This article explains a normative political theory of asymmetrical federalism as it relates to the accommodation of national minorities within multinational states, using Cyprus as a case study. Many normative prescriptions emerging from traditional liberal and federal political theories and models rest on monist assumptions; therefore, there is a need to highlight the cultural and national limits of those theories and models in order to attain a democratic system in Cyprus that respects and promotes its bicommunal structure. It is suggested that multinational federalism in Cyprus necessitates constitutional asymmetry, which is likely to provide a basis for political accommodation. The article also demonstrates the necessity of multinational federalism to accommodate common and distinct identities by promoting a fuller understanding of the concept of “federal togetherness” and “federal separateness.” Such an understanding would better enable asymmetrical federalism to properly and feasibly adjust and regulate federal institutions in Cyprus.

Since 1990 Lithuania has been claiming that what happened there during Soviet occupation is genocide, as per the 1948 Genocide Convention, which embodies universal justice for suppressed nations and other groups. Due to Soviet actions in Lithuania throughout the periods of 1940-1941 and 1944-1990, the country lost almost one fifth of its population. The application of Lithuanian national legal regulations regarding this issue has been recently discussed in the framework of another postwar international legal instrument – the European Convention of Human Rights (1950). The goal of this article is to examine the main debates, which were revealed by the European Court of Human Rights in the cases of Vasiliauskas v. Lithuania (2015) and Drėlingas v. Lithuania (2019), regarding the killings of Lithuanian partisans, including the recognition of the significance of partisans for the Lithuanian nation, the foreseeability of genocide “in part,” as well as the punishment for complicity in killing Lithuanian partisans.

This article shows how everyday religious practices inform the processes of social identification, complicate presumed ethno-religious categories, and mediate local cultural differences in face of political and cultural hegemonic practices. In the context of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, a de facto state recognized only by Turkey, Turkish Cypriots and Turks are considered to share an ethnicity and religion. This “overlap” has been employed to justify Turkey’s military intervention and its political, economic, and cultural domination over the island. Yet the cultural diversities and “perceived” differences between and among these groups are exacerbated by power dynamics, nationalist agendas, and mutual biases. The article explains subtle discussions around “genuine” Turkish and Muslim identities, as well as the enforced coexistence and constructed brotherhood of Cypriots and Turks on the island. The competing accounts of the “correct” interpretation of Islam at a Muslim tekke reflect intragroup power asymmetries and the conflict between institutionalized Sunni-Orthodox and “heterodox” local Islam. The article focuses on two overlooked issues in the scholarship on Northern Cyprus—the relations between Turkish Cypriots and settlers from Turkey, and the role of religion in the political processes—as well as on literature on shared sacred sites and an analysis of competitive intracommunal interactions.

National identity is everywhere constructed through a process of negotiation with other categories of identity—local, regional, class, confessional, and gender. In borderlands, however, there is another element in this negotiation process—the sharing of public space with another national group, an element that further complicates identity formation. Here categories can change and/or function differently than in the interior of a country. In many respects, the construction of Germanness in the province of Poznania [German: Posen; Polish: Poznań] proceeded along similar lines as in the rest of the German Empire. German nationalists, both in the eastern provinces and in the rest of the Reich, produced publications and organized lectures about and celebrations of German history and German culture in an effort to mobilize national loyalties in support of policies that would consolidate Germandom both within and without. However, the presence of a Polish challenge in Poznania—the defining problem of the province—complicated constructions of German national identity.

The article examines some generic traits of the “new” Russian ethnic nationalism, namely, de-ideologization of the nationalist milieu and its inclination for civic activism. It results from a case study of the Frontier of the North (FN – Syktyvkar), an ideologically ambivalent organization that combines dual Russian/Komi ethnic nationalism, anti-migration sentiments, white racism, and fragments of other ideologies. The article demonstrates that, unlike nationalists of the previous generation, FN is not hostile to public authorities and is ready to cooperate with them. FN's grassroots activism, as well as sports and healthy recreational activities, attracts young people. The organization tackles the most acute social problems, often neglected by everyone else, and has become a working civil society institution. The authors argue that these tactics win the “new” nationalists sympathy among ordinary people and makes the groups politically stronger and more influential than the previous nationalist generation. However, state anti-extremist policy hampers the advancement of nationalists into mainstream politics.

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.

Konrad Henlein founded the Sudeten German Heimatfront (SHF) in October 1933 and in less than a year and a half it would become the largest party in the First Czechoslovak Republic. This achievement is all the more remarkable in light of the initiative undertaken by the Czech and German Social Democrats, as well as the Communists to have the SHF banned in the year before the elections. This initiative would most likely have succeeded had the matter not been referred to Czechoslovakia's ailing President, Tomáš Masaryk. After the state had banned both the Sudeten German Nazi and Nationalist parties on account of their alleged ties to Hitler, Masaryk concluded one month before the 19 May 1935 general elections that the SHF should be allowed to campaign.1 Masaryk, however, mandated that the Heimatfront must change its name to the more democratic “Sudeten German Party” (SdP). Despite the specter of a ban that still haunted the party in the month before the election, the SdP succeeded in transforming itself from a political pariah into a majority German party by using the legal protections and security forces of Czech democracy to wage a legalistic campaign against the state. In light of this stunning success, how then did the party leadership perform this act of political alchemy and what strategies did it deploy in campaigning against the state?

Much has been made in the social sciences of the ambiguity of nationalism in Central Asia, where not only the boundaries between republics but between nations, languages, and peoples were drawn by the Soviet state. The similar ambiguity of Central Asian religiosity, however, has remained largely ignored. Perhaps religiosity, unlike the more recent idea of nationalism, is considered too fixed a construct for the modern and artificially created states of Central Asia. The division of religions into specific sects, each with its own explicit doctrine and precepts, would seem to preclude definitional necessity. Yet in the 1980s it was religiosity, malleable and stubborn, which proved as essential to the decline of the Soviet Union as did nationalism. As a vital component of identity, religion can exist without any clergy, place of worship, or understanding of sacred text, much as a nation can exist without a state or a government. The illusory aspects of religion, the comforts and mystery of rite and ritual, are as difficult for a state to control as national sentiment, and often prove the impetus behind the latter.

Most European early-modern states transitioned from composite monarchies into centralized ones. Essentially, composite monarchies were “more than one country under the sovereignty of one ruler.” As Moscow expanded and acquired the surrounding principalities either by inheritance or force, its grand princes enacted a series of legal and administrative reforms to dissolve the differences among its territories and create a centralized monarchy. These political reforms began under Ivan III, who instituted a standardization of Muscovite legal practice and formalized a defined system of social precedence, mestnichestvo, which accorded high rank to his newly acquired provincial elites within the Muscovite social system. Change could not happen overnight, and further legal reforms by Ivan IV, in addition to new religious reforms to eradicate differences of practice among his subjects, centralized the Grand Prince's political and religious authority.

Britons and Iranians do not wax poetic when they discover that “one, two, three” sound vaguely similar in English and Persian. Finns and Hungarians at times do. When I speak of “Finno-Ugrian cooperation,” I am referring to a linguistic label that joins peoples whose languages are so distantly related that in most world contexts it would evoke no feelings of kinship. Similarities in folk culture may largely boil down to worldwide commonalities in peasant cultures at comparable technological stages. The racial features of Estonians and Mari may be quite disparate. Limited mutual intelligibility occurs only within the Finnic group in the narrow sense (Finns, Karelians, Vepsians, Estonians), the Permic group (Udmurts and Komi), and the Mordvin group (Moksha and Erzia). Yet, despite this almost abstract foundation, the existence of a feeling of kinship is very real. Myths may have no basis in fact, but belief in myths does occur. Before denigrating the beliefs of indigenous and recently modernized peoples as nineteenth-century relics, the observer might ask whether the maintenance of these beliefs might serve some functional twenty-first-century purpose.