Albania’s relationship with its communist past remains a difficult subject today. Often forgotten in the transition to democracy, these decades are remembered in different ways in the country’s museums. This article looks at how three institutions engage with this past, reflecting on their effectiveness and how they may ultimately preserve this historical memory for the future.

Historical narratives often treat a place as a witness to traumatic events. Three Tirana-based museums recounting difficult periods under Albania’s communist regime vividly illustrate this process. These include the National Historical Museum (1981), located in a building designed and designated as a cultural institution, Bunk'Art 1 and 2 (2014), located in authentic bomb shelters built as part of the “bunkerisation” of the 1970s, and the House of Leaves (2017), housed in a building that served as the headquarters of the Sigurimi state security service. Although they all depict the same story, each does so in a different way. The narrative is determined not only by the time the exhibit opened, but also by where it is displayed.

Soon after the news of the assassination plot against Archduke Franz Ferdinand reached Vienna, shock gave way to reflection. The would-be-king and next emperor was now dead, a gruesome fact that created a political vacuum and opened the gates for new opportunities.

The murdered Archduke Franz Ferdinand was not a person without flaws. His social talents were less than average, and he could not compare himself with an actual emperor like Franz Joseph I. The ruling monarch had come to power amidst the stormy circumstances of a people’s revolution and the previous Ferdinand’s forced abdication.

The current approach to decolonisation as a topic represents a significant problem. In many cases, this issue stems from politicisation and ideological calls to decolonise the history of East Central Europe, which have nothing to do with a methodological, or academic discussion. Usually, the term East Central Europe has been replaced by Russia, Eastern Europe, or the ideological term Eurasia. In general, the rhetoric of decolonisation has been based on the assertion that Russia and the Soviet Union were colonial empires.

The German philosopher Jürgen Habermas recently stated that the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian War is a moral crusade that can help the European continent redeem itself. However, this redemption has not yet been acknowledged by the European elite. On the contrary, the constant intellectual arrogance expressed toward Ukraine by Europeans has expanded, particularly in the field of history. In this respect, British historian Adam Tooze has suggested that today’s Russo-Ukrainian War dramatically reconceptualises Europe.

Much is known about the infamous alliance system that led to the First World War. Ultimately dragging in all of Europe’s military powers, these agreements would lead to great battles typically associated with the Western Front. Despite this, the Eastern Front would prove to be equally bloody and conspiratorial, with the lands of modern Poland playing a central role.

Our imagination of past times is often influenced by cinema. This is probably the case as all topics we read about are preceded by cinematic imagination, which rules our thoughts and provides us with key visions of past events. This is especially true regarding the iconic topics of our European history, one of which is the formative event of the 20th century: The Great War of 1914-18.

Ukraine’s contemporary struggle for independence has a long history going back many centuries. The period towards the end of the First World War proved to be a particularly decisive time in this regard, with its historical memory influencing Ukrainian conceptions of history to this very day.

The short 20th century was highly tumultuous and unpredictable. It began in 1914 with the outbreak of the Great War on the European continent, which spread throughout the world. The Ukrainian lands, divided between the rival Habsburg and Romanov empires, became the scene of hostilities on the Eastern Front of the First World War. But the year that was a turning point in the history of Eastern Europe was clearly 1917.

The geopolitical conceptions of Vladimir Putin are strikingly reminiscent of the visions of Friedrich Ratzel, Karl Haushofer and especially Joseph Stalin. Putin basically thinks the same things as these figures but needs more justification. This is where a “memory masquerade” comes in, involving Nazism, racism, antisemitism and a reminder of the origins of Russia's greatness. The portfolio of historical and memorial references does not stop at European history for Russia.

On June 28th 2005 the Warsaw-based Batory Foundation organised a conference titled “Memory and Foreign Policy”. During this event, Bronisław Geremek, a historian and Poland’s former minister of foreign affairs, asked a question as to whether collective memory is part of foreign policy. His answer was the following: "I think it is a part of international relations, for example when governments protest when national dignity is attacked. Of course, it is a part of international negotiations, for example to open access to archives … but all this is only marginal in foreign policy.” We shall see whether this marginality of memory is true today.

The role of women in conflict is often viewed as being on the home front, far away from the front lines of battle. Despite this, the story of Poland’s struggle for independence in the First World War would not be complete without acknowledging the selfless activities undertaken by female volunteers.

One hundred and ten years ago war again came to the vicinity of the city of Kraków. What is now perceived in the West as an unparalleled tragedy, the near collapse of a civilisation and a catastrophe of lost youth was perceived then as a different story, on the verge of three empires: German, Austro-Hungarian and Russian. The outbreak of war marked the end of an unbelievable stability which had lasted more or less since the compromising political treaty conference in Vienna in 1815, with only a short interval for the so-called “Hundred Days” campaign with the Battle of Waterloo in June of the same year – a battle which marked the end of the epic connected to the revolutionary export of Napoleonic civilisation.

In the current Russian war in Ukraine, history and the historical narratives underpinning the conflict are featuring front and centre. The Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, has been very effective in his use of historical references, especially when addressing international audiences.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and the subsequent fighting in that country have been accompanied by an avalanche of historical rhetoric from both sides, underlining just how important narratives about the past are for this conflict. As Joseph Nye reminds us: “Conventional wisdom has always held that the state with the largest military prevails, but in the information age it may be the state (or non-states) with the best story that wins.”

Despite contentious differences in memory, Polish-Ukrainian relations have remained close and notably strong in important national moments. This reflects two aspects of Polish society: a generation of youth acclimated to supporting Ukrainian sovereignty with compassion, and a national memory politics which allows humanitarianism, but only when it fits into a politically suitable narrative.

In 2003 the Polish philosopher and historian of ideas Leszek Kołakowski gave a speech at the American Library of Congress titled, “What the Past is For”. Kołakowski believed that history serves not to predict the future nor to gain technical advice on how to deal with the present, but to discover the values constitutive of human identities. He told his listeners that “to say that [the events of the past] do not matter to our lives would be almost as silly as saying that it would not matter to me if I were suddenly to erase from my memory my own past personal life … The history of past generations is our history, and we need to know it in order to be aware of our identity; in the same sense in which my own memory builds my personal identity, makes me a human subject.”