Actors who endeavor to withstand the rapid stream of history need to adapt to new developments and changing environments. Turkey's foreign policy, with its regional and international dimensions, is a reflection of such a search for adaptation to the new international climate. Turkey's status in international relations has risen in recent years, thanks to its new foreign policy. To comprehend the multidimensional proactive foreign policy of Turkey, we need to consider new analytical approaches and concepts. Any analysis of Turkey's foreign policy requires thinking in novel ways, through which we can move beyond the current deadlocks and vicious circles in this area of study. One of the key explanatory principles of Turkish foreign policy - probably the most significant one in this period – is “humanitarian diplomacy”.

Reading the psychological literature on memory, there is little doubt who plays the leading roles on this stage. The radiant hero in the limelight is Remembering, attracting all attention, support and sympathy. The shady villain is Forgetting, the trouble maker who is lurking behind the scenes, always ready to counteract Remembering and thwart its achievement. There are various scenarios in which this plot is acted out. Typically, Remembering is forced to use all kinds of tricks to resist the villain's assaults and to guard the treasure – the accumulated wealth of past experience and knowledge. While Remembering strives to defend this precious treasure, maintaining it as untouched as possible, Forgetting never tires of trying to steal and destroy it (or at least to damage or, insidiously, to distort and falsify it). In this way, the conflict about the treasure of the past takes on still another dramatic dimension: it becomes a struggle for truth. (Brockmeier 2002, 15)

After the fall of socialism, besides the attempts to reach national reconciliation, radical reconfigurations and reinterpretations of the past were used to negotiate local, national and transnational identities and strengthen national agendas. In most of the formerly socialist countries, the historical interpretation significantly resembles the struggle over the legitimacy and authenticity of this representation. The author argues that in post-socialist Slovenia instead of the anticipated democratization and break with ideologically predestined historical work after 1989, at least three competing politically contaminated ways of interpreting the past gained momentum: the so-called liberal-conformist position, which insists that we have to look at the future and forget the traumas of the past; the revisionist standpoint which, at least in Slovenia, is the most aggressive one; and the objectivistic approach practiced by most Slovenian historians after 1991. To do that the author investigates how collective memories are mobilized in general, formal and in particular more personalized and/or emotional narratives and traces the changes in Slovenian memorial landscape divided into categories: the authoritarian type, defined by a desire for direct colonization of the interpretation of the past related to the Second World War; the conciliatory type that tries to achieve “reconciliation”; the conflicting type that clashes with the iconography of an existing partisan monument as an alternative interpretation.

This article examines how rebel Serbs in Croatia reinterpreted narratives of World War Two to justify their uprising against the democratically elected Croatian government in 1990 and gain domestic and international legitimacy for the Republika Srpska Krajina (RSK) parastate. While scholars have written about the strategies nationalist elites used regarding controversial symbols and the rehabilitation of World War Two collaborators in Croatia and other Yugoslav successor states, the RSK's “culture of memory” has received little attention. Based on documents captured after the RSK's defeat in 1995, this article shows that it was not only the government of Franjo Tudjman that rejected the Partisan narratives of “Brotherhood and Unity,” but a parallel process took place among the leadership in the Krajina. Ultimately the decision to base the historical foundations of the Croatian Serbs’ political goals on a chauvinist and extremist interpretation of the past resulted in a criminalized entity that ended tragically for both Serbs and Croats living on the territory of the RSK.

Bosnia and Herzegovina is politically fragmented, and so is the memory landscape within the country. Narratives of the 1992–1995 war, the Second World War, Tito's Yugoslavia, and earlier historical periods form highly disputed patterns in a memory competition involving representatives of the three “constituent peoples” of Bosnia and Herzegovina - Serbs, Croats and Bosniaks – but also non-nationalist actors within BiH, as well as the international community. By looking especially at political declarations and the practices of commemoration and monument building, the article gives an overview of the fragmented memory landscape in Bosnia and Herzegovina, pointing out the different existing memory narratives and policies and the competition between them in the public sphere, and analyzing the conflicting memory narratives as a central part of the highly disputed political identity construction processes in postwar Bosnia and Herzegovina. The paper also discusses the question whether an “Europeanization” of Bosnian memory cultures could be an alternative to the current fragmentation and nationalist domination of the memory landscape in BiH.

Rather than focusing on often-explored mnemonic practices (memorials, national celebrations, commemorations etc.) the article addresses the role that remembering, as a part of a wider political culture, plays in situations where images of the past are not visible per se, but are implied or even openly invoked to explain and (de)legitimize choices political actors make. By analyzing the interactions of memories and new institutional arrangements related to minority rights in the case of the Bosniak minority in Serbia, the article shows how recollections in political claims and policy-making were used as a medium for negotiations and the contestation of both political interests and competing “group-making projects”.

In this essay I explore the ways in which the internal Albanian politics of memory in Kosovo rely on a longer, lived history of militant self-organisation than the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) war period alone. On the basis of recent ethnographic research, I argue that the memory of prewar militant activism is symbolically codified, ritually formalized, and put on the public stage in Kosovo today. Not only has this process effectively rehabilitated and consolidated the personal, social, and political status of specific former activists, it also has produced a hegemonic morality against which the actions of those in power are judged internally. On the one hand, this process reproduces shared cultural references which idealise ethnonational solidarity, unity and pride and which have served militant mobilisation already before the 1990s. On the other, it provides the arguments through which rival representatives of the former militant underground groups (known as Ilegalja) compete both socially and politically still today. Although this process demarcates some lines of social and political friction within society, it also suggests that international efforts to introduce an identity which breaks with Kosovo's past and some of its associated values, face a local system of signification that is historically even deeper entrenched than is usually assumed.

The international community has expressed great concern about the treatment of the Uzbek minority in the south of Kyrgyzstan and has called on the majority community to make major efforts to improve the situation. The article compares the treatment of minorities in Kyrgyzstan with analogous situations in the Balkans and contends that, given the European-style ethnonational state model and democratic political system that have been adopted by independent Kyrgyzstan, such calls are unrealistic.

This work highlights the case of Latvian women volunteers of the Red Army who worked and fought on the eastern fronts of World War II. An estimated 70,000–85,000 Latvians served in the Red Army, some as conscripts, others as volunteers. At least several hundred of those who volunteered were women. How are Latvian women volunteers of the Red Army represented and remembered in Soviet and post-Soviet historical accounts of World War II? Why have they not been remembered in most historical accounts of this period? How are ethnicity, gender, and associated social roles implicated in their historical marginality? These questions are situated in the context of literature on collective memory and microsociological literature on social roles, and used to develop the analytical concept of the unruly actor – historical actors who are challenges to dominant memory narratives because they fail to conform to normative social roles ascribed on the basis of, among others, gender and ethnicity. We use the case of Latvian women volunteers to articulate the argument that the marginality of some groups in dominant historical narratives can be understood in terms of their disruption of the historical “scene”, which is configured to reflect a desired social order.

This paper analyzes the transformation of the signifier “corruption” in the Albanian public sphere during the period 1991–2005 from a discourse analysis approach. The aim is not to trace corruption in its presence and consequences, but to show how different articulations of corruption supported different agendas. More specifically, this paper aims to show how the corruption discourse that dominated Albanian public discussion during the period 1998–2005 served to legitimize a neoliberal order by articulating corruption as inherent to the public sector and to state intervention in the economy. This meant that corruption could be eliminated through neoliberal policies such as privatization and deregulation. Through a discourse analysis of corruption it is possible to politicize the concept of corruption instead of reducing it to a static and inherent feature of Albanian culture and society.

This paper is a contribution to the debate about how people in Central Asia recall Soviet ethnic policies and their vision of how these policies have shaped the identities of their peers and contemporaries. In order to do so, this paper utilizes the outcomes of in-depth interviews about everyday Soviet life in Uzbekistan conducted with 75 senior citizens between 2006 and 2009. These narratives demonstrate that people do not explain Soviet ethnic policies simply through the “modernization” or “victimization” dichotomy but place their experiences in between these discourses. Their recollections also highlight the pragmatic flexibility of the public's adaptive strategies to Soviet ethnic policies. This paper also argues that Soviet ethnic policy produced complicated hybrid units of identities and multiple social strata. Among those who succeeded in adapting to the Soviet realities, a new group emerged, known as Russi assimilados (Russian-speaking Sovietophiles). However, in everyday life, relations between the assimilados and their “indigenous” or “nativist” countrymen are reported to have been complicated, with clear divisions between these two groups and separate social spaces of their own for each of these strata.

In Afghanistan, there has been much talk about, and international support for dealing with past injustices by developing transitional justice mechanisms. Reconciliation is being promoted as a nation-building strategy. This article argues that the implementation of transitional justice poses several challenges. First, a significant component of such a strategy is based on reconciliation taking place internally among competing armed groups and ethnic identities with the goal of transforming Afghan society. This assumes the cause of past conflicts to be internal and along ethnic divisions which limits the accountability for war crimes. It also considers violence and crimes of war as a thing of the past, ignoring the present situation. Furthermore, given the ongoing war between the US-led forces and the Taliban, insecurity and escalating levels of violence one has to question whether transitional justice can take place during a war. This article concludes that transitional justice is interconnected to perceptions of security and stability. The analysis of the present situation in Afghanistan poses critical questions as to whether memories of victims can be considered as the past in the midst of war.

This article examines the role of the intergenerational memory of the Second World War (WWII) in identity formation and political mobilization. An existing explanation in the ethnic-conflict literature is that strategic political leaders play a crucial role in constructing and mobilizing ethnic identities. However, based on 114 open-ended interviews with individuals born in Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Croatia, conducted in Serbia during 2008–2011, nearly a third of the respondents make spontaneous references to WWII in their statements, usually drawing parallels between the cycle of violence in the 1990s and that in the 1940s. The question this article asks, then, is why some respondents make references to WWII spontaneously while others do not. It is argued that intergenerational narratives of past cycles of violence also constitute a process of identity formation, in addition to, or apart from, other processes of identity formation. The respondents mention WWII violence in the context of the 1990s events because they “recognize” elements, such as symbols, discourse or patterns of violence, similar to those in the intergenerational narratives and interpret them as warning signs. Hence, individuals who had previously been exposed to intergenerational narratives may be subsequently more susceptible to political mobilization efforts.

The article addresses the representation of gypsies in Russian television news bulletins and popular drama series over a 15-month period. It seeks first to explain the prominence of the media image of the gypsy relative to the size of the Roma population and second to account for the relationship between fictional and non-fictional modes of representation. Situating itself within the broader field of post-Soviet Russian identity studies and applying qualitative tools differentiated according to the arena of analysis, it looks at questions of lexicon, voice and viewpoint in relation to news and issues of characterization, fictional space and plot with respect to drama. The two apparatuses are linked through a shared emphasis on narrative, and in particular on its dual orientation toward the exceptional (what makes a story worth telling and capable of embracing “difference”) and the typical (what enables it to represent and project “identity”). In its central argument it maps this dual “identity/difference” dynamic onto the gypsy's liminal status as both “of the self” and “of the other”, and its mediatory function: the ability to serve as a proxy for ethno-cultural difference more generally, and to negotiate the tensions between the cultural and racial aspects of ethnicity.

The historical conflict between Tibet and China goes back almost a thousand years. Both sides use history to argue their point about the core issues in this dispute – Tibet's claim of independence and autonomy, and China's of suzerainty. This article looks at the historical roots of this conflict, particularly since 1949, when China began its gradual takeover of Tibet. Chinese policies toward Tibet, which have been driven by a desire to communize and sinicize Tibet, has been met by stiff resistance from the Tibetans, who see Han Chinese dominance as a force that will, over time, destroy Tibet's unique religion, language, culture, and history. This resistance has drawn the attention of the West, who see Chinese policies in Tibet as a symbol of the failings of Beijing's rulers to embrace a strong commitment to human rights at the same time that China is becoming a global economic power. The 14th Dalai Lama, a key figure in this conflict, and his government-in-exile have served as bridges to Western efforts to try to force Beijing to embrace more open, humane policies toward Tibetans throughout China. His retirement as political head of the exile government in 2011, coupled with China's growing economic and strategic power globally, raises serious questions about the willingness of the USA, and other democratic powers to risk their relationships with Beijing to continue to promote true human rights and autonomy throughout the Tibetan Plateau.

In its title, Uğrur Ümit Üngör's Making of Modern Turkey (2011) offers an elegant indication of how much has changed in the academic literature on Turkey since Bernard Lewis's 1961 Emergence of Modern Turkey. Lewis believed modern Turkey emerged; Üngör reminds us it was made. The cover pictures tell the rest of the story: where my copy of Lewis's book shows a bustling street scene, Üngör's boldly offers the ruins of an abandoned Armenian church. If it is an exaggeration to say that modern Turkey no longer represents the triumph of progress, but instead a systematic act of destruction, it is increasingly clear that younger historians, both Turkish and non-Turkish, have shifted their focus from what was gained with the advent of the republic to what was lost.