Zeitgeschichte online
UNRRA (1943-1947) was an international organization that coordinated relief for victims of the Second World War in areas liberated from Axis control. Existing historical scholarship has put an unbalanced emphasis on global post-war reconstruction: European experiences have attracted much attention whereas scholars pay little attention to non-Western cases, with a few exceptions such as Japan. For long, not only in Western media, but also in Chinese historical scholarship, China has been either regarded as a passive recipient of international humanitarianism, or has simply been overlooked. But looking at UNRRA in China provides us with an opportunity to investigate how non-Western actors and motivations could shape a transnational humanitarian project, in a way different from European cases.
The adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 was a landmark event, encoding the lessons learned from five years of total war on the European continent. The debates over the universality and inalienability of rights that dominated the writing of the document brought together statesmen and -women from across the world. But, one state was conspicuously left out of this discussion: Germany. The defeated state’s exclusion was understandable given the violence, destruction, death, and genocide the Nazi regime had unleashed on the European continent from 1939 to 1945. In many ways, it was Germany’s waging of the Second World War and their perpetration of genocide that created the urgency for a document that codified the most basic rights of men and women in the immediate postwar years.
As Hannah Arendt anticipated in 1951, refugees have become a major issue in contemporary societies. Writing just three years after the Universal Declaration of Human Rights had been adopted in 1948, Arendt argued that refugees exposed a fundamental tension between universal human rights and the sovereignty of nation-states. For Arendt, human rights were an abstraction; the only real rights were those possessed by citizens.
The images are blurred and a bit chaotic, as they often are in on-the-spot videos of fast-moving events circulating on social media. But the gist of the story is clear. Three men clad in dark face masks and combat gear, their identities hidden behind their uniform exterior and emotionless body language, are rounding up a crowd of women. The women are fighting back, trying to break out of the cordon. Suddenly the three men in camouflage retreat. One holds his mask in his hand and looks distressed. They walk away quickly, the crowd whistles after them. What happened? The answer rests with a 73-year old great-grandmother who is a celebrity of the Belarusian protests. Fearlessly she demonstrates, scolds and sometimes kicks the security forces. And she always attempts to take off their masks—this time successfully. Belarusian security police do not like to show their face while shoving around women. And the Belarusian women know this. They have been coming out onto the street in ever increasing numbers to continue the fight against an entrenched dictatorship, inspired by their three female leaders, who are not career politicians, but ordinary women, some with husbands and children, all of them with aspirations.
In the following, three scholars have a look at the question of how to explain the female presence on the Belarusian streets and what it means both in the short and in the long term. The articles were written on the day of mass arrests of women in Minsk. The future is uncertain. Mass violence is on the cards as much as the possibility of a Lukashenko retreat. Whatever it will be, however, it deserves the world’s attention.
“I am going out” was the last message sent by Raman Bandarenka to a Telegram chat uniting people from his neighbourhood in Minsk. In the evening of November12th, he went down to his courtyard, known by protesters as the Square of Changes. The Square of Changes appeared in Minsk in the beginning of September 2020 to support initiatives of a local community in times of political contestation. Raman went down to protect a fence decoration made from white-red-white ribbons that became a target for a group of unknown men in masks and sportive clothing. To watch over protest symbols installed in their Square of Changes became a routine action for the locals. Their neighbour, Stsiapan Latypau, was detained in September in somewhat similar circumstances: he was asking men in masks to introduce themselves and to explain their reason for destroying a graffiti, a symbol of the Square of Changes. This time, Raman was beaten up in the same courtyard, then put in a blue van, and taken to the police station. The next day he died in a hospital from the received traumas. All elements of this story – anonymous men in civic clothing who seem to have the carte blanche to brutal violence, blue vans without a registration number, write-red-white ribbons, alternative names to cities’ places, and local chats – are the symbols of the ongoing Belarusian protests.
As the biggest commercial city in Tanzania today, Dar es Salaam features a number of German colonial memory sites which range from buildings, statues to open spaces. Formerly existing as a small caravan town exclusively owned by the Arab Sultan of Zanzibar, Dar es Salaam was further developed by the Germans who used it as their capital (Hauptstadt) beginning in the late 19th century. After the WWI, the city continued to serve as the capital in British mandate period until it was inherited by the independent government of Tanzania in 1961.
The debates about what to do with collections from colonial contexts, and how to deal with them, have developed pace and unexpected momentum in the last three years. This is especially true for artifacts from the African continent, whether they are in museums or collections in Europe, North America, or elsewhere outside the continent. But the same is true under different circumstances, and we do not want to pass over this, for colonial collections and museums in Africa. Let's take a closer look at both in light of recent debates.
The discussions about whether, to whom and when under which circumstances a return, or rather indeed: an unequivocal restitution is appropriate or not, have recently experienced differentiations. This applies already to the preconditions of most restitutions, namely the opening and making accessible of the inventories. While some think that in principle everything should be put online, another opinion maintains that whenever possible, the creators or original holders should have their say beforehand, especially in the case of 'sensitive' objects such as those containing human remains, of a sacred nature, or photographs of contexts of violence. This has also brought other issues into focus – questions about the various forms of rights of disposal, about the forms and functions of museums in Africa, and in Europe and elsewhere.
By using a 60s workplace as its setting, Matthew Weiner’s Mad Men (2007-2015) does not merely provide insight into historical gender and sex relations in the workplace of the 60s. It also reflects current sex and gender relations in the workplace of 21st century America (e.g. the #MeToo Movement). As Sara Rogers, leaning on Horace Newcomb and Paul Hirsch, argues, tv shows’ strength lies in their raising questions, rather than answering them. This is precisely what Mad Men, with its representation of 1960s sex and gender dynamics does. In the following blogpost I will show that Weiner’s hit show is very aware of – among others – Helen Gurley Brown’s influence on the American workplace of the 60s and that it uses its nostalgic effect for reflecting contemporary sex and gender relations in the workplace.
In recent years, streaming services such as Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime offered the possibility to access internationally produced television shows and movies. One recent trend is content with a historical set or background. Although historical sets and productions have played an important role in cinematic story-telling since the early twentieth century, the immense amount of newly available digital content has a significant impact on a society's cultural memory. Cultural memory is an integral part of a society’s identity; it is often static and its ‘horizon does not change with the passage of time’. It is reproduced in museums, statues, remembrance days, and texts. It is the type of memory which society can collectively call upon and recall. While cultural memory may feel vague or encased in glass cases in museums, a historical television series brings memory alive while munching on popcorn on your sofa.