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As a photographer, artist and expert in geopolitics, Emeric Lhuisset has a remarkable understanding of human tragedies and areas of conflict. Through his projects in various areas of conflict he opposes the abridged representation of these tragedies; shows hidden aspects of wars; and invites us to re-think war through art. The work of Lhuisset takes up historical and political narratives in their context. The following two projects by Emeric Lhuisset recall tragedies and intervene in spaces where drastic events have taken place.
This article reassesses the emergence of human rights advocacy in 1970s West Germany from the perspective of memory politics. Focusing on the campaigns against political violence in South America, the article first traces the boom and bust of antifascist activism against the Chilean junta in the early 1970s. It then analyzes the displacement of abstract antifascist discourses by a more humanitarian human rights talk closely intertwined with concrete references to National Socialist crimes. Taking the perspective of grassroots advocates, this article explores how and why activists referenced the crimes of Nazism to defend human rights in the present. Finally, the article moves beyond the claim that human rights politics were minimalistic and even anti-antifascist, by showing how some human rights activists continued to think of themselves as antifascists. They infused antifascism with entirely new meanings by recovering the 20 July 1944 assassination attempt against Hitler as an acceptable example of anti-government violence.
›1948‹ is a key concept in Israeli identity discourse. A signifier of the violent clashes that took place at the end of the British Mandate in Palestine (between the fall of 1947 and the spring of 1949), it encompasses both the foundation of a democratic Jewish nation-state and the destruction of numerous Palestinian communities during the Israeli ›War of Independence‹ and thereafter. The Nakba, the Palestinian catastrophe, could not be overlooked by Israel’s ›generation of 1948‹ and those that succeeded it: it was present in the deserted fields and houses now occupied by Israelis, in the names of the streams, hills and roads Israelis now visited during military drills or school field trips, and in the frequent encounters with Arab ›infiltrators‹ who sought to return to their abandoned homes and lands.1 The mass expulsion and the killings of Arab civilians by Jewish forces were regularly discussed and debated by Israeli politicians, intellectuals, journalists and artists in the ensuing decades.2 Yet with few exceptions, Israeli historians and politicians have seemingly effortlessly merged these atrocities with a commonly accepted ›narrative‹ by, for example, attributing them to rogue, marginal, right-wing militias; depicting cases of expulsion as sporadic and spontaneous events; or justifying them as ad hoc measures taken against the initiators of the violence during the war.
The International Tracing Service archives offer process-generated documents from resettlement programs for displaced persons (DP) after World War II. This paper addresses two key challenges to ongoing research based on those archival holdings: the generation of data; and the visual representation of that data in geographic information systems. Digital history offers the opportunity to go beyond case studies and use the wealth of process-generated documents as se- rial sources for algorithm-based analysis. However, data in that form does not exist as such, and thus needs to be generated – a process that implies interpre- tative acts such as abstraction, normalization, and trans-coding, which are shaped by the character of digital media. Can modeling a DP’s life into a series of events, and digitally processing the resultant data, help to find out more about the agency of DPs negotiating their destiny with the authorities? If the mostly hidden and implicit configurations of digital knowledge production are thoughtfully considered and geostatistical analysis is combined with close readings of selected source documents, hermeneutic and quantitative ap- proaches can be reconciled via digital history. This mixed method approach has implications for research culture and the publication of such data.
One of the most influential anti-Semitic propaganda actions produced in the “Third Reich” in the years 1939-1941 was based on images and reports from various ghettos in occupied Poland. Large portion of the raw material required for the anti-Semitic propaganda was collected and delivered by the Propagandakompanien (PK) of the Wehrmacht. In order to analyze and understand the significance of this contribution, it is necessary to look not only at the propaganda materials, but also at the historical contexts in which they were produced. This includes organizational aspects, local conditions, general propaganda strategies and the given general and local war situation.
This article will examine the contribution of the Wehrmacht to the anti-Semitic propaganda of the “Third Reich” during three periods: The invasion of Poland, the establishment of a new order in the occupied Polish territories and the months preceding “Operation Barbarossa” in 1941. It will focus on the way PK materials were used mainly in the visual media in order to support the propaganda strategies and their subsequent goals set by the Nazi leadership.
The images are blurred and a bit chaotic, as they often are in on-the-spot videos of fast-moving events circulating on social media. But the gist of the story is clear. Three men clad in dark face masks and combat gear, their identities hidden behind their uniform exterior and emotionless body language, are rounding up a crowd of women. The women are fighting back, trying to break out of the cordon. Suddenly the three men in camouflage retreat. One holds his mask in his hand and looks distressed. They walk away quickly, the crowd whistles after them. What happened? The answer rests with a 73-year old great-grandmother who is a celebrity of the Belarusian protests. Fearlessly she demonstrates, scolds and sometimes kicks the security forces. And she always attempts to take off their masks—this time successfully. Belarusian security police do not like to show their face while shoving around women. And the Belarusian women know this. They have been coming out onto the street in ever increasing numbers to continue the fight against an entrenched dictatorship, inspired by their three female leaders, who are not career politicians, but ordinary women, some with husbands and children, all of them with aspirations.
In the following, three scholars have a look at the question of how to explain the female presence on the Belarusian streets and what it means both in the short and in the long term. The articles were written on the day of mass arrests of women in Minsk. The future is uncertain. Mass violence is on the cards as much as the possibility of a Lukashenko retreat. Whatever it will be, however, it deserves the world’s attention.
“I am going out” was the last message sent by Raman Bandarenka to a Telegram chat uniting people from his neighbourhood in Minsk. In the evening of November12th, he went down to his courtyard, known by protesters as the Square of Changes. The Square of Changes appeared in Minsk in the beginning of September 2020 to support initiatives of a local community in times of political contestation. Raman went down to protect a fence decoration made from white-red-white ribbons that became a target for a group of unknown men in masks and sportive clothing. To watch over protest symbols installed in their Square of Changes became a routine action for the locals. Their neighbour, Stsiapan Latypau, was detained in September in somewhat similar circumstances: he was asking men in masks to introduce themselves and to explain their reason for destroying a graffiti, a symbol of the Square of Changes. This time, Raman was beaten up in the same courtyard, then put in a blue van, and taken to the police station. The next day he died in a hospital from the received traumas. All elements of this story – anonymous men in civic clothing who seem to have the carte blanche to brutal violence, blue vans without a registration number, write-red-white ribbons, alternative names to cities’ places, and local chats – are the symbols of the ongoing Belarusian protests.
Intelligence History
(2021)
From the perspective of the history of intelligence, intelligence services are no longer primarily twilight agent headquarters that operated "dead letter boxes" and developed secret ink. They are foreign policy actors and producers of knowledge for decision-makers. In his contribution, Rüdiger Bergien develops a definition of this field of research. He traces how the academic study of intelligence services has developed since World War II, focusing on the question of how insights into the black box of intelligence services could be gained at different times. Finally, he presents the focal points of previous research and identifies desiderata.
Infrastructures
(2021)
Since the middle of the 20th century, the term “infrastructure” has been used to describe facilities for supply and disposal, communication and transport, and in a broader sense also those that interconnect our society economically, socially, culturally or medially. Dirk van Laak recapitulates the current status of the term, looks at its recent history and concludes by outlining selected fields in which infrastructures are currently being researched or could be further analysed.
The article traces the collective term “living history” in its various definitions, forms and manifestations, offering an overview of this widespread phenomenon. It will consider developments in the United States and Europe, as well as taking a look at historical precursors of present-day forms. Whereas living history in the Anglo-American world has long been a well-established part of the educational and cultural work of museums, in Germany there is still a great deal of skepticism towards this form of historical representation. Finally, it asks how the fields of history and cultural studies might best engage with living history and which theoretical approaches exist for investigating and analyzing living history.
Protest is a form of expressing one’s opinions. It allows people who share the same view(s) to rightfully assemble with others to voice complaints and ideas. Bubriski’s book, “Our Voices, Our Streets: American Protests 2001-2011”, looks back at that decade through photographs united by common denominators: the lens of the Hasselblad camera and the public stage of the American streets.
By analysing oral history interviews with industrial workers in Poland, this article adds some nuance to the study of post-industrial and post-socialist nostalgia. It presents diverse vernacular memories of the post-1989 systemic change from state socialism to neoliberal capitalism, and shows that nostalgia for an industrial ›golden age‹, although significant, is not the only way of making sense of this change. Rather, a distinctive feature of vernacular memory is the ambiguity about both socialism and capitalism. Recognising the variety of memories, the article underlines the critical potential of nostalgic currents for highlighting what is felt to be wrong with contemporary work culture. The article also differentiates between the vernacular memories of industrial communities recorded in oral history and institutionalised political memories in order to stress that the critical potential of nostalgic memories has been largely absent in the latter. In Poland, nostalgia for industrial life has been given little opportunity to become a reflective and critically useful mechanism to protect values that remain relevant in the present, such as the importance of sociability and agency in the workplace.
Beyond Nostalgia and the Prison of English. Positioning Japan in a Global History of Emotions
(2021)
This article interrogates the history of emotions at a pivotal moment in its growth as a discipline. It does so by bringing into conversation the ways in which scholars in Japan have approached ›nostalgia‹ (and emotions more broadly) as an object of study with concepts, theories, and methods prioritised by a predominantly Eurocentric field. It argues that Anglocentric notions of nostalgia as conceptual frameworks often neglect the particularisms that underlie the way that the Japanese language communicates and operationalizes cultural norms and codes of feeling. It also examines the aisthetic work of musicologist Tsugami Eisuke to help understand historical and psychological distinctions between ›nostalgia‹ and Japanese ideas of temporal ›longing‹, working towards a global history of emotions that meaningfully embraces multilateral and multi-lingual interaction. This article thus argues for a more nuanced way of discussing nostalgia cross-culturally, transcending dominant approaches in the field which are often grounded in a specifically Euro-Western experience but claim universal reach.
For centuries, nostalgia denoted homesickness, but current dictionary definitions indicate that these two concepts have parted ways and acquired discrete meanings. However, it is one thing to demonstrate that contemporary definitions of nostalgia and homesickness are distinct; it is another to show that the way people think about nostalgia and its characteristics corresponds to this lexicographic knowledge. In 2012, Erica G. Hepper and colleagues therefore asked laypeople to identify which features they considered most characteristic of the construct ›nostalgia‹ and found that respondents conceptualised nostalgia as a predominantly positive, social, and past-oriented emotion. In nostalgic reverie, one brings to mind a fond and personally meaningful event, often involving one’s childhood. The person tends to see the event through rose-coloured glasses and may even long to return to the past. As a result, he or she feels sentimental, typically happy but with a hint of sadness.
In this issue
(2021)
Questions about the performance of democratic governance, about trust in democratic institutions and their representatives, about the system’s inherent ability to self-correct and to respond to unforeseen situations are now once again being raised with particular urgency. ›Which copes better with the virus – totalitarian states or democracies?‹ was the question a reporting team from the weekly newspaper DIE ZEIT wanted to answer at the beginning of 2021, investigating the strategies and practices of pandemic control in Germany and China, the USA and Iran. The answer certainly depends on how one weights different indicators and which time horizon one chooses for consideration. It also depends on the value one wishes to place on democratic procedures, especially in the face of acute decision-making pressure. Quite apart from the Covid pandemic, democratic systems, even those of the ›West‹ with a long tradition, are increasingly undergoing a crisis of legitimacy, are exposed to hostility, are disparaged or even violently opposed. Against this backdrop, the Gerda Henkel Foundation announced a ›Funding Programme Democracy‹ in 2019, and various Berlin research institutions opened the Cluster of Excellence ›Contestations of the Liberal Script‹ in 2020.
The fiftieth issue
(2021)
At first glance, the seventeenth year of this journal’s publication would not appear to mark any particular anniversary. And yet the present edition is quite special for the editors and the editorial team: it is the 50th issue overall. (There was a double issue in 2007, otherwise there have always been three issues each year.) This milestone is the occasion for a brief review of the original objectives and of developments thus far, as well as a (self-)critical look at what the future may bring. Scholars in the nascent field of the cultural study of periodicals have rightly observed: ›The production of periodicals is often accompanied by reflections on the value, conditions, and promise of producing periodicals.‹
As the biggest commercial city in Tanzania today, Dar es Salaam features a number of German colonial memory sites which range from buildings, statues to open spaces. Formerly existing as a small caravan town exclusively owned by the Arab Sultan of Zanzibar, Dar es Salaam was further developed by the Germans who used it as their capital (Hauptstadt) beginning in the late 19th century. After the WWI, the city continued to serve as the capital in British mandate period until it was inherited by the independent government of Tanzania in 1961.
The debates about what to do with collections from colonial contexts, and how to deal with them, have developed pace and unexpected momentum in the last three years. This is especially true for artifacts from the African continent, whether they are in museums or collections in Europe, North America, or elsewhere outside the continent. But the same is true under different circumstances, and we do not want to pass over this, for colonial collections and museums in Africa. Let's take a closer look at both in light of recent debates.
The discussions about whether, to whom and when under which circumstances a return, or rather indeed: an unequivocal restitution is appropriate or not, have recently experienced differentiations. This applies already to the preconditions of most restitutions, namely the opening and making accessible of the inventories. While some think that in principle everything should be put online, another opinion maintains that whenever possible, the creators or original holders should have their say beforehand, especially in the case of 'sensitive' objects such as those containing human remains, of a sacred nature, or photographs of contexts of violence. This has also brought other issues into focus – questions about the various forms of rights of disposal, about the forms and functions of museums in Africa, and in Europe and elsewhere.
In 1892, the year the American writer Pearl S. Buck was born, the US Congress renewed the Chinese Exclusion Act, initially passed in 1882, for another ten years. It sought to prevent all laborers of Chinese ethnicity from entering or reentering the US, with breaches punishable by law. Three months after her birth, Buck moved with her missionary parents to China and spent most of her life until her early forties there. During the global Cold War, Buck, already a Nobel Laureate (1938), sharply criticized US foreign policy and its racism, the ignorance of American diplomats about China, and the arrogant belief in solving conflicts in Asia through military means in her book Friend to Friend (1958). While there is little doubt about Buck’s official US nationality, her cultural belonging of choice – which decisively shaped her lifelong literary writing, in particular the novel The Good Earth (1931) that earned her the Nobel Prize – is inherently multivalent. In The Good Earth, Buck depicts the lives of Chinese peasants and their loyalty to the earth that nurtures humanity and provides all that lives on it with nutrition. In the following pages, I will discuss Buck’s bicultural biography and several aspects of this extremely popular and influential novel and, rather than viewing it as a piece of classic American literature, I will propose re-reading it as a work in the Chinese tradition of literary realism and in the context of the emerging trend of rural realism in the early twentieth century. The purpose of my re-reading of The Good Earth is to highlight less apparent global connections in the tradition of rural nostalgia and to complicate the paradigm of national literature and national history. Indeed, the earth, ruralism, nutrition, and food, as the novel describes, constitute the very foundation of human existence across borders, political camps, language barriers, and cultural differences from antiquity to the present day.
In this issue
(2022)
In 2020/21 it was first and foremost the Covid pandemic that many experienced as a major turning point; now the Russian war of aggression against Ukraine since 24 February 2022 has added a whole new set of events of existential significance, whose medium- and long-term consequences we can only partly foresee. The title of a book published in the spring of 2022, Der 11. September 2001 – (k)eine Zeitenwende? (11 September 2001 – A Historical Turning Point?), has come to sound like something from a bygone age. The question ›Is this the beginning of a new era?‹ is now posed under altered circumstances, and a ›historical turning point‹ and the ›end of globalisation‹ are proclaimed in equally adamant fashion. An academic – in the best sense of the word – conference on ›New Eras and Epochal Change‹ in April 2022 acquired an unanticipated immediacy. The organising team wrote: ›We have been outrun and perhaps even rendered irrelevant by events.‹ But humanities scholarship also entails a certain scepticism towards hasty diagnoses of the times and proclamations of turning points, as scholars including the Indian-born political scientist Parag Khanna have underscored: ›We should avoid grandiloquent proclamations that seek to encapsulate our times. Such characterisations can only capture the moment that has just passed and are guaranteed to quickly be outdated.‹ Of course even such a ›guarantee‹ that any statements can only be provisional may seem questionable when there are ›unmistakable symptoms of upheaval, of profound rupture‹, as the historian Jörn Leonhard has emphasised. With reference to Reinhart Koselleck, he underscores the fundamentally close link between ›rupture and repetition‹, between the ›singularity of history‹ and its ›recurrence‹.