The official language of the medieval Kingdom of Hungaria was Latin until the mid-nineteenth century (Szekfű, 1926); the throne was occupied from the second half of the sixteenth century by the Hapsburgs. The subsequent change to Hungarian was due to several factors, but was caused above all by the ideas of the French Revolution, and by the early anti-Austrian nationalistic endeavors of the Hungarian gentry, endeavors which also expressed the economic interests of the country. As soon as the official idiom of the kingdom became Hungarian, it triggered similar aspirations among the non-Magyar minority groups against the dominating and assimilating Hungarian majority. These aspirations were prominent among the causes of the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy at the end of World War I. Within the former Kingdom of Hungary the Felvidék (Upper Land) roughly coincided with what was, after 1919, Slovakia. The eastern part of the kingdom, Ardeal/Erdély/Siebenbürgen/Transylvania, which had enjoyed a certain autonomy between the sixteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries, became a part of Romania in the same year. Thus, both in Romania and in Slovakia (as also in Yugoslavia and to a lesser extent in Austria) a Hungarian minority was created by the 1919 borders. Revision of the peace treaties became the focal point of Hungarian politics in the inter-war period. During World War II Hungary attained a partial revision in respect to, first, the southern part of Slovakia, and also the entire Ruténföld/Rusinsko, which had from the 1920s been administered by the Czechoslovak State); second, northern Transylvania; and third, two further areas which had belonged to the then-dissolved Yugoslav kingdom. As a consequence of these revisions, a considerable number of non-Hungarians once again became minorities in the Hungarian State. After World War II, the 1919 borders were reinstated (with two exceptions: the major exception being that Ruténföld became part of Ukraine). The situation of the minorities was also reinstated, but differently in each instance. This was the age when some kind of democratic reconciliation was on the agenda in Romania (Balogh, 1985; Lázok and Vincze, 1995; “Mit kíván,” 1946/1988), after a period of thorough self-searching and a synthesizing of historical research and political experience (see Bibó, 1946).

If until recently Western investigations of “the nationalities question” in Russia and the Soviet Union focused almost exclusively on the larger and more visible “nations” that enjoyed union-republic status in the Soviet period, scholars have now begun to devote more sustained collective attention to the history of smaller ethnic groups that received only “autonomous” units within the Russian republic itself. For many of these peoples, subjected to Russian imperial rule and cultural domination for the entirety of their modern history and endowed with fewer of the opportunities for national development available to titular nationalities in the union republics, the problem of maintaining their particularity and of articulating a vision of collective cohesion has been especially acute both historically and in more recent times. Yet the fact that some of these groups are now threatened with eventual disappearance as distinct linguistic and cultural communities should not blind us to the complex, contingent, and inherently messy nature of their assimilation. Indeed, close scrutiny reveals that the very processes of assimilation contain within themselves possibilities for the emergence of hybrid cultural configurations and the appropriation of dominant conceptions for the transformation of indigenous culture along new trajectories.

Poland's post-communist development is often depicted as a contrast between a unified, engaged society of pre-1989 and a passive, divisive society of post-1989. What explains the displacement of political solidarity with a fragmented political scene? A factor specific to Poland is rooted in the struggle of Solidarity against communist power. The consequences are subsequent attempts to appropriate the values of Solidarność as political capital by competing political voices, leading to contestation about the nature of the country. This normative discourse was evident first in the post-communist divide, between forces stemming from the former communist regime and those affiliated with the opposition. More recently, the saliency of the post-communist division has receded, and a new contested discourse has surfaced among voices coming out of the Solidarity tradition. This rhetoric seeks to define a contrast between a “Solidaristic Poland” dedicated to traditional and Christian values affirming notions of exclusivity and superiority, and a “liberal Poland” dedicated to market and pluralist principles based on competition and individualism. In both political divides, the legacy of Solidarity provides useful political capital to advance distinctive visions of Poland.

In the eyes of the European public, Slovenia is still considered a Catholic country. Since before the last World War, this has had a double meaning. First of all, the Roman Catholic Church has been the leading ecclesiastical institution since the Christianization of the territory settled by Slovenes, decisively influencing the constitution of the cultural and political life of the Slovene nation, as well as its character. In spite of changed social conditions and its fate in the period of “real-socialist” rule from 1945 to 1990, the Church has preserved this role to the present time, although in different forms.

This article identifies the dynamics which shaped the eruption of civil war in Tajikistan. It argues that the mechanisms of network activation by the elites, together with the establishment of local militias and their involvement in the war through the activation of violence specialists, were important factors in bringing about the eruption of violence. This article is not about the causes of the civil war. Its aim is not to answer the question of why, but the question of how: what mechanisms led Tajikistan into civil war, how networks were activated from the top down, how mobilization was achieved at the micro level in the villages. This article stresses both macro- and micro-level mechanisms, and argues that there is a connection between the two—a look at both is necessary to understand the dynamics of the war.

In sweeping away the Tsarist political empire, the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 also challenged a way of life. It provided opportunities for women in Siberia, the Sibiriachki, and in the rest of Russia, to change their lives. The revolution's democratic and Marxian socialist policies, carried to these women by the zhenotdel, determined officials in the women's department of the Communist Party, created wide possibilities for change. This essay examines Siberian women's responses—both negative and positive—to the revolution's teachings about women's rights and their equality with men. Women's cultural backgrounds—ethnic, educational, urban and rural—influenced their responses to the revolutionary call to claim their rights, their successes and failures in efforts to defend themselves from violence, their efforts to achieve health care and education, and their progress toward greater political and economic equality. This essay also explores conditions on the eve of the revolution, illustrating the variety of strata existing in Siberia's vast lands. It discusses the significant advances in women's self-awareness and their changing activities in the early and mid-1920s. The Party's political mobilization of women expanded into a critique of the social status quo. Subsequently, in the late 1920s and 1930s, the context for their activities was radically altered: political and social criticism were no longer acceptable. For women the gains of the revolution were corrupted and women lost more than they had previously gained. While one can see the throttling of the women's revolution as an indication of its fundamental weakness, one can also see it as the Party's response to a movement that was gaining strength and raising questions about the Party's primacy.

This essay is an attempt to chart recent developments in the field of Modern Greek Studies, focusing on shifting perceptions regarding Islam and Muslims. To do so, the essay positions the relevant literature in its historical context, touching upon both accomplishments and limitations. Its main proposition is that the Greek case is distinct yet connected to contemporary global contingencies and broader long-term regional dynamics. Athens remains the only European capital without a mosque. Moreover, despite recent academic endeavors, there exists today no coherent Greek field of Islamic Studies. That these absences have been brought recently under political and academic scrutiny constitutes, however, a noteworthy change. Most important, the traditional exclusion of Islam from the field of Modern Greek Studies does not suggest lack of relevance between the two but, quite to the contrary, reveals a set of loaded and complex socieconomic, geopolitical, and historical links that deserve to be studied in their own right.