Military, Folklore, Eigensinn: Folkloric Militarism in Germany and France, 1871–1914

2000 ◽  
Vol 33 (4) ◽  
pp. 487-504 ◽  
Author(s):  
Jakob Vogel

In his poem “Our Military!” published in 1919, Kurt Tucholsky describes the great enthusiasm that he, or rather his pseudonym Kaspar Hauser, felt as a boy before World War II for the sis–boom–bah of martial music when the soldiers marched by. Only when he was a soldier himself “in the Russian wind” of the First World War were the young man's eyes opened to the barbarity, desperation, and despair of war and the actual power relations in the army. While the poem's antimilitaristic intentions are readily apparent, Tucholsky nevertheless also managed to capture a view widely held during the interwar years: that before 1914 there still existed in the population an unbroken enthusiasm for the army and its colorful displays, but that the experience during the war of death on such a massive scale put an end to it. Walter Rathenau echoed precisely these sentiments in his 1919 treatise Der Kaiser: Eine Betrachtung, seeing the prewar society of the German Empire as a “militarily-drilled mass” that sought “to display their acquired military arts in grand public spectacles.” The stereotypical image of a bygone prewar era of military glory and pageantry received a more popular, less “critical” treatment in the 1934 film “Frühjahrsparade,” a musical that evoked “the good old days” of the Habsburg Empire and the k. u. k. army, and not least the passion of women for “the man in uniform.”

Author(s):  
Guy Miron

IN THE WAKE of the First World War Poland and Hungary became independent states. Poland, which for some 130 years had been partitioned between its neighbouring empires—Russia, Austria, and Prussia—now gained independence, including in its territory some predominantly Ukrainian and Belarusian areas which had been part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Hungary, which had enjoyed extensive autonomy since the Ausgleich (Austro-Hungarian Compromise) of 1867, was now severed from the defunct Habsburg empire and became independent, but its boundaries were dramatically reduced as a result of the Treaty of Trianon. The two states, whose independence was part of a new European order based on the principle of national self-determination, were supposed to function as democracies and respect the rights of their minorities. In the immediate aftermath of 'the war to end all wars', there was reason to hope that the recognition of the Jews as equal citizens would lead to a golden age of Jewish integration. In practice, the reality was different. Both Poland and Hungary were established as independent states amidst violent internal and external conflicts over their boundaries and the nature of their regimes. In both states, these struggles, which continued throughout the whole interwar period, increasingly led to the dominance of an exclusionary nationalism. Jews were the central, although not the only, minority targeted by this policy of exclusion. Of course, the anti-Jewish violence that occurred during the struggles for the independence of both Poland and Hungary and the anti-Jewish policies and legislation of the 1920s and especially the 1930s should not be regarded as foreshadowing the Nazi catastrophe—which was primarily the result of actions by an external force—however, there is no doubt that in both countries Jewish integration was seriously endangered during the interwar period....


Tekstualia ◽  
2017 ◽  
Vol 4 (51) ◽  
pp. 63-74
Author(s):  
Jean Ward

In the epic poetic work In Parenthesis, published just before the outbreak of World War II, the forgotten British modernist David Jones, better known as a visual artist, presented a semi-fi ctional account of his experiences as a rank-and-fi le soldier in the London- Welsh Battalion of the British army during World War I. The author, like one of the heroes of his work, was at the front from December 1915 to July 2016, when he was wounded on the fi rst day of the long offensive on the Somme. By origin Jones was half- -Londoner and half-Welsh – and both of these „halves”, which were refl ected in the composition of his battalion, were important to him. He was also by upbringing an Anglican but by choice a Roman Catholic. The offi ces of the Catholic chaplain and the faith of the ordinary Catholics to which he was witness as a soldier played a considerable part in his conversion. He strove to embody in words the particular character of the speech and culture of all the members of the battalion, regardless of their origin or religious affi liation. He also showed respect and tenderness not only towards the culture of the country in which the battles were fought – France – but also even towards „the enemy front-fi ghters”, to whom, along with his friends from the British side, he dedicated In Parenthesis. Under his hand, the trenches of the First World War become a truly intercultural space.


1951 ◽  
Vol 13 (1) ◽  
pp. 21-38 ◽  
Author(s):  
M. A. Fitzsimons

Since the end of World War II British Policy in the Middle East has been plagued by the devils of the past, joined by a more formidable company of contemporary devils, some of whom bear a mocking resemblance to still earlier ones. Most of this region was once largely in the weak hands of the Turkish Empire. In this area, strategic for the control of the Mediterranean and the security of the Suez Canal, British policy had been to support the Turkish Empire against the heavy pressure of Tsarist Russia, until Turkey's association with Germany drove Britain to moderate its rivalry with Russia, to accept her partnership in Persia (1907), following a similar accommodation of differences with France (1904).During the First World War the British sponsored the Arab Revolt against Turkey, thus shattering the feeble union of those lands, and creating in the Middle East a parody of the Habsburg succession states, complicated by concessions to France (the Sykes-Picot Agreement) and to Zionism (the Balfour Declaration).


2012 ◽  
Vol 71 (3) ◽  
pp. 233-256
Author(s):  
Bruno Yammine

Voor het voeren van zijn Flamenpolitik tijdens de Eerste Wereldoorlog, deed het Duitse Rijk beroep op een omvangrijke propaganda. Daarmee wilde het de Vlaamsgezinden er onder andere van overtuigen dat er in het buitenland een anti-Vlaamse hetze woedde. In vrijwel de hele literatuur over Flamenpolitik en activisme werd (en wordt) het aangenomen dat de wallingant Buisset, een liberale volksvertegenwoordiger uit Henegouwen, al bij de eerste gouverneur-generaal was gaan aandringen op de afschaffing van het Nederlands. Nader onderzoek leert ons echter dat het verhaal over Buisset op een Duitse propagandafabel berust, ons vooral overgeleverd via een bewuste Hineinterpretierung van oud-activist A.L. Faingnaert. Het verhaal moet ook in samenhang gezien worden met de propaganda van de Duitse stromannen in Nederland die medio 1915 de Flamenpolitik een versnelling hoger deden schakelen.________“The Walloons tried to convince us hundreds of times that there were no more Flemings left …” The story about Buisset and the German propaganda (1914-1915)During the First World War, the German Empire called upon an extensive propaganda for the propagation of its Flamenpolitik. In this way, it tried to convince the Pro-Flemish among other things of the existence of an anti-Flemish witch-hunt abroad. Practically the entire literature about the Flamenpolitik and activism assumed (and still assumes) that the wallingant Buisset, a liberal Member of Parliament from Hainault, had already approached the first governor-general to urge the abolishment of the Dutch language. However, further research indicates that the story about Buisset is based on German propaganda fiction, and has in particular been handed down by an intentional Hineinterpretierung by former activist A.L. Faingnaert. The story also needs to be viewed in context with the propaganda of the German front men in the Netherlands who cranked up the Flamenpolitik around the middle of 1915.


Author(s):  
Rachel Manekin

This chapter looks at the model of Orthodox female education developed in Kraków, where the teachers' seminary was adopted as the highest learning institution for young Orthodox women. It discusses the rebellion of the daughters in Habsburg Galicia that continued until World War I as many young daughters, even young men, from Orthodox Jewish homes abandon the ways of their parents. It also points out how the phenomenon of Galician young Jewish females running away and seeking refuge in the Felician Sisters' convent eventually stopped. The chapter explores how the First World War changed the map of the Habsburg Empire and made Galicia in 1918 part of the newly created Second Polish Republic. It elaborates how the laws in the Second Polish Republic eliminated the legal conditions that facilitated the runaway phenomenon.


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