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Over recent years, several private photos of the persecution of the Hungarian Jews have been made accessible to the public online. However, due to the lack of historical context and basic metadata, these photographs remain difficult to trace. This problem is particularly significant for international researchers without knowledge of Hungarian.
In 2020, I started examining ways to design and develop online exhibitions, and this short essay outlines the process and results: the online gallery “Forced Labour, Hungary 1940”. The aim of this project was to present and contextualise one small collection of family materials – two photo albums and a diary – to make them accessible for a broader, international public.
In 1892, the year the American writer Pearl S. Buck was born, the US Congress renewed the Chinese Exclusion Act, initially passed in 1882, for another ten years. It sought to prevent all laborers of Chinese ethnicity from entering or reentering the US, with breaches punishable by law. Three months after her birth, Buck moved with her missionary parents to China and spent most of her life until her early forties there. During the global Cold War, Buck, already a Nobel Laureate (1938), sharply criticized US foreign policy and its racism, the ignorance of American diplomats about China, and the arrogant belief in solving conflicts in Asia through military means in her book Friend to Friend (1958). While there is little doubt about Buck’s official US nationality, her cultural belonging of choice – which decisively shaped her lifelong literary writing, in particular the novel The Good Earth (1931) that earned her the Nobel Prize – is inherently multivalent. In The Good Earth, Buck depicts the lives of Chinese peasants and their loyalty to the earth that nurtures humanity and provides all that lives on it with nutrition. In the following pages, I will discuss Buck’s bicultural biography and several aspects of this extremely popular and influential novel and, rather than viewing it as a piece of classic American literature, I will propose re-reading it as a work in the Chinese tradition of literary realism and in the context of the emerging trend of rural realism in the early twentieth century. The purpose of my re-reading of The Good Earth is to highlight less apparent global connections in the tradition of rural nostalgia and to complicate the paradigm of national literature and national history. Indeed, the earth, ruralism, nutrition, and food, as the novel describes, constitute the very foundation of human existence across borders, political camps, language barriers, and cultural differences from antiquity to the present day.
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.
Dieser Aufsatz stützt sich auf die Schriften ehemaliger Anstaltsinsassen in den USA, um das Leben auf den Stationen zwischen 1890 und 1950 zu analysieren. Obwohl die veröffentlichten Ego-Dokumente als Quellen nicht unproblematisch sind, sind sie dennoch sehr aufschlussreich – nicht nur als alltagsgeschichtliche Einblicke, sondern auch für die Art und Weise, wie ehemalige Anstaltsinsassen ihre Erfahrungen verarbeitet und gedeutet haben. Der Aufsatz stützt sich auf Erkenntnisse aus den Disability Studies und den Mad Studies, um das Leben auf den Stationen, die Arbeit und die Sozialisation, die Beziehungen zwischen den Insassen, die geheimen Kommunikationskanäle und die Bildung informeller Selbsthilfegruppen, etwa die »Selbstmordclubs« in den Anstalten, zu analysieren. Die »verrückten Schriftsteller« waren fast zu gleichen Teilen Frauen und Männer. Sie waren weiß und oft gut ausgebildet. Sie nutzten die sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Vorteile, die viele von ihnen hatten, um einen öffentlichen Raum zu schaffen, von dem aus sie das wachsende Anstaltssystem der USA kritisieren konnten. Solche Berichte legten auch den Grundstein für die Bewegungen der »Verrückten« in der zweiten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts.
During the first five-year plan, the Soviet state turned to an unusual source to cope with the challenge of factory-induced deafness and disability: the deaf community. From 1930 to 1937, deaf activists, alongside specialist doctors, organised a yearly, three-day event known as Beregi slukh! (Take Care of Your Hearing!) to propagandise the prevention of deafness. During these years, more than 46,600 lectures were held in venues across the Soviet Union and 7,900,000 brochures, leaflets and posters printed. While the event reflected the Soviet belief that disability was a relic of the ›backward‹ past that would be eliminated as communism approached, the deaf activists involved in these events used them to make the alternative case for their own identity as a legitimate part of the Soviet body politic. By foregrounding their labour capacities and demonstrating aspects of deaf cultural practices (including sign language) to a hearing audience, Beregi slukh! became a powerful means to advocate for the centrality of the deaf community to Soviet visions of self and society.
Während des ersten Fünfjahresplans griff der sowjetische Staat auf eine ungewöhnliche Ressource zurück, um das Problem der fabrikbedingten Taubheit und Behinderung zu bewältigen: die Gehörlosengemeinschaft. Von 1930 bis 1937 organisierten Gehörlosenaktivist:innen zusammen mit Fachärzt:innen jährlich eine dreitägige Veranstaltung mit dem Titel Beregi slukh! (»Schützen Sie Ihr Gehör!«), um für die Prävention von Gehörlosigkeit zu werben. In diesen Jahren wurden in der gesamten Sowjetunion mehr als 46.600 Vorträge gehalten sowie 7.900.000 Broschüren, Faltblätter und Poster gedruckt. Während die Veranstaltung die sowjetische Überzeugung widerspiegelte, dass Behinderung ein Relikt der »rückständigen« Vergangenheit sei und mit dem Herannahen des Kommunismus beseitigt werden würde, nutzten die gehörlosen Aktivist:innen das Ereignis, um ihre eigene Identität als legitimen Teil der sowjetischen Gesellschaft zu verteidigen. Indem sie ihre Arbeitskraft in den Vordergrund stellten und einem hörenden Publikum Aspekte ihrer kulturellen Praktiken demonstrierten (einschließlich der Gebärdensprache), wurde Beregi slukh! zu einem wirkungsvollen Mittel, um die Relevanz der Gehörlosengemeinschaft für die sowjetischen Visionen des Selbst und der Gesellschaft zu betonen.
Access Activism. The Politicization of Wheelchairs and Wheelchair Users in the Twentieth Century
(2022)
For millions of disabled people around the world the wheelchair has been one of the most important technological innovations of the twentieth century. From its inception as a relatively cumbersome, heavy machine, designed principally for indoor use, the wheelchair has evolved into a sophisticated and highly technical mode of transport. Wheelchairs are, at least in the Global North, relatively widely used and universally recognizable – so recognizable that they have become the cultural symbol to represent all disabled people. Wheelchairs are often viewed with trepidation: as machines that disable, confine, and deprive their occupant of independence – as medical devices that doctors prescribe only to the sick, the wounded or the elderly. Such definitions and perceptions infiltrate the public lives of wheelchair users, cause considerable macro and micro political difficulties, and consequently disable users in a myriad of different ways.
One of the most influential anti-Semitic propaganda actions produced in the “Third Reich” in the years 1939-1941 was based on images and reports from various ghettos in occupied Poland. Large portion of the raw material required for the anti-Semitic propaganda was collected and delivered by the Propagandakompanien (PK) of the Wehrmacht. In order to analyze and understand the significance of this contribution, it is necessary to look not only at the propaganda materials, but also at the historical contexts in which they were produced. This includes organizational aspects, local conditions, general propaganda strategies and the given general and local war situation.
This article will examine the contribution of the Wehrmacht to the anti-Semitic propaganda of the “Third Reich” during three periods: The invasion of Poland, the establishment of a new order in the occupied Polish territories and the months preceding “Operation Barbarossa” in 1941. It will focus on the way PK materials were used mainly in the visual media in order to support the propaganda strategies and their subsequent goals set by the Nazi leadership.
"There’s nobody left". Anti-Semitic exclusion and persecution in Rauischholzhausen, 1933-1942
(2018)
"I just can’t go back there. [...] I [would] like to go once more to Holzhausen, to the cemetery, and to Kirchhain. I want to see, but ... there’s nobody left." – Martin Spier, New York City 2009.
The people no longer left there are the Jewish residents of Rauischholzhausen. They were persecuted and deprived of their rights, then expelled and murdered. At the same time, the history of Jewish life in this village goes a long way back, as does the antisemitism there. In 1933, the village still had 20 Jewish residents.
On September 6, 1942, the last 18 Jewish individuals from Rauischholzhausen and the surrounding areas were forced onto lorries at the village square and transported from there to Theresienstadt. Three of them survived the Holocaust, returning to the village in 1945.
This book is the result of searching for those who are missing and the reasons for their absence. It is the result of an extensive search in archives and conversations with contemporary witnesses from the village. Yet, in particular, it is the result of conversations with four Jewish survivors, the siblings of the Spier family. On the basis of their memories, this book attempts to describe those years between 1933 and 1942—years that beggar description. It presents a history of events in Rauischholzhausen that developed their own dynamic and that in many respects preempted the state’s policies of exclusion and persecution.
Research on the commons, and its historical enclosure, has largely restricted itself to rural areas and the frontier. This article examines the declining access to Rio de Janeiro’s urban commons, its streets and its squares. Into the nineteenth century, residents perceived Rio’s streets as remnants of nature, left intact to give access to the built environment. The streets served as a diverse human habitat, a place for community, play, work, and commerce. With the arrival of the automobile, Rio’s public spaces began to be transformed into spaces set aside largely for movement. The automotive class, which in Brazil remained a tiny minority, captured most of the streets’ spaces for driving and its squares and sidewalks for parking, in a sense closing the street off to many of its former functions. In fact, automotive movement justified – and its violence enforced – the elimination of street behaviors which the elite had been decrying unsuccessfully for decades. Compared to the developed world, the pace of automobilization in Rio was slow, but it had a profound impact from as early as the second decade of the century.
Picture agencies are mediators between photographers and editorial staffs; they play a crucial role in producing mass media visibility. However, their part in the system of the visual propaganda of the Nazi state is largely unexplored. This article features a controversial case, the American Associated Press and its German subsidiary. By submitting to the Schriftleitergesetz (Editorial Control Law) in 1935, the German AP GmbH (LLC) followed its German counterparts in the process of Gleichschaltung (forcible coordination). Until the United States entered the war in December 1941, AP supplied the Nazi press with American pictures. This service proved to be of particular relevance for propaganda. AP was also allowed to continue its photographic reporting in the Reich. AP pictures taken under the aegis of the Propaganda Ministry, the Wehrmacht and the SS were ubiquitous in the Nazi press. Moreover, the New York headquarters supplied the North American press with these same pictures, where they were published either as news photos or as propaganda images.