Scholars of nationalism knew about the role of memory and forgetting in nation building long before the contemporary boom of memory studies. Still, they can learn a lot from this relatively new research field. This article offers an overview of the literature on the politics of memory, focusing on different patterns of dealing with a dark past of genocides, civil wars, and political repressions, on the one hand, and on the observations derived from the recent so-called “memory wars” in Europe, on the other. Both issues elucidate a persistent role of nationalism in the contemporary world.

In comparative works on nationalism, Latin America is usually portrayed as a world region that is devoid of nationalist and separatist movements, while in Europe nationalist movements seeking greater self-determination or separate statehood can be easily observed. This article takes a different perspective. Applying the concept of territorial autonomy movements, it pursues a cross-regional comparison of Santa Cruz in Bolivia, Guayas in Ecuador, and Catalonia in Spain to show that movements strikingly similar with regards to their core claims, diagnostic frames, and tactics do in fact exist across the Iberian world. The chapter then draws on social movement theory to account for the recent intensification of territorial autonomy mobilizations in these cases. We argue that in all three substate units (1) threats of political exclusion emanating from contestations over established power-sharing arrangements triggered territorial grievances; (2) the formation of dense associational networks and new alliances with subnational party and state representatives enhanced the organizational resources of territorial challengers; and (3) broader protest cycles, and their concern with direct democracy and/or multicultural group rights, provided territorial challengers with new framing strategies to justify their demands.

In the aftermath of the violent Revolution of Dignity (2013/2014) and the subsequent war in Donbas (2014–), a heroic story about the new beginning of a “united, Ukrainian nation” began to emerge. Shaping this new narrative are new museum projects devoted to Ukraine’s developing history. This article examines the process of these new institutions’ formation, the content of created exhibitions, and the activities conducted therein. It focuses on the role of the museums in activating, unifying, and integrating both the Ukrainian national community and civil society. This article is based on a qualitative analysis of materials collected during seven research stays in Ukraine, from June 2017 to August 2019, and focuses on four cases–Ukraine’s First ATO Museum in Dnipro; the Museum of the Heavenly Hundred in Ivano-Frankivsk; the Ukrainian East exhibition in the National Museum of the History of Ukraine in the Second World War in Kyiv; and a project of the Museum of the Revolution of Dignity in Kyiv. The examined institutions are presented not only as places for gathering artifacts but also as laboratories of civic activism, participation, and dialogue.

The article analyzes the approach of the Ukrainian state to criminal accountability for crimes associated with the ongoing Donbas conflict: crimes against state security, which led to the outbreak of the conflict, and crimes committed by persons directly engaged in the conflict. The main question addressed in the article is whether there is any trace of a deliberate policy of mitigating punishments to those who engaged themselves in different sorts of anti-government actions associated with the Donbas conflict, for the sake of achieving peace. The article contains a comparative analysis of relevant court decisions in order to identify the combinations of conditions that led to the issue of suspended prison sentences (less punitive judgements). The findings suggest that Ukrainian authorities have consistently punished their adversaries in accordance with existing regulations. During the first four years of the conflict, the authorities have not appeared to provide any sort of concessions to their adversaries that could be justified by the circumstances of an armed conflict, and have acted in a manner that can be called “legalist.”

This article traces debates and policies of the Russian imperial administrators toward the Korean population in the Far Eastern provinces of the Russian Empire. Koreans were initially treated as de facto members of the peasant estate, and in the 1890s many were granted the status of Russian subjects. Yet the rise of settler colonialism and a nationalizing empire from the 1880s, and especially after the Russian revolution of 1905, complicated the issue of Korean subjecthood and led to policies that excluded Koreans from the regulations normally applicable to peasants, such as the right to increased land allotments. At the same time, the neotraditionalist approach to the management of difference in the empire was still present in the 1910s, albeit never clearly articulated to compete with the nationalizing idiom.

This article analyses a popular survey on national identity in Poland. However, the analysis of the survey is a pretext to remind one of the limitations of crude quantitative methods and to look at the Polish national identity itself. The article shows that the survey questions are far from unambiguous, and respondents might attribute different meanings to them. The survey does not “measure” national identity existing in the world, rather it serves to maintain the hegemonic concept of Polishness. It diminishes the significance of Catholicism and the perceived biological dimension of Polishness. It ignores public sentiment linking Whiteness and Polishness, contributing to maintaining the dominant image of Polishness as free of racism. Under the guise of objective research, the survey is one of the elements sustaining the image of a relatively open and inclusive Polishness. Referring to my own qualitative research and recent literature on the topic, I argue that Polish identity must be seen in terms of selective racism without racism—that is, it is an identity based on racial premises but which at the same time neglects its racial character.

Following the October Revolution, tens of thousands of White Russians sought refuge in China and became inevitably involved in the escalating Sino-Japanese War (1931–1945). The Japanese deployed measures of coercion, material incentives, and ideological indoctrination to recruit White Russians for Japan’s military and political maneuvers in the China theater of WWII. With the conclusion of the war, the Chinese Nationalist government launched a legal campaign against all collaborators with Japan and labeled them hanjian, “traitors to the Han Chinese,” regardless of the race and nationality of the defendants. Based on archival materials in Chinese, English, Japanese, and Russian, this article examines the context and process of the incrimination of White Russians in China’s postwar trials of traitors. With no consular support and little diplomatic significance, the White Russians became the ideal foreigners for the Chinese government to exercise its newly recovered judicial sovereignty and to claim its legitimacy in administering justice related to war crimes. Dozens of White Russians were convicted of the crime of hanjian and sentenced to prison terms of varied lengths.

The last century of the Ottoman state’s existence witnessed the transformation of the term “Ottoman” from an elite, class-based, and exclusive designation to one including and identifying all whose allegiances were tied to the state. Despite this semantic shift, the verdict is still out on the question of late-Ottoman inclusivity. Indeed, exclusivist is a term more frequently coupled with policy and law. Though the former can be considered exclusivist in many instances from the late 19th century through the dissolution of the empire, the designation does not fit the legal framework and terminology that articulated belonging. To recognize this, it is imperative to approach the 1869 Ottoman Nationality Law from a comparative perspective, especially, though not strictly, with reference to Great Power laws, since these legalities are the yardstick by which Ottoman rational modernity has been measured. This article considers access to actual and potential membership in various nationality laws in relation to their Ottoman counterpart and concludes that the exclusivist designation is questionable. Instead, Ottoman law does not present an anomaly and was in many instances both more expansive and more inclusive than others—even if it has been subjected to a different vocabulary than contemporaneous laws with similar stipulations.

This article analyzes how institutions influence the process of identity formation within the Polish minority communities in Belarus and Lithuania. We focus on ways that the identities of people who consider themselves Poles in Belarus and Lithuania are targeted by institutions like the state, schools, and nongovernmental organizations. We aim to shed light on how these processes are shaped by institutional settings and broader political contexts. The authors take a bottom-up approach to institutions and look at how members of the Polish communities in the two neighboring countries conceptualize the role of various institutions—NGOs, schools, Karta Polaka (the Polish Card)—to shape their sense of ethnic belonging. The article is built on a cross-case analysis. Data for the Lithuanian and Belarusian cases, consisting of interviews and secondary sources, were collected independently and then reread in light of a common research question. Through our analysis, we show differences and similarities in how analogous institutions function on the two sides of the border and elaborate on the reasons why these differences occur and what role state policy and supranational regulations play in the process.

The centuries-old Turkmen community of Stavropol’ Krai in southern Russia, while currently numbering only about 15,000 people, is an integral part of the famously diverse ethnolinguistic landscape of the North Caucasus. To the extent that Euro-Atlantic scholars have noted the existence of this community at all, their comments have been rather cursory and dismissive, and it has been claimed that the North Caucasus Turkmen (virtually alone among the dozens of similarly small ethnic groups of the region) have never published anything in their own language. Intensive investigations in the bibliographic record (and in secondary sources in Russian, Turkish, and Turkmen) show that this is not actually the case, and that the North Caucasus Turkmen do have a modest record of Turkmen-language publishing stretching back a century or more. What are the implications of these published works for our understanding of Turkmen identity, the Turkmen diaspora, and the complicated multiethnic and multilingual environment of the North Caucasus? What does it mean when groups like the North Caucasus Turkmen are made all but invisible in Euro-Atlantic scholarship and Euro-Atlantic library collections?

As elsewhere in Europe after the First World War, the Balkans went through a process of “paramilitarization.” Unlike the rest of Europe, there existed a strong indigenous paramilitary culture originating from the time of Ottoman rule. In the interconnected, harsh political realities of victorious Yugoslavia and vanquished Bulgaria, both states and their political elites resolved to create new paramilitary formations. While in the case of Yugoslavia and its Organization Against Bulgarian Bandits there was a resurgence of an older style paramilitary formation, in Bulgaria leading figures of the ruling Bulgarian Agrarian National Union decided to create the Orange Guards—a completely new paramilitary formation based on the existing structure of their party. The common denominator for both formations was the threat posed by the Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization for security, territorial integrity, and the normal development of both states. As in most cases of paramilitary formation, their existence and actions were followed by violence, often marked by extreme brutality. Both the agrarian regime and Orange Guards perished in the violent summer of 1923, when a carefully planned and executed coup d’état ended the agrarian revolutionary attempt to transform Bulgarian society. The Organization Against Bulgarian Bandits, under the new name of Peoples Self-Defense, continued to function throughout the existence of the Yugoslav kingdom.