Shortly before the Christmas of 1860, the major bookstores in Prague put on display a German-language booklet entitled Bohemian Sketches: By a Native Writer. Although the book was published anonymously, its author soon became well known: he was Jan Palacký, the son of the prominent historian and leading Czech politician Frantis̆ek Palacký. But even his famous name did not spare the young man from stormy, harsh criticism that followed after the publication of the book. For weeks the newspapers both in Prague and in Vienna scrutinized the rhetorical nuances of the book, pointing out the author's national and political biases. Surprisingly, neither of the Czech-language newspapers, Národní listy nor C̆as, that had recently entered into the public arena, stepped forward in defense of the author. The critical response in the press raises one's curiosity: what was wrong with Jan Palacký's arguments? How could someone so closely connected with Czech national leaders write such a controversial account? Moreover, considering the censorship practices and vigilant police supervision of the time, it is also worth asking how the publication could have escaped the attention of governmental surveillance.

A photograph of Pope John Paul II shaking hands with Ján Čarnogurský, First Deputy Prime Minister of Czechoslovakia, at the Vatican appeared in full color on the cover of the February 1990 issue of Rodinné spolocčenstvo. Čarnogurský symbolizes the speed of Czechoslovakia's political revolution and the important role that individuals who had gained political experience as dissidents played in Czechoslovakia's post-Communist government. Just 2 months before meeting with the Pope, Čarnogurský, a Roman Catholic activist in Slovakia, had been awaiting trial in Bratislava for editing the Slovak secret church's most politically-oriented samizdat periodical. Hundreds of demonstrators, organized by the Slovak secret church, had already been protesting his arrest for several weeks when the Velvet Revolution began in Prague on 17 November 1989.

The December 2002 issue of Nationalities Papers is my last as editor. Steve Sabol, assistant professor of history at University of North Carolina, Charlotte, begins his four-year term as editor with the March 2003 issue. I am sure he will take as much pleasure in editing this journal as I have.

The disintegration of the Soviet Union in December 1991 led to the de-colonization of the world's last remaining empire. Taking this into account, this article seeks to argue two points. Firstly, many of the imperial policies imposed by the imperial core in the Soviet empire were similar in nature to those imposed by imperial powers in Ireland, Africa, and Asia. Secondly, the nation and state building policies of the post-Soviet colonial states are therefore similar to those adopted in many other post-colonial states because they also seek to remove some—or all—of the inherited colonial legacies. A central aspect of overcoming this legacy is re-claiming the past from the framework imposed by the former imperial core and thereby creating, or reviving, a national historiography that helps to consolidate the new national state. All states, including those traditionally defined as lying in the “civic West,” have in the past—and continue to—use national historiography, myths, and legends as a component of their national identities.

During a debate on the franchise reform bill in the Austrian Reichsrat on 12 September 1906, the Czech National Socialist Party deputy Václav Choc demanded that suffrage be extended to women as well as men. Otherwise, Choc asserted, the women of Austria would be consigned to the same status as “criminals and children.” Choc was certainly not the only Austrian parliamentarian to voice his support for votes for women during the debates on franchise reform. However, his party, the most radical of all the Czech nationalist political factions, was unique in that it not only included women's suffrage in its official program, as the Social Democrats had done a decade earlier, but also worked hard to change the political status of women in the Monarchy while the Social Democrats generally paid only lip service to this goal. Moreover, Choc and his colleagues in the National Socialist Party helped change the terms of the debate about women's rights by explicitly linking the “woman question” to the “national question” in ways entirely different from the prevailing discourse of liberalism in fin-de-siècle Austria. In the last decades of the nineteenth century, liberal reformers, whether German or Czech, tried to mold the participation of women in political life to fit the liberal view of a woman's “proper” role in society. By contrast, the radical nationalists who rose to prominence in Czech political culture only after 1900, attempted to recast the debate over women's rights as central to their two-pronged discourse of social and national emancipation, while at the same time pressing for the complete democratization of Czech political life at all levels, not merely in the imperial parliament. In so doing, and with the active but often necessarily covert collaboration of women associated with the party, these radical nationalists helped extend the parameters of the debate over the place Czech women had in the larger national society.

Over the last twenty years, the theoretical perspectives of Benedict Anderson and Ernest Gellner have played a large role in discussions of the origins and development of nationalism. In each of their conceptions is not only the now famous and widely agreed upon notion that “nationalism engenders nations,” and that nations “imagine” themselves into existence, but also that such development is inherently connected with underlying economic developments associated with the rise of capitalism and industrialization. For each of these theorists, communication plays a central role, a defining function, in the rise of nationalism.

On 28 October 1918, a group of Czech nationalists stood on the steps of the Obecni Dům (Municipal House) in Prague and proclaimed their independence from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, allying themselves with the new state of Czechoslovakia. Their declaration marked the beginning of a new era in the Czech lands, one in which Czechs, as the majority nation, hoped to redefine the terms of political discourse. The new Czechoslovak Republic, its Czech supporters declared, would be the antithesis of the Habsburg regime. In the place of a multinational Monarchy, they would erect a democratic nation-state. The second half of this political vision was complicated by the fact that the new Czechoslovakia actually contained many ethnic groups, but Czechs still tended to imagine their new Republic as the political expression of the Czech nation. At the same time, this “Czech-centered” politics also emphasized the democratic basis of the new country. Czechoslovakia, Czech leaders said, would be a state governed by its people and dedicated to protecting their rights and freedoms as individuals. A political culture that rested on both ethnic nationalism and democratic values obviously contained some internal tensions: the need to protect the interests of one specific nation and the duty to protect the individual rights of all citizens could rub uncomfortably against each other. Yet, at that moment in 1918, most Czechs failed to register this potential for ideological conflict, instead seeing an essential link between democratic politics and the good of the Czech nation. For many Czechs, democracy itself was a need of the nation, a political structure crucial to Czech national self-realization. This idea came from one prominent conception of Czech nationhood that had captured the public imagination in the fall of 1918. According to this strain of Czech national ideology, the Czech nation had a sort of democratic character. This meant that only an egalitarian, democratic government would suit a “Czech” state. So, paradoxically, a universal language of rights and freedoms was the key to building a truly national Czechoslovak Republic. It was with a state that emphasized equality and personal freedom that the Czechs would fulfill their national destiny.

Among social psychologists, there has long been a debate over the concept of the stereotype. Are stereotypes meant mainly for consumption by an in-group or are they designed by and for curious outsiders? Are they primarily individual or collective? Are they benign generalizations and categories that make it easier for individuals or groups to perceive and organize the world around them? Or are they insipid and unsustainable generalizations, based on false information, exaggeration, unfairly rigid conceptual categories, or even the observer's laziness? Do they beget understanding or prejudice? These questions, many of which were first raised by Walter Lippmann when he published Public Opinion in 1922, still polarize the psychological profession today. They also continue to confound politicians who wish to construct coherent, distinct, and vibrant identities for their nations.

In 1913, an article in a Russian missionary journal compared two “very typical representatives” of Islamic studies in Russia: İsmail Bey Gaspıralı (1851–1914) and Nikolai Ivanovich Il'minskii (1822–1891). Nothing could better symbolize the two opposing points of view about the past, present and future of the Muslims of Russia in 1913. Il'minskii was a Russian Orthodox missionary whose ideas and efforts had formed the imperial perceptions and policies about the Muslims of the Russian empire in the late Tsarist period, while Gaspıralı was a Muslim educator and publisher whose ideas and efforts had shaped the Muslim society per se in the same period. Il'minskii, beginning in the 1860s, and Gaspıralı, beginning in the 1880s, developed two formally similar but inherently contradictory programs for the Muslims of the Russian empire. Schooling and the creation of a literary language or literary languages constituted the hearts of both of their programs. Besides their own efforts, both Gaspıralı and Il'minskii had a large number of followers that diligently worked to put their programs into practice among the Muslims of Russia. As a result of the inherent contradiction of these programs, a bitter controversy developed between what we may call the Il'minskii and Gaspıralı groups, which particularly intensified after the revolution of 1905. In this article, I will discuss the underlying causes and development of this controversy by focusing on the role of language in the programs of Gaspıralı and Il'minskii. Then, I will conclude my article with an evaluation of the legacies of these two individuals in their own time and beyond.

Between March and October of 1942, Slovakia deported the majority of its Jews to extermination camps in German-occupied Poland. Since then, critics and apologists of the nominally independent Nazi satellite state have argued bitterly over who was to blame. Did the Slovaks act voluntarily or under German pressure? If the latter, were they in any position to do otherwise? With equal vigor, the two sides have clashed over whether the Slovaks realized they were participating in genocide, whether they acted to limit or stop the deportations once the truth came out, and whether, compared with other German-occupied or German-allied countries, Slovakia succeeded in saving a relatively high percentage of its Jewry.

Introduction

Among the nationalist revolutions that spread across Eastern Europe in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Latvia seceded from the Soviet Union through a relatively benign process marked by the virtual absence of violent conflict. Several issues were conflated in this movement. Latvia's independence was about democracy, historical redress, and national autonomy. Yet, each of these areas included an ethnic component. Would a Latvian democracy make room for Russians? Would Latvians seek revenge against Russians for the Soviet annexation of the Baltic republics? In the event of conflict between Moscow and Riga, whom would Russophone residents of Latvia support? The demographic situation of Latvia—featuring a near balance of Latvians and mostly Russophone non-Latvians at the time of independence—suggested the potential for ethnic conflict. The forecast of conflict, though, oversimplified the roles that ethnicity and national identity play in affecting political actions. The potential for conflict was predicated on the assumption that individuals naturally identify primarily with others within their ethnic group and act competitively against members of the ethnic “other.” The fact, then, that Latvians and Russians did not clash violently during Latvia's “Singing Revolution” begs the question why inter-ethnic conflict did not occur in this case. This article explains this lack of conflict by focusing on the formation of Latvian identity in the period immediately preceding independence. I argue that individuals in nationalizing states intentionally act with reference to their national identity, and this sense of national identity is not some fixed, exogenous variable. Instead, it is socially constructed. We cannot hope to explain ethnic conflict processes without first understanding the factors that drive ethnic and national identity during chaotic times of change.