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Annabel Castro’s art installation ‘Outside in: exile at home’ (2018) problematizes indefinite detention at the Hacienda de Temixco, in Morelos, Mexico, a facility which functioned as a concentration camp for Japanese immigrants and their descendants between 1942 and 1945. The Hacienda de Temixco, like other sites for indefinite detention of Japanese-descended people in the Americas, was contingent upon making detainees’ lives intelligible for security action as the embodiment of a ‘crisis’. This essay interprets Castro’s artwork and its premiere in Cuernavaca as a creative-geographical way to engage visitors around relationships between past and contemporary distinction-making processes by which particular groups of people are refigured as threats to national security. To interpret the artwork as a creative practice of geography, we (1) briefly describe the artwork’s historical context and (2) analyze its composition and exhibition in Cuernavaca at a time when activists in Mexico and the United States were articulating a sense of solidarity that exceeds exclusionary constructions of threatened national bodies.

Eugen Kogon (1903–87) was one of the most important German intellectuals of the late 1940s. His writings on the concentration camps and on the nature of fascism were crucial to West Germany’s fledgling transition from dictatorship to democracy. Previous scholars of Kogon have focused on his leftist Catholicism, which differentiated him from the mainstream. This article takes a different approach, asking instead how Kogon, a recovering fascist himself, came to have so much in common with his peers in West Germany and in the Cold War West. By 1948, he fluently spoke the new language of Cold War liberalism, pondering how human rights and liberal democracy could be saved from totalitarianism. He did not do so, the article argues, because he had decided to abandon his principles and embrace a militarized anti-Communist cause. Instead, he transitioned to Cold War liberalism because it provided a congenial home for a deeply Catholic thinker, committed to a carceral understanding of Europe’s fascist past and a federalist vision for its future. The analysis helps us to see how European Catholics made the Cold War their own – an important phenomenon, given that Christian Democrats held power almost everywhere on the continent that was not controlled by Communists. The analysis reveals a different portrait of Cold War liberalism than we usually see: less a smokescreen for American interests, and more a vessel for emancipatory projects and ideals that was strategically employed by diverse actors across the globe.

Polo Beyris is a virtually unexplored example of internment under French and German authorities. From 1939 to 1947 the camp of Polo Beyris in Bayonne held successively: Spanish Civil War refugees, French colonial prisoners of war, suspected ‘collaborators’ and German prisoners of war. Despite having up to 8600 prisoners at one time, the large camp and its numerous satellite work detachments were literally ‘forgotten’ for decades. Although similar to other camps in its improvised nature, wretched living conditions, lack of food and constant movement of prisoners, Polo Beyris was also unique: located in a dense urban area, within the wartime Occupied Zone and close to the Spanish frontier. Its civil and military administrators were faced with constantly changing, and often chaotic, political and military circumstances. Not a waystation in the Holocaust, Polo Beyris has been lost from the sight of historians. It provides an additional dimension to the complex history of internment in twentieth century France.

Raume der Gewalt by Jorg Barberowski; S Fischer Verlag, Frankfurt, 2013, 272 pages, 19.99 [euro], cloth ISBN 978-3-10-004818-9 Topologie der Gewalt by Byung-Chul Han; Verlag Matthes und Seitz, Berlin, 2011, 192 pages, 19.90 [euro], cloth 978-3-88221-495-6 Vertrauen und Gewalt. Versuch uber eine besondere Konstellation der Moderne by Jan Philip Reemtsma; Hamburger Edition, Hamburg, 2013 [2008], 576 pages, 20.00 euro], cloth ISBN 978-3-86854-270-7 'Cats scratch, dogs bite, men kill' (Ruth Kluger) The phenomenon of violence still presents a unique challenge to social theory. Recent discourses on terrorism open new fields for conceptualising the phenomenon. However, it is still the experiences of the 20th century which continue to shape theoretical reflections on violence: the two world wars, the totalitarian political systems of Stalinism and National Socialist Germany, the German concentration camps and Soviet Gulag, Hiroshima and Nagasaki--the list is by far not exhaustive. Ruth Kluger, a survivor of the German concentration camp system, offers a short and lapidary account of these excesses of violence. In a conversation with Jan Reemtsma, she stated that, 'Cats scratch, dogs bite, men kill' (Reemtsma, 2013[2008], p. 15). Her statement expresses both the factuality and the incommensurability of violence in human experience. Violence is beyond explanation, and perhaps there is nothing to explain in the first place. In Kluger's statement, violence becomes a human condition. The three books under review here address the idea of violence as a human condition. All of them start from the observation that violence has far from disappeared from human experience. Yet this observation poses a problem. It is not easily reconciled with the foundational norm of modernity that violence should no longer be a part of social life. Each in its own way, the three books try to make sense of this observation and the problems which it poses for social theory. Broadly speaking, the authors reflect on three main questions: first, why does violence persist in spite of the central promise of modernity that it should disappear from our societies? Second, how do social theory and everyday practice interpret and deal with this incongruity between expectation and experience? Third, what are the specific forms of violence in (late) modernity and the more generic insights they offer about the phenomenon? The authors tackle these three questions to various degrees, from different individual and conceptual vantage points. In this review essay, I discuss their insights, reflect on the challenges violence poses to social theory, and, at the same time, outline some generic reflections on violence based on these books. All of the three books which I discuss were originally published in German, and only Reemtsma's has so far been translated to English. The three books draw to a considerable degree on sources in German language, some of which have not been translated to English either. For this reason, all of the translations of direct quotes from German to English are my own. The history of the 20th century certainly points towards a specific German experience of violence. Indeed, this history is important for the analyses of the books by Barberowski and Reemtsma. For the former, it also figures as an explicit autobiographical reference to family history. However, my aim with this review is not to suggest that there is a specific 'German' approach to theorizing violence. Rather, I seek to render accessible these authors' reflections to an English language readership. The German social sciences have a long and rich tradition of social theory on violence. Jorg Barberowski's Raume der Gewalt (Spaces of violence) explores violence as a spatial concept. A historian and philosopher whose research focuses on Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, particularly for the Stalin era, much of his empirical material relates to German and Soviet history. …

A bulk of focus regarding Holocaust education is laid on concentration camps while information about displaced persons (DP) camps is scarce. For reasons that are not clear, Holocaust education generally neglects the crucial question of how the surviving remnants managed in the first year or two after 1945 and materials about how people coped with surviving survival are not plentiful. It is important because in the initial years after liberation, the DPs needed help in returning to life, in relearning to make choices, in confronting the empty reality of their new existence, in trusting other human beings, and in becoming trustworthy themselves. Holocaust education must address the loss of human values by the perpetrators and the incongruous position of the victims who were then forced to live among them. The incongruity was compounded by the fact that victor, victim, and perpetrator did not have a common language.

A Shared Malady: Concentration Camps in the British, Spanish, American and German EmpiresThis article explores the parameters and conduits of interimperial connections at the turn of the nineteenth century by focusing on the development of colonial concentration camps and the discourse that surrounded them. Print media; published books and official documents; direct correspondence; the movement of officials and their critics; foreign military attaches; and institutionalised transnational military and medical knowledge all contributed to continuities of practice across and between the British, Spanish, American and German empires. Comparable practices of civilian concentration and the management of camps emerged as a result of direct learning, and of structural and institutional similarities that were themselves the products of an integrated western imperial formation. Similar attitudes about race and violence, and a shared conviction in the superiority of «western» civilisation and the legitimacy of Europ...

Of all atrocities committed by state actors in 20th century Europe, the systematic killings by Nazi Germany were arguably the most severe and best documented. While several studies have investigated the impact of the presence of concentration camps on surrounding communities in Germany and the occupied territories in terms of redistribution of wealth and property, the local-level impact on voting behaviour has not yet been explored. We investigated the impact of spatial proximity to a concentration camp between 1933 and 1945 on the likelihood of voting for far-right parties in the 2013 and 2017 federal elections. We find that proximity to a former concentration camp is associated with a higher vote share of such parties. A potential explanation for this finding could be a ‘memory satiation effect’, according to which voters who live in close proximity to former camps and are more frequently confronted with the past are more receptive to revisionist historical accounts questioning the centrality of the Holocaust in the German culture of remembrance.

Among the vast network of POW camps established in Germany during the Second World War were two quite extraordinary camps known as holiday camps, Ferienlager. One of them was for Other Ranks and was located in Genshagen just outside Berlin; the other, for officers, was in Steinburg in Bavaria. This article investigates the origins and development of these camps, which offered their prisoners short-term respite from the rigours of life in work detachments or from the tedium of POW life. It uses the history of these camps, established and run solely for British and Commonwealth POWs, to consider the place of Britain in German strategic thinking during the war. Beyond that, it relates the history of the camps to the changing dynamics of the Third Reich and its ‘polycratic’ power structures, in particular the competition among the security agencies, the Wehrmacht, and the German Foreign Office for influence in POW matters. Finally, the article seeks to assess the role of the camps in German efforts to win British POWs for the anti-Bolshevik cause, and it offers explanations for the failure to achieve that goal.

Why do combatants intentionally uproot civilians? The forcible relocation of families and communities to concentration camps, “protected villages,” and other special settlements is a regular feature of irregular war, occurring in almost a third of all counterinsurgency campaigns since 1816. Despite the historical regularity of these practices, most research has focused on individual decisions to flee, rather than the brute-force resettlement of civilians by combatants. Using a dynamic model of popular support and new micro-level data from Soviet secret police archives, I show that civilian resettlement is not simply a by-product of war but is a rational response to informational asymmetry. Combatants who cannot identify and selectively punish their opponents face incentives to control the population rather than earn its support. For strong governments with limited coercive leverage, civilian resettlement offers a way to reduce rebel activity without having to win hearts and minds.

Although scholars have examined the occurrence of suicide in the concentration camps during World War Two, little has appeared on suicide in prisoner-of-war camps. The present note presents an attempt to document the occurrence of suicide in the Oflag II–C Woldenberg camp in what is now Western Poland, and estimates a suicide rate of between 22.4 to 38.4 per 100,000 per year in the roughly 6,600 prisoners.

This article unfolds the personal creative characteristics of an educator in the field of gifted education, and examines creativity as expressed in childhood and its transformation into adulthood. Dr. Erika Landau is a pioneer of gifted education in Israel, an internationally renowned scholar and educator, and the founder of the Young Persons’ Institute for the Promotion of Creativity and Excellence. The Personal Creative Characteristics Model of Treffinger and colleagues was used as a framework to analyze her creativity. The creative characteristics of openness and courage to explore ideas and listening to one’s inner voice were detected in her in childhood from her descriptions of the hardship she faced surviving in concentration camps during the Second World War. A full range of categories of creative characteristics, including generating ideas and digging into ideas, were detected in her in adulthood. Her creative characteristics in childhood were transformed in adulthood, making meaning of suffering and focusing on giving back to society, especially teaching gifted and talented children how to be creative and productive.

Karl Gebhardt (1897-1948) had a distinguished career as professor of sports medicine before the Second World War. He developed sports for the disabled at a specialised orthopaedic clinic at Hohenlychen and was President of the Red Cross in Germany. During the war, Gebhardt also acted as Heinrich Himmler's personal physician and was responsible for medical experimentation on prisoners in the concentration camps at Auschwitz and Ravensbruck. In his capacity as SS consultant surgeon, he treated Reinhard Heydrich (a high ranking Nazi official, also known as 'the Hangman' 1 ) after an attempt was made on his life. When Heydrich died, Gebhardt was accused of failing to treat him with sulphonamides. To prove his innocence he carried out a series of experiments on Ravensbruck concentration camp prisoners, breaking their legs and infecting them with various organisms in order to prove the worthlessness of the drugs in treating gas gangrene. He also attempted to transplant the limbs from camp victims to German soldiers wounded on the Russian front. He was tried after the war and executed for these crimes in 1948. This paper explores the paradox of a gifted doctor who was also the perpetrator of inhuman crimes.

The article proposes an interdisciplinary introduction to the notion of the political world as farce. More exactly, it advances the argument that, despite experiencing the world as a joke of cosmic proportions, an individual can still create meaning even in the most meaningless conditions (concentration camps, totalitarian societies, etc.). The article traces the presence of the topic in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and Primo Levi’s Se questo è un uomo and discusses the particular case of Milan Kundera, for whom the historical world appears as nothing but a cruel joke. The treatment of the topic is framed in relation to the theologia ludens tradition, the theatrical elements of Communism, as well as the process of meaning creation in conditions of meaninglessness.

This article investigates music in the concentration camps before the second world war. For the camp authorities, ordering prisoners to sing songs or play in orchestras was an instrument of domination. But for the prisoners, music could also be an expression of solidarity and survival: inmates could retain a degree of their own agency in the pre-war camps, despite the often unbearable living conditions and harsh treatment by guards. The present article emphasizes this ambiguity of music in the early camps. It illustrates the emergence of musical traditions in the pre-war camps which came to have a significant impact on everyday life in the camps. It helps to overcome the view that concentration camp prisoners were simply passive victims.

This article uses prostitutes as a case study in order to investigate the role of the early concentration camps as centres of detention for social deviants. In contrasting the intensification of repressive policies towards prostitutes against narratives which demonstrate the unexpectedly lax treatment of these women, it explores what the reasons behind these contradictions might have been, and what this demonstrates about the development of these institutions. It asks the following questions. How and why were prostitutes interned? Which bureaucrats were responsible for incarcerating these women and what did they view the role of the camp to be? Were such policies centrally directed or the product of local decision-making? Through asking these questions, the article explores to what extent these camps were unique as mechanisms for the repression and marginalization of prostitutes.

This article builds on the growing body of literature on SS perpetrators. It explores the career of Hans Loritz, one of the most influential commandants of the pre-war nazi camps (and, from 1936, commandant of Dachau). The present article explores Loritz’s career within the small network of senior camp officials — many of whom would become key players of nazi extermination policy in the second world war — that emerged before the war. In addition, the article places Loritz into his social context: in spite of his responsibility for major atrocities, he led a perfectly ‘normal’ life and was not stranded on the margins of society.

This article examines nazi propaganda on non-German ‘concentration camps’ in the years 1933—9. It shows how the regime publicized internment facilities in Austria, the Soviet Union and South Africa during the Boer War for rhetorical effect. This examination is placed within the context of extensive nazi propaganda concerning Germany’s own camps, demonstrating that the two propaganda strands worked not contrary to each other, but rather in a mutually reinforcing manner. In addition, the article will explore the legacy of this propaganda material in shaping popular attitudes with the onset of war and genocide.

Is there any more potent a symbol for the destructive power of modern state terror than the nazi concentration camp? In the concentration camps, the nazis pioneered new methods of mass detention, abuse and extermination, driven by a lethal mix of extreme nationalism, bio-politics and racial antisemitism. During the short lifespan of the Third Reich little more than 12 years millions of prisoners were taken to concentration camps run by the SS, and subjected to humiliation and degradation, dirt and disease, fear and hunger, ruthless discipline and random violence, forced labour and mass murder. In all, some two million prisoners lost their lives, including around one million Jews murdered during the Holocaust, in Auschwitz, the largest and deadliest of all the concentration camps.1 Long before the regime's final collapse in May 1945, the concentration camp came to be known as the most notorious invention of the Third Reich. To be

Too often histories of the concentration camps tend to be ignorant of the wider political context of nazi repression and control. This article tries to overcome this problem. Combining legal, social and political history, it contributes to a more thorough understanding of the changing relationship between the camps as places of extra-legal terror and the judiciary, between nazi terror and the law. It argues that the conflict between the judiciary and the SS was not a conflict between ‘good’ and ‘evil’, as existing accounts claim. Rather, it was a power struggle for jurisdiction over the camps. Concentration camp authorities covered up the murders of prisoners as suicides to prevent judicial investigations. This article also looks at actual suicides in the pre-war camps, to highlight individual inmates’ reactions to life within the camps. The article concludes that the history of the concentration camps needs to be firmly integrated into the history of nazi terror and the Third Reich.

Dachau was the most enduring and important of the early nazi concentration camps. Its initial personnel, trained in the Dachau ‘school of violence’, were soon widely distributed throughout the SS camp network but have received very little historiographical attention. This article sets the camp and the early Dachau SS in their Bavarian context and explores how the memory of civil war in Munich in 1919 was at the fore in 1933: the camp’s location was highly symbolic in this regard. The article argues that these events left a direct and atmospheric mark on the early violence in the camp and on the pioneering group of perpetrators who set an operational tone known admiringly in the SS as the ‘Dachau spirit’.

When my father first arrived in the United States in 1946 after surviving Auschwitz and other concentration camps, no one, not even Jewish relatives, was particularly interested in hearing about his ordeal. People would say things like, “We suffered too. Did you know that we couldn't get sugar [during the war] and that gasoline was rationed?” So my father and other survivors like him stopped talking about their experiences.

In 1944 most concentration camp prisoners were not interned in the main camps but in subcamps. These subcamps were erected near important armament production sites, where the work power of the prisoners was needed. The conditions in these subcamps were sometimes even more terrible than in the main camps. In historiography, the phrase ‘extermination through work’ is often used in order to describe the subcamps. However, newer studies show that conditions differed enormously between camps. For this reason it is necessary to compare the conditions in the different subcamps systematically. My article discusses the reasons for the differences that have been put forward so far. Afterwards I show that an exploration of the subcamps of Neuengamme leads to somewhat different results, and I argue that, therefore, the phrase ‘extermination through work’ should be used more cautiously.

Concentration camps were established in the Northeastern Brazilian state of Ceará in 1932 as a response to the displacement of thousands by severe drought. The experience of the camps, as reported by those who survived them, was one of privation and death. Residents of Senador Pompeu, the site of one such camp, commemorate the experience with an annual procession to the cemetery and are attempting to have the ruins of the camp declared “heritage.” Marking such places as heritage is in many ways an intervention not only economically, as heritage tourism, but through the active critical processes of conscientization, communicating the violence that persists in contemporary society.

This research seeks to inform the developing macromarketing theme of restricted consumer behavior. Nazi concentration camps were selected because they provide an extreme example of external control and constraint. Multidisciplinary scholarship is reviewed, with an emphasis on relevance to the understanding of consumer restrictions. A brief description of the qualitative methodology follows, and the results as thematic categories come next. The thematic categories of forced dispossession, survival strategies, reconfiguration of the self, and reemerging into society are used to provide implications for the majority of world citizens who face significant limitations in their lived experiences as consumers. Closing remarks discuss the opportunities such a shift in emphasis may have on the viability of theoretical constructions about consumption.

Re-reading as a methodology is often invoked in literary and historical work, but seldom specifically delineated. The substantive focus herein concerns Boer women's testimonies of the 1899—1902 South African War, in particular testimonies of the British military scorched earth policy of forced removals and concentration camps. The methodology of re-reading such texts against each other is explored so as to `re-read the record' of the Mafeking concentration camp, using a set of unpublished testimonies. Re-reading reveals tensions and disjunctures in these testimonies, and highlights the pervasiveness of established, rehearsed narrative structures which characterize in effect all women's testimonies of the concentration camps of the South African War. The processes of re-reading are examined as a methodology which interrogates a particular text's context of production, and, crucially, the context of reading and the ways in which this shapes readerly responses to the text.

This article deals with the nexus between biographical experiences in political extraordinary times of crisis, disaster and terror and their influence on political orientations. At the centre of interest is the reconstruction of political orientations related to two different historical-political groups of Jewish Germans who had immigrated or escaped either to Palestine before May 1948 or to the State of Israel after the Second World War. The first group of German Zionists emigrated to Israel at the time of the British Mandate and the second group were German Jews who survived the German concentration camps. The extraordinary background of the life courses, i.e. the ‘Zionist period’ in Palestine or the German concentration camps, were the historical-political experiences that both groups had to face in their childhood and youth. These extraordinary life experiences are analysed in connection with their political attitudes regarding contemporary Israeli internal politics as well as political questions dealing with the Middle East conflict.

Nazi concentration camps played a central part in repression, terror and mass murder in the Third Reich. But after the end of the Second World War, historians were initially slow to explore the history of these SS camps. Only in the 1980s did sustained and systematic research get underway. Since then, the scholarly literature has grown at a great pace. This article surveys the historical literature on the camps, focusing on key themes which have emerged from studies published over the last few years: the early camps, the SS perpetrators, gender, memory, and the relationship between economics and extermination. The article critically examines recent studies on these themes and highlights important areas for future research.

Pacific Citizens: Larry and Guyo Tajiri and Japanese American Journalism in the World War II Era. Greg Robinson, ed. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2012. 344 pp. $60 hbk.Studies of the Japanese American press during the war have tended to focus on news- papers published in the concentration camps set up by President Roosevelt's Executive Order 9066, which forcibly evacuated citizens of Japanese ancestry from the West Coast. Greg Robinson's book fills a gap in the historical record by examining the main Japanese American newspaper published outside the camps. Thriving Japanese American papers along the West Coast, home to 90% of Japanese Americans, shut down as relocation took away subscribers and staffs. Four papers continued to publish during the war in the Rocky Mountains, east of the exclusion zone. Of those, the Pacific Citizen, with its national circulation base of 7,000, was by far the largest. It moved from California, where it began as the newsletter of the Japanese American Citizens League, to Salt Lake City, Utah. Journalist Larry Tajiri and his wife, Guyo, agreed to put out a real newspaper, starting at first as a weekly and converting to biweekly. They worked on a shoestring budget, operating as the paper's sole journal- ists. They reported on issues of interest to Japanese Americans, including military service, camp riots, and civil liberties. In so doing, they earned high praise from Office of War Information Director Elmer Davis, who called Pacific Citizen the best weekly in America.Historians interested in the mainstream Japanese American journalism of the war can thank University of Quebec history professor Robinson for compiling and editing significant works of the Tajiris and opening a window to an American minority's response to troubled times. The newspaper remains the best single source for news for and about Japanese Americans during World War II.That this newspaper, or any Japanese publication, could exist during World War II remained an open question for several months after December 1941. Federal officials fretted about the possible security threats posed by newspapers published by citizens whose ancestors came from Axis countries. One option was to shutter them for the duration, another was to keep them open but impose censorship, and a third was to let them publish but monitor their content. Larry Tajiri argued for the third case in a 1942 letter to Alan Cranston, a bureaucrat in the Office of Facts and Figures and, much later in life, a U.S. senator from California. Japanese Americans needed their own press, Tajiri said. "People left in the dark are less likely to maintain a proper perspective and hence are more susceptible to be influenced by rumor and inimical gossip," he said in the letter, which the book reprints. In addition, the educational function of the press could prepare Japanese Americans to support "democratic and liberal" ideas.Chapters cover Larry Tajiri's prewar writings, wartime columns and editorials, writings that appeared in mainstream publications, wartime letters, postwar writings, and selections from his career after leaving Pacific Citizen in 1952. …

Over the past 5 years, nurses’roles as caregivers in ghettos and concentration camps during the Third Reich increasingly have become the subject of interest. Historians have focused particularly on the ethical dilemmas of caregiving practices that often deviated from normal care standards and situations. This article examines nurses and their work in one concentration camp, Theresienstadt, to demonstrate that even under the unique and horrible conditions of camp existence, contextual differences between camps provided nurses with different difficulties and opportunities. Although an extreme example, this article demonstrates the critical link between care and context as nurses practice across various settings and situations.

During the late 1940s and early 1950s, David Riesman and Hannah Arendt were engaged in an animated discussion about the meaning and character of totalitarianism. Their disagreement reflected, in part, different experiences and dissonant intellectual backgrounds. Arendt abhorred the social sciences, finding them pretentious and obfuscating. Riesman, in contrast, abandoned a career in law to take up the sociological vocation, which he combined with his own heterodox brand of humanistic psychology. This article delineates the stakes of the Arendt Riesman debate by examining Arendt’s critique of social science and Riesman’s defence of a sociological interpretation of totalitarianism. In addition, the article argues that Arendt’s theory of totalitarianism misdescribed the nature of Nazi and Bolshevik societies in ways that damaged her political account more generally. Riesman intuited that weakness and, as the following article shows, modern historical research has confirmed it.

The central issue of this article is the act of storytelling as a positive moral act of testimony, even when the historical content is altered by the invention of comedic fiction. History is no less a fiction whose coherence is imposed in retrospect by the narrative written to contextualize it. Through the prism of Primo Levi's pseudo-historical accounts of the concentration camps, this article demonstrates how Roberto Benigni and Radu Mihaileanu offer new messages and force their viewers to re-examine events of the Shoah through humour without diminishing the gravity of them. Through comedy and fairy-tale, the two directors capture the humanity of both those who survived and those who did not. These films are not revisions as much as criticisms of the absurdity of the Holocaust. The directors borrow the Holocaust's absurd language and logic in their parodies and recodify them in their fables. We see in “La vita è bella” and “Train de vie” that the greatest danger is not in making a comedy about the Shoah but in forgetting to tell the story to contemporary audiences in ways that cause them to reassess their past and their humanity.

Theoretical discussions of the Holocaust are often couched in terms of whether or not it was unique. It is possible to understand the Nazi attitude to ‘Eastern Europe’ as a continuation of a 19th-century German view that Poland was not European and could be colonized. The Nazi racialization of the Jews as non-white and the procedures such as concentration camps, slavery and extermination used against the Jews are practices drawn from the colonial periphery of the modern European world and used by other European powers in that context. We can construct a German colonial history in which the treatment of the Herero and other tribes in Southwest Africa prefigures the Nazi attitude to the peoples of Eastern Europe and the Jews across Europe. From this point of view, the Jews in Europe were an alien migrant people within the boundary of white Europe.

Native Americans have been subjected to some of the cruelest punishment doled out by the United States. They were subjected to ethnic cleansing and concentration camps. They were even subjected to mass executions. Indeed, 38 Santee Sioux were hanged on December 26, 1862, under the direction of President Lincoln. This article looks at the Native reaction to these judicial abuses, tracing the events from Wounded Knee II and the American Indian Movement (AIM) to the establishment of the Native American Rights Fund (NARF) and the efforts during the past quarter of a century for Indian-led reforms throughout the U.S. legal system.

Scholarly research on the Third Reich has benefited from the fact that the regime's archives became open and available to historians almost from the moment of its collapse. Since 1946, nearly all the major crimes of the regime have been documented in outline, beginning with the Nuremberg war crimes trials which included important supplementary criminal proceedings.1 These trials presented massive documentary evidence for the nazi extermination of the Jews and for the regime's war of aggression and extermination in eastern Europe.2 In addition, the participation of German companies in the nazi system was described in detail by the reports of the Office of the Military Government of the US (OMGUS) in postwar western Germany.3 The system of concentration camps as the real nucleus of the nazi state had already been analysed by Eugen Kogon; but his report was thought to be unsuitable reading for young Germans up until 1960.4 On the other hand, case studies and regional monographs remained few up until the 1970s, or even later.5 The relative absence of detailed scholarly research gave the authors of textbooks a free hand in many respects. Nevertheless, at least six principal crimes of the nazis could have been mentioned in any textbook written after 1946

Although I was no longer at the Bar I would go down to Chambers each day to lend a hand with the work of 'Justice'. It was on the 19th November 1960 as I was reading in the Tube rather uncharacteristically 'The Daily Telegraph' that I came on a short paragraph that related how two Portuguese students had been sentenced to terms of imprisonment for no other offence than having drunk a toast to liberty in a Lisbon restaurant. Perhaps because I am particularly attached to liberty, perhaps because I am fond of wine this news-item produced a righteous indignation in me that transcended normal bounds. At Trafalgar Square station I got out of the train and went straight into the Church of St Martin's-in-the-Fields [sic]. There I sat and pondered on the situation. I felt like marching down to the Portuguese Embassy to make an immediate protest, but what would have been the use? Walking up the Strand towards the Temple my mind dwelt on World Refugee Year, the first of these years dedicated to international action. What a success it had been! The DP [Displaced Persons] camps in Europe had been finally emptied. Could not the same thing be done for the inmates of concentration camps, I speculated? What about a World Year against political imprisonment? (Peter Benenson, 1983)1

Antonis Flountzis, a young communist medical student in Athens, was arrested for the first time in August 1935. He remained in prison for five months and was finally released without trial. On 10 April 1937, during Metaxas' dictatorship, he was arrested again and banished to the Akronafplia prison. In April 1941, political prisoners were handed over to the Germans, under whose administration six prisoners were executed. In March 1943, the remaining political prisoners from Akronafplia were transferred to the camps in Katouna and Larissa, which were under the Italian occupation authorities. Flountzis was interned in the Larissa camp, where he witnessed the execution of 56 of his fellow inmates. At the end of August he was transferred to Chaidari, another Italian-run camp, on the outskirts of Athens, which was taken over the following month by the German authorities. The Chaidari camp was one of the main concentration camps in Greece, and a transit camp for the deportation of slave labourers and Jews destined for Germany. During Flountzis' internment in the Chaidari camp, eight political prisoners were executed at the beginning of 1944, and another 200 on May Day that year, in reprisal for activities of the resistance. Flountzis was spared, probably because he was the camp's doctor. On 16 September 1944, a few weeks before the liberation of Athens, he was released. But not for long. On 2 June 1948 he was arrested together with his pregnant wife (who subsequently had a miscarriage while in jail). After eight months in jail, he was transferred to the Makronisos island camps, and his wife, Katina Flountzi, to the Trikeri camp. In the Makronisos camps he was tortured (his fingers were broken) because he refused to recant communism. Katina was also transferred to Makronisos but husband and wife were only allowed to visit each other infrequently. At the end of August 1950, Antonis was transferred to the island of Aghios Efstratios and Katina was sent back to Trikeri island. In September 1952 Antonis obtained the first permit to leave Aghios Efstratios on condition that he would stay at Aitoliko, his birthplace. His persecution, however, continued throughout the 1950s and 1960s. He spent a total of 24 years in prison, despite the fact that, as he bitterly wrote

Museums and exhibits that present `history' offer largely visual versions of collective narratives to a broad audience. Yet language can play a critical role in these versions of the past and, like the histories themselves, the language can become controversial. For example, the title of an exhibit on the Japanese-American internment in World War II-`America's Concentration Camps' - was disturbing to American Jews who associated `concentration camps' with their experience in the Holocaust. This article shows how linguists can assist in resolving such controversies: after becoming familiar with what actually happened to those involved in the controversy, they can offer discourse analyses (a) of the conflictual language itself; (b) of its resolution (in this case, a footnote on the brochure accompanying the exhibit); and (c) of the role of referring terms in collective narratives and public memorial.

The purpose of this article is to provide a general overview of the work of Wanda Jakubowska (1907–98), the first Polish, female film director to gain national and international recognition. Her career spanned over 50 years, in which she directed 14 full-length feature films, thus being the longest working film director in the history of Polish cinema. She was also one of the highest profile filmmakers to join the Polish communist party after the Second World War and in subsequent years represented the ‘party line’ among her fellow film-makers, and lobbied the party on behalf of the cinema industry. The article looks at style, ideology and the most important themes of Jakubowska’s work. Its focus is on her films about concentration camps and about contemporary Poland. The article also attempts to establish whether and to what degree Jakubowska was a feminist.

This article looks at the role of a popular youth subculture as a form of resistance to dominant constructions of youth under National Socialism in Germany. At the time when youth were strongly pressured to participate in the dominant youth organization and to conform to a particular model of “youthfulness” associated with fascist modernity, there were few opportunities to construct alternative ideas of youth. However, participation in the “Hamburg Swings” subculture through going to dances, listening to music, and using certain styles of speech, walking, and dressing offered an opportunity to construct alternative ideas of youth, ones heralding a more postmodern orientation. Swing came from America and emphasized a sensuous, fun-loving, hedonistic style. It was condemned as “degenerate music.” Many members of this subculture were punished; some were even sent to concentration camps. This article draws parallels between this role of youth subcultures as a form of latent opposition to authoritarian regimes and dominant official constructions of youth under both National Socialism and the former Soviet Communist regimes of Eastern Europe.

Like Coleridge's ancient mariner who fixes us with his glittering eye and forces us to hear his tale of horror, survivors of the Nazi concentration camps are plagued by demons.2 In the face of the inexpressible horror of the camps, they have a compulsion to bear witness. They have to offer atonement for their survival. To their audience, they are both frightful and compelling. Like the ancient mariner, survivors seize the attention of their unwilling listeners: Primo Levi, for instance, summons those who live safe in their warm houses to consider his words or face his curse.3 And the lis

With disbelief the world received news of medical experiments performed on the inmates of concentration camps in Nazi Germany.1 The subsequent trial of 23 defendants, 20 of whom were medically qualified, in Nuremberg yielded 16 guilty verdicts and seven death sentences. What was perhaps so incredulous was not that such atrocities could be perpetrated by Nazis, but that they could have involved doctors. In his opening remarks at the trial Brigadier General Telford Taylor, the American Chief of Council, noted: `To kill, to maim, and to torture is criminal under all modern systems of law... yet these [physician] defendants, all of whom were fully able to comprehend the nature of their acts... are responsible for wholesale murder and unspeakably cruel tortures.'2 During the eight-month trial a detailed catalogue of medical experimentation was presented to the court. For example, at Dachau between 1942-1944 there was a series of experiments designed to examine aspects of aviation medicine, involving high-altitude experiments, the effects of freezing water baths and the enforced drinking of sea-water. In Buchenwald and Ravensbruck throughout the war, a series of studies examined the simulation and treatment of battlefield injuries, such as exposure to mustard gas, phosphorus burns, bone transplantation, and sulfanilimide treatments. In Dachau, Buchenwald and Sachsenhausen during 1941-1945 there were a variety of infectious disease studies involving the deliberate infection of inmates with malaria, epidemic jaundice and typhus. Finally, in Auschwitz, Buchenwald and Ravensbruck there were a number of eugenic and lethal experiments involving sterilization and poisoned bullets. Similar, though less widely acknowledged, were the medical experiments performed in Japanese facilities during the Second World War.3 Nuremberg may have been the first major public exposition of how doctors can become instruments in unethical medical experimentation, but it is tragically not the last, nor regrettably the most recent. During the Doctors' Trial in Nuremberg the defendants cited similar forms of human experimentation that had taken place in the USA.4 Names were named and details listed, but little note was taken by the American prosecutors. Indeed the medical representative of the American Medical Association present at the trial, Andrew C. Ivy, stated that no American prisoner had ever been experimented on against his will.5 However, despite their heinous crimes against humanity, on this point the defendants were correct—and Ivy was wrong. The USA before, during and after the war was the host to a series of medical experiments that bore some striking similarities. Furthermore, although the 10 principles of ethical research that became known as the Nuremberg Code were drafted by the American team in Germany, it is notable that the Code was never taken to heart by American physicians, who preferred to view the document as applying not to them, but to the barbaric physicians in Nazi Germany.5 Then, as now, a utilitarian approach to biomedical research was commonly upheld as justification. `This is done for the greater good' possibly thought the New York team that from 1963 deliberately infected the mentally retarded with hepatitis at Willowbrook, an institution on Staten Island, so that experimental vaccines could be tested.6 The `benefit to society' may have been the touchstone of the Tuskegee investigators who between 1932 and 1972 followed a group of poor black Alabama farm workers to learn about the natural history of syphilis.7 In the process, and to avoid disruption of their experiment, they denied the men the benefits of penicillin therapy and subjected them to various investigations including regular lumbar punctures, which they passed off as treatments for so-called `bad blood'. The `advance of science' may have been the vision of those at the Jewish Chronic Disease Hospital in Brooklyn, who in the early 1960s injected live cancer cells into elderly debilitated cancer patients without their consent.8 These abuses of human research ethics were brought to light often not by our own colleagues, but by the media.9

A central feature of the fear of crime debate is the fear-risk paradox: the finding that those least at risk, namely, elderly women, are most fearful, and vice versa. This article argues that this paradox can be resolved theoretically by placing an anxious, defended subject rather than a rational, risk-avoiding one at the center of the debate, and explores some of the methodological implications of so doing, especially the importance of eliciting narratives. This methodological position, appropriately adapted for this study's rather different purposes, derives from the biographical-interpretive method first developed in Germany for the collection of life stories of Jewish survivors of the concentration camps. The authors outline the principles of this approach and the importance of eliciting concrete stories in a nondirective way in pursuit of the respondent's "gestalt," and then put this to work in attempting to operationalize their theoretical position into appropriate interview schedules. Specifically, the authors contrast the results of pilot interview schedules conducted in traditional question-and-answer format, in which "why" ques tions loom large, with those obtained by a schedule based on eliciting narratives from respondents, demonstrating both what the former misses and the latter (unconsciously) reveals. The authors also show how they use the same narrative-based principles in their follow-up interviews.

At a first place the NS-policy of psychiatry is outlined -its global planning as well as its excecution. The picture is supplemented by and contrasted with its local implementation exemplified by the Strecknitz asylum at Lübeck. It becomes clear how much the global concept of the extermination of patients was interwoven with pragmatic plans of local authorities. At Lübeck only the partial identity of these interests led to the deportation of more than 600 patients. They were distributed to several transit camps in Hesse where more than 80% had died by the end of the Second World War. The main causes of death were hunger and infectious diseases - consequences of a deliberate and well-organized neglect. The behaviour and the reactions on the part of the relatives were shaped by supply shortages during the war, by internalized propaganda and by fear. The long-term effects beyond the end of the NS-regime vary a lot. Some of the relatives' coping strategies are portrayed. In some cases the murder of close family members continues to have its effects in the form of family secrets.