On the Cover. Photo taken by Sofi e Bedford: “Following the death of President Heydar Aliyev in 2003, the annual Flower Festival in Baku became a holiday called ‘Flower Day’ organized specifically to commemorate his birthday. During my fieldwork in 2015, I accidentally came across this celebration, and it was spectacular. The Heydar Aliyev Park featured an exhibition of magnificent flowers from all over the world. There were giant balloons with the former president’s portrait hovering over the park and the adjacent Heydar Aliyev Palace. Clearly, he is attributed a key role in the country’s modern history, as the creator and implementor of ‘Azerbaijanism’: a civic nationalism. Allegedly, because of him most citizens and their compatriots abroad see themselves as Azerbaijani. Besides the idea of a common territory and language, a cult of personality portraying Heydar Aliyev as a savior – bringing stability to the country after the first turbulent year of independence, has become an integral aspect of official Azerbaijanism. Flower Day highlights the close link between the Azerbaijani nation and the presidential family. Photos of the current president, Heydar’s son Ilham, who took over the presidency just before his father’s death in 2003, were also displayed, alongside pictures of his family and flower arrangements featuring national symbols, accompanied by school children and artists performing hymns and traditional music.” 

On the Cover. Photo taken by Kira Kaurinkoski: A Pontic Greek “return” migrant from the former Soviet Union sells homegrown vegetables at the open-air market in Menidi, in greater Athens. Between 1987 and 2010, approximately 200,000 ethnic Greeks from the FSU migrated to Greece.
Greece being a country that recognizes jus sanguinis, persons of Greek descent have privileged access to Greek citizenship and to integration programs of the Greek state. In practice, there were obvious difficulties as far as the socioeconomic integration of ethnic Greeks from the FSU and their acceptance by Greek society were concerned. Ten to fifteen years after their arrival, many still sold home grown vegetables, clothes, or items purchased in the FSU in the numerous open-air markets on the outskirts of the city. The formation of a reverse diaspora, namely at the edge of large cities, is a notable effect of this “return.” I studied ethnic Greeks from the FSU in greater Athens in the years 2001-2005 and 2010-2015. I was particularly interested in how they were perceived and received by the Greek state and society, and how they identified themselves and others. The picture reflects the pride of a people that has endured forced migration, discrimination, and hardship for generations.
Photo taken in the municipality of Menidi, August, 2002

On the Cover. Photo taken by Buket Oztas: “Graffiti on the wall of Ege University in Izmir, which hosts a large number of temporary migrants and refugees from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The neighborhood itself resembles a suspended place, between the conflict-ridden past its residents escaped from and the prosperous future they dreamed of in Turkey or in Europe. Against this backdrop, this powerful image presents a challenge to Turkey’s state-oriented nationalism that makes almost no reference to the contextual construction of national identities, largely ignoring the link between nation and imagination. Perhaps it was this reluctance to re-imagine the boundaries of the Turkish nation, or the policies and attempts to normalize this community’s temporary – and inevitably vulnerable – status, which led the newcomers to believe that the “only good nation is imagination.”

On the Cover. Photo taken by Mila Dragojevic´: “The Future,” June 2014. This ruin of the socialist-era department store Buduc´nost (transl. Future) was located in Lipik, a town in the region of Croatia near the dividing line during the Homeland War (1991–1995). This region used to be one of the most economically developed in the country, yet nearly two decades after the war had ended, it was still struggling. Even though this building has been renovated since then, this image remains as a historical document and a reminder for future generations to view with skepticism both political promises of progress and the expectations that economic, scientific, and educational advancements would inevitably bring about a more just and equal society.

On the Cover. Photo taken by Ana Miloševic´: “A memory landfi ll – the abandoned memorial complex ‘Bosko Buha,’ on the border between Serbia and Montenegro. Built in the 1960s to commemorate both female and male combatants who fought for the liberation of Yugoslavia from Nazi-Fascist control, the memorial complex thrived in visitors until the 1990s, when it was abandoned. In the 1990s it also accommodated monuments for those killed by communist forces (e.g., the ‘monument for the victims of communists in peace times and in the war’). The photograph illustrates how memories that do not support contemporary political objectives are discarded and disregarded. Across the Western Balkans, the attempt to completely erase transnational Yugoslav memories has often left space solely for ethno-nationalist histories. As a result of this ethno-nationalization of memory, once glorified transnational heroes now reside on a landfill of memory. Photo taken in Jabuka, Serbia, August, 2017.” 

On the Cover. Photo taken by Julie George: “A bird memorial, photo taken near Oni, Georgia, in the Racha mountainous region. I took this photo in 2017, on a trip into northern central Georgia. The memorial is in a village surrounded by forest, and it is easy to feel a peace and solitude of the area. But yet. Oni shares mountainous space with the de-facto South Ossetia, the object of the 2008 war, a Russian invasion, and a Georgian military defeat. Locals in Oni told us stories of the destruction of local private property by Russian planes, destruction which, with mountains in between, seemed not accidental but rather a message of intentional hostility. I came upon this kitschy delightful bird the next day, way too big for the space it took, arching its wings in the sunlight. It struck me as a reflection of an irreverent human spirit, a spark of joy that can persist even in the most dire of circumstances.

On the Cover. Photograph taken by Hélène Thibault: This photo was taken during my doctoral fieldwork in Panjakent, Tajikistan in 2010. Two policemen are sitting in what looks like an empty stadium. The place was actually filled with thousands of people, only everyone was sitting on the side that was in shadow. There is always another side to the story.

On the Cover. Photo taken by Paul Goode: “Military cadets parading after the ceremonial laying of wreaths at the Memorial to Heroes of War and the Home Front in Perm, Russia. Since coming to power in 2000, Vladimir Putin rebuilt the memory of victory in the Great Patriotic War as a means of unifying the nation. Beyond the well-known military parade in Moscow on Victory Day (May 9th), regional governments organize commemorative displays that bring together the resources and participation of church, state, business, and civil society actors. While the government appeals to patriotism through public displays of readiness to defend the motherland, most Russians are unmoved by official patriotism. By contrast, the more authentic, everyday practices associated with patriotism are apolitical and bound to family and friendship. This picture captures this contrast between official and everyday patriotism in a shared moment of levity between a pair of military cadets during a somber patriotic ritual in the run-up to the Victory Day parade. Photo taken in Perm’, Russia, May, 2016.” 

On the Cover. Photo taken by Maryia Rohava: “Members of the Belarusian Republican Youth Union prepare for their participation in the Victory Day parade in Minsk on May 9, 2015. Young people wear red-green ribbons, the colors of the Belarusian state flag, with an apple blossom in the center, and hold flags with the symbol and the slogan “Flowers of the Great Victory.” President Alyaksandr Lukashenka’s government has used the Victory Day parade in Minsk to promote state symbols and display public support for his autocratic leadership. In response to political protests after the contested presidential election in August 2020, Lukashenka repressed political opponents and protesters and launched a crusade against public displays of protest symbols, especially the white-red-white flag used by demonstrators. The Belarus of 2015 might seem a world away. But when taking this photo of young people backstage, I was interested in how convincing these symbols and performances were for them. Belarus after August 2020 has given us some answers.