The Soviet empire, if not crumbling, is transforming itself almost beyond recognition, and Belorussia gives us a case-study insight into this process of political, social, cultural, and psychological change. This was the theme of Dr. Zaprudnik's February 8 presentation in which he surveyed the current political landscape in Belorussia.

The main objective of the ethnic policy of the government of Kyrgyzstan in the post-Soviet era was a consolidation of all people and ethnic groups on the territory of the Republic into the Kyrgyzstani nation. Such a goal is important for any nation that has just gained independence, but for the Kyrgyz Republic it was an especially important task for several reasons. First, the multiethnic composition of the country: in 1991 the Kyrgyzs, or the titular nation of the Republic, constituted roughly 52% of the population, there were around 22% Russians, and the Uzbeks represented 13% of the population. Second, interethnic relations in the Republic were especially tense at the beginning of the 1990s because of the interethnic conflicts in the southern regions of the Republic in 1989 and 1990.1 Third, the Kyrgyzs themselves lacked national cohesiveness and they often defined themselves as members of different tribes or tribal groups with distinct dialects, dress, and political affiliations.

We all know why the Socialist Federated Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY) disintegrated and why the War of Yugoslav Succession (1991–1995) broke out. It was all because of Milošević/Tudjman/“the Slovenes”/communists/organized crime/Western states/the Vatican–Comintern conspiracy, who planned it all by himself/themselves in order to advance his own personal/Serbian/Slovenian/American/Vatican interests—your choice. Or again—it all happened because of local bad traditions/economic problems/structural issues/system illegitimacy/legitimate grievances/illegitimate grievances/the long shadow of the past. Or again—it really started in 1389/1463/1878/1918/1941/1986/1987/1989/1990/1991—your pick. Of course, we all know that both the breakup and the war were completely avoidable/inevitable, don't we? And best of all, we all know that the real villain(s) in this drama can only be Milošević/Tudjman/“the Serbs”/“the Slovenes”/“the Croats”/“the Muslims”/Germany/Balkan peoples generally/the Great Powers, who must be held (exclusively/jointly) responsible for most of the killing, though some of us also know that all parties were equally guilty. Well, maybe we all know what caused the Yugoslav troubles, but it seems that we “know” different things.

Alexander Dugin is considered a fringe figure in contemporary Russia. Yet, his writings exert considerable influence and develop a virulent nationalism that exploits the vocabulary of post-colonial resistance in an unaccustomed way. Dugin should not be ignored, and this article gives a brief account of Dugin's peculiar brand of post-colonial thinking by reference to its central source: Martin Heidegger. Specifically, the article examines how Dugin adapts the anti-metaphysical thinking of Heidegger's most radical work of the 1930s – a thinking that seeks to renew Western thought in an other beginning – to the context of modern Russia as it tries to free itself from Western (American) domination. Dugin aims at nothing less than the creation of a new Russian identity and destiny that will not only save Russia but also, in a nod to Heidegger, renew the Western tradition itself from the “outside.” If Dugin's political project is ambitious, so is his interpretation of Heidegger which attempts to bring out the full radicality of Heidegger's thinking, both as philosophy and as politics.

Marin Pundeff, National Consciousness in Medieval Bulgaria, Reprint from Sudost-Forschungen. Vol. 27 (1968).

Germany's role as a kin-state of ethnic German minorities in Central and Eastern Europe stems from a number of factors. At one level it is part and parcel of a unique historical legacy. It is also inextricably linked with the country's foreign policy towards this region. The most profound policy that the Federal Republic of Germany developed in this context after the early 1960s was Ostpolitik, which contributed significantly to the peaceful end of the Cold War, but has remained relevant thereafter despite a fundamentally changed geopolitical context, as Germany remains a kin-state for hundreds of thousands of ethnic Germans across Central and Eastern Europe, particularly in the former Soviet Union, in Poland, Romania, and Hungary. As such, a policy towards these external minorities continues to form a significant, but by no means the only, manifestation of Ostpolitik.

This article concerns two national museums in Croatia during the socialist period, the Museum of the Revolution of the Peoples of Croatia and the Historical Museum of Croatia. Both state-developed institutions were intimately tied to the process of nationalization as they helped articulate the place of the Croatian nation within the ideology of supranational Yugoslavism founded on the ideas of socialist patriotism, brotherhood and unity, self-management, national assertion, and South Slavic culture and community. This paper therefore traces the development and collapse of Yugoslavism in Croatia's national narrative by analyzing how these museums adapted the mythology of socialist Yugoslavism for a particularly Croatian context. Specifically, this paper investigates the ways in which these museums operated in an often ambiguous national-supranational discourse in order to reinforce the historical precedents of Croatia as part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. I argue that these museums were envisioned by party elites and museum curators alike as essential to the project of building socialist Yugoslavism by adapting and altering Croatia's previous national pantheon of heroes, places, objects, and events to fit into a larger and distinctly supranational Yugoslav framework.

The occupation of the Baltic States by the Soviet Union in 1940 failed to extinguish feelings of nationalism and patriotism among the native Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian peoples; on the contrary, foreign occupation strengthened their national spirit. Dwelling on the successes and memories of their former independence, Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian nationalists continue to denounce the Soviet occupation and resist the policies of communization and Russification practiced by the Soviet regime.

Fears have often been expressed outside the Soviet Union that the influx of Russian words into the non-Russian languages is part of an attempt to russianize them with a view to make them ultimately superfluous. These fears now seem to be greatly exaggerated, as there is little evidence to show that these languages are losing their vitality or are doomed to extinction. While the total lexicon of any given language, in this case Uzbek, the third language numerically (after Russian and Ukrainian) and the largest non-Slavic language, may have a significant number of Russian loanwords, it does not necessarily follow that all these words are in fact an essential segment of the language. The life and viability of a language depend not upon the percentage of so-called foreign words in its vocabulary, but upon its daily use in ordinary situations and in creative writing. The major problem in this area has been the apparently large number of Russian borrowings seen in the non-Russian languages, especially those in non-Slavic ones using Cyrillic. Words are often taken in their Russian orthographic shape without regard for the internal rules of the various languages. Even a cursory glance at any newspaper is enough to show the casual observer that these languages have been russianized to a certain extent. Soviet sources have always emphasized that there has been a “sovietization” of non-Russian languages, while admitting that Russian is the main source for new vocabulary. However it is pointed out that most of these borrowings are “international” words taken into the several languages via Russian. Counter arguments have emphasized that the “common-spelling” principle, by which all words from Russian, be they “international” or not, are borrowed in their exact Russian spelling, proves that russianization, not sovietization, is taking place.

In October 2014, Serbia's European Championships qualifying match against Albania was abandoned after a drone flew onto the pitch in Belgrade with a banner showing Kosovo as part of a Greater Albania, provoking a fight between both teams and their fans. While the flight of the drone was a technologically novel reminder that the nation's territorial space is not two-dimensional but three-dimensional, the subject of a politics of verticality and volume (Weizman 2012,12; Elden 2013), the imagery of its invasive entry and violent ejection from the symbolic territory, and the battlefield of the nation underlined a point that could have been made at any point since the institutionalization of international sporting competition in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: that controversies over sports, between and within nations, reveal the deeper conflicts about territorial and cultural boundaries that are the very process of constructing national identity. Yet all this has taken place within a framework of supposed internationalism and sporting fraternity; indeed, it is the very structure of organized, scheduled competition between nations that makes these sporting encounters regular and possible.