This article argues for a less EU-centric form of writing European integration history. More specifically, it scrutinises the ways in which the interconnections with other international organisations have energised, complemented or rivalled the efforts of the European Communities/EU. This approach also allows for a reassessment of the alleged sui generis character of European integration. It demonstrates that it was not the precise competences, its effects or its institutional uniqueness that made the EC stand out, but rather the way in which it self-fashioned and surrounded itself with a great sense of expectancy.

Rather surprisingly, Mussolini's blackshirts (the squadristi) have never really received the attention accorded to Hitler's paramilitary groups. It is interesting, therefore, to read an article that seeks to remedy this situation. Millan argues that the traditional view of squadrismo as important before the March on Rome but of less relevance in later years – indeed, as something of a liability – is too simplistic and needs revision. He sees the influence of squadrismo as permeating the regime throughout its existence and suggests that historians have been too quick in seeing the death of squadrismo in the supposed ‘subordination’ of the Fascist Party to the state in the years immediately following 1925.

This article examines the relations between the Turkish State Planning Organisation (SPO) and the Western economic system during the first two decades of national planning in Turkey (1960–1980). It traces how the SPO, established with the guidance and full endorsement of international economic institutions came to vehemently oppose Turkish participation in one of their pillars: the European Economic Community (EEC), the predecessor of the European Union. It argues that the shift in the SPO's world-view was founded upon two distinct understandings of the Turkish nation and its development, situates these understandings within the intellectual history of Turkey's past ambivalence towards the West, and, in doing so, provides a historical case-study of the ideological clash between modernisation and dependency theories of development.

This article offers reflections on the scholarship in the special issue. It proposes that the formation of an overall narrative of twentieth-century European recycling is a complex matter, depending on issues of gender, age, class, nationality and representation. It suggests the further complications of writing histories of everyday life, points out the various meanings of ‘recycling’ and interrogates waste as an element of consumer culture.

The Netherlands is reputed to be the first Western European country with separate waste collection. The first Dutch recycling container was established in 1972 by a local action committee of women, who were involved in raising environmental awareness and in critiquing the waste of consumer society. Their initiative was a huge success. Action committees in dozens of cities followed their example in short order, supported by national politicians. Six years later, glass recycling containers dotted the country. Although novel, and a powerful icon of the politicized climate of the 1970s, Oldenziel and Veenis argue that the quick success of glass containers cannot be explained in the political context of rising environmentalism alone. The ready acceptance of glass containers and the practice of separating waste were rooted in national practices of a culture of thrift on the one hand and coercive wartime policies of reuse on the other. Based on archival material, the authors analyse the ways that recycling container activism was rooted in the tradition of the culture of thrift. More specifically, they trace how the culture of thrift had been reinforced in coercive wartime policies when authorities dealt with shortages during the German occupation and how the practice became a source of the 1970s history of glass container activism.

This article investigates the making of the Norwegian recycling consumer-citizen by discussing recycling as both a cultural activity – an expression of environmentalist sentiment, an everyday habit and a social expectation – and a technological infrastructure consisting of disposal stations, legal frameworks, transportation systems and the recycling technologies themselves. Using a concept of ‘recycling junctions’ as a means of understanding historical recycling processes, the article focuses on beverage packaging to argue that effective recycling in the modern green state depends on a combination of technologically mediated convenience and green consumer-citizenship, involving a wide range of actors.

This article examines the origins, implementation and results of salvage drives carried out in wartime France from 1939 to 1945. In post-war accounts – including memoirs and local histories of the occupation – these salvage drives were understood simply as wartime frugality, a logical response to wide-spread shortages. Yet a careful study of the records of both the French Ministry of Armaments and Vichy's Service de la Récupération et de l'Utilisation des Déchets et Vieilles Matières combined with municipal and departmental sources reveals that these salvage drives were heavily influenced by Nazi German practices. From 1939 to 1940, even though French propaganda had previously ridiculed Nazi German salvage drives as proof of economic weakness, officials at the Ministry of Armaments emulated Nazi Germany by carrying out salvage drives of scrap iron and paper. After the fall of France, this emulation became collaboration. Vichy's salvage efforts were a conjoint Franco-German initiative, organised at the very highest levels of the occupation administration. Drawing on the experience of Nazi German salvage experts, Vichy officials carried out the salvage drives according to German models. Nevertheless, they carefully hid the German origins of the campaign from the chain of departmental prefects, mayors, Chambers of Commerce and youth leaders who organised the local drives and solicited participation by evoking French patriotic sentiment. After the liberation of France in 1944, the French Provisional Government renamed but otherwise maintained the Vichy-created salvage organisations and continued to oversee the collection of scrap iron, paper, rags, glass and bones until 1946. At that point, the government largely relinquished control of the salvage industry.

An analysis of Great Britain's campaigns to recycle books and paper reveals the paradoxes of wartime waste policies: destroying history and culture for the sake of reusing materials, and the impact of recycling on the war machinery's own wastefulness. Conscious of systematic recycling in Nazi Germany and its own dependence on imports, the British government established a salvage department only weeks after the outbreak of war. Beginning in 1940, this department required all large towns to collect recyclable materials. Salvage, beyond lessening shortages, served ideological and psychological aims, because reused materials were turned into weapons. This led to a critical redefinition of recycling as the war progressed. People who previously characterised the Third Reich's recycling programmes as typical fascist control now considered compulsory recycling in Great Britain wholly positive. However, protesters claimed the government was causing irreparable harm by salvaging items whose value far exceeded their worth as scrap. The harvesting of books, periodicals and manuscripts as ‘waste’ paper proved particularly contentious, with some arguing that their own government was adding to the destruction that bombs were causing to Great Britain's cultural inheritance.

In two critical periods of German history, namely during wartime Imperial Germany and the National Socialist era, the German state resorted to salvaging waste to mobilise both people and resources at home for the war effort. Waste recycling efforts were part of preparing the national economy as well as home front morale for ‘total’ war. Since domestic waste – the generation of which was largely an urban phenomenon before the advent of mass consumer society – has traditionally been defined as a female responsibility, urban women were seen as the main pillars of waste work. Collecting, separating and storing reusable leftovers became a pervasive element of their everyday lives, as well as those of schoolchildren. Moreover, in the case of the First World War, under the umbrella of the so-called National Women's Service (Nationaler Frauendienst or NFD), women's associations set up grass-roots local waste collections before the state discovered the potential of waste for its war mobilisation efforts from 1916 onwards. The article highlights this self-mobilisation in the case of food recycling. Furthermore, it explores the continuities and differences between First World War waste salvage and later Nazi waste policies. Claiming to have learnt their lessons from the salvage drives of the First World War, the Nazis aimed at a ‘total’ waste recovery at the latest from 1936 onwards and took a top-down approach to reach it; in contrast, waste salvage drives of the First World War had been dominated by local and often female initiatives.

At one time, plastics were claimed to be the material that would not only boost West Germany's economy but also its consumer democracy. However, in the 1970s plastics were redefined as an environmental and consumer hazard. Based on protest letters and other sources, this article explores why plastic came to be redefined and traces how it became an issue of public concern. Now, this iconic material had become symbolic once more, but for negative reasons. I argue that the issue of plastics gained considerable momentum due to their crucial role in creating modern mass consumption. I further argue that the shifting significance of plastics highlights a substantial change in West Germany's political culture. While the early social market economists based citizens’ social belonging around access to economic security and affluence rather than overtly political notions of participation, people started insisting on the political aspects of their group identity as consumers; they defined both consumer information and protection as rights of citizenship.

This article adopts a political approach to examine the reasons why Edward Heath's government wanted to upgrade Polaris and the reasons why they did so by way of a programme called Super Antelope, to improve the front-ends of the missiles against Soviet Anti-Ballistic Missile defence, as opposed to the alternatives on offer. It argues that the political contexts within which Heath took the decision have been insufficiently understood, and shows that the acceptance of the ‘Moscow criterion’ – the understanding that Britain had to have the capability to destroy Moscow – by central government represented continuity in Britain's cold war stance.

In the wake of the Great Depression, Sweden and the other Nordic countries were widely perceived as a model region, a successful example of the ‘middle way’ between socialism and capitalism. Central to this idea were the Nordic co-operative movements, which became the focus of President Roosevelt's Inquiry on Co-operative Enterprise in Europe, conducted in 1936–7. Drawing mainly on the records of the Inquiry, the article explores the construction of the ‘middle way’ idea and examines the role of the Nordic co-operators in shaping international perceptions of the region, while also shedding new light on differences within the international co-operative movement during the same period.

This article argues that traditional conceptions of honour and the social practices based on them were both persistent yet at the same time very fragile and changeable amongst post-war German steel industrialists. After a brief overview of how bourgeois honour developed up to the early 1950s, a study of the honour court case of one of the leading men of heavy industry, Hermann Reusch of Gutehoffnungshütte, which ran from 1947 to 1949, will be presented. This is followed by a description of the ultimately unsuccessful attempt by the Wirtschaftsvereinigung Eisen und Stahl to establish honour councils to enforce a price policy across the association. Both cases highlight the rapidly changing social and economic culture in West Germany in the early 1960s.

This essay revisits 1920s German debates over the illegitimate children of the Rhineland occupation to examine hitherto neglected fluctuations in the relationship between nationalism and racism in Weimar Germany. During the early 1920s, nationalist anxieties focused on the alleged racial ‘threats’ emanating from the mixed-race children of colonial French soldiers. After 1927, plans for the forced sterilisation and deportation of the mixed-race children were dropped; simultaneously, officials began to support German mothers’ paternity suits against French soldiers. This hitherto neglected shift in German attitudes towards the ‘Rhineland bastards’ sheds new light on the role of debates over gender and the family in the process of Franco–German rapprochement. It also enhances our understanding of the contradictory political potentials of popularised foreign policy discourses about women's and children's victimisation emerging from World War I.

Discussions about intermarriage between foreign Muslim men and German Christian women from the 1950s to the 1970s shaped concepts of Islam, gender and difference found in more recent integration debates. Those insisting on inherent incompatibilities between Germans and Turks since the 1970s have drawn on these tropes developed decades earlier. Yet the post-war context differed from the later period in three important ways: the Muslim foreigners were students and interns, not guestworkers; it was German Christian women (not foreign Muslim women in Germany) who were the presumed victims of Muslim men; and it was principally national church institutions that formulated the language about difference.

This article investigates the contested boundaries of the political within the working-class movements in Leipzig and Lyon at the end of the Weimar Republic and during the Popular Front. What the appropriate issues and places of politics should be was a question that was highly contested among the organisations of the local working-class movements in both cities. The article argues that an over-politicisation of the left-proletarian milieu in Leipzig contributed to the working-class movement's failure successfully to mobilise against the Nazis, while the dynamics of politicisation in Lyon helped the formation of the Popular Front in Lyon, but then contributed to its rapid collapse.

The article delves into the concealed origins of Heinrich Gerlach's 1957 Stalingrad novel. A German veteran and former Soviet POW, Gerlach claimed to have recovered the memory of his wartime experience through hypnosis, after the original script, which he wrote in captivity, was confiscated by Soviet authorities. The author discovered this manuscript, believed lost, in Russian archives. It reveals how Soviet political re-education efforts prompted Gerlach to compose a memoir revolving around questions of personal complicity and guilt in German wartime crimes. Gerlach removed these soul-searching passages, as well as any reference to the Soviet origins of his memoir, from the published novel, which he presented as a self-generated inquiry into the tragedy of German soldiers abandoned by Hitler.

This article examines the coverage by Radio Free Europe (RFE) of the show trial of Rudolf Slánský in 1952 and contrasts this coverage with documents on the response to the trial within Czechoslovakia. RFE aggressively portrayed the trial as a pack of lies and condemned its anti-Semitism as not authentically Czechoslovak. The response within Czechoslovakia was more much nuanced. Most publicly accepted the trial as valid and acted in ways that underscored that acceptance. Within this acceptance, however, they varied from the trial script and brought their own meanings to the story. Those meanings were not always ones that either RFE or Czechoslovak leaders would have recognised as true.

The idea of fascism spread quickly and transnationally in the inter-war era. Fascist groups identified themselves as sharing fundamental characteristics and ideas. At the same time, they distorted fascism for their own purposes, adapting it to their specific contexts. As a border region, Alsace provides a number of examples of fascist groups claiming solidarity with fascism, yet distinguishing themselves from each other. Looking at fascism as a transnational phenomenon provides insight into the evolution of fascist ideology and will help explain why it is so difficult to define.