With his contingent of geographers, historians, and other academic “experts” collectively known as The Inquiry in tow, Woodrow Wilson arrived in Paris in January 1919 to redraw the map of Europe. Wilson wanted to fulfill his Fourteen Points and guarantee national self-determination to the peoples of Europe. A peaceful community of ethnically homogeneous nation-states was to replace the great multinational empires (defined by central European nationalists as prisons of the peoples) that had previously dominated central and eastern Europe. During the inter-war period, the governing elites of central Europe, their new “nation-states” legitimated by the post-war settlement, created new national holidays, national anthems, and nationalist school text books lauding the history and achievements of the state-bearing nation. These simple and seemingly coherent national narratives elided the messy, confusing, and jumbled past of multiple identities, mingled ethnic groups, and alienated social orders, and legitimized political, economic, and territorial claims made in the name of the “national community” lending its name to the new state.

The writing of history has a direct influence upon national identities. This is especially the case when historical writing and interpretation are contested, as they are among the three Eastern Slavic peoples (Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians). Where contestation is high, as in the Ukrainian- Russian relationship since the disintegration of the USSR, the writing and interpretation of history also impact upon their domestic and foreign policies and, most notably, their inter-state relations. Russian elites and the majority of Russians do not look upon Ukraine and Belarus as “foreign” countries.

In Russia, the memory of the Second World War has been at once deeply personal and profoundly political. Largely erased from official memory until Stalin's death, the story of the war became, in the 1960s, a key means of legitimizing the Soviet state. The mythic “20 million”—more recent estimates are closer to 30 million war dead—became the heart of a lasting and state-sanctioned collective memory of shared suffering, patriotism, and redemption. As historian Nina Tumarkin has argued, the official “cult” of the war began to crumble in the mid-1980s, and what she calls “raw human memory,” personal stories untainted by the myth created from above, began to emerge. Tumarkin contends that the “winds of glasnost' and perestroika” effectively “ravaged” both the state-sanctioned “myth” and the “shared memory” of the Great Patriotic War. Personal tragedies began to replace the official tale of national triumph.

The Mordvins are the largest and the southernmost Finno-Ugrian nationality in Russia. Their titular autonomous unit, the Mordovian Republic, is located in the southern part of the Volga-Viatka economic region, on the border between the forest and forest-steppe zones. The ethnic composition of today's Mordovia is mixed. According to the 1989 census Russians constituted 60.8% of the population, Mordvins stood in second place with 32.5% and Tatars ranked third with 4.9%.

Carinthia's nationality struggle has raged more or less unabated since 1848. Until roughly two decades ago there was a relative dearth of secondary materials that one might regard as scholarly in any sense of the word. Polemics—admittedly of some value as a special kind of source material—predominated. Indeed emotional overtones still creep into serious studies. On balance, however, recent work in both Yugoslavia and Austria may be characterized as objective, solid, and methodologically innovative. While articles and books published in the former country are no less significant than those emanating from the latter, only titles that have appeared in German can be reviewed here.

The Soviet occupation of Afghanistan and the two Russian wars in Chechnya were the longest, most protracted conflicts of the USSR and Russia after WWII. Both were conducted under conditions of unprecedented violence in peripheral territories. Despite their distance in time and space, both wars are closely linked to each other on the level of cultural representations in contemporary Russia. This paper analyses how the conflicts were represented in a key Soviet and Russian newspaper as the wars unfolded. It analyses the textual and visual coverage of the wars in the Krasnaia zvezda (1980–1986; 2000–2003), in order to disclose changing interpretations of violence and the Other. The paper argues, first, that Krasnaia zvezda told the story of two different types of violence prevailing in each conflict. The Afghan case was presented as one that put the social and cultural transformation of the population at the center of its attention – violence was hence not only physical and excessive but also cultural, as it aimed at the social fabric of society. The Chechen case focused on the recapture of territory and the restoration of sovereignty. Therefore, physical violence appeared more bluntly in the coverage of the conflict. Second, the paper shows that these two different types of violence implied two different visions of the Other. In Afghanistan, the Other was represented as becoming more and more similar to the socialist Self. This dynamic is visually underscored by numerous images of Afghans who have embarked on the path to Soviet modernity. In Chechnya, in contrast, the Other was presented as traditional, backward, and immutable. The Other was usually reduced to complete cultural difference and depicted a dehumanized fashion. This orientalization of the Other was a precondition for the use of excessive physical violence.

Two main concepts of a new Union and its genesis emerged in 1990–1991. Gorbachev conceived of a close-bound “vertical” federation, such as depicted in the draft Union treaty published March, 9, 1991, to be produced under the leadership of the Center, in consultation with the republics. The nationalist opposition in the nine prospective states of the new Union conceived of a decentralized confederation emerging out of a “horizontal” compact among equals. The two approaches involved clashing concepts of the right of self-determination as to both process and substance.