Khrushchev's secret speech of February 1956 threw the moral and political world of East Central Europe's intellectuals into turmoil. One of the most secure belief systems ever devised was suddenly revealed to be the ideological justification for crimes of a massive scale. Several generations of Communists groped for orientation, and radical change seemed inevitable. East Germany's intellectuals were no exception in their expectations and desires for change. Students of the GDR have always understood 1956 as one of formidable intellectual challenge to the Ulbricht regime, and the opening of SED and Stasi archives has strengthened this view, revealing an unrest that pervaded the ranks of students, writers, teachers, and much of the Party cadre.

A question that haunted critical minds in the West throughout the Cold War was whether the evolution of two opposing military blocs in Europe meant that the blocs, their ideologies and their strategies, were actually mirror images of one another.

With the advent of Gorbachev, two new words, perestroika (reform) and glasnost' (openness), entered the Western vocabulary. They also served as the bywords for economic and social change that continues to this day. Simultaneously, the search for a solution to the economic ills of the former USSR has led to a rediscovery and a re-examination of the past. In this context, scholars of the successor states to the Soviet Union will find much of interest in the works reviewed here which take us chronologically from the late nineteenth century to the late 1980s.

For the first two years after the Berlin Wall came down and, as Jacques Delors put it, while the speed of history accelerated, most scholars confined themselves to journalism. Some books that did appear were rapidly overtaken by the heady pace of history, and the books under review here do not entirely escape being dated by the relentless progress of events on the European continent. Indeed, it can hardly be said that the dust has settled on German unification and the seismic events that we call the end of the Cold War. Both in the East (predictably) and in the West, unscrambling the elaborate territorial, strategic and ideological Cold War structures is bringing a re-examination of the nation state and its democratic practices; international governmental organisations; ‘Western’ values; and security issues. At one level, debate has been raging among some historians between two unsatisfactory notions: the ‘end of history’, and ‘real’ history being on the move again. At another level the German question has been returning unsteadily into focus, as historians start to pick at issues of national identity, nationalism and the nation-state. Other analysts have been trying to fit the European structures and assumptions we inherit from the Cold War years into a post-Cold War security and economic architecture. The close relationship between these strands of European history is obvious.

The renewed emphasis, already visible in the mid-1980s, on the intertwined fates of the Soviet Union and Germany, especially in the Stalin and Hitler eras, has become greatly intensified in the wake of the upheavals in Eastern Europe. The sharpened focus on the atrocities of Stalinism has prompted attempts to relativise Nazi barbarism – seen as wicked, but on the whole less wicked, than that of Stalinism (and by implication of communism in general).1 The brutal Stalinist modernising experiment is used to remove any normative links with humanising, civilising, emancipatory or democratising development from modernisation concepts and thereby to claim that Hitler's regime, too, was – and intentionally so – a ‘modernising dictatorship’.2 Implicit in all this is a reversion, despite the many refinements and criticisms of the concept since the 1960s, to essentially traditional views on ‘totalitarianism’ and to views of Stalin and Hitler as ‘totalitarian dictators’.

This article focuses on the early years of the cold war in Italy in the form of an analysis of the Catholic press from 1947 to the eve of the Second Vatican Council in 1962. In so doing it attempts to answer key questions for Italian Catholicism relating to peace building that arose from total war in the age of mass democracy.

On 31 December 1989, a few weeks after the fall of the Berlin Wall, President François Mitterrand of France called for the creation of ‘a European confederation’ designed to ‘associate all states of [the] continent in a common and permanent organisation for exchanges, peace and security’. Yet less than eighteen months later the Confederation project, a major initiative for post-Yalta Europe, had collapsed. What were Mitterrand's objectives? What were the modalities of the project, and how was it conducted? And why did it fail in the end, after having raised much hope?

Any definition of peace is also a definition of war. The two cannot be described other than in each other's image. In the twentieth century there have been four roughly separate periods of warfare. Their character and consequences tell us much about how peace was defined.

The introduction to this special issue on peace in twentieth-century Europe develops a novel interpretation of twentieth-century European history. Rather than focusing on the question of the impact of war and violence within European societies, it seeks to examine what we can gain from exploring how peace was established and maintained in the wake of wars in various European societies. In particular, it focuses on the manifold ways in which different social and international actors negotiated peace, both literally and symbolically. Taken together, the contributions to this special issue thus present a much more complex picture of twentieth-century Europe than the one of a ‘Dark Continent’ (Mark Mazower) ravaged by violence or that propagated by European institutions of a peaceful Europe.

This article examines the process of state reconstruction in Austria and Hungary's borderlands that followed the Second World War. This process of state reconstruction was also a process of pacification, as it represented an attempt to (re)build states on the foundations of the military settlement of the war. The construction of legitimate state authority was at its most successful on the Austrian side of the border, where political actors were able to gain legitimacy by creating a state that acted as an effective protector of the immediate demands of the local community for security from a variety of threats. On the Hungarian side of the border the state was implicated with some of the actors who were seen as threatening local communities, something that produced political polarisation. These differences set the stage for the transition from war to cold war in the borderlands.

Founded in 1918, the Czechoslovak state faced a series of problems in the years after its foundation. Apart from the question of the relationship between the ideal of a nation-state and the reality of its multi-ethnic structure, as well as the question of territorial security, the successive Czechoslovak governments faced the challenge of pacifying an uprooted post-war society. During this phase of transition, ideals of nationhood and peace as well as concepts of political power were adapted to pragmatic government policies. Despite rifts between the Czech- and the German-speaking parts of the population, combined with the dangers of a radicalised strike movement and the difficult integration of members of the Czechoslovak Legion into the new polity, attempts at pacification were much more successful in the west of the country than in Slovakia and in Carpathia, since the latter two regions lacked the structural continuities of laws and institutions.

Scandinavia (Denmark, Norway and Sweden) is frequently seen as a democratic ‘island of peace’ in international politics and the three states are seen as ardent supporters of an ‘international community’ under the umbrella of the United Nations as well as its predecessor, the League of Nations. This article seeks to challenge this idealised, unitary conception of Scandinavian peace politics by exploring how different strands of internationalism, as transnational phenomena, developed from the outbreak of the First World War until the three states became members of the League. Initially, that development was more or less independent of official foreign policy. The article explains how and to what degree new internationalist ideas were eventually merged with traditional neutralist Scandinavian foreign policies.

The article examines posters produced by the peace movements in the Federal Republic of Germany during the Cold War, with an analytical focus on the transformation of the iconography of peace in modernity. Was it possible to develop an independent, positive depiction of peace in the context of protests for peace and disarmament? Despite its name, the pictorial self-representation of the campaign ‘Fight against Nuclear Death’ in the late 1950s did not draw on the theme of pending nuclear mass death. The large-scale protest movement in the 1980s against NATO's 1979 ‘double-track’ decision contrasted female peacefulness with masculine aggression in an emotionally charged pictorial symbolism. At the same time this symbolism marked a break with the pacifist iconographic tradition that had focused on the victims of war. Instead, the movement presented itself with images of demonstrating crowds, as an anticipation of its peaceful ends. Drawing on the concept of asymmetrical communicative ‘codes’ that has been developed in sociological systems theory, the article argues that the iconography of peace in peace movement posters could not develop a genuinely positive vision of peace, since the code of protest can articulate the designation value ‘peace’ only in conjunction with the rejection value ‘war’.

In the first years after the Second World War, Munich was home to a unique institution, the UNRRA University. Created by and for Europe's displaced persons, the university was defined as a new kind of educational institution, dedicated to the cause of reviving humanism and promoting internationalism. By virtue of their experiences of occupation, persecution and dislocation, the university argued, displaced persons were uniquely qualified to spearhead the post-war reconstruction of education and culture. This article traces the social and intellectual history of the UNRRA University. It examines the university's ideas on nationalism and internationalism, the reconstruction of higher education and the role of the intellectual in the post-war world. It argues that while much of the literature on displaced persons has focused on national communities, wartime and post-war displacement also gave rise to new transnational solidarities and imaginaries among the displaced.

In the aftermath of the First World War, a so-called ‘minority problem’ loomed large in European politics. This problem was understood, moreover, to be peculiar to central and eastern Europe. In fact, however, linguistic diversity was not a unique feature of the east, but also an ongoing challenge in states that had long claimed to have a unified national culture. This article compares policies of national classification and minority rights in France and Czechoslovakia after the First World War. It suggests that even as east/west binaries structured the unequal application of new international minority rights protections, France, rather than Czechoslovakia, implemented a more radical and racist policy of forcible national classification.

This paper outlines the dominant post-war narratives of the Second World War in Europe. Drawing from the expanding fields of memory and history, a general pattern in the European interpretations of the war years emerges: whereas the experiences and recollections of the war were narrated within a patriotic framework until the 1980s, a significant shift towards a universalistic interpretation has occurred in the last two decades. Although Sweden's wartime experiences differed profoundly from most other similar countries, it is argued that the transformation of Swedish narratives of the Second World War reflected general European tendencies after 1945. Special attention is paid to the emergence in the 1990s of a universalistic understanding of the war, and how this change interplayed with a more general criticism of the foundations of post-war Swedish society.

A transnational analysis of neo-fascism in France and Italy can elucidate historical processes that are usually only analysed within a specific national context or deemed to be by-products of individual nation-states. This article highlights the crucial importance of 1968 in the development of neo-fascist electoral and political strategies in both countries, as well as in the rise of extremist cultural activism. It reveals similar reactions to the hegemony of the political left over popular and youth culture as well as a striking commonality of ideals. Through the examination of a relatively brief period (1968 to the end of the 1970s), this article attempts to demonstrate patterns of cross-fertilisation, ideological transfer and the prominence of the Movimento Sociale Italiano which strongly influenced the French neo-fascists in the establishment of the Front national. The importance, and the trans-border impact, of the Nouvelle Droite in the cultural milieu and its attempt to update neo-fascist and racist ideals is also highlighted.

The 1967 devaluation of sterling has been the subject of considerable academic interest. However, its aftermath represents one of the great silences in the literature. This article aims to rectify this deficiency. The principal argument is that the devaluation was not a significant event in its own right; its real importance rests in its legacy and the way in which it altered the context in which sterling's managers operated. In the aftermath, the problem of sterling was actually far greater than it had ever been before and consequently the solutions proposed were far more radical.

In 1964 the West German government agreed to provide £1 million in financial compensation to British victims of National Socialism. The distribution of the money, organised by the British foreign office, turned into a major public scandal, as a number of British POWs, among them survivors of the ‘great escape’, had their claims rejected. By examining the refusal of several British POWs to accept their exclusion from the scheme, the article addresses the interplay of political pressure and public opinion that led to a parliamentary inquiry into what became known as ‘the Sachsenhausen affair’ in 1967. Given that provisions of the agreement with West Germany had precluded indemnification to mistreated POWs, the distribution of the money almost inevitably led to bitterness and discontent. From this perspective, the article explores the impact of the Great Escape on British memory of the war, the public reception of the film The Great Escape (1963), and the way in which public memory influenced the debate on compensation.

Why has ‘development aid’ been donated by so-called developed to under-developed populations since the Second World War? Using discourse analysis, this article provides partial answers to this riddle. First, we suggest that donor motives may be rooted in an ideology of ‘being good’, which, paradoxically, motivates recipients to be helpless – that is, a Samaritan's dilemma. Second, drawing on journal articles published in 1960–70, we test this theory by tracing a global development discourse and ‘goodness ideology’ in a Western country such as Denmark – a process that was strongly influenced by the agricultural co-operative movement, which sought to export the ‘Danish co-operative model’.