Europe's history since 1945 has most commonly been seen through the prism of international politics and economic change, from post-war reconstruction to late twentieth-century deindustrialisation. Urban history has been tangential to these accounts. Hence Leif Jerram's call to arms in his book Streetlife, published in 2011: ‘it is time to put the where into the what and why of history’. The history of Europe's twentieth century, Jerram declared, happened ‘in the streets and factories, cinemas and nightclubs, housing estates and suburbs, offices and living rooms, shops and swimming baths of Europe's booming cities’.

The provision of social welfare and the shape of the Soviet city profoundly influenced each other, especially in the post-Stalin period. This article explores the relationship between welfare and city in the USSR after 1953 by focusing on four particular urban or exurban spaces: the company town, the microdistrict, the pensions office and the city's rural hinterland. After the ideological visions of the Khrushchev era faded, welfare moved even closer to the heart of Soviet urban life. It determined some of the contours of urban form, while the resulting urban spaces contributed fundamentally to the way that people understood Soviet power and the nature of their citizenship.

Concentrating on the production of knowledge of poverty and homelessness, this article discusses how particular spatial settings influenced the construction of social problems in the 1960s and 1970s. Exploring the practices of three kinds of knowledge producers – social scientists in academic circles, ‘practitioners cum activists’ engaging in advocacy research and experts in governmental committees – the analysis focuses on the early stages of a rediscovery of poverty in Western Europe as it was debated in international fora as well as in West Germany and France. It shows that the way in which poverty was represented as a new challenge to Western ‘affluent societies’ was in many respects an urban story, as the ongoing housing crisis and newly defined problem areas served as major points of reference for the revived interest in social deprivation. Moreover, urban actors – locally active NGOs and municipal authorities – played a preeminent role in launching debates on the apparent paradox of poverty in affluence. With their own work often grounded in particular urban problem zones, many contemporary observers tended to spatialise poverty. For them, poverty was bound to particular places; it was an exceptional sphere that helped generate a particular behaviour that made it difficult for ‘the poor’ to rise. While a growing part of the population had access to housing of a standard previously reserved to the middle class and had become able to choose where to live, life in peripheral shantytowns or dilapidated inner cities became the ultimate signifier of a social position beyond the established class structure.

This article examines the transfer of Swedish concepts of urban modernity to British cities after 1945. It shows how an affinity between design and architecture elites facilitated the transfer of key concepts that were mediated in cities. Moreover, it argues that the often contested transfer of Swedish modern architecture and design to northern English cities initially meshed with municipal ambitions to improve working-class housing and culture. Thereafter the influence of Swedish modern was continued in altered form by the preponderance of Swedish prefabrication techniques in the construction of new poured concrete and high-rise estates during the 1960s. These aspirations to improve the urban environment with Scandinavian examples of good living often magnified the difficulties of modernising the industrial conurbations of the north.

How can we write the history of urban societies in Europe after 1945? This article offers an interpretative overview of key developments in both Eastern and Western Europe, while also discussing some key conceptual issues. Along the way, it takes stock of the relevant historiography (much of which is very recent) and introduces a selection of papers from a cycle of three international workshops held between 2011 and 2013. The papers range geographically from Britain to the Soviet Union and cover topics as diverse as post-war reconstruction and alternative communities in the 1970s. Their respective approaches are informed by an interest in the way societies have been imagined in discourses and reshaped in spatial settings. Moreover, the papers move beyond case studies, urban history's classic genre, and can therefore facilitate synthetic reflection. It is our hope that, in so doing, we can make urban history more relevant to contemporary European historians in general.

This article discusses loyalty trials conducted in the Hungarian-Slovak borderland region known as Felvidék after it was reannexed to Hungary by the First Vienna Award in 1938. All civil servants who had worked for the Czechoslovak state had to appear before local loyalty commissions to prove their loyalty to the Hungarian state. The commissions' task was complicated by two competing conceptions of loyalty – one investigating civic loyalty, the other national loyalty – and the politicisation and ethnicisation of peoples' daily practices for the previous two decades under Czechoslovak rule.

This article analyses Christian Democratic International organisations after the Second World War, namely the Nouvelles Equipes Internationales (NEI) and the Geneva Circles (secret discussion groups), in order to understand how and to what extent this international network has been important for European Christian Democratic Parties and for the overall process of European unification. The goal is to describe the relationship between the Christian-inspired parties and their efforts to define a common ideological framework and a successful Europeanism capable of competing with other political groups and ideologies, especially communist and nationalist forces. The main sources used are the minutes of meetings of the NEI and the Geneva Circles.

The United States' support for the Franco dictatorship, along with British dominion over Gibraltar, caused an increasing sense of frustration towards the United States and United Kingdom amongst broad sectors of the Spanish public during the 1960s and 1970s. Growing resentment towards the Anglo-American presence in Spain threatened to jeopardise the geopolitical objectives of these two governments given the strategic importance of the Iberian Peninsula in the Cold War. Both the Americans and the British identified the promotion of the English language as a cultural tool to develop empathy amongst those Spaniards who would drive forward the eventual transition to a post-Franco era. This ‘soft power’ strategy fit perfectly with the pro-modernisation efforts taking place in several parts of the world. English teaching did not serve as a magic potion, however. Cultural seduction was not a cure-all to right the wrongs inflicted by the Anglo-American geostrategic priorities. This article explores the benefits and limitations of English language promotion in Franco's Spain and reflects on the ability of ‘soft power’ to influence what was a rather hostile hard-power context.

The German-Jewish intellectual Hannah Arendt (1906–1975) had famously opposed the establishment of a Jewish nation state in Palestine. During the Second World War, however, Arendt also spoke out repeatedly against the establishment of a binational Arab-Jewish state. Rejecting both alternatives, Arendt advocated for the inclusion of Palestine in a multi-ethnic federation that would not consist only of Jews and Arabs. Only in 1948, in an effort to forestall partition, did Arendt revise her earlier critique and endorse a binational solution for Palestine. This article offers a new reading of the evolution of Arendt's thought on Zionism and argues that her support for federalism must be understood as part of a broader wartime debate over federalism as a solution to a variety of post-war nationality problems in Europe, the Middle East and the British Empire. By highlighting the link between debates on wartime federalism and the future of Palestine, this article also underscores the importance of examining the legacy of federalism in twentieth century Europe for a more complete understanding of the history of Zionism.

The article gives an overview of Finland's responses to the economic crisis of the 1970s. In particular, it focuses on public sector reforms that fall under the label New Public Management (NPM). These reforms are interpreted in the context of an overproduction crisis. The article contends that in the 1980s and 1990s power in Finland was centralised through the doctrines of NPM in order to reallocate public resources from welfare services to industrial policy and thus confront post-industrialism. In doing so, it provides a new explanation as to why NPM reforms were carried out. The main justification of NPM-reforms – ‘decentralisation’ – is analysed from different angles. In the late 1960s decentralisation referred to the autonomy of the municipalities. In the 1980s it referred to ‘efficient leadership’, which meant in practice more power over resources for the state. The idea was to reallocate public resources from welfare services to research and development and venture capital. In effect, NPM was part of a new kind of state interventionism not part of a neoliberal project to destroy or hollow out the state.

Women entered police service between the wars in much of the world as a result of agitation by the international women's movement and the League of Nations. Nearly everywhere a gendered division of police work emerged, with female police primarily responsible for social welfare tasks and their male colleagues handling investigations and arrests. Poland represented a notable exception. Tapping into both international and national concerns, Polish policewomen laid claim to extensive powers by invoking the grave threat of the traffic in women. This focus on trafficking had a paradoxical effect, expanding the possibilities for female policing even as it justified a range of restrictive measures against prostitutes and poor female emigrants.

Coming about in a phase of renewal and electoral success for the European socialist parties, the rise of the Italian Communist Party in the 1970s elicited differentiated reactions within the Socialist International. While providing an account of the transnational socialist debate on Italian Eurocommunism, this article suggests to understand it in the context of a wider discussion on the political identity and aims of the European left. Divisions on the new ‘communist question’ amongst the socialist movement mirrored the divergent opinions on how to react to the changes that were taking place in European economics and society, as well as in the international system.

The Labour and Socialist International (LSI) was a major vehicle for transnational socialist cooperation during the interwar years and thus seemed to continue the traditions of socialist internationalism. In the realm of international relations, however, it championed key tenets of liberal internationalism. The LSI supported the idea of a League of Nations and embraced the notion of a world order based upon democratic nation-states. While it criticised some aspects of the international system, its overall emphasis was on reform rather than revolution. The article sheds light on the wider phenomenon of interwar internationalism by tracing the LSI's relationship with the League of Nations, with the politics of peace more generally and with the competing internationalism of the communists.

This article explores a Portuguese town's latest market hall and adjoining new town square. Lourinhã, a town in the north of the District of Lisbon, introduced plans in 1966 to renovate its urban landscape, reorienting the town away from the cramped streets of the medieval centre to a new, open and manageable central square. Over the next forty years, and despite the fall of the dictatorship in 1974, Lourinhã’s municipal government, enjoying tacit support from its citizens, used tools such as electrical infrastructure and legislation to manage and develop what came to be called a ‘European’ landscape.

In his trenchant and stimulating review article Patrick Bernhard surveyed a series of English-language studies that focus in one way or another on the relationship between the fascist regime and the Italian people. Drawing on the historiography of Nazi Germany, Bernhard took these studies as his cue to argue that much of the historiography on Italian Fascism is outdated. In particular, he sees the approach adopted to assessing the regime's appeal as often old-fashioned, with the result that Italian historians have vastly underestimated ordinary Italians’ embrace of fascism and their complicity in its violence and war crimes. At the same time, he argues that histories of Nazi Germany and fascist Italy show far more parallels and intersections than have been acknowledged of late and calls on Italian historians to turn their attention to this entangled history.

From its inception the European Community had a civil aim: the need to stimulate a European civil consciousness. Viewed as a pre-condition for the popular acceptance of increased European integration, this provided the rationale for the Community's public communication policy of 1951–1967. The Community pursued this civil aim through two distinct public communication approaches: popularist (1951–1962) and opinion leader led (1963–1967). We contend that the way the Community undertook its public communication policy cannot be understood without considering the Community's civil aim. This leads us to question some of the common views held concerning the significance of European public communication policy from 1951 to 1967.1

As a non-specialist in the historiography of Fascism and Nazism, I enter this discussion with trepidation. Viewed from the outside, antagonism and rigidity have long characterised historical debate about the causes, nature and consequences of both regimes, although it is clear (and as the other contributions published here have pointed out) that some of this fierceness has attenuated of late with the rise of a new generation of historians. I don't propose to go over the various points of disagreement about fascist Italy – the problem of popular ‘consensus’ for the regime, the reasons for collective ‘amnesia’ after the fall of the regime, and the myth of ‘Italians as good people’ (Italiani brava gente) – as these have already been discussed by Bernhard in his review and in the contributions by Giulia Albanese and Roberta Pergher. Nor will I enter into related debates about the Italian Resistance, the issue of Italian war crimes and the broader controversy about ‘divided memory’ in post-war Italy, although these questions have also generated a significant literature in recent years. Instead I want simply to re-visit Paul Corner's The Fascist Party and Popular Opinion in Mussolini's Italy and to propose a rather different interpretation than the one offered by Patrick Bernhard.

In a recent review of Christopher Duggan's latest book, Emilio Gentile notes that in the 1970s an ‘intimate history of fascist Italy’ would have met the opposition of ‘militant anti-fascist historiography’ because of its proneness to acknowledge the involvement of Italians in Fascism. Still, after criticising the book, Gentile stresses that the ‘question of consent’ – a topic on which he himself has provided some crucial contributions – is a ‘poorly posed question’.

In the dispute over Norwegian EEC membership in 1972, a large number of economists in academic life and public administration took part in organised opposition against future membership. Their efforts to prevent economic and financial integration with the Common Market are important for understanding the depth and strength of Norwegian Euroscepticism. This article shows how this scepticism was rooted in the economic profession's reasoning about economic planning and economic policy making. Special attention is given to the opposition from economists within the government apparatus itself, as this both diminished the authority of the government's pro-membership arguments and challenged norms regulating civil servants’ conduct.

In reply to Patrick Bernhard's critical review of my recent book I will make some brief general observations about the study of totalitarian and would-be totalitarian regimes.

Some preliminary remarks are necessary. Bernhard locates his review within the context of the debate over Italians' consensus for Fascism – a debate continuing in Italy, with highs and lows, since the mid-1970s. His own approach is clearly very much influenced by the methodologies of cultural history; he looks for emotions, sentiments, practices and experiences in order to form a picture of how Italians lived under the regime. He approves of the history that finds these. There is much to commend this approach, and I would certainly not argue against its value – cultural studies do, indeed, have a great deal to offer. But the methodology of cultural studies is not, and cannot be, the only approach, nor its absence the only criterion for criticism.