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Thinking About Empire
(1997)
Common sense tells us that empires rise and fall. We know that the Roman, Habsburg, Ottoman, and Romanov realms were called empires, and we know — from history or, more precisely, from historians — that they had temporally identifiable beginnings and ends. Not surprisingly, we conclude that the history of entities called empires must hold the explanatory key to the rise and fall of empires.
It is difficult to state conclusively whether the German revolution of 1848 was a success or a failure. I take a more sceptical view of the positive consequences of this revolution view than many recenbt historians of the period, at least in Germany. In order to explain and substantiate this position, I will begin by outlining a few theses taking a closer look at the character of the German revolution of 1848 and its social and political base. Then I shall discuss the question of the 'success or failure of the revolution' and the long-term effects of the events and developments of the year 1848. In the following I shall concentrate primarily on Prussia as the centre of the later German
Empire, and I shall focus particularly on the situation in the cities.
In this issue
(2004)
`Contemporary history' is inherently relevant to, indeed an integral part of, political and social processes in the present. Yet, despite a high level of politicisation of historical debates, the issue of `objectivity' or `value neutrality' cannot be addressed solely in terms of the views of the individual historian, or the wider functions fulfilled by a particular historical interpretation. Attention needs to be shifted to the conceptualisation and `emplotment' of a historical narrative within a given theoretical paradigm. Professional history entails not (merely) the imposition of creative stories, as post-modernists would have it, nor (only) the digging up of ever more `facts' about the past, as on the empiricist view. Rather, it is a puzzle-solving discipline requiring appropriate conceptual tools for the investigation of specific, theoretically constructed, questions. This article reviews recent developments in German contemporary history in the light of this framework.
Rethinking the boundaries of Europe is an earnest exercise that calls for critical reconsideration of our existing spatio-temporal constructions. First of all, it should be established that this kind of an exercise does not only necessitate a re-mapping of the cartographical space within which “Europe” is placed, but more so a re-thinking of the intellectual space within which history is situated.
Like any political, economic, or social happening, the building of architecture can be understood as an historical event. But unlike those other, particularly discrete, types of events, an architectural “event” takes on a concrete form that not only preserves the moment of its beginning but also registers, to a palpable extent, further developments within its context - a process that can be understood as the development of scars upon the architectural surface. It is no coincidence, then, that Reinhart Koselleck used an architectural metaphor to describe the layering of "geschichtliche Zeiten" (historical times) that emerge between "Vergangenheit" and "Zukunft" (past and future), "Erfahrung" and "Erwartung" (experience and expectation): „Wer sich im Alltag von geschichtlicher Zeit eine Anschauung zu machen sucht, der mag auf die Runzeln eines alten Menschen achten oder auf Narben, in denen ein vergangenes Lebensschicksal gegenwärtig ist. Oder er wird sich das Nebeneinander von Trümmern und Neubauten in Erinnerung rufen, und er wird auf den augenfälligen Stilwandel blicken, der einer räumlichen Häuserflucht ihre zeitliche Tiefendimension verleiht, oder er wird auf das Neben-, Unter- und Übereinander unterschiedlicher modernisierter Verkehrsmittel schauen [...].“
Three processes provided a dynamic of violence that involved the whole continent of Europe in varying degrees. First, “total war” meant the escalation of violence applied to the entire population of enemy states. Second, “totalitarian” ideologies drew on the experience of war and sought to annihilate their own projected antagonists. Third, the tension between territory, peoples, and nation-states was resolved through ethnic violence. The worst episodes of violence, especially the Holocaust, combined all three processes. Democratic states were affected by the same violence but to a much lesser extent, due to inbuilt restraints. Determining whether this dynamic of violence was distinctively European or one dimension of a wider modernity means rethinking European history in a global historical context.
Laughing at the Dictator. Franco and Franco’s Spain in the Spanish Blockbuster „Mortadelo y Filemón“
(2004)
The Spanish motion picture “La Gran Aventura de Mortadelo y Filemón” (2003) is not a historical film, no matter what definition of ‘historical film’ one might use. Instead, “Mortadelo y Filemón” (M&F) is the cinematic adaptation of the most successful Spanish comic book series ever published2 its significance to Spanish popular culture reflected by the spectacular box office records achieved by its cinematic counterpart. Moreover, and in contrast to the things we usually understand as ‘historical film’ - as well to the conventions of cinematic realism -, M&F is a cartoon-like histrionic comedy like no other; characters get smashed to the ground by a falling piano, only to later be “inflated” back to life, much in the style of the Warner Brothers’ „Loony Toons.“
The Holocaust and Genocide
(2004)
How does the Holocaust relate to genocide as a concept and an event? This question has caused considerable controversy because scholarly discourse and identity politics cannot be separated neatly. While the term 'genocide' was coined during the Second World War and enshrined in International law in 1948, the Holocaust as a specifically Jewish tragedy did not become an object of consciousness until almost two decades later. Ever since, those highlighting a distinctive experience for European Jewry have sought to separate it from that of other victims of the Nazis as well as other cases of ethnic and racial extermination.
In this Issue
(2005)
The blossoming of military history in Germany offers the chance to set new agendas beyond conventional narratives. The notion of a distinct authoritarian Prusso-German militarism, set against political modernity and civil society, has long served as the master narrative of modern German military history. But this narrative no longer holds any promise. It fails to situate the German experience within a common European and transatlantic military political realm and war culture; it ignores the centrality of technocratic reasoning and industrialized warfare for any understanding of the German military; it offers too overblown and simplistic a portrayal of societal militarization; and it downplays militarist multiplicities and the transformations of the early 20th century. This narrative has the additional disadvantage of cutting off the history of the military and war after 1945 from what came previously.
“Silent Dust”, released in February 1949, was one of a group of films that explored the problems of the returning Second World War veteran. Although the maladjusted veteran is a feature of all major wars, it assumes an added significance in this instance because the Second World War, in Britain and America at least, is conventionally understood “almost universally as honourable and noble, fought with right and justice exclusively on the Allied side”. Angus Calder has argued that the dominant narrative constructed about the Second World War in Britain was what he terms the “myth of the Blitz”, a heroic myth of courage, endurance and pulling together. This myth, through its perpetuation in an enormous array of cultural practices - notably a cycle of combat films in the 1950s such as “The Dam Busters” (1955) and “Reach for the Sky” (1956) - became the accepted view and was almost impossible to dislodge. It was a myth that was officially ratified in the British state’s commemoration of the war and, like all dominant discourses, served to marginalise alternative constructions of the conflict, particularly those that represent it as a traumatic and possibly brutalising experience. By analysing “Silent Dust” in detail and in relation to its social and cultural context, I hope to recover this repressed narrative and restore it to its rightful place as an important discourse about the Second World War.
This article discusses key aspects of the symbolic politics of the British and West German anti-nuclear-weapons movements in the late 1950s and early 1960s. More specifically, it examines the interaction between protest, politics, the media and the public sphere. It proposes two analyses of the protests: first, as the creation of a public sphere by means of "street politics" and, second, as a key to establishing an emotional community of protesters both in a national and transnational context. The media played a crucial role by enabling isolated protests to be perceived as parts of broader movements. The article argues that protests in both countries by and large adhered to, rather than transcended, the dominant national cultural codes. These movements thus exemplify the ways in which international relations, transnational links and national protest traditions interact.
By discontinuing their war against Israel in the late 1970s, the surrounding Arab states made room for the resumption of a different, new/old war, which first erupted prior to the Arab-Israeli interstate war: the civil war between the Jewish-Zionist settler society and Palestinian Arabs, a war over Palestine. The Arab-Israeli conflict is not one, but rather two conflicts, both of which are complexly and inextricably linked in a number of ways. Zionist Jews in Palestine (or the pre-1948 Jewish autonomy in the country) and later the state of Israel have been a permanent party to these conflicts. In contrast, the "Arabs" – or the Palestinians and the Arab states surrounding Palestine – have been changing parties to the overall conflict and its many different wars.
While most Europeans lived through an exceptionally peaceful period of history, termed ‘The Long Peace’ by John Lewis Gaddis,2 the populations of other continents were decidedly less fortunate. What was a ‘Cold War’ for the Europeans was anything but ‘cold’ for the Koreans, Vietnamese, Cambodians and Laotians, for most Arab peoples, the Afghans, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, and Indians, the populations of the Congo, Kenya, Nigeria, Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Ethiopia, Somalia and Eritrea, and of most of Latin America. How, then, can one be so sanguine as to characterise this period as that of a ‘Cold War’ or a ‘long peace’? The reason is that the long-expected Third World War has not (yet?) taken place. It was the prospect of such a Third World War, a ‘total’ and in all probability nuclear war, that attracted the attention of concerned minds in Europe and North America, the cultures that over centuries produced most publications on the subjects of war, strategy, military affairs and international relations.
The first thesis the paper argues is that a certain collective identity emerged at the shop floor („we“, the workers as opposed to „them“, party leaders, intelligentsia, peasants, the self-employed) that was built - and declared - increasingly in opposition to the official ideology and the communist party.5 Important factors in this process were the growing economic difficulties, the party’s apparent inability to solve them and the increasing materialism people experienced in the everyday life - including party member- and leadership. From the mid-70s onwards, the workers could perceive the worsening economic situation of the country by the decrease of the real wages and the need to do overwork or take extra jobs (first in the agriculture and then in the so-called vgmk-s) to keep the former standards of living. The continuously increasing prices made the impact of the „global market“ real regardless of the stance of the Central Committee. The sharpening criticism of the system is formulated, however, not from the viewpoint of the individual but that of the worker, which suggests the existence of a collective identity. One may call it a paradox of the Communist ideology that the system, after all, was successful to develop working-class collective identities but these were built in opposition to the Communist regime and not for it. The paper will attempt to show how these „oppositionist“ identities were formulated and in what ways they are indicative of the alienation of the workers from the workers’ state.
How does the collapse of the Soviet Union alter or confirm existing theories about empires? Perhaps the most important element of the Soviet collapse for theories of empires was the very fact that the Soviet Union was labeled an empire in the first place. After all, the Soviet Union was founded, as Terry Martin has put it, as “the world’s first postimperial state,” to the European imperial system.
Modern Societies and Collective Violence: The Framework of Interdisciplinary Genocide Studies
(2005)
If discussions on the topicality of research regarding processes of state violence and genocide arc still necessary today, does this not imply that we have failed with respect to a decisive challenge raised by National Socialism, namely the imperative to ensure that such atrocities are not repeated, the commitment to a "never again"?
The semantics of the term "empire" is overloaded with superlatives and loud epithets. The concept of empire is so universal and all-encompassing that it appears to have no particular meaning at all. Indeed, empire embodies the grim totality of unlimited domination and coercion; at the same time, it turns out to be a synonym for the clumsy neologism of "world-system" (or "world civilization") and evokes a unifying principle for a universe surrounded by the destructive elements of chaos and barbarism.
In this issue
(2006)
Narratives of Indian responses to the British Empire are usually structured around the ‘national movement’. This essay attempts instead to understand some of the psycho-social and psycho-political dynamics of a colonised society in the first half of the twentieth century. It takes a strategically subjectivist view of the British Indian empire in attempting to approach the subject not from the perspective of retrospective scholarly work, but from perspectives that can be seen to have been relevant to those who experienced that empire. In doing so, it also decentres the national paradigm, which merely reifies the category ‘Indian’, without enabling us to get any closer to non-elite figures, or indeed to relatively elite figures who did not belong adequately in the ‘national movement’. This narrative, therefore, tries to address some of the perspectives of marginal figures and groups, to the extent this is possible, while acknowledging that an Alltagsgeschichte of the British Indian Empire remains to be written.
The ideological lines between the conservation movement and the Nazi regime have received much attention. This article explores a new perspective by focusing on the level of practical politics. After several setbacks and disappointments since 1933, the passage of the national conservation law in 1935 became the crucial turning point. The law instilled a secular boom of conservation work, which lasted until about 1940, nourishing an atmosphere of almost unlimited enthusiasm for the Nazi regime in conservation circles. At the same time, conservationists were crossing sensitive thresholds in their desire to use the law to
the greatest extent possible.
In this Issue
(2008)
In this issue
(2008)
Labour Policy in Industry
(2008)
From 1933 onwards industrial law was transformed from one which protected employees to one intended to secure the regime’s power over them. In the Third Reich the political and ideological aims of the regime - under the cloak of ‘Volk und Rasse’ (nation and race) - became the guiding principles of a new labour law. Evidence of this can be found in the destruction of trade unions, the arbitrary treatment to which non-conforming employees could be subjected, the integration of employees into the network of National Socialist institutions, the authoritarian wage policy, the rapidly vanishing significance of labour courts and the ascendancy of legal offices of the German Labour Front (Deutsche Arbeitsfront, DAF), which propagated the theory of a racist national community (Volksgemeinschaft).
The first half of nineteen-seventies Europe was marked by visible signs of detente in the area of international relations and the resolutions from the final round of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) in Helsinki. It drew an important dividing line in the history of the twentieth century Europe, especially for the inhabitants of the eastern half of the continent. They had ever hopefully been looking for improvements to their situation since the end of the Second World War and the division of Europe, which was an indirect result of the war and was symbolically expressed in Winston Churchill’s famous words: 'From Stettin on the Baltic to Trieste on the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the continent. Behind that line, lie all the capitals of the ancient states of central and eastern Europe. Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest and Sofia ...'.
The Production of Space by Henri Lefebvre (1901-1991) is widely considered to be one of the most important books which facilitated the ‘spatial turn’ in social and cultural theory by introducing space, as an interpretative concept, into sociological, political, economic, historical and cultural analysis. This reorientation was the programmatic objective of this book which aimed to relate and define ‘all possible spaces, whether abstract or real, mental or social’ (p. 299), and thus account for a wide range of spaces, from those of the body to those of the planet.
A radical process of standardization of tourist destinations around the globe, particularly in urban contexts, has been described by numerous scholars during the last decades. Indeed, the reinvention of many cities as tourist destinations has made evident ‘an odd paradox: whereas the appeal of tourism is the opportunity to see something different, cities that are remade to attract tourists seem more and more alike’. In such a context, both scholars and practitioners point to abstract elements such as images, identities, flairs, and experiences, as the main elements defining destinations’ profiles. The American historian Catherine Cocks argued that the attribution of a ‘personality’ to the city was a key aspect in the transformation of American cities into tourist destinations. Urban personalities made the city easily available, readable and intelligible, transformed it into a salable commodity, and offered a compelling reason to visit it and to come back. Similarly, contemporary European cities can be seen as bearers of specific local urban identities that remain relatively fixed even when information, stereotypes and attributes may prove to be inaccurate or simply false. Wolfgang Kaschuba has in this sense described the production of urban identities as a cultural technique that is predominantly performed in certain societal spaces such as literature, tourism, mass media, pop culture, and history marketing. This article focuses on one of such spaces, tourism, and explores how tourist communication transforms Berlin into a distinct and unique destination. It asks how the city is enacted by tourism as a singular and bounded entity, to which multiple orderings of identity are attributed.
At the beginning of the twenty-first century the problem of European frontiers ceased to exist. This is because they are no longer determined by a sense of European identity, but rather by a consensus reached in Brussels. The European borderlands disappeared generations ago and were substituted by peripheries of the capitalist world-economy. It may be said that both concepts are of only academic interest. However, I am not convinced.
»Hits für das Tonbandgerät, Alben für den Plattenspieler? Die Markteinführung des Tonbandgerätes in Westdeutschland und die Urheberrechtsdebatte über Musikaufnahmen jugendlicher Konsumenten in den 1950er und 1960er Jahren«. Since the late 1950s, tape recorders were increasingly to be found in West German households. This device for the first time gave the consumers the opportunity to record music from records or from the radio. This triggered off discussions between the record industry and the GEMA (Society for musical performing and mechanical reproduction rights) on the one hand and tape recorder producers and users on the other hand. Whereas the former complained about falling record sales and called for the introduction of copyright fees, the latter argued that the tape recorder offered a large range of applications and that therefore a collective charging of producers and/ or users would not be justified. Against the background of the changing legal situation, the article retraces the copyright debate and evaluates the opponents’ arguments. In spite of the manifold functions of the tape recorder, young consumers predominantly employed it to record their favourite light music. But these appropriation practices did not cause an overall decline in record sales but rather a change in music consumption patterns. While the possibility of recording single hits did in fact lead to falling sales figures of 45rpm-discs, sales of longplaying-records rose considerably
In this Issue
(2009)
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In this issue
(2009)
What is the link between consumer society, fear of a nuclear war, design, modernity and utopia? According to the curators David Crowley and Jane Pavitt, the answer can be summarized in one concept: the Cold War. ‘Cold War Modern’ is an exhibit intending to show how the two postwar superpowers, the US and the USSR, engaged in aggressive contests in art, architecture and design in order to ‘demonstrate a superior vision of modernity’.
Northeim is a town on the Leine River situated in the hilly region of Lower Saxony between Hildesheim and Göttingen; to historians it is known as the location of William Sheridan Allen’s path-breaking study of the Nazi Machtergreifung. The book was based on a 1962 dissertation at the University of Minnesota, and Allen first published it while at the University of Missouri in Columbia in 1965. Within two years, it appeared in England and was translated into German and French. Allen had settled at the State University of New York in Buffalo by the time I read the second, revised edition (New York 1984), which I used to write this review. In the forty years since its publication, Allen’s readable history became a standard for undergraduates in North America; and his microhistory of the Machtergreifung has been replicated in most German localities. A number of American scholars in particular have followed in Allen’s footsteps: Peter Fritzsche, David Imhoof, Rudy Koshar, and others, including myself. Part of the reason for the interest of American doctoral students in German Mittelstädte is, of course, pragmatic. When one has limited time and money for a research trip abroad, it seems reasonable to select for study an ‘überschaubare’ provincial town. The peculiarities of American culture is surely another reason that historians from the United States look for the German equivalent of ‘middle America’ in what Mack Walker called ‘German home towns’.1 But in the end, German historians from many countries, including Germany, have adopted Allen’s method because close investigations of events ‘on the ground’ offer a necessary balance to modern German histories ‘writ large’.
What have been the contributions of social memory studies to the discourse of German history, particularly about the Nazi past? This essay seeks to distinguish between the memory boom in politics and culture and the more durable insights of social theory and historiography about memory, including insights about this memory boom itself. In particular, it explores mythologies of ‘turning points’ in the discourse of memory, arguing that the attribution of such turning points is often overstated. To be sure, 1989 did mark significant ruptures. But comparing present debates to the Historikerstreit (historians’ dispute) of the mid-1980s, and the Historikerstreit to earlier debates shows that as much has stayed the same as has changed. We remember not just the Nazi past, but the previous ways in which we have remembered the Nazi past, and our mnemonic practices are as much comments on earlier practices as on the event itself.
After the Second World War, West German Catholics placed more faith in religious miracles than they did at almost any other period in the modern era. West German congregations reported eleven apparitions of the Virgin Mary to Church officials be-tween 1945 and 1954, as well as Europe’s most prominent twentieth century case of stigmata. Existing scholarship links the popularity of these alleged miracles to the ways in which Marian symbolism articulated anxieties about war trauma and the Cold War. This article illustrates how an interconnected movement of rural women, provincial priests, concentration camp survivors, and former prisoners of war based around Marian visions and stigmata emerged as a reaction not only to the Cold War, but also to Americanisation, consumerism, and the Nazi past. To frame the bitter conflicts between Marian pilgrims and Church hierarchy about the recognition of religious miracles, the article utilises Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of ‘religious field’. It also takes into account the gendered character of the conflicts.
Rereading a book is always an uncanny experience in multiple temporalities. If the linguistic turn has taught us anything, it is that the context of reading shapes the meaning of the text that is read. The historicist impulse to reconstruct the original context on the basis of the text itself is at best an asymptotic, at worst a quixotic, pursuit. Yet texts remain, some more so than others. Those texts which continue to be read and reread long after their original context has passed we call ‘classics’. This is a term most frequently applied to literature, of course, but also to philosophy and other scholarly works animated by a generalising impulse. It pertains to works, in other words, which lay claim to a significance transcending their original context. It is rarely applied to works whose principle value is empirical or narrowly scholarly. These are presumed to be only temporarily useful interventions into an ongoing scholarly debate, in which later works draw on and ‘supersede’ the insights of earlier ones, rendering their predecessors superfluous. (Rather the reverse of Jove and his children.) Consequently, relatively few works of historical scholarship are considered classics in the full sense. History’s emphasis on the particular, its frequent skepticism of theoretical generalisations, and its embrace of archival empiricism have all tended to preclude the emergence of a broad canon of ‘historical classics’. There have, however, been exceptions to this rule.
A Cold War Museum for Berlin
(2009)
The Cold War is ancient history to young people now. They have no idea of the underlying issues that fueled the Cold War or how it evolved and affected people’s lives. Current college and university students (aged 18-26) were between zero and six years old when the Berlin Wall came down, which is to say they did not live during the Cold War and have no direct understanding of what it was. It really is history to them, seemingly as distant as World War II or maybe even the French Revolution. The Cold War world, of mutually assured destruction, communism vs. capitalism, and Berlin on the front line divided by a wall, has been replaced by fears of terrorism, global warming, and financial crisis.
Is popular music a tool of consumer capitalist recuperation or can it be a weapon of revolutionary change? The career of the radical rock band Ton Steine Scherben, founded in West Berlin in 1970, suggests that at certain moments, radical music and radical politics can be mutually constitutive. The band’s history provides a richer understanding of the radical left-wing scene in West Berlin at a key moment of transition from the student movement of the 1960s to the anarchist and terrorist scenes of the 1970s, illustrating how an analysis of popular music in its social and cultural setting can broaden historical analysis.
The internationalization of ideas is an old idyll, and an old anxiety. “The invasion of ideas has followed on from the invasion of the barbarians”, the aged François-René de Chateaubriand wrote in 1841, in his last reflections on the new “universal society” which was no more than a confusion of needs and images”: “when steam power will have been perfected, when, together with the telegraph and the railways, it will have made distances disappear, there will not only be commodities which travel, but also ideas which will have recovered the use of their wings”. This universe of fluttering and floating ideas is at first sight exhilarating for intellectual history. A world in which ideas soar across the frontiers of distance and nationality is also a world full of ideas, and a world of opportunity for intellectual history. But all is not, I fear, as encouraging as it appears. The international or transnational turn which is such a powerful preoccupation of present historical scholarship may even, in the end, be subversive of the old enterprise that Marx described disobligingly in 1847 as “sacred history – the history of ideas”.
Different factors have been proposed to explain the longevity of the communist system in Romania: social control by the secret police, external pressures, or foreign control. However, the most common explanation is that of the Romanian people’s ‘passivity’. Many commentators distinguish between two groups in Romanian society, victims and collaborators, and hold the entire Romanian nation responsible for communism since it did not oppose the system and its authorities. Over the last few years, Romanian sociologists have begun to study communist society more systematically. They have developed new interpretations of the causes of the longevity of the system in terms of the transformation of social identity under communism and general fear. This article advances a complementary explanation, focusing on the perception of social security, and draws on a series of interviews conducted in the summer of 2009 in Romania and a number of public surveys conducted between 1999 and 2009.
Migration has been a constant feature of human history – "homo migrans" has existed ever since "homo sapiens". Moving away from the traditional nation-based dichotomy of emigration – immigration, the less specific term migration allows for many possible trajectories, time spans, directions and destinations. It can be temporary or long-term, voluntary or forced. It can occur in stages or in cycles, and can be mono-directional or more varied. Generally speaking, however, human migration can be defined as crossing the boundary of a political or administrative unit for a certain minimum period.
There is no single answer to the question: What is intellectual history? Commenting in the mid-1980s on two recent volumes dedicated to the sub-discipline's methods and perspectives, John Pocock wryly remarked: "I recommend reading them, but after doing so myself, I am persuaded that whatever 'intellectual history' is, and whatever 'the history of ideas' may be, I am not engaged in doing either of them." In the United States, in many respects the heartland of intellectual history, the scholarly community has grappled with the ambiguous relationship of "intellectual history" to "the history of ideas" for almost a century.
"Global history" refers to a wide range of research approaches that are typically characterized by a rising interest in alternative conceptions of space beyond methodological nationalism and Eurocentrism. It builds on a multitude of detailed research projects in all branches of historiography, ranging from economic history to cultural history and from gender history to environmental history.
‘Silenced Power’. Warfare Technology and the Changing Role of Sounds in Twentieth-Century Europe
(2011)
How did the technological ability to manipulate the sounds of weapons affect warfare in Europe during the twentieth century? The article first observes the role of warfare sounds in Europe prior to the First World War. The focus here is on the connection between the large-scale use of artillery and rapid-fire technologies and the development of sonic perceptions of ‘sounded power’ during the late nineteenth century. The second part discusses the introduction of ‘soundless weapons’ during the First World War. The horror of ‘silenced power’ as a force undermining the long-term tradition of ‘sounded power’ on the battlefield is exemplified by the case of gas warfare in the First World War and its long-term influence in Germany during the Weimar Republic and National Socialism. The paper points to existing gaps in research regarding the role of sound and silence on the battlefield, and further argues that although the notion of ‘silenced power’ was more prevalent in the first half of the twentieth century its potential horror could not be ignored after 1945.
Having for a long time been an area of research mainly reserved for specialists in international relations and political scientists, the international organizations (IOs) that first emerged in the twentieth century’s pre-World War II decades have also attracted renewed interest of historians for the past several years. This development has its place in a movement of ‘globalization’ within the discipline, evident in both themes and practice. The nation, the region, and the village remain pertinent units for study, but the historian interested in global history approaches them in relation to other spaces, reflecting renewed attention to connections and forms of circulation traditionally neglected in specialized studies. As will be argued below, in their role as observation posts, the IOs and international associations here comprise an especially productive area of research, in effect opening access to work on complexly intermeshing ‘circulatory regimes’.
The study of organized sound is the business of musicology – yet this routine observation carries a wealth of complexities, especially in the context of interdisciplinary discourse. Although musicology’s pluridisciplinary foundations offer open access to such disciplines as history, literary studies, mathematics, or sociology, the field’s intradisciplinary discourses and methodologies have shaped musicology in ways that turn most interdisciplinary exchange into a challenge. The scholarly exploration of sound in the twentieth century presents a case in point. Meaningful research on, for example, the music of the contemporary avant-garde composer Kaija Saariaho demands highly sophisticated technical skills in the spheres of the analysis, aesthetics, and technologies of music. While one could imagine interdisciplinary research on Saariaho involving, for example, the humanities or social sciences – perhaps with respect to, say, cultural politics in the late twentieth century – the specialist areas of music research usually remain disciplinarily hermetic. My current work on music in the USA during World War II offers striking examples of the need for, yet problems of, squaring interdisciplinary engagement with intradisciplinarities. The following remarks will address some of those disciplinary intersections.
This article investigates the little known phenomenon of tourism to the Iron Curtain, using the example of the inter-German border. The practice of traveling to the demarcation line to see where Germany and Europe were divided peaked during the mid-1960s but was already in full swing by the mid-1950s and lasted until the fall of the border in 1989. Based on archival documents, postcards and tourist guidebooks, the article analyses the growth of a tourist infrastructure on the western side of the inter-German border and situates this travel as a form of ‘dark tourism’. It argues that seeing the border and visualising the partition of the country did little for overcoming it but rather tended to underwrite the political and territorial status quo. In the Cold War battle for public opinion, seeing the border allowed West Germans and their visitors from abroad to juxtapose freedom and prosperity with captivity and decay, thus advertising the superiority of the capitalist model over its socialist other.
In this Issue
(2011)