“Devil” is a key piece in Tsvetaeva's “anti-Eden” cycle of autobiographical prose, a phrase I have coined to describe her rewriting of both the creation myth of Genesis and its Russian incarnation in the Arcadian boyhoods of Tolstoi and Aksakov. In the series of memoirs which she wrote in the 1930s, she reworked the male myth to reflect twentieth century female experience and, most importantly, to inscribe her selfdefinition as poet.

Most analyses of the consequences of the December 1993 elections have focused on the State Duma that was elected and its likely role in the Russian political process at the national level. The purpose of this study is to go beyond the more obvious impact of the elections to examine underlying patterns and tendencies that could be significant for Russia's future as a federal, multiethnic state. Data on voting for the parliament by party list permit for the first time a systematic, multidimensional comparison of political tendencies in Russia's regions.

The study of the Macedonian identity has given rise to far greater controversies and debates than that of most, if not all, other nationalisms in eastern Europe. This has been only in part due to the hazy past of the Slavic speaking population of Macedonia and to the lack of a continuous and separate state tradition, a trait they had in common with other "small" and "young," or so-called "non-historic," peoples in the area.

It has long been accepted by historians that the conjuncture of grain crises of 1927-1929 marked a turning point during which the Soviet Union descended into the tumult of Stalin’s “revolution from above.“ There is, however, no agreement as to what caused this outcome. Was the country pushed down this road as a deliberate act of policy by Stalin to enhance his dictatorial power? Did bolshevik ideology, which favored rapid industrialization and bureaucratic centralized state control, predetermine the end result? Did the sequence of events in this period generate an uncontrollable dynamic of crises and conflict between strengthening state power and societal, particularly peasant, resistance? To reach a more definitive answer to these fundamental questions I have undertaken a case study of a pivotal policy development of this period, one which bridged the crucial transition from NEP to “dekulakization”: the so-called “Ural-Siberian method” or “social influence” method of grain collection.

On 31 October 1905, at the height of Russia’s first revolution, the peasant assembly (skhod) of Markovo, a village in the northwestern corner of Moscow province, issued a resolution (prigovor) marking the birth of the “Markovo Republic” and the election of P.A. Burshin, the village elder (starosta), as its first president. This manifesto announced that henceforth the peasants would refuse to obey the established authorities, pay taxes or rents, or provide any conscripts for the draft. Eight months later, when provincial Governor Dzhunkovskii arrived in Markovo on an inspection tour of the rebellious countryside, local peasants, hoping to plead their case, greeted him with the traditional welcome of bread and salt. Dzhunkovskii rebuffed both the welcome and the pleas. Instead, he rode off to a prominent local landlord’s estate and agreed to send in troops to forcibly replace the communal leaders and end on-going rent strikes. Two weeks later cossacks arrested the elders and effectively dissolved the Markovo Republic.

Russians have long been preoccupied with surnames, particularly a distinction between so-called "good" and "bad" surnames, in ways that may be hard to understand by a nation of immigrants whose ancestral names were often mutilated by immigration authorities or anglicized by their bearers with a stroke of the pen. In the Russian Empire, such changes required the personal permission of the ruler and were exceedingly rare until the end of the nineteenth century.

Following the devastation of World War II, the Communist Party of Yugoslavia (CPY) called on all patriotic youth to join volunteer labor brigades and to rebuild the country's shattered infrastructure. Party propaganda for the brigades emphasized not only their economic function but also their role in nurturing a generation of people with new values, beliefs and standards of behavior.

Politics in postcommunist societies is in large measure a politics of identity. Central to it seem to be two mutually reinforcing moments through which national communities recreate themselves. One involves the "positive" expression of nation and concerns the recovery of those identity markers—symbols, rituals, anthems, history, literature and so forth—that had been suspended and suppressed during the communist epoch. The other moment is "negative." It appears in the act of purging the nation of like markers associated with the period of communist rule that are now openly regarded as alien. The multitude of images projected from the countries of east Europe and the former USSR at the moment of communism's collapse capture these two moments in concentrated fashion. In the crowds chanting national slogans and waving the national flag, while chiseling communist emblems from the facades of public buildings and toppling statues erected to some member of the communist pantheon, we observe a distilled version of this duplex signification: "We are not communist/communism is not us."

Soviet nationality policy was devised and carried out by nationalists. Lenin's acceptance of the reality of nations and "national rights" was one of the most uncompromising positions he ever took, his theory of good ("oppressed-nation") nationalism formed the conceptual foundation of the Soviet Union and his NEP-time policy of compensatory "nation-building" (natsional'noe stroitel'stvo) was a spectacularly successful attempt at a state-sponsored conflation of language, "culture," territory and quota-fed bureaucracy.

On a wintry early April day, far out in the Lena River basin to the north of Lake Baikal, a file of workers some three thousand strong marched determinedly out of the deforested hills along a road toward a company settlement on the Bodaibo River. Most walked three or four abreast on a road narrowed by the previous night's snow fall, as others trudged along a parallel railroad track a few meters away; within the sparse township, a small figure in the distance waved his arms and shouted but his voice faded in the chill late afternoon air. As the miners proceeded along lengthy stables and stacks of firewood, a uniformed guard hurried forward to persuade them to turn off onto another road. As they rounded the stables, the road curved somewhat bringing them into full view of a substantial building; only a wooden bridge over a small stream and perhaps two hundred meters stood between the workers and their goal. A company of soldiers stood in formation beyond the bridge. The workers' lines faltered uncertainly but people pushed forward from behind.

In memory of loan Aluaş

In February 1991 the Romanian Parliament passed a law for the restoration of land to its former owners. Known as Law 18/1991, the Law on Agricultural Land Resources (Legea Fondului Funciar) liquidated collective farms and returned their lands to the households that had given them over at collectivization (1959-1962).' The former owners recover not merely usufruct, or use rights, but full rights of ownership.

Like all working classes everywhere and at all times, the Russian working class on the eve of the revolution was internally differentiated. As Diane Koenker and William Rosenberg have recently emphasized, Russian workers were distinguished from one another by skill level, strength of ties to the land, gender, age and other factors. And those distinctions mattered: they affected the form and intensity of workers’ anti-regime actions which extended from reluctant submission to un-rehearsed rebellion, to organized political protest.

In my paper critiquing the analysis of Brym and Degtyarev, I argued that little could be gained from their analysis and indeed that their paper contributed mainly to misunderstanding anti-Semitism in Russia. In this article, I present some new survey results on anti-Semitism as a means of advancing our knowledge on this important topic. In particular, I address four questions: 1) is anti-Semitism in Russia particularly widespread? 2) are prejudiced attitudes focused specifically on Jews or are they more diffuse? 3) does a "don't know" response to survey questions mask anti-Semitic attitudes? and 4) most importantly, what are the political implications of anti-Semitism for Russian Jews?

By the beginning of the twentieth century Europe had added to its repertoire of Schimpfwörter, or disparagements, a new one which turned out to be more persistent than others with centuries old traditions. "Balkanization" not only had come to denote the parcelization of large and viable political units but also had become a synonym for a reversion to the tribal, the backward, the primitive, the barbarian. In its latest hypostasis, particularly in American academe, it has been completely decontextualized and paradigmatically related to a variety of problems.

Nabokov’s The Gift opens with the mock specificity of a date: 1 April 192-, which immediately, we are informed, calls attention to the Russian novelistic practice of “honest fictionality.” The long metaliterary excursus draws attention away from the specificity of one particular date, which the author, as it were, refuses to complete: on 1 April 1922 Nabokov’s father, the respected statesman Vladimir Dmitrievich Nabokov, was buried in Berlin, three days after his heroic, though fortuitous death in a right-wing assassination attempt on a former Kadet ally, P.N. Miliukov.

The revolutions of 1989 in central and east Europe raise crucial questions for the social sciences. Is it possible to build democracy and capitalism simultaneously in societies that have no real history of either system? Will democracy really take root and flourish in societies without an existing market economy? Or will the monumental task of creating a market economy strain these new democratic governments to the limit and ultimately lead to an authoritarian backlash? Since the transition to democracy from socialism is unprecedented, history can offer little useful data from which to derive well founded predictions.

It may come as a surprise that the author of the Soviet classic Bronepoezd14-69 (Armored Train 14-69) produced an experimental novel in 1929- 1931, entitled Y, whose satiric spirit, rich texture and philosophical depth suggest a close kinship with such writers as Mikhail Bulgakov and Andrei Platonov. In western criticism, Vsevolod Ivanov has been largely remembered as one of the Serapion Brothers, whose Partizanskie povesti (partisan tales) and short stories (“Dite” [“The Child“] being the best known example) about the civil war in Siberia and central Asia were written in a highly individualistic ornamental style and responded to the call for immediacy and relevance in literature.

With the rise of ultranationalist organizations throughout Europe, the issue of attitudes and orientations held toward designated "out-groups" has become a critical concern of anxious observers. In Russia the strength registered by Vladimir Zhirinovskii's ultranationalist Liberal Democratic Party during the parliamentary elections of 1993 has been interpreted as a sign of intolerance among the Russian populace. In fact, the success of candidates associated with the Liberal Democratic Party was not only based upon appeals to strengthen the Russian nation against perceived enemies, but also upon promises of a return to price stability and upon Zhirinovskii's anti-establishment, populist program. Nonetheless, Zhirinovskii's success in the 1991 presidential elections (he attracted 7.8% of the electorate) does serve to reaffirm the importance of tracking how attitudes toward groups that have often been targeted as scapegoats in times of social or economic upheaval have evolved in the late Soviet and immediate post-Soviet period. Two major questions concern us here: first, how pervasive among Russians and Ukrainians are perceptions of significant "social distance" between themselves and designated out-groups, most notably the Jewish population; and second, to what extent do these perceptions of distance form part of a cohesive ideology of ultranationalism? Understanding the basis of sentiments toward Jewish populations is particularly important for interpreting the workings of the complex mosaic of the post-Soviet political culture.