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The ontological complexity of the twentieth-century Cold War motivates this special issue’s investigation of how social scientists conceptualize institutional novelty and change. We begin by noting the peculiar elision of the Cold War as an explanatory mechanism in mainstream sociology, even while sociologists have theoretical tools for making sense of the phenomenon: war, schema, field, world systems, and empire. All are useful; none are sufficient. We locate the explanatory problem in a tension between notions of structure and event that has organized debate in historical social science for several scholarly generations, and offer a new intellectual tool – medium durée – as a way forward. Medium durée describes phenomena that have sufficient cohesion as ideas and relationships to endure over time, yet remain sufficiently unfixed and ambiguous as to enable multifarious action and sensemaking. Our notion of medium durée is substantially informed by the articles and commentaries assembled for this special issue, which represent three years of dialogue among the authors as well as audiences in serial panels at the 2022 and 2023 annual meetings of the Social Science History Association.
Starting from the Russo-Japanese War until the height of the Cold War era, Schoenberg’s adult life coincided with various wars during the turbulent first half of the twentieth century. This chapter explores how Schoenberg navigated these events by surveying his correspondences with friends and pupils, his own writings and brief analyses of two overtly political compositions, Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, op. 41 (1942) and A Survivor from Warsaw, op. 46 (1947). This chapter ends by considering the two war compositions as the composer’s statement and restatement against fascistic tendencies in Germany during World War II and, again, in the United States during the Cold War era.
Wars make states, but the conclusion of conflict is critical for the trajectory of state-building that follows. At the end of World War II, both conservatives and progressives in the United States recognized the potential for ongoing statist development fueled by the wartime introduction of mass taxation and the expansion of regulatory intervention into the lives of citizens and the activities of firms. Entrenched traditions of anti-statism in American politics resurfaced forcefully only to encounter the new threats of a nuclear-capable Soviet Union and the onset of what came to be known as the Cold War. This conjuncture both reoriented and fractured trajectories of state development, leading to reliance on mechanisms – capitation, categorical eligibility, regulation of organizations, and limited duration – that enabled expansive federal intervention in the form of funds attached to rules but minimized the construction of new bureaucratic organization. These governing practices are evident in both the Serviceman’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (the G.I. Bill) and the European Recovery Act of 1948 (the Marshall Plan). The result was the development of a powerful postwar state that was deeply marked by anti-statist politics, a configuration that shaped future waves of both policy expansion and openings for renewed efforts to constrain the capacity of the American state.
Finally, Chapter 6, ‘From permissive consensus to persistent critique’, turns to the most recent past of the Convention. It shows how the critique of the eighties became unsustainable by an unforeseen event: the end of the Cold War. This galvanized the earlier hesitant governments into accepting permanent supranational oversight. However, the signatory states’ caution had not suddenly disappeared. The concerns of the 1980s may have been briefly interrupted in the 1990s, but remained a constant factor.
The Convention also became a topic of public debate in the Netherlands from 2010 onwards: in order for that debate to flourish, a fundamental change in the previous, rather self-evident acceptance of human rights as inherently desirable was brokered, as the Court got caught up in wider debates surrounding national identity and migration.
Finally, the chapter sheds light on the persistent challenges the Convention keeps posing to the Kingdom. Caught between Dutch and Caribbean unwillingness, sensitivities and financial limitations, human rights standards occasionally lose out. The Convention has come to serve as a reminder of the shared responsibility of all in addressing those problems, but remains tied to historical grown discrepancies.
This article explores the intersection of Cold War geopolitics, cultural psychiatry, and migration in Taiwan from the mid-1940s to the 1970s. Building on recent scholarship in cultural psychiatry and Cold War science, it examines how geopolitical tensions shaped psychiatric knowledge production in East Asia. Focusing on the psychological and social impact of the 1949 mass migration, when over a million Chinese immigrants arrived in Taiwan, alongside the clinical and academic work of Taiwanese psychiatrists, the study highlights how migration and societal upheaval became central research concerns. Operating under the authoritarian Kuomintang regime and within the constraints and opportunities of international politics, Taiwanese psychiatrists – most of whom were native-born with colonial backgrounds – drew on intellectual traditions from imperial Japan, fascist Germany, and the Cold War Western bloc. Navigating both global psychiatric discourses and local concerns, they positioned themselves as key contributors to the international development of psychiatric research. While their portrayals of Chinese character structure and family dynamics sometimes reflected essentialist views, their work also demonstrated a nuanced awareness of historical change and contemporary realities during a period of intense political repression and uncertainty. By analysing archival sources and medical texts, this article illuminates the complex interplay between geopolitics and psychiatric knowledge production in Cold War Taiwan.
Edited by
Grażyna Baranowska, Friedrich-Alexander-Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg,Milica Kolaković-Bojović, Institute of Criminological and Sociological Research, Belgrade
This chapter describes the long process of awareness and creation of the International Convention for the Elimination of Enforced Disappearance, the role of non-governmental organisations and the national and international cooperation organisations in that process.
It analyses the role of Condor Operation launched as a multilateral agreement between the national security dictatorships of the Southern Cone and the reaction of civil society and the relatives of the victims who began to seek a way to achieve the recognition of enforced disappearance as an autonomous offence and then the adoption of an International Convention for its punishment.
In this chapter, the testimonies about this process are analysed as well as series of concomitant actions gained momentum, as a result of which, the United Nations (UN) convened a Drafting Group for what ended up being the long-awaited International Convention. Finally, there is a brief analysis of the current state of those NGOs which fought hard for such Convention.
Finally, this chapter consists of research about a historic stage of a generation which is giving way to new people with their new rights, their new fights, and their new utopias.
This chapter explores the immediate and far-reaching effects of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster of 26 April 1986. It contrasts the Soviet Union’s portrayal of nuclear power as a symbol of progress with the grim reality following Reactor No. 4’s explosion. The Soviet government’s initial response, marked by secrecy and denial, worsened the disaster’s impact on the environment and the people. Globally, the reaction was swift, with countries demanding transparency and offering assistance, which the Soviet Union officially denied but secretly accepted. The disaster fuelled widespread fear and scepticism about nuclear energy, sparking anti-nuclear protests and policy changes worldwide. In the US, Chernobyl reignited debates over nuclear safety, closely monitored by government and intelligence agencies. A poignant outcome was the plight of the ‘Chernobyl children’, who faced an uncertain future. International efforts provided these children with medical care, reflecting global solidarity. The chapter emphasizes how Chernobyl became a symbol of nuclear peril and a catalyst for humanitarian action, as the world grappled with the lasting consequences of living in irradiated landscapes.
In the mid-1960s, India's 'green revolution' saw the embrace of more productive agricultural practices and high yielding variety seeds, bringing the country out of food scarcity. Although lauded as a success of the Cold War fight against hunger, the green revolution has also faced criticisms for causing ecological degradation and socio-economic inequality. This book contextualizes the 'green revolution' to show the contingencies and pitfalls of agrarian transformation. Prakash Kumar unpacks its contested history, tracing agricultural modernization in India from colonial-era crop development, to land and tenure reforms, community development, and the expansion of arable lands. He also examines the involvement of the colonial state, post-colonial elites, and American modernizers. Over time, all of these efforts came under the spell of technocracy, an unyielding belief in the power of technology to solve social and economic underdevelopment which, Kumar argues, best explains what caused the green revolution.
Hispanic Technocracy explores the emergence, zenith, and demise of a distinctive post-fascist school of thought that materialized as state ideology during the Cold War in three military regimes: Francisco Franco's Spain (1939–1975), Juan Carlos Onganía's Argentina (1966–1973), and Augusto Pinochet's Chile (1973–1988). In this intellectual and cultural history, Daniel Gunnar Kressel examines how Francoist Spain replaced its fascist ideology with an early neoliberal economic model. With the Catholic society Opus Dei at its helm amid its 'economic miracle' of the 1960s, it fostered a modernity that was 'European in the means' and 'Hispanic in the ends.' Kressel illuminates how a transatlantic network of ideologues championed this model in Latin America as an authoritarian state model that was better suited to their modernization process. In turn, he illustrates how Argentine and Chilean ideologues adapted the Francoist ideological toolkit to their political circumstances, thereby transcending the original model.
This chapter explores how the Sociedad Argentina de Escritores (SADE, established in 1928) and the Sociedad de Escritores de Chile (SECh, established in 1931) became actively involved with antifascism in relation to national and international processes connected to the rise of fascism, the Spanish Civil War, World War II, and the Cold War. Each association’s trajectory was specifically shaped by each country’s context. In Argentina, SADE’s politicization unfolded under military regimes, conservative fraudulently elected governments, and Juan Perón’s regime (1946–55). In Chile, SECh’s politicization developed in the context of the governments of the Popular Front (1938–52) and the relative strength of leftist parties. This comparative analysis reveals convergences and differences and highlights the networks that connected writers at multiple levels, providing a new angle on the local and transnational frameworks for the antifascist struggle in the 1930s and 1940s and its transition to Cold War-era divisions.
Chapter 5 explores how war once again brought PR and the US government closer together, before examining how PR firms engaged in the debates over the shape of the postwar world. Both the John Price Jones Corporation and Harold L. Oram Inc. supported the American Association for the United Nations, reflecting the popular “one world” viewpoint of the time. Yet Oram also provided PR support to the Committee for the Marshall Plan. The Marshall Plan was part of a more aggressive US policy of containment and seemed at odds with the desire to support the universal UN. Yet as the Cold War intensified, international events forced many fading Wilsonians to reluctantly move away from a “one world” to a “Cold War” position. Even the more internationalist-leaning PR counselors such as Jones and Oram found themselves adopting an increasingly anticommunist position that aligned with the government and only intensified in the 1950s.
Drawing from the work of experienced scholars across various fields, countries, and periods, this volume is the first book in any language to provide a comprehensive history of antifascisms in Latin America and the Caribbean. It presents antifascism as a multifaceted phenomenon at the intersection of local, national, and transnational processes that is embraced by a variety of actors with differing agendas. Offering an innovative and fundamental contribution to several bodies of scholarship, including history, art, literature, sports, race, gender, and sexuality, it expands the field of antifascist studies by demonstrating the differences and similarities between Latin American and Caribbean movements and actors and their counterparts elsewhere. Multidisciplinary and accessible, the chapters in this volume will engage a broad audience and offer important insights about the rise of right-wing populism today.
The Cold War is often depicted in binary terms: communists against anti-communists, the left against the right, or the free world versus the communist world. However, during the latter part of the Cold War, particularly following the 1979 war between China and Vietnam, earlier Cold War binaries no longer applied, and new alliances were established. These alliances often brought people with the same enemies together, despite having little in common ideologically. This article examines the historical circumstances and Cold War geographies of ethnic Khmu anti-Lao PDR and anti-Vietnamese insurgents, including their alliances with right-wing governments in Thailand and the communist People’s Republic of China (PRC). As neutralists, these Khmu occupied a political space rarely discussed in relation to the Cold War. Although the PRC provided training, weapons, and supplies to the neutralist Khmu between 1979 and 1983, later their political leader, General Kong Le, had a falling out with the Chinese, and the PRC stopped supporting his largely ethnic minority soldiers. However, up until 1989, the Thai government continued to allow the Khmu to maintain bases in Thailand for launching military operations inside Laos, until the Thai government adopted the “Battlefield to Marketplace” policy. Some Khmu continued resisting inside northwestern Laos during the early 1990s, but with declining numbers of soldiers and decreased outside support, armed resistance ended in 2003. It is critical that the geographies and alliances of the later Cold War be differentiated from those of the earlier years of the Cold War. This transnational insurgency deserves attention.
This article tries to explain the flourishing of geopolitical alternatives to the nation-state form and foreign policies organized around giant militarized power blocs during the two decades after World War II. The first section presents these new approaches to organizing the world. The first set of alternatives consisted of ideas and practices of the federation and the amalgamation of states into larger political units. These included Senghor’s vision of a postcolonial federation in which France and its former colonies would be equals; Nkrumah’s vision of a United States of Africa; and various short-lived amalgamations of states, including the Mali Federation and the United Arab Republic. These new geopolitical alternatives also included nonalignment, which originated with Jawaharlal Nehru of India and culminated with Josip Broz Tito of Yugoslavia but also encompassed Ireland between 1957 and 1961 and France in the early Fifth Republic. One of the distinctive features of this conjuncture is that these experiments were not limited to the global peripheries, colonies, and recently decolonized states, but also characterized certain nonhegemonic European core countries. The second section examines a set of four factors in this period that created an opportunity structure or space of possibilities for geopolitical experimentation: (1) late colonialism; (2) the Cold War; (3) the character of decolonization; and (4) the United Nations. The coexistence of these factors opened spaces of maneuver and autonomy for a flourishing of geopolitical imaginaries. The final section discusses possible reasons for the end of this period of experimentation.
This chapter examines how the War Department approached planning for the postwar world. It specifically focuses on the future of Soviet-American relations and how that relationship impacted preparations for the defeat and eventual occupation of the Axis powers. The War Department often adopted ambiguous and confusing stances toward the Soviet Union when it came to postwar planning issues. Stimson, his senior advisers, and Marshall primarily felt a durable postwar peace required a cooperative Washington–Moscow relationship while Army planners and mid-level War Department officials expressed strong concerns about Soviet behavior in Eastern Europe and what that meant for the future. Given Army planners’ central role in the strategic planning and policy process, these divisions helped blur and muddle Washington’s broader Russia policy and helped reinforce American hawks’ views that the future Soviet–American relationship would be dominated by conflict and superpower rivalry. The hawks’ increasingly strong beliefs made confrontational US policies more likely and helped construct the foundations for the pugnacious atmosphere in the developing superpower relationship and the Cold War.
This chapter discusses Sean O’Casey’s drama performed in Germany, Austria, and German-speaking Switzerland. The main focus is on plays addressing political turmoil and revolutionary upheaval. Some German-speaking audiences for these plays were confronted with similar crises at the time that the plays were produced in the German language. As a hotspot of the East–West conflict, O’Casey’s plays performed in Berlin are of particular interest, and this chapter concludes with an appendix that lists key Germanophone premieres.
It is difficult to overstate the horrors unleashed by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. While it has been challenging over the decades to determine the precise number of casualties, it is probably safe to say the number is in the hundreds of thousands.1 Those who were not instantly obliterated in the attacks had to face exposure to the blasts, extreme heat, nuclear fallout, radiation poisoning, and the complete and utter destruction of their cities. Some survivors experienced life-threatening health problems stemming from these weapons months, years, or even decades after the bombings, including organ failure, transgenerational genetic damage, and multiple types of cancer. Journalists such as John Hersey and Charles H. Loeb helped reveal these devastations to millions of people who could hardly fathom them.2 Stimson himself was badly shaken by the reports he received in the bombings’ aftermath. He told members of the Ausable Club in upstate New York days after the nuclear strikes that the war had “compelled” America “to invent and unleash forces of terrific destructiveness.
Revolutionary exports are essential to studying China’s relations with Southeast Asia during the Cold War, particularly regarding communist parties in neighbouring countries that received substantial logistical support from China, enabling them to sustain armed struggles. However, previous research has been limited due to the topic’s sensitivity and the scarcity of Chinese-language sources. This article seeks to uncover the logistical system centred on Mengla, Yunnan, designed to support Southeast Asian communist parties, mainly in Laos. By examining the development of Chinese logistics units and the extensive clandestine aid networks (including road construction) that linked China with Laos, this article argues that China’s integrated civil-military logistics support was pivotal in sustaining armed resistance in Southeast Asia and countering the influence of the United States in the region. Additionally, the article examines the dimensions of the Cold War in Asia from the perspective of the ordinary individuals who were direct participants.
In the wake of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, more than a million Belarusian, Ukrainian, and Russian children were sent abroad. Aided by the unprecedented efforts of transnational NGOs and private individuals, these children were meant to escape and recover from radiation exposure, but also from the increasing hardships of everyday life in post-Soviet society. Through this opening of the Soviet Union, hundreds of thousands of people in over forty countries witnessed the ecological, medical, social and political consequences of the disaster for the human beings involved. This awareness transformed the accident into a global catastrophe which could happen anywhere and have widespread impact. In this brilliantly insightful work, Melanie Arndt demonstrates that the Chernobyl children were both witness to and representative of a vanishing bipolar world order and the future of life in the Anthropocene, an age in which the human impact on the planet is increasingly borderless.
This article explores Britain and the Soviet Union’s reciprocal exhibitions in 1961. Using methods from diplomatic and cultural history the article finds that, while typical of the cultural encounters that punctuated moments of Cold War crisis, these exhibitions formed part of a broader British policy of cultural diplomacy. The British state worked closely with the exhibition companies to present subtle propaganda about the British way of life at both displays. Britain’s key propaganda message was that a system of free enterprise was vital to a good political system and economy. However, while the fairs were nominally organised by an independent company many of the company’s directors were part of a network that existed between government, the civil service and business. The government was involved at all stages. A warm attitude was displayed towards the Soviets by many British people when the reciprocal fair opened in London, despite the less positive reception of Soviet consumer goods in the press. The British state sought to limit the Soviets’ propaganda gain. It therefore ensured that it was the trade fair’s organisers rather than communist supporting organisations who received the visit of the world’s first cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin.