After the fall of communism, democracy seemed to have won the day all over the world. Thirty years later, autocracy have steadily replaced democratic regimes and is on the rise in Western Europe and the United States, where democracy originated. Many naively believed that autocracy and democracy are mere labels, a choice that would not substantially impact our day-to-day lives.

A conversation with Una Bergmane, author of Politics of Uncertainty: The United States, the Baltic Question, and the Collapse of the Soviet Union. Interviewer: Maciek Makulski

MACIEJ MAKULSKI: How did you arrive at the point when you thought that there is still much to uncover when it comes to our understanding of the processes around the collapse of the Soviet Union and the regaining of independence by the Baltic states?

UNA BERGMANE: I would probably say by accident, since I wanted to write a master's thesis about French-Baltic relations in the 1920s and 30s when the Baltic states were independent before the Soviet occupation. But then I discovered that there was already a doctoral dissertation just defended in Paris on that very topic. So I started then to look at what seemed like the next logical thing – what France did when the Baltic countries wanted to become independent again at the end of the 1980s. What was interesting for me initially was the discrepancy between what I saw in the French archives.

The January Uprising of 1863 was the last common struggle for the ideals of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Today, when no existential disputes exist between the independent nations of Poland, Ukraine, Lithuania and Belarus, the memory of 1863 should be a stepping stone to teaching the history of the Commonwealth as a common legacy.

Earlier this year, the presidents of Poland and Lithuania, accompanied by the leader of the Belarusian democratic opposition in exile, celebrated together in Vilnius the 161st anniversary of the January Uprising. This event was fought by the nobility and intelligentsia of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the years 1863-64 against Russian imperial rule.

Oleksandr Muzychko was a brigadier general of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, a personal bodyguard of its President Dzhokhar Dudayev and, above all, a Ukrainian. He went to more than one conflict zone across the post-Soviet states. Claiming that he had already “looked death in the eyes”, he was not afraid to go against the state system that had been built in Ukraine in the 20 years following independence. Murdered ten years ago, he remains in the memory of many.

This past winter Ukraine and the world commemorated the events that took place a decade ago. This was namely when Ukrainians rose up in peaceful protest in support of the country’s European integration. In November 2013, the EU and Ukraine were meant to sign an association agreement at the Eastern Partnership Summit in Vilnius. However, at the very last minute, Ukraine’s then president, Viktor Yanukovych, announced that he would not sign the document. Yanukovych’s decision was met with outrage and frustration in Ukrainian society, which saw European integration as a vision for a better future. If not for them, then at least for their children and grandchildren.

The short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic remains a key example of the spread of communism after the Russian Revolution. Its leading figure was Béla Kun, a man whose complex identity would influence his politics throughout his life.

A review of Dovbush. A film directed by Oles Sanin. Distributed by Film.Ua Distribution Kinomania, Ukraine (2023).

European civilisation has developed by means of a few large leaps: Rome, Renaissance, Enlightenment and the European Union. Of course, the EU’s role is still underway and thus we do not know what its end will look like. But what all these leaps have in common is their connection to the land. In this way, the story of the Elbe river and its surroundings is the story of European history as a whole.

I was commissioned to write a book about the Elbe river by the Labirynt Publishing House in Czechia. I have known the publisher – Joachim Dvořák – since 1990. Labirynt is known for publishing good books with very nice covers. That is why I was happy to receive its offer and more than anything else that the topic of my new book would be about the river. In my youth, I was racing in fast-flowing upper rivers.

Decolonisation in Eastern Europe is different from other, especially western, decolonisation experiences. There is no one algorithm that would determine in which way a society or country would pursue the process of decolonisation. In Ukraine’s case, but also that of the whole region of Eastern Europe, the initial stage of decolonisation showed a return to the alternative centre – the West.

“We will regain Odesa and everything will be back in place! Monuments will get removed and street names changed,” reads a comment on the website of Russia’s state-owned information agency Ria Novosti. It was placed under an article describing the removal of the Catharine the Great monument in Odesa. In a nutshell, these two sentences present the discourse that has developed in Eastern Europe around the topic of decolonisation.

The story of local Belarusians who collaborated with Nazi Germany is often a forgotten page of history. Yet, their brutal tactics and participation in the extermination of Jews and other populations are a sad reminder of life under occupation, as was the case of the Barysau police officers.

I remember when I was a small boy, I used to ride my bike with my grandfather. In one village near Babruisk, my grandfather would start a conversation with a local resident. The villager would ask, “Are you interested in the history of the war?” “Do you see the house on the left? A policeman lived there. So there was a lot of blood on the hands of this policeman. He shot Jews and Soviet POWs. He didn’t run away with the Germans; he was hiding here. Caught, and tried. Got a quarter, 25 years. No one else had seen him here.”

For years, Hungary’s Fidesz government under Viktor Orbán has employed historical revisionism and irredentist symbols in domestic politics. The notion of “Greater Hungary” and grievances over the loss of territories due to the Treaty of Trianon, as well as referring to it as a national trauma, are central to this. While the strategy may help Orbán domestically, it negatively affects Hungary’s relationships with some neighbours.

“Greater Hungary”, also known as “Historic Hungary”, refers to the territory of the Kingdom of Hungary as part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire before the First World War. Today, the notion of Greater Hungary involves an irredentist political idea and refers to territories Hungary lost through the Paris Peace Treaty, in Hungary more commonly known as the 1920 Treaty of Trianon, which ended the First World War between the Allies and Hungary.

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.