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This article explores the connection between genocide, language and language consciousness by tracing the strange biography of one Yiddish neologism: shabreven. During the Holocaust, the word came to mean both ›looting‹ and ›taking ownerless property‹. It stoked moral and etymological debate among Yiddish speakers in the Warsaw ghetto, while also occupying a prominent position in postwar Polish and Zionist discourses. The term shifted between different semantic, ethical and cultural fields, navigating a delicate balance between various meanings and norms. The discussions around this term help to shed light on key questions: What were the motivations for the study of Holocaust Yiddish neologisms? How did this early postwar Yiddish philological discourse differ from its parallel in German? Shabreven became both a symbol of the genocidal collapse of language and a tool for regaining victim agency in speech.
The web and tomorrow’s historiography. Since the 1990s the world wide web (or simply, the web) has been an integral and important part of the communicative infrastructure of modern societies. On the one hand the web has developed as a new medium in its own right, in continuation of other media types such as newspapers, film, radio and television. On the other hand, the web has been intimately entangled in the social, cultural and political life taking place outside of the web. For example, within the realm of politics the web has been essential for the extreme left and right since the mid 1990s (as a platform for discussion and mobilisation as well as for the diffusion of political ideas). And in everyday life an important part of modern youth culture has for a number of years been closely connected to such web phenomena as YouTube, Facebook and Twitter.
“Silent Dust”, released in February 1949, was one of a group of films that explored the problems of the returning Second World War veteran. Although the maladjusted veteran is a feature of all major wars, it assumes an added significance in this instance because the Second World War, in Britain and America at least, is conventionally understood “almost universally as honourable and noble, fought with right and justice exclusively on the Allied side”. Angus Calder has argued that the dominant narrative constructed about the Second World War in Britain was what he terms the “myth of the Blitz”, a heroic myth of courage, endurance and pulling together. This myth, through its perpetuation in an enormous array of cultural practices - notably a cycle of combat films in the 1950s such as “The Dam Busters” (1955) and “Reach for the Sky” (1956) - became the accepted view and was almost impossible to dislodge. It was a myth that was officially ratified in the British state’s commemoration of the war and, like all dominant discourses, served to marginalise alternative constructions of the conflict, particularly those that represent it as a traumatic and possibly brutalising experience. By analysing “Silent Dust” in detail and in relation to its social and cultural context, I hope to recover this repressed narrative and restore it to its rightful place as an important discourse about the Second World War.
In the 1980s, when computers became affordable for private households, a hacker or cracking scene, which was the term used by members of this subculture, developed in several western and northwestern European countries. These (almost exclusively male) groups of adolescents ‘cracked’, copied and exchanged computer games. On the basis of magazines and published interviews with former members of this scene, this article shows how cracking became an important current in the broad spectrum of teenage subculture – with specific ethical codes and rituals of masculinity. Its members were by no means lone specialists who eschewed contact with the outside world, but rather developed their own forms of community and communication. This scene did not construe itself as a political counter-culture; it was rather part of the diversifying popular and consumer culture of the 1980s. In the early 1990s, when law enforcing agencies began to prosecute software piracy more resolutely, this computer subculture began to fade. However, it lived on in the field of computer graphics, in electronic music and in the growing IT sector.
By the late 1970s, it was technologically possible to manufacture microcomputers – very small, stand-alone computers for personal use – in very large quantities. Selling them, however, meant creating a mass market where none existed: conventionally, only trained professionals, and a few devoted enthusiasts, interacted directly with the machines. Designers, marketers, retailers and other promoters therefore sought to build meanings into the design and presentation of computers which would connect them with new audiences. Such meanings reflected – and might themselves modify – the prevalent hopes, fears, desires and expectations of the users’ cultures.
This article builds on the writing of former asylum inmates in the United States to analyze life on asylum wards between 1890 and 1950. Although published accounts of inmates’ experiences in American asylums have their own limitations as primary sources, they are nevertheless very revealing not only of the day-to-day life of institution inmates, but also of the ways in which former asylum inmates made sense of their experiences. The article relies upon insights from Disability Studies and Mad Studies to analyze life on the wards, work and socialization, relations among inmates, clandestine communication channels, and the formation of informal support groups, such as ›suicide clubs‹ in institutions. ›Mad writers‹ were almost equally women and men. They were white, and often well educated. They used the social and economic advantages that many of them had to create a public space from which they could critique the United States’ burgeoning asylum system. These accounts also laid the groundwork for later twentieth-century mad people’s movements.