Zeithistorische Forschungen
Wie reagieren Menschen auf Katastrophen? Wie lassen sich Bevölkerungen in Extremsituationen führen? Mit diesen Fragen beschäftigten sich in den 1950er-, 1960er- und 1970er-Jahren mehrere US-amerikanische, teilweise durch die Armee finanzierte Forschungsgruppen. Sie waren interdisziplinär zusammengesetzt, aber mehrheitlich soziologisch ausgerichtet. Innerhalb wie außerhalb der USA studierten sie das Stressverhalten von Individuen und Gruppen in Tornados, eingeschneiten Autobahnraststätten und »racial riots« sowie ergänzend in Laborsimulationen. Anhand zeitgenössischer Publikationen und interner Akten werden in diesem Aufsatz die Erkenntnisinteressen und Untersuchungsfelder der sozialwissenschaftlichen Katastrophenforschung, ihre Befunde und deren Nutzung dargestellt. Die Tätigkeit der Wissenschaftler/innen stand im Kontext des Kalten Kriegs und eines sich verschiebenden Gefahrensinns. Dabei ließen sich die Forscher/innen keineswegs vollständig politisch vereinnahmen, sondern verfolgten durchaus eigene Interessen und gaben mitunter Antworten, die den Intentionen der Auftraggeber zuwiderliefen.
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.
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.
Milton Friedman hung up the phone in disgruntlement. The most influential economist of the postwar era had just called three different banks, one in Chicago and then two in New York, in order to initiate a financial transaction. He wanted to sell short $300,000 in pound sterling. Short selling is a technique for speculating on falling prices. Initially, speculators can only speculate on rising prices: they buy something and hope that it gains value, so that they can sell it at a profit. If the price for this asset goes down instead, the speculator incurs a loss when he resells it. So in order to profit from falling prices, speculators need to sell first and buy later – which is indeed possible if what is sold now is in fact only to be delivered a few weeks later. If the speculator is right and prices fall in the interim, he can buy cheap just before delivery is due and thus profit from having already sold what, at the time, he had not yet owned.
The fiftieth issue
(2021)
At first glance, the seventeenth year of this journal’s publication would not appear to mark any particular anniversary. And yet the present edition is quite special for the editors and the editorial team: it is the 50th issue overall. (There was a double issue in 2007, otherwise there have always been three issues each year.) This milestone is the occasion for a brief review of the original objectives and of developments thus far, as well as a (self-)critical look at what the future may bring. Scholars in the nascent field of the cultural study of periodicals have rightly observed: ›The production of periodicals is often accompanied by reflections on the value, conditions, and promise of producing periodicals.‹
How will Russia’s war of aggression in Ukraine end? What kinds of political scenarios could stop the suffering and bring stability to the region? Of all the different future scenarios none is particularly encouraging. In particular, the prospect of a ›Finlandized‹ Ukraine has met with near universal rejection. Yet, ever since Russia’s illegal annexation of the Crimea, ›Finlandization‹ of Ukraine has been discussed as a potential solution.
The Language of Eichmann in Jerusalem. Nazi German and Other Forms of German in the 1961 Trial
(2024)
The Eichmann trial granted the German language a degree of audibility unprecedented in the short history of the State of Israel, with the defendant, the judges, prosecutors, and witnesses frequently resorting to speaking in German. Drawing on archival materials, protocols, footage, and press reports, this article shows how the Eichmann trial brought to the surface several historical tensions around the postwar status of the German language. The various forms of German heard in the courtroom challenged notions of German as a Nazi language and contributed to a gradual mitigation of its status as a tainted language. The article concludes by reassessing Hannah Arendt’s 1963 Eichmann in Jerusalem and specifically her postulate that Eichmann’s language faithfully reflected his mindset. It is argued that Arendt’s understanding of Eichmann’s language echoed prewar ideas on German’s distinctive power.
How have Jewish intellectuals reflected on the German language both in relation to and in the aftermath of the ›catastrophe‹? This essay explores one perspective, that of H.G. Adler (Prague, 1910 – London, 1988), a scholar, author, and survivor of the Shoah. Adler’s relationship to and reflections on the German language offer insights into the experience of persecution and survival as well as into the memory and representation of the Holocaust. His vast body of work testifies to both the possibility and the necessity of writing ›after Auschwitz‹, and indeed to the necessity of writing in German after the Holocaust. A survivor of Theresienstadt, Auschwitz, and two satellite camps of Buchenwald (Niederorschel and Langenstein-Zwieberge), Adler went on to write in various forms, from the analytic to the poetic, about National Socialism, antisemitism, and life and death in the concentration and extermination camp system. His scholarly work made an important contribution to establishing the international and interdisciplinary field of Holocaust Studies, and his poetry and novels bear witness to his own personal experiences in the camps, albeit not in a directly autobiographical form.
My Road to Berlin, or Mein Weg nach Berlin, presents a Willy Brandt that confounds a present-day reader’s expectations. While the 1960 autobiography of the then-mayor of West Berlin links his career with the familiar story of democracy’s development in Germany, this work nevertheless retains an unexpected edge. In one surprising scene, the mayor denounces his East Berlin SED counterparts as a ›Communist foreign legion‹ whom ›the citizens of my city had decisively defeated‹ during the Second Berlin Crisis of 1958 (p. 17). In the book, Brandt comes off as a Cold Warrior of steely determination rather than a Brückenbauer bridging ideological divides. Far from being out of character, however, My Road to Berlin captures Brandt at a pivotal moment in his career, when he sought to offer himself to both West German voters and a global public as a viable alternative to Konrad Adenauer.
Historians have analyzed films, novels, records, theater plays etc. primarily in reference to their meaning and reception. This article makes a case for moving the focus to the actors, structures and processes that shape symbolic objects before these are consumed. To this end, we present a framework established in US sociology to study the fabrication, distribution and evaluation of symbolic content. We discuss the production of culture perspective as an approach that appears to be particularly useful for historical research and, by reviewing selected works from the sociological literature, demonstrate how this perspective can be applied to phenomena like popular music and literary fiction. We focus on genres as bundles of conventions as one lens through which historians may analyze the creation, reproduction, evaluation and consumption of culture.