When the American suffragist Carrie Chapman Catt (1859-1947), one of the founders of the International Alliance for Women's Suffrage, came to Prague in 1908 to lecture before German-speaking groups of women in the city, a beautiful young teacher asked her to address Czech women as well. Catt readily obliged. She could not have known, then, that this determined Czech feminist and nationalist, Františka Plamínková (1875-1942) would become, in time, a familiar figure on the international circuit of women's organizations, known as “Madame Plam” and would be executed by the Nazis as a member of the Czech resistance.

For her fight against fascism and for the liberation of her nation Plamínková was awarded, posthumously in 1950, the Czechoslovak Order of the Gold Star by the Ministry of National Defense. But then her name disappeared, along with thousands of other names from the First Czechoslovak Republic, as Stalinist repression set in. A plaque affixed to the building once her residence on Staroměstské Square tells us little about this energetic, dedicated patriot and fighter for women's rights. In 1993, the Gender Institute in Prague opened its doors, and, today, as feminism begins to awaken in the Czech Republic, the work and accomplishments of Františka Plamínková should be instructive.

This paper assesses state recognition, the practice historically employed to regulate membership in international society, since the United States–led recognition of Kosovo and the Russian-led recognition of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. Its main goal is to succinctly examine the question of whether these two controversial episodes have signaled change in the existing norms of recognition of new states. The paper argues that there is not enough evidence for the claims of some observers and governments that unilateral secession is, as such, becoming legitimate internationally. The leading recognizing powers took great care in all three cases to reject the applicability of their decision to other situations of unilateral secession, and they have since approached those other situations as if no acknowledgment of the three territories had taken place. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that the deeply contested nature of these cases has introduced confusion and uncertainty into the practice and that this has had, and will have, important implications elsewhere in the world, in terms of both re-invigorated claims of statehood and the potential for unilateral recognition decisions by powerful outsiders. In fact, it is extremely unlikely that Russia's recognition of South Ossetia and Abkhazia in August 2008 would have ever occurred without the prior US-led recognition of Kosovo in February 2008.

The following is a complete, unabridged translation of a document obtained in Moscow in 1989. The manifesto belongs to a Pamyat group that clearly shares many of the views of other groups outlined in my article published elsewhere in this issue, though it reveals a heavier emphasis on the Orthodox Church.

Using memories of and interviews with Soviet soldiers, the article discusses their experience of combat and physical violence during the Soviet War in Afghanistan (1979–1989). With Afghan statehood rapidly dissolving and little interest on the side of the Soviet military to enforce international law, Afghanistan quickly turned into a space where violence became the most important social resource. The soldiers and other Soviet personnel had to adapt to these conditions, which differed immensely from the late socialist society in the USSR. The article traces their immersion into the violent space and discusses their behavior while in Afghanistan. It points to the brutality of counterinsurgency combat and to the atrocities committed by both sides. In addition, it sheds light on the experience of serving in the Soviet Army during the last decade of the USSR. Many of the dysfunctions of the late socialist society were also prevalent – even amplified – while serving in the Soviet Army in Afghanistan. These problems were often exacerbated during the war and impeded the abilities of the Soviet Army. Upon their return from Afghanistan, many veterans found it difficult to return to civilian life in the USSR. Their immersion into the violent space was more rapid and formative than their return to socialist “normality.”

While Pussy Riot's “Punk Prayer” and its aftermath constituted something of a turning point for Russia politically - as well as personally for the women imprisoned afterwards - it was neither the first nor last of Pussy Riot's endeavors. Among other things, their series of songs, published as video clips on the web, endorsed mass protest against the Putin regime, criticized state-sponsored homophobia, and praised feminism as a possible curative for Russia's many ills. In setting forth their ideas, however, Pussy Riot's lyricists made use of traditional masculine and feminine gender norms as well as homophobia, wielding these against their opponents in the regime and thereby reinforcing them in ways that other self-identified Russian feminists found problematic at best.

In this article, I review Pussy Riot's collection of songs in chronological order, highlighting the areas where gender norms and apparent misogyny, sexism, and homophobia appear. I weave my explications of the content of Pussy Riot's productions in with the responses of Russian feminist activists to Pussy Riot's lyrics and actions. Taking into account the views of some non-feminist Russian commentators in addition to self-identified feminist activists, I discuss a range of evaluations of the content of Pussy Riot's compositions, as well as differing appraisals of the means that Pussy Riot employed to achieve what they viewed as feminist ends: undermining or even unseating the Putin regime.

The 1952 edition of the Dictionary of the Czech Language defines “gypsy” as follows: “gypsy [with a small “g”]—a member of a wandering nation, a symbol of mendacity, theft, wandering,…jokers, liars, impostors and cheaters.” This definition was published two years after the Czechoslovak government outlawed any form of discrimination on the basis of color. As far as this writer recalls, the above definition expressed the popular understanding of the Gypsies as a group in the 1930s, in pre-World War II Czechoslovakia. Despite the persecution of the Gypsies during the war and the popular sympathy for them because of it, the prejudice against them have not disappeared and one can find its reflection in the official press as well as in conversations of the common people. Although one cannot generalize about members of any racial, national or religious group, it is evident from the official publications that most Gypsies pose certain problems for the regime and the society.

In Kazakstan, as the meaning of Soviet citizenship recedes into the past, the question of Kazak identity comes to the fore. The framing of Kazak national identity is generally configured in relation to the Three Zhuzes, in common parlance referred to as “hordes” but more properly translated “hundreds.” Multiple means of defining Kazak ethnicity emerge either to challenge or reinforce legacies of the past. Traditional concepts of the past may alternately reinforce or break away from stereotypes informed by Russia, by the “civilizing” factors of Islam, or by the nineteenth-century imperial West, depending upon external conditions of military or financial power.