal capacity building. This article explores the different facets of this model of territorial influence. The two twin dimensions concern: first, a well-versed mechanism of lobbying central institutions and actors to defend the Breton interest; second, the use of territorial identity markers to forward the regional cause, relying on social movements and a broad capacity for regional mobilization. Within this overarching context, the Breton case demonstrates an intelligent instrumental use of identity and identity markers, but mainstream Breton forces recognize that this only makes sense in the light of the national level of regulation and structure of opportunities. The logic of this position is to integrate the Brittany region into a national model of territorial integration, while playing up identity markers to secure the maximum benefit for the region.

In 1941, thousands of Jews from the regions of Bukovina and Bessarabia were deported to ghettos and camps in Romanian-occupied Transnistria to join local Ukranian Jews and other deportees. This article is a case study of the Shargorod ghetto, one of the largest ghettos in Transnistria, that reveals how individuals interned there, and in similar ghettos, survived despite their different social, economic, and cultural backgrounds. An examination based on regions allows for a better understanding of the diverse Jewish communities in Romania and how these differences influenced the lives of local Jews and deportees during the formidable years in Shargorod. Their major successes, as well as their failures, present a picture of entangled community identity in the face of disease, starvation, and forced labor. The survival of the Jewish population of Shargorod from 1941 to 1944 is analyzed through the selection of leadership by the ghetto inhabitants (specifically, Meier Teich’s role as ghetto leader), the entrepreneurial actions and aid that arose, and the format and agenda adopted by the ghetto’s cultural institutions.