In the 1920s, the Ukrainian Commissariat of Education and a circle of progressive educators aimed to radically transform the educational system in Ukraine, and, as a consequence, the skills and mentality of its graduates. To do this, they would have to teach students in a language they understood. For nearly three-quarters of the juvenile population of Ukraine, this meant instruction in Ukrainian. Although this may have sounded like a simple proposition, it was not. Throughout the pre-revolutionary period, schools had educated Ukrainian children in Russian, and teachers, regardless of their ethnicity, were trained and accustomed to teaching in it. Pre-revolutionary publications, still widely used in Soviet schools, and even the early Soviet primers were overwhelmingly written in Russian. Ukrainian national leaders had made an attempt to set up a network of Ukrainian-language schools during the country's short-lived period of independence, but their attempts were disrupted by the chaos of civil war and the fall of successive governments. It was under Soviet patronage that the “Ukrainization” of the schools reached its greatest extent; however, it was an achievement that required effort, and real qualitative change in the language of instruction was gradual.

By the end of the nineteenth century Russian legislation regarding Jews was a congeries of self-contractions and inconsistencies. On the one hand, Jews were hemmed in by numerous restrictions and repressive measures in regard to their residence rights, economic activities, communal organization, educational opportunities, and even religious practices. On the other hand, the limits of discrimination were often ill-defined, being expanded by some laws and contracted by others; in some cases important privileges were granted to various categories of Jews (for example, the right to live outside the Pale of Jewish Settlement) or to the Jewish community as a whole (for example, the right to collect certain taxes). In addition, the enforcement of this hodge-podge of rules and regulations varied from place to place and from time to time.

For hundreds of years the Baltic Sea has both connected and separated the nations living on its shores. For the last fifty years the sea has been part of the Iron Curtain. However, for Estonia the formation of nation states on the shores of the Baltic has been inextricably linked with the idea of cooperation. What follows is a description of the historical background of the idea of Baltic Sea cooperation (before 1940) and some elements of its restoration in the 1990s.

The Russian–Estonian border has undergone radical changes in the past two decades – from an integrated borderland between two Soviet republics to a border between nation-states and the new EU external border. Until the present day, it is a discursive battlefield that reflects the difficult relations between Russia and Estonia after the restoration of Estonia's independence. While much research has concentrated on antagonistic projects of identity politics and state-building from a top-down perspective, this paper asks how people living in the borderland make sense of the place they live in and negotiate shifts in the symbolic landscapes. Based on life-story narratives of Russian-speakers, it analyzes different ways of narrating and framing place and argues for a consideration of the plurality and ambivalences of place-making projects on the ground. Furthermore, it argues for a more balanced account of continuity and discontinuity in memory narratives by taking into account how the socialist past continues to be meaningful in the present. As the interviews show, memories of the socialist past are used for constructing belonging in the present both by countering and by reproducing national narratives of boundedness.

This paper offers hypotheses on the role that state social welfare measures can play in reflecting nationalism and in aggravating interethnic tensions. Social welfare is often overlooked in theoretical literature on nationalism, because of the widespread assumption that the welfare state promotes social cohesion. However, social welfare systems may face contradictions between the goal of promoting universal access to all citizens on the one hand, and social pressures to recognize particular groups in distinct ways on the other. Examples from the post-Soviet context (particularly Russia) are offered to illustrate the ways in which social welfare issues may be perceived as having ethnic connotations.

Is the Soviet Union heading towards a new federation, a new confederation, or simply disintegration? At this point, the Soviets themselves do not know, and this is due in part to the fact that they seem confused about the meaning of these terms. Professor Rywkin analyzed recent trends in the Soviet Union, noting three competing principles currently being voiced in the Soviet Union.

It has already been pointed out by many scholars that the supranational Soviet state meets many sociological criteria of an empire. Thus, it is populated by many different ethnic groups; they did not join the state voluntarily, having all been conquered in the past or incorporated into the state by force; and they are still forcefully kept together, even though force is far from being the only factor. Last but not least, the Soviet empire, like any other, has one dominating nation: the Russians. Thus, many regularities in other empires may also be applicable to the Soviet Union.

Without a thorough grounding in the pre- and post-1917 historical dimension of the Nagorno-Karabakh dispute, one will have difficulty comprehending the depth of sentiment, indeed passion, it arouses among the disputing parties, in this case among Armenians, whether inside or outside the Soviet Union.

The roots of prying Nagorno-Karabakh from Muslim control via Russian intervention go back to the seventeenth century when Armenian emissaries contacted the Romanovs and urged them to liberate fellow Christians from Muslim domination. This, in part, led to the eighteenth century Russian campaign to conquer Transcaucasia, the Tsarist court encouraged by the possibility of local Christian support. Through Muslim eyes (a conviction held to this day), this was an act of political sabotage casting the Armenians in the role of political collaborators in collusion with the new Tsarist overlords, a suspicion that finds its modern echoes today as Armenia and Azerbaijan compete for Moscow's support in determining the status of the autonomous region.