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Elizabeth Maconchy became Chair of the Composers’ Guild in 1959 and oversaw important diplomatic visits to Canada and the Soviet Union during her tenure. The Guild was ostensibly a professional organisation representing composers’ interests in such matters as BBC opportunities, performing rights’ payments, and film composing. However, as this chapter outlines, its early years up to Maconchy’s tenure were characterised by a concerted effort in diplomacy with countries of the emerging Communist Bloc, particularly under the Chairmanship of Alan Bush from 1947. While Bush’s efforts to align the Guild with similar organisations east of the Iron Curtain were ultimately rejected by the membership, his efforts paved the way for Maconchy’s 1960 visit, and constituted an important example of ‘unofficial’ cultural diplomacy with the Eastern Bloc preceding the more famous state-sponsored visits of Benjamin Britten to the Soviet Union.
After the conquest of Samarkand by Russian forces in 1868, a sacred relic, the reputed Quran of Uthman, was removed from the Khoja Ahrar madrassa and taken to the Imperial Library in St Petersburg. Following the October 1917 revolution, successive Muslim organizations successfully petitioned for the Quran’s ‘return’, representing a remarkably early case of formerly colonized peoples reclaiming cultural property taken under imperial duress on the principle of decolonization. The highly politicized and publicized debates contesting this Quran’s rightful ownership and the history of its multiple ‘repatriations’—from Petrograd to Ufa to Turkestan and from mosque to museum to anti-religious exhibition—illustrate the competing claims to spiritual, ethno-national, scholarly, and ideological authority leveraged by various actors in the first decade of Soviet power, amidst visions of transnational anti-imperial revolution in the ‘East’. As Soviet rule solidified in 1926–27, the Quran was concealed from view domestically while increasingly being deployed in diplomacy abroad.
The paper examines the case of branch cutters, the only female workers employed in Soviet logging brigades, focusing on the marginalization of women into physically demanding yet technologically stagnant roles. Branch cutters’ primary duty was to turn felled pine trees into logs by manually chopping off boughs, branches, and knots. By the mid-1960s, this task remained the only non-mechanized job in Soviet logging. Female branch cutters worked with axes alongside male workers equipped with modern logging equipment—chainsaws, tractors, loaders, and haulers. Adding to previous studies that highlight wage disparities and occupational segregation, this paper analyzes how labor protection regulations aimed not merely at safeguarding but also at systematically excluding women from technologically complex labor, confined them to (relatively) low-paying, dangerous, and low-status jobs. The article traces in detail how Soviet labor policies of the 1930s–1980s explored the idea of women as physically weaker workers and deliberately constructed a discourse of gendered labor based on the categories of “ease” and “hardship.” Labor protection bodies, trade unions, and enterprises constantly restricted women’s access to mechanized, high-paying jobs based on this division, bolstering their exclusion from upward mobility. The study thus expands our understanding of gendered labor dynamics in Soviet industry, illustrating how technological stratification reinforced occupational and gender segregation. By centering women’s experiences in an underexplored sector of Soviet industry, the research offers new insights into the complexities of labor inequality and gendered power structures in the Soviet Union.
This chapter examines Pablo Neruda’s deep and complex relationship with the Soviet Union, as reflected in his memoirs Confieso que he vivido: Memorias (I Confess That I Have Lived: Memoirs, 1974). It explores the poet’s encounters, reflections, and evolving perceptions of the country, its people, and their connections to Chile. It analyzes Neruda’s initial fascination with Soviet socialism and communism and his gradual disillusionment with certain aspects of the regime under Stalin’s leadership. The chapter delves into the complexities of the poet’s political and personal allegiances reflected in his encounters with the prominent figures of the Soviet intelligentsia, such as Ilya Ehrenburg. The comparative analysis of Neruda’s memoirs and poetry allows us to shed light on the intertwined histories of Chile and the Soviet Union, highlighting the enduring impact of Neruda’s Soviet odyssey on his literary work and political convictions.
The chapter explores how alternative futures were imagined in the late state-socialist system, using Soviet Estonia as a case study during the mid-perestroika period in the Soviet Union. In 1987–1988, Estonian reformist intellectuals and experts envisioned Estonia in multiple scenarios like an economically ‘self-manageable’ republic within a renewed Soviet Union, a socialist ‘sovereign’ republic sharing foreign and defence policies with the centre or an independent republic restored as the interwar state. The chapter explores the Estonian perestroika discourse that opened channels for reform discussions in 1987, especially examining the language and concepts used to produce these futures. It highlights how local reformists innovated economic-political vocabulary, facilitating but simultaneously delimiting the imagination of Estonia’s alternative futures. The chapter demonstrates how the innovations with the perestroika language caused unpredicted scenarios in 1988, as the Estonian Declaration of Sovereignty ignited a series of similar declarations in the union republics in 1989–1990.
This chapter examines Cold War liberals’ role in a campaign against “slave labor” in the Soviet Union between 1947 and 1953 that was largely conducted at the United Nations. Although the effort was first spearheaded by the American Federation of Labor, U.S. liberals eventually joined forces with an ideologically diverse set of European actors, and the transatlantic dialogue that ensued offers an opportunity to examine what was distinctive about liberal opposition to Soviet forced labor practices. The chapter argues that, although scholars have long emphasized Cold War liberals’ minimalist orientation toward avoiding cruelty, in comparative terms American liberals stressed the suffering of Soviet gulag victims much less than did their non-liberal continental counterparts. Instead, U.S. liberals offered a highly abstract and legalistic defense of negative liberties, drawing on a selected canon of classical economic arguments for freely contracted labor and a set of civil libertarian principles concerning freedom of opinion. Moreover, after 1951 they seamlessly shifted into different registers as these themes became politically inconvenient. In the end, antipathy to the Soviet regime, rather than a coherent and consistent set of liberal beliefs about either cruelty or the value of workers’ liberty, was the common thread running through Cold War liberals’ “fight for free labor.”
Chapter 3 moves to the global level, exploring the history of technology control and its historical links to geopolitics. It begins by considering control of technology in the context of the Cold War and technology as being explicitly considered a security issue in terms of the conflict between the US and the Soviet Union. It covers the CoCom technology restrictions imposed by the US, and Soviet Union attempts to gain access to critical technologies through Comecon, before considering how the approach to technology changed substantially with the end of the Cold War, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the belief in the triumph of the liberal international order and globalism as reflected by the World Trade Organization and ‘free trade’. It then explores the multifaceted crises impacting upon this conviction in the benefits and resilience of the global trade system, the increased economic conflict between the US and China as a rising technological power, and a move from multilateralism in a ‘unipolar’ system to increased nationalism and protectionism in a ‘multipolar’ system, and what this meant for the EU’s sense of insecurity and vulnerability in the context of geopolitical reordering.
What explains the contested conditions for migrant worker citizenship under socialism? Migration scholarship often elides socialist contexts, tracing migrant deservingness to the neoliberal rise of labor-based conditionality for legal status across Western states in the late twentieth century. However, a broader historiography suggests that socialist states, despite their institutional differences, conditioned migrant inclusion on labor performance throughout the twentieth century. To explain how this form of civic conditionality operated under socialism, this paper draws on the case of migrant “limit” worker management in Moscow from the early 1960s to 1987. Using archival materials, I show that state-owned enterprises operated as migration intermediaries, establishing and enforcing a labor-based conditionality for local citizenship even as the state pursued additional civic aims. I find that civic campaigns initiated in the early 1960s provided an ideological framework and material base for enterprises to govern migrant workers at their dormitories. Managers and officials at the dormitory redirected resources intended for social activism and cultural tutelage toward ensuring baseline productivity and compliance. Enterprise managers and union officials additionally substituted the material conditions at the dormitory for the assessments of individual migrants’ moral and productive status. This paper extends the literature on migrant deservingness to a socialist context, showing how conditionality for civic inclusion develops beyond the neoliberal shifts in contemporary citizenship.
Geopolitical tensions escalated between the USSR and the Republic of China over control of the Chinese Eastern Railway during the late 1920s, resulting in a brief war in which several thousand people were killed. Given the violence in Manchuria in the months preceding direct military engagement, it is surprising that Soviet authorities sent an opera tour to the zone of conflict. This article examines the two seasons spent by visiting Soviet opera vocalists at the Railway Assembly Hall (Zhelsob) from September 1927 to February 1929, attending to the staging, reception and political goals of the tour. I argue that the opera stage in the city of Harbin transformed into a temporary zone of informal extraterritoriality, where unpredictable collaborations transpired between ideological enemies on either side of the military clash. The Soviet opera tour to Manchuria prompts us to reconsider the agency and intentionality of musicians in armed conflict.
This article sheds light on the understudied significance of Islam, Communism, and global politics in defining what constituted an acceptable “religion” (shūkyō 宗教) in wartime Japan. An analysis of the Japanese Imperial Diet’s debates on the place of Islam in the Religious Organizations Law of 1939, which defined state-sanctioned religious organizations, reveals that Muslim attention from around the world, international politics, the global spread of Communism, and the relatively short history of Islam in Japan, affected politicians’ decision not to mention Islam as a religious organization in the law. While previous literature on the Religious Organizations Law has not adequately addressed the significance of international and non-Euro-American transnational influences, this article argues that lawmakers viewed the power of transnational Muslim and Communist networks as crucial when defining both officially acceptable “religion” and the Shrine (jinja 神社), or Shrine Shinto, as the national core to be protected under this law. The debates surrounding Islam offer fertile ground for examining the significance of global affairs in determining acceptable forms of “religion” in Japan, as well as the broader implications of what Japanese state officials called “religion” and “thought” (shisō 思想) in wartime Japanese and world politics.
This article challenges historians’ recent Russian-Ukrainian war-related claims that the field of Russian history in the west, and in the United States in particular, has overlooked the imperial and colonial dimensions of Russia’s past. It argues that far from overlooking Russian and Soviet imperialism and colonialism and marginalizing the histories of non-Russian peoples in that context, Anglophone historians have been documenting and explaining them for almost a century. It shows that as early as the 1940s and 50s, Michael Karpovich and his former Harvard University students emphasized the need to pay greater attention to the history of Russian imperial expansion and colonization, Russia’s borderlands and its non-Russian peoples. By tracing the ways in which Anglophone historians over the next fifty years sought to make sense of Russian and Soviet empire, it becomes possible to see the so-called “imperial turn” in Russian historiography as a return to research agendas that had been established decades earlier and helped make possible the production of historical accounts of Russia arguably free from what Mykhailo Hrushevsʹkyi famously dubbed the “traditional scheme of ‘Russian’ history.”
In privileging collective over individual rights, Ned Richardson-Little points out, socialist states aligned themselves with the Third World. The concept of rights is usually seen as distant and foreign to communism where the Party reigned supreme and law was only a fiction. From the Russian Revolution onward, however, rights played an important role in communist ideology and politics around the world. Communist conceptions of rights cannot be reduced to a belief in collective freedom at the expense of the individual, nor the realization of social and economic rights in place of political and civil rights. According to communist theorists and leaders, rights played a vital role in defining the goals of the socialist revolution, in delineating the political and economic order of post-revolutionary societies and demarcating the conflict lines of the international order. Rejecting both the liberal and natural rights traditions of their political rivals, communists enacted their own reimagining of rights as instruments of the state working to further the cause of the socialist revolution.
Chapter 4 adds another intellectual dimension and genealogy to Nkrumah’s political-economic philosophy by arguing that he was aware of Lenin’s state capitalist ideas and that the Ghanaian economy existed and functioned within this state capitalist, mixed economic framework. Moreover, this chapter examines how people within and outside Ghana understood the duality of Ghana’s socialist and capitalist economy – its socialist state capitalist project – and its applicability to Ghana’s conditions and the postcolonial world. It demonstrates that the Ghanaian political economy under Nkrumah combining socialist and capitalist development paths was not a contradictory Marxian policy but was embedded within Black Marxist understandings of Lenin’s state capitalist ideas. In so doing, Socialist De-Colony merges the nonoverlapping intellectual and geographic spaces of Paul Gilroy’s “Black Atlantic” and Cedric Robinson’s “Black Marxism” with Maxim Matusevich’s “Africa and the Iron Curtain.” It shows how the cultural and intellectual interchange of ideas between and amongst Black thinkers moved beyond the Atlantic circuit and were simultaneously heavily mediated and impacted by ideas from the East.
The two crises in this chapter share three main characteristics. They involve territorial (border) conflict that relates to the independence of Ukraine (or, relatedly, the breakup of the Soviet Union), feature an East–West tension, and (as of this writing) do not escalate to a war among the major states. In 2014, after Ukraine attempted to move closer to Europe (i.e., it contemplated an EU agreement and the pro-Russian government fell), Putin annexed Crimea to secure the long-held naval base there. Although done forcefully, there were no military fatalities. In 2022, amidst a fear that Ukraine was again moving closer to Europe (i.e., it looked to be closer to joining NATO and its government became less pro-Russian), Russia invaded Ukraine. It failed to take Kyiv, even though it heavily bombed Ukraine. Russia then withdrew to the east, where a majority of Russian speakers had sought to separate from Ukraine. The United States and the European Union gave weapons and aid that expanded as the war continued. Deaths mounted on both sides. The Russians successfully created a land bridge from the Donbas to Crimea. After his election, Trump attempted to negotiate a settlement that would end the war.
Chapter 2 interrogates the development schemes between Ghana and the Soviet Union – notably the Cotton Textile Factory and the Soviet Geological Survey Team. These engagements were supposed to embody Ghana’s new postcolonial socialist modernity and highlight the benefits, opportunities, and possibilities of Soviet partnership. It demonstrates how pro-Soviet and Eastern bloc stories in the Ghanaian press were not simply intended to offer hagiographic praise or to support Nkrumah’s commitment to geopolitical nonalignment. Instead, they were part of a concentrated movement to dismantle and deconstruct the myth of Western scientific and cultural superiority and anti-Soviet bias, which were introduced and reinforced by Western colonial education and rule. In addition, Chapter 2 focuses on the relationships, expertise, livelihoods, and contestations of the technicians, bureaucrats, and local Ghanaian actors who were essential to overseeing the actual success of Ghana-Soviet relations in tangible ways for the Ghanaian people. It demonstrates how everyday Ghanaians employed Ghana–Soviet spaces to demand rights and protections against ethnic-discrimination and favoritism, and to make citizenship claims.
This chapter recounts the major events from Operation Barbarossa, the codename for the invasion of the Soviet Union beginning on 22 June 1941. It looks briefly at the German operational planning and then the invasion itself. It considers how German operations sought to implement the strategic plan to defeat the Soviet Union in a summer campaign. Much of the discussion focuses on the panzer groups in the battles of Minsk, Smolensk, Kiev, and Moscow. It looks at the problems they encountered as well as the strategic disagreements in the German High Command. Key personalities like Franz Halder, Heinz Guderian, Hermann Hoth, Fedor von Bock, as well as Adolf Hitler are discussed. The final section discusses the Soviet winter offensive, which began in December 1941, and the subsequent German retreat from Moscow.
This chapter argues that Soviet crimes at times of war were both widespread and complex in their origin, goals, logic, and trajectory. It distinguishes and explains several forms of Soviet criminality during its defensive war against Germany in 1941–1945: crimes against humanity and war crimes, both perpetrated by agents of the state and often in accordance with explicitly formulated state policy; troop crimes, not guided by state policy but often understood to be in its fulfilment by the perpetrators; and a variety of violent and criminal behaviour emanating from small group bonding, both within the military and outside of it. The chapter explains their origins and charts the reasons why there was so much silence about the criminality of the Soviet war effort after victory.
Chapter 1 examines the fragility and unenviability of Black independence. It shows how Black Marxists and anticolonial figures navigated and negotiated Soviet and communist linkages from the 1940s to the 1960s against attempts by white Western imperial and colonial powers to weaponize the term “communism” to suffocate anticolonial movements and suspend Black independence. Once independent, the chapter shows that the Ghanaian government’s wariness of hastily establishing relations with the Soviet government arose not only from Western pressure but from genuine fears of swapping one set of white colonizers for another. The chapter then questions the totalizing analytical purchase of using the Cold War paradigm to understand the relationship between Black African nations and white empires – whether capitalist or communist – during the 20th century. It posits that a framework highly attentive to race and racism in international relations and diplomatic history must also be employed to understand the diplomatic actions of African states during this period. By so doing, Chapter 1 follows other pioneering works to argue that Ghanaians and the early African states had agency and dictated the paces and contours of their relationship with the USSR and other white imperial states.
Led by the charismatic Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana won its political independence from the United Kingdom in 1957. It precipitated both the dying spiral of colonialism across the African continent and the world's first Black socialist state. Utilising materials from Ghanaian, Russian, English, and American archives, Nana Osei-Opare offers a provocative and new reading of this defining moment in world history through the eyes of workers, writers, students, technical-experts, ministers, and diplomats. Osei-Opare shows how race and Ghana-Soviet spaces influenced, enabled, and disrupted Ghana's transformational socialist, Cold War, and decolonization projects to achieve Black freedom. This title is also available as open access on Cambridge Core.
By analyzing articles published in the official publication of the Latvian SSR Union of Writers, this article examines how Latgalian identity and culture were constructed by the Soviet Latvian intelligentsia before, during, and after the 1958 Latgale Culture Week in Riga. Interwar-era narratives that had identified Latgale as the Latvian internal Other were endemic to the center-periphery relations in Soviet Latvia during the Khrushchev Thaw. Consequently, politicized representations of Latgale in the late 1950s deferred to the same discursive frames that had contributed to the formation of Latvian national imaginaries of Latgale as underdeveloped, backward, and fundamentally Other. By situating the Culture Week in a colonial setting and critically examining the historical entanglement of Latgale in multiple structures of power – Soviet and Latvian – this article shows that performances of Latgalian identity during the Culture Week became a tool for both nationally minded members of the Latvian Communist Party (LCP) and Russophile Soviet state-builders to consolidate power and project an image of national unity at a time of growing political strife in the LCP.