The study explores the phenomenon of popular violence in the first months and years after the end of World War I on the basis of a comparison between the Bohemian lands, forming the central part of the newly established Czechoslovakia, and Austria, as another successor state to the former Habsburg monarchy. Aside from the continuities, new forms of violence increasingly emerged in the first years after the end of the war, and also the “language” of violence was transformed. While in Czechoslovakia, the framework within which people were learning to understand the new world was shaped by the national and republican discourse oriented to the future, in Austria the collective identities and mentalities were being formed along the lines of particular party political blocks. In both cases, the nationalization and politicization of violence respectively contributed to the emergence of new forms of popular violence; but at the same time they could also be used for its de-escalation, necessary for the re-integration of society disrupted by the wartime experience. However, even if both countries went out from the war on different paths, the violence stayed part of their political culture and it could be mobilized again.

This article explores the socio-emotional dimension of national belonging in post-Soviet neoliberal Latvia from the perspective of national pride. I propose this perspective since national pride shapes the character of national belonging. Studies show that national pride in socioeconomic and political attainment is low in post-Soviet countries and Latvia particularly. Influenced by social bond and commitment theories, this study explores why this might be the case by establishing national pride as a relational emotion of national belonging. For understanding national pride it is not enough to explore how people relate to their states. It is also necessary to understand how the states relate to their people, whether they recognize their state constituents, their needs and feel pride in them, and whether they shape social bonds among people. This study explores this question: how does the character of state-society relationship accounts for the low national pride in post-Soviet neoliberal Latvia? To answer, I combine the analysis of the post-Soviet civil discourse and an in-depth exploration of the narratives of 59 emigrants that have left Latvia toward the West in the post-Soviet era. The bonds formed between the Latvian political elite and Western countries during the post-Soviet transformations brought into Latvia neoliberal ideas and policies that, I argue, formed an insecure state-society bond, eroding an opportunity for national pride to flourish and weakening national belonging.

After Ekrem İmamoğlu won as Istanbul’s mayor, the contestation between the city and central government resembled other cases of liberal mayors winning in illiberal populist regimes. To expand liberal democracy, the mayor sought to reinvigorate effective democratic citizenship by increasing access to information, creating more inclusive governance networks through public participation opportunities, limiting the regime’s clientelism and rent-seeking opportunities in real estate and contracting, and (re)creating social solidarity. The national government responded by extensively covering “scandals” and continuing populist rhetoric to maintain polarization, limiting the city’s financial resources, and moving power and projects to agencies they still controlled. This article uses Istanbul to develop this model and illustrate how İmamoğlu has made progress in each area despite the central government’s effort to constrain his administration.

For most North Americans demography is an esoteric subject more often tied to marketing than to social and political changes. In Latvia, as in most of Eastern Europe and the USSR, demography has long been placed on the forefront of public attention. This wave of attention in the case of Latvia is not a fad of short duration which will be readily displaced by other popular topics. On the contrary, demography has had, is having and will have a tremendous impact on a very broad range of policies and on the long term survival of the Latvian nation. Thus, in order to understand the social and ethnic tensions, the labour squeeze, and the welfare burden of Latvia, it is necessary to understand the multifaceted demographic processes: the real matrix of the political and social environment. This paper reviews the pivotal demographic role of the First and Second World Wars and analyzes population size, sex balance, age structure, urban-rural residence, nuptiality, birth and death rates, migration patterns and ethnic balance.

We Greek political emigres celebrate the thirtieth historical anniversary of the GDR as our own holiday since we are vitally connected to this state from its first steps onwards. We feel better than any other foreigner the great joy and the pride of the people of the GDR since, from the foundation of its socialist state, we are marching side by side and since then we by way of our small contribution feel as co-constructors of this grand act. The thirtieth anniversary of the GDR coincides with the thirtieth anniversary of our political emigration to this hospitable country. Today we all remember the first years after our arrival and our caring reception in the GDR. (Speech of the day at the central celebration of the Greek political emigres in the GDR devoted to the thirtieth anniversary of the GDR and the thirtieth anniversary of the political emigration, Dresden, 29 September 1979).

Long live the constitution! Long live the republic! Long live the people! Perish the nobility and the rank of the czar!

Nationalism in the East has long been considered to be different from nationalism in the West. Although Hans Kohn's famous dichotomy has been challenged, it still determines the way most people look at Eastern nationalism. Nationalism in the East is seen as authoritarian, ethnic and cultural in contrast to the democratic, civic and political nationalism of the West. According to the common view, Western nationalism is based on modern liberal, constitutional ideas, which makes it democratic, while Eastern nationalism is based on cultural belonging, which makes it conservative or regressive and hostile to foreign influence.

In early 1983 I concluded my book on Iu. V. Andropov with the prediction: “This is how Andropov's country will advance toward its own 1984 which hopefully will not correspond to Orwell's description.” Scarcely one year later the Soviet Union did actually enter 1984 — both in the chronological and in the profounder sense — but without Andropov. And it probably happened against Andropov's desires and expectations.

Before the 1980s one hardly spoke of any significant social movements in the Baltic republics. Political apathy, bordering on hopelessness, as far as the masses were concerned, and an emphasized apoliticism of the intelligentsia, whose members never tired of stressing that their only concerns are professional, cultural, maybe aesthetic, but not at all political—that was the social situation in the Baltic states most of the time under Soviet rule.

This overall image of apathy, complacency, and acquiescence was, however, not entirely correct. Underneath there were many things happening, as very few Balts indeed were total conformists and total loyalists of the Soviet regime. Most of them were, rather, “conservationists.” That is a special term I use for people outwardly loyal to the Soviet system, working within that system, trying to comply with the rules of the system, but at the same time using whatever position in the system they have to preserve their nation's economic, cultural, and historical heritage. They were trying especially hard to safeguard their nation's economic well-being, ecological situation and, of course, spiritual identity and heritage, by promoting art, literature and other activities, mainly under the slogan “national in form and socialist in content,” but more and more national in form and less and less socialist in content, as far as the circumstances allowed it. These people wore the disguise of Soviet loyalism for the benefit and the advantage of their own nation; that was the attitude I call conservationism in the Baltic states and that was the attitude that was prevalent among most native Balts.

Among social psychologists, there has long been a debate over the concept of the stereotype. Are stereotypes meant mainly for consumption by an in-group or are they designed by and for curious outsiders? Are they primarily individual or collective? Are they benign generalizations and categories that make it easier for individuals or groups to perceive and organize the world around them? Or are they insipid and unsustainable generalizations, based on false information, exaggeration, unfairly rigid conceptual categories, or even the observer's laziness? Do they beget understanding or prejudice? These questions, many of which were first raised by Walter Lippmann when he published Public Opinion in 1922, still polarize the psychological profession today. They also continue to confound politicians who wish to construct coherent, distinct, and vibrant identities for their nations.

The development of new states in Central and Eastern Europe during the inter-war period was an enthusiastic attempt to build free and democratic societies, which unfortunately was soon followed by a sense of disappointment among both the public and political elites. This eventually led to the replacement of the young democracies with authoritarian regimes in Estonia, Lithuania, Poland and other countries. I explore this growth of anti-democratic tendencies through the case of Latvian democracy and its opponents in the 1920s and early 1930s. I particularly focus on the role of the nationalist intelligentsia as the author of anti-democratic and pro-authoritarian political ideas.

In the administrative usage of the Soviet Union, the category “minor peoples of the North” embraced 26 ethnic groups of the North and the Far East. According to 1989 data, the populations of these groups ranged from 179 to 34,190 and together totaled 181,500. In addition to being small in numbers, the common denominators of the groups include a northern location and dependence on such sources of livelihood as hunting, reindeer herding, and fishing. Furthermore, some of these peoples remain nomadic or semi-nomadic.

The Karaites are a schismatic Jewish sect which severed itself from the Babylonian Jewish community in the eighth century of the Common Era. The Karaites contended that the Rabbinites, the adherents to the Rabbinic tradition of Judaism, had perverted the Torah (Pentateuch) by superseding it with the Talmud (the compendium of the oral tradition of Jewish law). As a result of this theological argument, the Karaites adopted a fundamentalist approach to scriptural exegesis. The two groups differed in such areas as: observance of religious laws, the order of prayers, dietary laws and determining the dates of Jewish holidays.

Latvia is not a large country and, therefore, does not usually attract much attention. In addition, for several postwar decades, it did not exist as an independent country.

The fate of the Hungarian minority in Romania is closely linked to the political situation in that country, its economic development, and its geopolitical location. This was the case before 1989 and remains so today. On the other hand, the Hungarians of Romania are an important factor affecting the internal and the external political relations of the country. This was dramatically confirmed by the revolution of 1989 which had been triggered by ethnic unrest. This study will focus on major political and economic developments from December 1989 until December 1993, analyzing them in terms of their impact on the Hungarian minority.

This paper highlights campaigns for national rights among two non-titular communities in the Soviet Union and places them in local historical contexts. Drawing on archival sources and oral history interviews, the author not only delves into the campaigns themselves, but also explores broader debates about the nature of Khrushchev's Thaw and Soviet citizenship, which was far from an empty concept in the Khrushchev era. Petitioners invoked discourses that indicate both an awareness of national rights and an expectation of the state's obligation to protect them. Oral history interviews with surviving petitioners and community members support the notion that petition language can serve as a reflection of how petitioners viewed their place in Soviet society and interpreted the Soviet citizen contract.

The population of the North Adriatic area has always been linguistically mixed. Slovene, Croatian and Italian populations have lived here for 14 centuries; German people moved here in the period of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the city of Trieste became the official harbor of the Empire, and, as a consequence, the town grew, attracting others immigrants: Greeks, Jews, Serbs, and so on. Linguistically three main groups lived in Trieste: German, Italian and Slovene speakers. The Slovenes in Trieste owned many important activities, such as banks and trading companies. They were organized in the fields of education and culture with their own theater, private schools, library, daily newspaper and magazines. The Slovenes in Trieste also had their own political movement electing some representatives to the Parliament in Vienna. On the whole, they were considered a very well organized linguistic group. The Italians in Trieste were similarly well organized, and many supported a strong irredentist movement, economical and political organizations, as well as the theater. The German speakers were mostly immigrants who had moved to Trieste for business reasons or as civil servants.

Exploring the history of Koreans in the Russian Far East from the perspective of New Imperial History, the article demonstrates that political activism of Koreans and policies of the Russian (Soviet), Korean, and Japanese governments resulted in consolidation of two visions of their future. The first vision implied unity between the Koreans living in the Russian Far East with those who stayed in Korea, moved to Japan, or emigrated elsewhere and corresponded to the agenda of building a Korean nation. The second vision implied that the bilingual or Russified Koreans aspired to stay in the Russian Far East permanently, ensuring their own livelihood in the new regional frontier. The two currents interlaced in the project of Korean autonomy in a post-imperial state, first the Far Eastern Republic and later the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics. The project involved inclusion of Koreans into the global spread of revolution through the Communist International and left open the issue of the duration of Korean presence in the Russian Far East. Its ultimate failure in 1926 left the Koreans partly excluded from the Soviet system without the institutional benefits of national autonomy.

This article asks why a popular bar named after a criminal Soviet secret police organization has not provoked the outrage of the developed world's intellectual and artistic elites, who would surely condemn an SS Bar. It attributes this moral blindness to the Holocaust's centrality in Israeli, German, and American national discourse and the resultant binary morality that ascribes collective innocence to all Jews at all times and in all places and collective guilt to all Germans – and potentially to all non-Jews – at all times and in all places. The moral logic of the Holocaust thus transforms Jews into victims and non-Jews into victimizers; the moral logic and reality of the Gulag transform everybody into both victim and victimizer. The binary morality of the Holocaust insists that all human beings be heroes; the fuzzy morality of the Gulag recognizes that all humans are just humans constantly confronted by moral ambiguity. But because the Gulag's moral ambiguity concerns non-Jews and Jews, the Gulag undercuts binary morality. The Holocaust and the Gulag are not just incompatible moral tales; they are incompatible and intersecting moral tales. As a result, they cannot co-exist. We therefore fail to respond to the KGB Bar because to recognize the Gulag as a mass murder worthy of categorical moral condemnation would be to challenge the sacred status of the Holocaust. Ironically, the KGB Bar is possible precisely because an SS Bar is impossible.