“Our Most Serious Enemy”: The Specter of Judeo-Bolshevism in the German Military Community, 1914–1923

2011 ◽  
Vol 44 (4) ◽  
pp. 624-641 ◽  
Author(s):  
Brian E. Crim

That the Wehrmacht participated fully in a racial war of extermination on behalf of the National Socialist regime is indisputable. Officers and enlisted men alike accepted the logic that the elimination of the Soviet Union was necessary for Germany's survival. The Wehrmacht's atrocities on the Eastern Front are a testament to the success of National Socialist propaganda and ideological training, but the construct of “Judeo-bolshevism” originated during World War I and its immediate aftermath. Between 1918 and 1923, central Europe witnessed a surge in right-wing paramilitary violence and anti-Semitic activity resulting from fears of bolshevism and a widely held belief that Jews were largely responsible for spreading revolution. Jews suffered the consequences of revolution and resurgent nationalism in the borderlands between Germany and Russia after World War I, but it was inside Germany that the construct of Judeo-bolshevism evolved into a powerful rhetorical tool for the growing völkisch movement and eventually a justification for genocide.

Author(s):  
Vēsma Lēvalde

The article is a cultural-historical study and a part of the project Uniting History, which aims to discover the multicultural aspect of performing art in pre-war Liepaja and summarize key facts about the history of the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra. The study also seeks to identify the performing artists whose life was associated with Liepāja and who were repressed between 1941 and 1945, because of aggression by both the Soviet Union and National Socialist Germany. Until now, the cultural life of this period in Liepāja has been studied in a fragmentary way, and materials are scattered in various archives. There are inaccurate and even contradictory testimonies of events of that time. The study marks both the cultural and historical situation of the 1920s and the 1930s in Liepāja and tracks the fates of several artists in the period between 1939 and 1945. On the eve of World War II, Liepāja has an active cultural life, especially in theatre and music. Liepāja City Drama and Opera is in operation staging both dramatic performances, operas, and ballet, employing an orchestra. The symphony orchestra also operated at the Liepāja Philharmonic, where musicians were recruited every season according to the principles of contemporary festival orchestras. Liepāja Folk Conservatory (music school) had also formed an orchestra of students and teachers. Guest concerts were held regularly. A characteristic feature of performing arts in Liepaja was its multicultural character – musicians of different nationalities with experience from different schools of the world were encountered there. World War II not only disrupted the balance in society, but it also had a very concrete and tragic impact on the fates of the people, including the performing artists. Many were killed, many repressed and placed in prisons and camps, and many went to exile to the West. Others were forced to either co-operate with the occupation forces or give up their identity and, consequently, their career as an artist. Nevertheless, some artists risked their lives to save others.


1970 ◽  
Vol 24 ◽  
pp. 256-276
Author(s):  
Dariusz Miszewski

During the Second World War, the national camp preached the idea of imperialism in Central Europe. Built peacefully, the Polish empire was supposed to protect the independence and security of countries in Central Europe against Germany and the Soviet Union, and thus went by the name of “the Great Poland”. As part of the empire, nation-states were retained. The national camp was opposed to the idea of the federation as promoted by the government-in-exile. The “national camp” saw the idea of federation on the regional, European and global level as obsolete. Post-war international cooperation was based on nation states and their alliances.


Author(s):  
James Mark ◽  
Quinn Slobodian

This chapter places Eastern Europe into a broader history of decolonization. It shows how the region’s own experience of the end of Empire after the World War I led its new states to consider their relationships with both European colonialism and those were struggling for their future liberation outside their continent. Following World War II, as Communist regimes took power in Eastern Europe, and overseas European Empires dissolved in Africa and Asia, newly powerful relationships developed. Analogies between the end of empire in Eastern Europe and the Global South, though sometimes tortured and riddled with their own blind spots, were nonetheless potent rhetorical idioms, enabling imagined solidarities and facilitating material connections in the era of the Cold War and non-alignment. After the demise of the so-called “evil empire” of the Soviet Union, analogies between the postcolonial and the postcommunist condition allowed for further novel equivalencies between these regions to develop.


Peter Kapitza (1894—1984) came to England as a member of a Soviet mission sent to renew scientific relations with the West after the upheavals of World War I, the Revolution and the Civil War. He had recently suffered the tragic loss of his wife, their two young children and his father in the epidemics that raged in the Soviet Union at that time. It was partly to distract him from his grief that he was invited to join the mission, and A. F. Joffé, who had been his chief at the Physico-Technical Institute in Petrograd, thought it would be a good thing for him to get some first-hand experience of the latest research techniques by spending the winter in a leading physics laboratory in the West. Eventually, Rutherford agreed to have him in the Cavendish and Kapitza made such an impression by his originality and experimental skill that he was encouraged to extend his stay.


2020 ◽  
Vol 52 (3) ◽  
pp. 317
Author(s):  
Nina N. Loginova ◽  
Milan M. Radovanović ◽  
Anatoliy A. Yamashkin ◽  
Goran Vasin ◽  
Marko D. Petrović ◽  
...  

Population changes of the Russians and other Slavs are an important original indicator of demographic, economic, political, and cultural analysis of over 300 million Slavic inhabitants in Central, Eastern, and Southeastern Europe. The indicators are conditioned by the large number of people executed in World War I and World War II, significant economic migrations, the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, and Czechoslovakia. Utilizing data from official reports, the authors proceed to analyze the demographic tendencies in order to find out the relationship between modern demographic trends and political and economic events over the past years. The results showed that economic and demographic stagnation, which favor religious and national (ethnic) ambivalence, influence the strengthening of groups ethnically isolated or religiously differentiated in the observed macroregions of Eurasia. The contemporary challenges of modern society in terms of global politics (e.g. terrorism and migrations) will be more pronounced and turbulent in these areas. For these reasons, the original data represent an important segment of the study of Slavic history, demography, and politics throughout the turbulent 20th century and the beginning of the new millennium.   


2020 ◽  
Vol 61 (1) ◽  
pp. 201-216
Author(s):  
Éva Forgács

AbstractThe avant-gardes of the nineteen twenties are discussed in the art historical literature as the art products of a rarely upbeat decade, which featured great utopian aspirations and progressive art between the wake of World War I and the Nazi takeover in Germany, as well as the consolidation of Stalinism in the Soviet Union. This essay depicts the decade as being far from a homogenous period, demonstrating that the early internationalism and sense of unlimited possibilities gave way, in or around 1923, to less idealistic, more pragmatic views and practices in even the avant-garde. If examined in this framework, the reception of avant-garde artists and works in the late 1920s that had been enthusiastically embraced in the first years of the decade, was understandably cooler. Professional eminence was overwriting great ideas. The lack of the earlier fervor had disappeared, not because the art was worse, but on account of the new Zeitgeist that brought about the new moral idea of utilitarianism, requiring that the artists be, first of all, of use to the community. Several artists and art writers suddenly turned against those ideas and art that they had only a short time earlier held in the highest esteem.


Author(s):  
Aigi Rahi-Tamm ◽  
Argo Kuusik

For Estonians, similarly to many other peoples, the German occupation (1941–44) stood for massive relocations of people that stemmed from the ethno-political aims and military needs of the National Socialist regime. The evacuation to Estonia in 1942–44 of Estonians who lived in areas to the east of the Estonian border – in Ingria, the region beyond Lake Peipus (the former county of Oudova), and the Luga River and Pskov area – is the focus of this article. This was an operation to bring ethnic Estonians who had emigrated to Russia before World War I back to their ancestral homeland. According to the plan of the head of the German SS and Police Heinrich Himmler, the approximately 80,000 Russians who lived along Estonia’s eastern border were to be settled to the east as an element foreign to Estonia both racially and in terms of their mentality and to replace them with the Estonians living on the eastern side of Lake Peipus. To this end, the Germans, Estonians, Baltic Finns and minorities of other origins living in Russia had to be registered first so that they could be resettled in Germany, Estonia, Finland or elsewhere. The registration of ethnic groups that began in October 1941 was completed in Ingria in February 1942. More than 81,000 persons were registered, among them over 12,000 Estonians. Registration continued in the Oudova area and elsewhere in 1942–43. The “yellow card” issued to registered persons permitted them to resettle. The evacuation of Germans began in January 1942. A while later, Estonians also received permission to relocate into Estonia via Narva. This initially took place on a voluntary basis and by the means of the people themselves. The organised extraction of Estonians began in the summer of 1942, while the more massive resettlement took place in 1943. Above all, difficult local conditions, especially hunger, frequent attacks by partisans, and the high-handed behaviour of the German authorities, forced the inhabitants to leave. Yet since there was a great deal of uncertainty concerning what lay ahead, many people were hesitated to leave. The situation changed in 1943, especially in the latter half of the year, when an offensive of Soviet forces was expected in the Leningrad area. On 21 September 1943, the supreme commander of the rear area of Army Group Nord Kuno-Hans von Both gave the order to implement Operation Roboter. According to this plan, not a single “person who could be put to use” was permitted to be left behind. Four routes were prescribed for the evacuation. A large number of people were brought across Lake Peipus on barges. The forcible evacuation of minorities that began in September was followed by the evacuation of local Russian inhabitants in October, which was carried out violently and at an accelerated pace, causing the inhabitants to flee to the woods en masse. Approximately 30,000 Russians were brought to Estonia in the course of this operation. Approximately 24,000 Estonians made it to Estonia in 1942–44. Most of them were put to work in agriculture. While the first Estonian resettlers were permitted to bring as much livestock, grain and property along with them as their means of transportation allowed, those who came later had to settle for bringing a few pieces of hand baggage. There was not enough food or places to live in Estonia. Those evacuees whose relatives invited them to stay with them were in a better situation. Most evacuees who had not found any relatives were housed in camps, from where they moved around chaotically looking for work and shelter, thus arousing fear in the local inhabitants of the spread of contagious diseases and annoyance due to the begging that ensued. Although farmers desperately needed a helping hand, the refugees often proved to be unreliable. After the Great Terror of the 1930s, in the course of which Estonians in the Soviet Union were murdered on the basis of their ethnic attributes, many regretted that they had not opted to return to Estonia in the 1920s. The dream of passage to Estonia came true in 1942–44 in a rather unexpected way, yet a number of disappointments were in store. The general attitude of Estonians living in Estonia was standoffish towards them as people who had come from “over there”, or the land of the Soviets. Contacts between families had been severed in the 1920s and 1930s. Attitudes, prejudices, fears and the years spent apart generated distrust and estrangement, which in some cases persisted for years. The evacuation of Estonians also meant the final collapse of the Estonian villages and the cultural landscape in Northwestern Russia. About ten thousand Estonians still lived in the oblasts of Northwestern Russia in 1989.


2008 ◽  
Vol 41 (4) ◽  
pp. 555-567 ◽  
Author(s):  
Gerhard L. Weinberg

At the end of World War II, vast quantities of German documents had fallen into the hands of the Allies either during hostilities or in the immediately following weeks. Something will be said near the end of this report about the archives captured or seized by the Soviet Union; the emphasis here will be on those that came into the possession of the Western Allies. The United States and Great Britain made agreements for joint control and exploitation, of which the most important was the Bissell-Sinclair agreement named for the intelligence chiefs who signed it. The German naval, foreign office, and chancellery archives were to be physically located in England, while the military, Nazi Party, and related files were to come to the United States. Each of the two countries was to be represented at the site of the other's holdings, have access to the files, and play a role in decisions about their fate. The bulk of those German records that came to the United States were deposited in a section of a World War I torpedo factory in Alexandria, Virginia, which had been made into the temporary holding center for the World War II records of the American army and American theater commands. In accordance with the admonition to turn swords into plowshares, the building is now an artists' boutique.


1997 ◽  
Vol 30 (3) ◽  
pp. 307-320 ◽  
Author(s):  
Lee Kendall Metcalf

The breakup of the Soviet Union led to the emergence of 15 states which are trying to create democratic institutions. Based on Latin American experience, most analysts argue that the combination of presidentialism and proportional representation leads to democratic failure. Yet few of the Soviet successor states have chosen pure parliamentarism. I argue that the experience of the post World War I Russian successor states provides a better framework for examining the democratization of these new states because they were trying to build democracy under similar conditions. Their experience indicates that the choice of PR and semi-presidentialism does not necessarily doom democracy.


2010 ◽  
Vol 2 (1) ◽  
pp. 25-33
Author(s):  
Dalia Bukelevičiūtė

The first contacts between Lithuanian and Romanian representatives started after the World War I when Lithuania was looking for the protection of her inhabitants who were still refugees in Russia. As Russia became entrenched with Bolshevism, the Lithuanian citizens were evacuated through Romanian territory from South Ukraine and Crimea. Lithuania and Czechoslovakia established diplomatic relations in December 1919 and eventually an attempt was made to set up ties also with Romania. As a member of the Little Entente and an ally of Poland, Romania drew the attention of the Lithuanian government. Romania recognized Lithuania de jure on August 21, 1924 and Dovas Zaunius was appointed the first Lithuanian envoy to Bucharest. Nevertheless, during the next decade no political or diplomatic contacts between Lithuania and Romania existed. With the growing influence of Germany, the Soviet Union and the Little Entente on the international arena, Edvardas Turauskas was appointed on August 27, 1935 as envoy to Romania residing in Prague and later in the year Romania accredited ConstantinValimarescu for the position of envoy to Lithuania residing in Riga. The dialogue between the two parties remained, however, occasional. When on July 21, 1940 Lithuania was occupied by Soviet Union, Turauskas visited the Romanian Legation in Bern and presented a note of protest in this respect. Romania did not acknowledge Lithuanian occupation and annexation.


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