How can one understand the phenomenon known as “ethnic violence?” Does subsuming events under the category “ethnic violence” assist our understanding or does it obscure it? Are there lessons that the form ethnic violence takes can teach us? These questions are important not only for anyone interested in the causes and prevention of ethnic violence but also for those who wish to understand group behavior more generally. I explore this question more fully through analysis of the case of the Russian Federation. Russia is a country where in recent times skinhead violence against ethnic minorities has become an important issue. According to Tarasov, Russia contains between 60,000 and 65,000 skinheads active in at least 85 different cities. These skinheads daily commit appalling acts of violence against members of ethnic minorities and human rights activists. Three instances of violence all from the year 2006 help to illustrate some of their activities.

From the historical and scholarly perspective, Russian-Ukrainian relations occupy a unique niche in inter-ethnic relations, as they are framed by long-standing “fraternal rivalry,” imperial and colonial experience, and a complex understanding of identity, which are still at work today. Although the phenomenon has been the subject of numerous studies, little has been done to explore their encounter in emigration. The scope of these works has been limited to examining the relations between these two groups in the familiar territory of their homelands (i.e. either in the Russian Empire, the Soviet Union, or in the period following the dissolution of the Soviet Union), and scholars have usually not made a strict delimitation between the concepts of the homeland and hostland. But certainly, the Russian–Ukrainian encounter in emigration in the interwar period created its own discourse, which differed from the pre-revolutionary and Soviet discourses. Its main features are (1) further alienation and a feeling of difference between the two groups; (2) a growing metaphysical view of the homeland, accompanied by ethno-symbolic manifestations of national identity; and (3) a sense of mission to preserve their culture and identity from erosion engineered by the Bolsheviks.

Eight years of municipal reform in Azerbaijan reflect a lack of social capital in communities. Without building social capital, achieving effectiveness of governance, as well as political stability and economic progress, in the country appears bleak.

This paper seeks to study factors such as the set of informal values, tolerance, social trust, norms and networks of voluntary associations which contribute to social capital formation within the communities of Azerbaijan. As a way of exploring the problem, we have focused on one specific area of governance-the construction of infrastructural services (i.e. roads, housing and communal services, water supply, and sewerage) in Baku, the country's capital, and in Khachmaz and Masalli, both of which are districts of Azerbaijan. The aim is to highlight and clarify the effectiveness of municipal governments in different communities of Azerbaijan from the standpoint of civic engagement and its role in this process.

In Western historical consciousness, National Socialist mass murder has become permanently identified with the Jewish Holocaust, Adolf Hitler's maniacal project to annihilate European Jewry. From its earliest days, the Nazi Party sought to exclude Jews from German public life, and when the Nazis came to power in January 1933, their anti-Jewish animus became official policy. What followed was legal disemancipation of German Jews, physical attacks on their persons, ghettoization, deportation, and physical extermination in the East. The story of the Holocaust is well known and generally accepted. Yet two years before German Jewish policy swerved from persecution and harassment to genocide, the Nazis were already involved in state-organized killing of another disfavored minority. Unlike the destruction of European Jews, the murder of this group—the mentally disabled—occurred within the Reich's own borders. Launched with the signing of a “Hitler decree” in October 1939 (backdated to 1 September), the centrally organized program targeted so-called “incurable” patients, whose lives were to be ended by a doctor-administered “mercy death” (Gnadentod). The Nazis attached the term “euthanasia” to their program of destruction, bolstering their rationale for it with humanitarian arguments and cost-based justifications, the latter legitimizing euthanasia as a means to free up scarce resources for use by “valuable” Germans. Over time, the restrictive use of euthanasia just for incurable patients ended; thereafter, the Nazis extended the killing program to healthier patients, sick concentration camp inmates, Jewish patients, and a variety of “asocials” (juvenile delinquents, beggars, tramps, prostitutes). The technology of murder developed in the “euthanasia” program—carbon monoxide asphyxiation in gas chambers camouflaged as shower rooms—would become the model for the first death camps in Poland. Many of the “euthanasia” personnel were likewise transferred to the Polish extermination centers, where they applied the techniques of mass death—refined in murdering the disabled—to the murder of the European Jews.

In May 1951, students at the District Party School of the Socialist Union Party of Germany (SED) in the southern Thuringian city of Suhl evaluated the agitation and propaganda assignments that they had recently completed. Such assignments were a regular exercise in the instruction of future cadres. From these discussions, the difficulties that traditional German nationalism posed to the SED become clear. One student cited words of a party comrade he had talked to on the question of befriending the Polish and the Czechoslovak peoples. Instead of sticking to the official ideological line that rejected chauvinist ideas, this comrade had responded: “[…] I will never make friends with the Czech people. To me they are not human beings.” This anger directed against the Czechs by a German communist may have arisen from the frequently brutal deportation of Germans from Czechoslovakia after 1945: the Czechs had not made exceptions for German anti-fascists. It could also be explained by continued anti-Slav sentiment dating from the Nazi years. The file does not elaborate how the incident was resolved. Nevertheless, it demonstrates that nationalist sentiments had survived the collapse of Nazism even with members of the SED. How did the SED counter this heavy national mortgage?

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.

This article uses ideological criticism to examine how and why victimage, identity and nationalism are produced through everyday discursive practices of Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo. Wander contends that the ideological turn in criticism confronts and studies what is professed and obscure, and Greene argues that part of this criticism involves unmasking forms of domination. Examining cultural or rhetorical narratives is part of ideological criticism. The narratives in this study can be regarded as competing vernacular memories representative of Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo. The participants invoke personal and collective memories with official national histories to explain contemporary victimization as a continuance of historical victimage. This use of the past can serve to legitimize their national and political claims, as well as to justify violence against the other group, since historical victimage provides a rationale for hating the other group and perpetuating a vicious cycle of violence.

The public international law doctrine of command responsibility, like many firmly accepted rules in law, is more clearly stated than consistently applied. Intended to establish a base level of order and responsibility for sustained violence endemic to the inherently ugly nature of war, even state militaries of fully mature Western democracies demonstrate difficulty appreciating its importance and applying its law.

At the beginning of the 1930s, Portuguese political elites were committed to the recovery of the “lost glory” of the era of the so-called Portuguese Discoveries, a past age which was (and still is) often considered as the golden period of Portuguese history. The new Portuguese political regime, an outcome of a right-wing military coup d'etat in 1926, and its opposition on the left were united in arguing in favour of a Portuguese Empire. In 1934, during Portugal's I Exposição Colonial (1st Colonial Expo), the oppositionist newspaper O Diabo frequently praised the Portuguese Empire, setting the tone for the rest of the decade. In the second half of the 1930s, the glorification of the Empire by oppositionists became even more prominent, as exemplified by Portugal's Frente Popular's (Popular Front) programme, a political document that was the result of a convergence between Portuguese communists, socialists and republicans. Written in 1936, the programme is critical of “colonial imperialism's policy,” but not really of colonialism in general. According to Frente Popular, colonialism was morally acceptable because it can aid “other less civilized peoples, so that they can gradually join international life, until they reach the final stage of their complete autonomy.”

This article identifies the dynamics which shaped the eruption of civil war in Tajikistan. It argues that the mechanisms of network activation by the elites, together with the establishment of local militias and their involvement in the war through the activation of violence specialists, were important factors in bringing about the eruption of violence. This article is not about the causes of the civil war. Its aim is not to answer the question of why, but the question of how: what mechanisms led Tajikistan into civil war, how networks were activated from the top down, how mobilization was achieved at the micro level in the villages. This article stresses both macro- and micro-level mechanisms, and argues that there is a connection between the two—a look at both is necessary to understand the dynamics of the war.

Annexation into the Russian Empire transformed the cities of Central Asia. The European presence increased steadily from year to year and with it new city neighborhoods were created, often alongside the old quarters in which the autochthonous population lived. With increased immigration during the Soviet era, the majority of the population in the region's principal cities were either Slavs or Russified minorities and the common language used by all the inhabitants, including the autochthonous ones who continued to use their mother tongue, was Russian. The Soviets saw these changes as part of a process of modernization starting in the cities’ European neighborhoods which would spread progressively to the local population.