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Dejiny západnej Ukrajiny a bývalého Haliča sú komplikovanejšie než dejiny zvyšnej časti Ukrajiny. Halič bol súčasťou viacerých štátov a mocností. Po založení mesta Ľvov kniežaťom Danylom v roku 1256 patrila táto oblasť 400 rokov k Poľsku a náväzne 146 rokov k Habsburskej monarchii (1772–1918). Po Prvej svetovej vojne sa tento región stal časťou nezávislého Poľska, v rokoch 1939/1941 nasledovalo sovietske a nacistické podmanenie a na vyše päť desaťročí začlenenie do ZSSR. Až v roku 1991 získala Ukrajina nezávislosť.

V tridsiatych rokoch žilo v trojnárodnom meste Lemberg/Lwów/Ľvov 51 percent Poliakov, asi jedna tretina Židov a 16 percent Ukrajincov. Po likvidácii Židov a vyhnaní poľského obyvateľstva bol Ľvov prakticky na 85 percent prázdny a mesta sa zmocnili ruskí/sovietski štátni úradníci, dôstojníci a ukrajinskí sedliaci. Minulosť tohto mesta ako kolísky ukrajinského národného hnutia bola odkrytá až po dosiahnutí nezávislosti. Dnes je Ľvov ako centrum západnej Ukrajiny v kontraste k silne rusifikovanému východu krajiny záštitou ukrajinskej identity. Z toho vyplynuli antagonistické historiografie, nezlučiteľné „národné pamäte“, neprekonateľné verzie udalostí, hrdinov a mučeníkov.

Pri hľadaní spájajúcich naratív kontinuálnej ukrajinskej minulosti preukázali lokálni patrioti v Ľvove po roku 1991 úctu rôznym osobnostiam premenovaním ulíc, zriadením pamätníkov, pamätných tabulí alebo organizovaním verejných osláv. Dôležití predstavitelia ukrajinskej literatúry ako napríklad básnik Taras Ševčenko alebo spisovateľ a bojovník za slobodu Ivan Franko boli už za sovietskeho režimu uctievaní ako nositelia kultúry ukrajinského národa. Vodca kozáckych povstaní v 17. storočí Bohdan Chmeľnický patrí tiež do panteónu sovietsko-ukrajinskej pamiatky, hoci toto mesto, vtedy patriace Poľsku, neobraňoval ale obliehal. Pozorovanie veľkých historických postáv ako národných historikov Mychajla Hrušovskeho alebo Mychajla Drahomanova sa orientuje na pan-ukrajinskú identitu. Okrem toho toto mesto prispelo k vytvoreniu lokálnej tradície, ktorá spočíva na partikulárnych dejinách Haliča (po ukrajinsky Haličina). Táto konštrukcia sa zakladá na komplexných procesoch obratu, zvýšenia hodnoty, rehabilitácie, ale aj zamlčania historických udalostí a priebehov.

Prvá charakteristická črta tejto politiky je uvedomenie si histórie mesta pri takmer úplnej absencii poľskej, židovskej a tiež sovietskej/ukrajinskej časti týchto dejín. Staré mesto Ľvova je klenotom renesancie ako aj neskoršej architektúry pod vplyvom viedenskej a krakovskej secesie. Avšak o tom sa prakticky nikde nedá verejne dočítať. Dnes ostalo z tejto minulosti už len niekoľko stôp: jidišské alebo poľské nápisy vystupujú spod šúpajúcej sa farby niekedy opäť na povrch. Nikde miestne úrady oficiálne nepripomínajú zavraždenie 160.000 Židov nacistami alebo deportácie vyše 100.000 Poliakov v rokoch 1945/46. Pamätník pre obete geta v Ľvove bol v roku 1992 vybudovaný zo súkromných peňazí.

Všetko, čo v meste pripomínalo niekdajšiu sovietsku prítomnosť, muselo zmiznúť. Podobne ako v Rige a v iných pobaltských mestách boli mnohé pamätníky Červenej armády zbúrané, ruské školy boli zatvorené. Názvy ako Puškinova alebo Lermontovova ulica, nachádzajúce sa vo štvrti, v ktorej boli ulice premenované podľa predstaviteľov Organizácie ukrajinských nacionalistov (OUN) a Ukrajinskej povstaleckej armády (UPA), museli ustúpiť.

Druhou charakteristickou črtou tejto dejinnej politiky je vytvorenie ukrajinského národného kontinua v meste, ktoré bolo vlastne až od roku 1945 ukrajinizované a ktorého ukrajinská kontinuita prakticky neexistuje. Táto vymyslená kontinuita začína pri Danylovi, haličskom kniežati v 13. storočí a siaha až po ukrajinského speváka popovej hudby Ihora Bilozira, ktorého v roku 2000 zabili Rusi. Tak sa dostaneme od Západoukrajinskej ľudovej republiky, ktorá bola v Ľvove vyhlásená 9. novembra 1918 a existovala tri mesiace až po „akt“ dňa 30. júna 1941, prostredníctvom ktorého ukrajinskí nacionalisti z Organizácie ukrajinských nacionalistov (OUN) Stepan Bandera a Jaroslav Stečko, ktorí spolu s Wehrmachtom vpochodovali na Ukrajinu, vyhlásili nezávislosť Ukrajiny, ktorú však nacistické Nemecko strpelo len niekoľko málo dní.

Ultranacionalisti, pravicoví extrémisti a kolaboratéri nacistov boli rehabilitovaní, pretože bojovali proti Rusom. Múzeum dejín mesta nanovo pretvorilo svoje priestory pod titulom „Snahy Ukrajincov po slobode a nezávislosti“. Tu sú teoretici radikálneho, fašistického nacionalizmu ako Dmytro Doncov, členovia ukrajinských práporov Wehrmachtu „Nachtigall“ [slávik] a „Roland“ ako aj členovia divízie SS Halič, ku ktorej sa chcelo prihlásiť až okolo 80.000 ukrajinských dobrovoľníkov, nekriticky znázornení ako hrdinovia. Dve osobnosti z Organizácie ukrajinských nacionalistov (OUN) a Ukrajinskej povstaleckej armády (UPA) sú tu mimoriadne vyzdvihnuté: Stepan Bandera, ktorý je v Poľsku v prvom rade vnímaný ako vrah a pre ktorého bol v roku 2007 postavený monumentálny memoriálny komplex vedľa kostola Sv. Alžbety, a Roman Šuchevič, veliteľ práporu „Nachtigall“.

Novinkou od rokov 2006–2007 sú zmeny pri pomenovaní vojenských jednotiek, ktoré kolaborovali s nacistami, v tom zmysle, že nemecké názvy teraz ustupujú ukrajinským názvom. Prápor Wehrmachtu „Nachtigall“ sa teraz objavuje pod názvom „DUN“ (Druzhyna ukraïnskikh nacjonalistiv/Légia ukrajinských nacionalistov) a divízia SS „Halič“ pod názvom „U.D. Halytschyna“ (Ukraïnska Divizja Halytschyna/Ukrajinská divízia Halič) alebo „Prvá U.D. Halytschyna“. Pre tento účel boli z vystavených uniforiem odstránené vyobrazenia lebky, lemovanie, zrkadlá a služobné odznaky SS, čím sa výpoveď týchto muzeálnych exponátov zbagatelizovala.

Treťou charakteristickou črtou tejto spomienkovej politiky na mesto Ľvov je vynájdenie nového mučeníctva. V kontexte „konkurencie obetí“ ide o nájdenie takých mučeníkov, ktorí sú vhodní pre oltár národnej spomienkovej konštrukcie. Najdôležitejším orientačným bodom tejto viktimizácie na Ukrajine je veľký hladomor („Holodomor“) z rokov 1932–1933, o ktorého medzinárodné uznanie ako „ukrajinského holokaustu“ sa ukrajinská vláda veľmi usiluje. V Ľvove ostali v živej pamäti predovšetkým tie masakre, ktoré spáchal Národný komisariát vnútra v Ľvovských väzniciach v posledných dňoch pred vpádom Nemcov v júni 1941. Národný komisariát vnútra dostal vtedy rozkaz buď odtransportovať politických väzňov do vnútra Sovietskeho zväzu alebo ich zlikvidovať. Počas rýchleho vpádu Nemcov bolo vo väzeniach zastrelených viac než 4.000 osôb. Až od roku 1991 smú byť tieto ohavné činy opäť pomenované. Mestské úrady ako aj organizácie pre pomoc obetiam zriadili viaceré pamätníky venované týmto tragickým udalostiam. Na týchto nových pamätníkoch však nejestvuje žiadny poukaz na ukrutné pogromy, ktoré sa po vpáde Wehrmachtu diali v uliciach mesta a ktoré na židovskom civilnom obyvateľstve spáchala pomstychtivá zberba, ukrajinská pomocná polícia a ukrajinskí nacionalisti pod dohľadom nacistov.

Zlúčenie hrdinov nacizmu a obetí stalinizmu v jednom spoločnom mauzóleu sa vyrovnáva sakralizácii ukrajinského utrpenia. Toto mauzóleum bolo slávnostne otvorené v roku 2006 na cintoríne v Łyczakowe. Táto nová časť cintorína bola zriadená tak, že prečnieva nad poľským vojenským cintorínom pre obete Prvej svetovej vojny (Cmentarz Lwowskich Orląt) a tak ho symbolicky vytláča. Toto spomienkové miesto je venované pamiatke práporu „Nachtigall“ a divízii SS „Halič“ („Prvá U.D. Halytschyna“). V roku 2006 oznámili mestské úrady svoj zámer premiestniť sem telesné pozostatky Stepana Banderu, Jevhena Konovalca, Andriya Melnyka a iných vedúcich osobností z Organizácie ukrajinských nacionalistov (OUN) a Ukrajinskej povstaleckej armády (UPA).

Ľvov je priam zachvátený horúčkou spomínania, pričom sa tu prejavuje selektívna spomienková politika a muzealizácia. Tematizuje sa len ukrajinské znovuzrodenie a ukrajinské utrpenie a naproti tomu sa zabúda na multikultúrne dedičstvo mesta, ktoré je priam vymazané zo spomienok.

Ako sa s týmito pamätníkmi stotožnia poľskí, nemeckí, americkí a židovskí turisti? Ako sa dá táto politika spomínania zladiť so žiadúcou intergráciou Ukrajiny do Európy? Dozvedia sa ešte budúce generácie západoukrajinských žiakov napriek tomuto revizionistickému popieraniu, že títo „hrdinovia“ sa upísali službe Wehrmachtu a SS? Bude sa vôbec niekedy niekto pýtať na to, do akej miery sa podieľali na „etnických čistkách“ voči Poliakom a Židom? To všetsko sú vážne otázky vzhľadom na problematické selektívne znázorňovanie dejín, ktoré múzeá, ulice a pamätníky v ukrajinskom Ľvove od roku 1991 zmenili a formovali.

Historia zachodniej Ukrainy oraz byłej Galicji jest bardziej złożona niż historia pozostałej części Ukrainy. Galicja należała do kilku państw i mocarstw. Po założeniu miasta Lwowa przez księcia Daniela w 1256 r. terytorium to przez 400 lat należało do Polski, a następnie przez 146 lat do monarchii habsburskiej (1772–1918). Po I Wojnie Światowej stało się częścią niepodległej Polski, lata 1939/1941 były czasem podboju sowieckiego i nazistowskiego, a następnie region ten na ponad 50 lat został wcielony do ZSSR, zanim w 1991 r. Ukraina uzyskała niepodległość.

W latach 30-tych w mieście trzech narodów Lwów/L’viv żyło 51% Polaków, jedna trzecia Żydów i 16% Ukraińców. Po eksterminacji Żydów i wypędzeniu ludności polskiej Lwów opustoszał praktycznie w 85 procentach. Miasto objęli w posiadanie rosyjscy/radzieccy urzędnicy i wojskowi oraz ukraińscy chłopi. Przeszłość tego miasta jako kolebki ukraińskiego ruchu narodowego została ujawniona dopiero po uzyskaniu niepodległości przez Ukrainę. Dzisiaj jako centrum zachodniej Ukrainy w kontraście do silnie zrusyfikowanego wschodu kraju miasto stanowi ostoję ukraińskiej tożsamości. Stąd też wzięły się antagonistyczne historiografie, niemożliwe do pogodzenia „pamięci narodowe”, rozbieżne wersje wydarzeń, bohaterów i męczenników.

W poszukiwaniu łączącej narracji o ciągłej ukraińskiej przeszłości lokalne autorytety we Lwowie po 1991 r. oddawały cześć różnym osobistościom, zmieniając nazwy ulic, wznosząc pomniki, wieszając tablice pamiątkowe i organizując publiczne uroczystości. Wpływowi przedstawiciele literatury ukraińskiej, tacy jak poeta Taras Szewczenko czy pisarz i bojownik o wolność Iwan Franko jeszcze w czasach reżimu sowieckiego byli czczeni jako rzecznicy kultury narodu ukraińskiego. Również przywódca powstań kozackich w XVII w. Bogdan Chmielnicki należy do panteonu sowiecko-ukraińskiej pamięci, mimo że wcale nie bronił miasta, które wówczas było polskie, tylko je oblegał. Opieranie się na wielkich postaciach historycznych, takich jak historycy narodu Mychajło Hruszewski czy Mychajło Drahomanow ma na celu budowanie pan-ukraińskiej tożsamości. Miasto przyczyniło się również do stworzenia lokalnej tradycji bazującej na szczególnej historii Galicji (po ukraińsku Галичина [Halychyna]). Konstrukcja ta zakorzeniona jest w złożonych procesach odwrócenia, rewaluacji, rehabilitacji, ale również przemilczenia zdarzeń i procesów historycznych.

Pierwszą cechą charakterystyczną tej polityki jest przedstawianie historii miasta z niemal zupełnym pominięciem jej polskiej, żydowskiej i radzieckiej/rosyjskiej części. Starówka Lwowa jest klejnotem renesansu oraz późniejszej architektury z wpływami secesji wiedeńskiej i krakowskiej. Jednak praktycznie w żadnym miejscu publicznym nie można o tym przeczytać. Dzisiaj pozostało zaledwie parę śladów tej przeszłości. Napisy w jidysz lub po polsku czasami prześwitują przez łuszczącą się farbę. Władze lokalne nigdzie nie przypominają oficjalnie o wymordowaniu przez nazistów 160 000 Żydów czy o deportowaniu ponad 100 000 Polaków w latach 1945/46. Pomnik ofiar getta w Lwowie został wzniesiony w 1992 r. z prywatnych środków.

Wszystko, co przypominało o sowieckiej obecności w mieście, też musiało zniknąć. Podobnie jak w Rydze i innych miastach w krajach bałtyckich, niektóre pomniki Armii Czerwonej zostały rozebrane. Rosyjskie szkoły zostały zamknięte. Puszkin i Lermontow musieli ustąpić miejsca w dzielnicy, w której ulice zostały przemianowane ku czci członków Organizacji Ukraińskich Nacjonalistów (OUN) i Ukraińskiej Powstańczej Armii (UPA).

Drugą cechą charakterystyczną tej polityki historycznej jest tworzenie ukraińskiego narodowego kontinuum w mieście, które dopiero po roku 1945 zostało zukrainizowane i którego ukraińska ciągłość narodowa w praktyce nie istnieje. Ta wymyślona ciągłość rozpoczyna się od Daniela, galicyjskiego księcia z XIII w. i sięga po ukraińskiego piosenkarza pop Ihora Biłozira, który w 2000 r. został zabity przez Rosjan. Tak od istniejącej trzy miesiące Zachodnioukraińskiej Republiki Ludowej, która została powołana do życia 9 listopada 1918 r. w L’vivie dochodzimy do „Aktu” z 30 czerwca 1941 r., którym Ukraińcy nacjonaliści z OUN, Stepan Bandera i Jarosław Stećko, którzy weszli do miasta razem z Wehrmachtem, proklamowali niepodległość Ukrainy, która wszakże tylko przez kilka dni była tolerowana przez narodowo-socjalistyczne Niemcy.

Ultranacjonaliści, prawicowi ekstremiści i kolaboranci zostali zrehabilitowani, ponieważ walczyli przeciwko Rosjanom. Muzeum historii miasta na nowo urządziło sale zatytułowane „Dążenie Ukraińców do wolności i niepodległości”. Bezkrytycznie jako bohaterów przedstawiono tam teoretyków radykalnego, faszystowskiego nacjonalizmu takich jak Dmytro Doncow, członków ukraińskich batalionów Wehrmachtu „Nachtigall“ i „Roland“ oraz ukraińskiej dywizji Waffen SS, do której zgłosiło się nawet 80 000 ukraińskich ochotników. Wyróżnione zostały dwie osobistości z OUN/UPA: Stepan Bandera, w Polsce odbierany w pierwszym rzędzie jako morderca, któremu w 2007 r. obok Kościoła św. Elżbiety wystawiono monumentalny kompleks upamiętniający, oraz Roman Szuchewycz, dowódca  batalionu „Nachtigall“.

Nowością są wprowadzone w latach 2006–2007 zmiany w nazywaniu tych jednostek wojskowych, które kolaborowały z nazistami, polegające na tym, że nazwy niemieckie ustępują ukraińskim. Batalion Wehrmachtu „Nachtigall“ pojawia się teraz jako „DUN“ (Druzhyna ukraïnskikh nacjonalistiv, Drużyna ukraińskich nacjonalistów), a dywizja Waffen SS „Galizien” jako „U.D. Галичина (Halychyna)“ (Ukraïnska Divizja Галичина (Halychyna)) lub „pierwsza U.D. Галичина (Halychyna)“. W tym celu z wystawionych mundurów usunięto czaszki, obszywki, patki i inne oznaczenia służbowe, w ten sposób unieszkodliwiając muzealne eksponaty.

Trzecią cechą charakterystyczną polityki pamięci miasta Lwów jest tworzenie nowego męczeństwa. W kontekście „konkurencji ofiar” chodzi o to, by znaleźć męczenników odpowiednich na ołtarz narodowej konstrukcji pamięci. Najważniejszym punktem odniesienia tej wiktymizacji na Ukrainie jest wielki głód („Holodomor“) w latach 1932–1933, o którego międzynarodowe uznanie jako „ukraińskiego Holocaustu” mocno zabiega rząd. We Lwowie w pamięci obecne są przede wszystkim masakry przeprowadzone przez NKWD w ostatnich dniach przed wejściem Niemców w czerwcu 1941 r. we lwowskich więzieniach. NKWD otrzymała wtedy rozkaz przewiezienia więźniów politycznych w głąb ZSRR lub ich likwidacji. W obliczu szybkiego wkroczenia Niemców w więzieniach zastrzelono ponad 4000 osób. Od 1991 r. o tych makabrach znowu wolno mówić. Władze miasta oraz organizacje reprezentujące ofiary wystawiły wiele pomników upamiętniających te tragiczne wydarzenia. Nowe pomniki nie przypominają jednak o straszliwych pogromach, które po wkroczeniu Wehrmachtu pod nadzorem nazistów zostały dokonane na żydowskiej ludności cywilnej przez żądną zemsty tłuszczę, Ukraińską Policję Pomocniczą oraz ukraińskich nacjonalistów.

Zestawienie bohaterów nacjonalizmu z ofiarami stalinizmu we wspólnym mauzoleum równa się sakralizacji ukraińskiego cierpienia. Mauzoleum zostało otwarte w 2006 r. na Cmentarzu Łyczakowskim. Ta nowa część cmentarza została tak zaprojektowana, że przewyższa polski cmentarz wojskowy z I Wojny Światowej (Cmentarz Lwowskich Orląt), a zatem symbolicznie nad nim dominuje. W tym miejscu pamięci cześć oddawana jest znowu cześć batalionowi „Nachtigall“ i dywizji Waffen SS „Galizien“ („Pierwsza U.D. Галичина (Halychyna)“). W 2006 r. władze miasta ogłosiły zamiar przeniesienia tam szczątków Stepana Bandery, Jewhena Konowalca, Andrija Melnyka oraz innych przywódców OUN/UPA.

Lwów jest miastem pogrążonym w prawdziwej gorączce pamięci. Jednocześnie stosuje się selektywną politykę pamięci i muzealizację. Jedynymi podnoszonymi tematami są: odrodzenie Ukrainy i ukraińskie cierpienie. O wielokulturowym dziedzictwie miasta się natomiast zapomina i je wypiera.

Jak w tym krajobrazie pomników odnajdą się polscy, niemieccy, amerykańscy i żydowscy turyści ze swoimi narracjami? Jak taka polityka pasuje do upragnionej integracji Ukrainy z Europą? Czy przy takim rewizjonistycznym ukrywaniu przeszłości przyszłe pokolenia zachodnio-ukraińskich uczniów dowiedzą się, że ci „bohaterowie” zaciągnęli się na służbę Wehrmachtu i Waffen SS? Czy ktoś zapyta, na ile brali udział w „czystkach etnicznych” prowadzonych na Polakach i Żydach? Są to poważne pytania w obliczu problematycznego, wybiórczego przedstawiania historii, które od 1991 r. zmieniło muzea, ulice i pomniki w ukraińskim L’vivie.

prof. Delphine Bechtel -  zastępczyni dyrektora Centre Interdisciplinaire de Recherches Centre-Européennes, profesor Wydziału Studiów Germańskich Uniwersytetu Paris IV - Sorbonne. Jej zainteresowania naukowe obejmują m.in.: literaturę i kulturę jidysz w Europie Środkowo- Wschodniej, politykę, kulturę i kontakty literackie pomiędzy niemieckimi a żydowskimi pisarzami hebrajskimi lub pisarzami jidysz w Europie Środkowo- Wschodniej (Rosja, Polska), miasta wielokulturowe w Europie Środkowej i Wschodniej.

The history of west Ukraine and of former Galicia is more complicated than that of the rest of Ukraine. Galicia has belonged to many different states and powers. After the founding of Lviv by Prince Danylo in 1256 the region belonged to Poland for 400 years and was subsequently ruled by the Habsburg monarchy for 146 years (1772–1918). After the First World War, the region became part of independent Poland, in 1939/1941 came the Soviet and National-Socialist invasions which were followed by five decades of incorporation in the USSR, until Ukraine became independent in 1991.

In the 1930s the tri-ethnic population of the city of Lemberg/Lwów consisted of 51 percent Poles, around one third Jews and 16 percent Ukrainians. After the extermination of the Jews and the expulsion of the Polish population Lviv stood 85 percent empty. The city was taken possession of by Russian/Soviet bureaucrats, the military, and Ukrainian peasants. The city’s past as the cradle of a Ukrainian national movement was only revealed after Ukraine became independent. Today, in contrast to the strongly russified eastern part of the country, the city of Lviv, which is also the centre of western Ukraine, has become a haven of Ukrainian identity. This has led to the rise of antagonistic historical narratives, disparate “national memories”, with irreconcilable versions of events, heroes and martyrs.

After 1991, in their search for a connecting narrative which would show a continuous and uninterrupted Ukrainian past, the local authorities in Lviv commemorated a number of people, renaming streets after them, erecting monuments and commemorative plaques to them or honouring them in public commemorations. Leading figures of Ukrainian literature such as the poet Taras Shevchenko and the writer and freedom fighter Ivan Franko had already been previously celebrated as the bearers of Ukrainian culture under the Soviet regime. The leader of the Cossack Uprising in the 17th century, Bohdan Khmelnytsky, had also been included in the pantheon of Soviet-Ukrainian remembrance, even though he had attacked the city, which was Polish at the time, and did not defend it. The celebration of famous historical personages such as the historian of Ukrainian history Mykhailo Hrushevskyi or Mykhailo Drahomanov aims at constructing a pan-Ukrainian identity. The city has additionally contributed to creating a local tradition based on the specific history of Galicia (Halychyna in Ukrainian). This construction rests on complex processes of reversal, positive revaluation, rehabilitation, but also on the concealment of historical events and processes.

A first characteristic of this policy is the re-envisioning and updating of the city’s history to the almost complete exclusion of the Polish, Jewish and Soviet/Russian part of the city’s history. Lviv’s historic centre is a jewel of renaissance architecture while much of its later architecture was strongly influenced by the Viennese and Cracow Secessionists. But there are almost no public inscriptions indicating this. Today, only a few traces of this past remain: Yiddish or Polish inscriptions sometimes reappear as the paint flakes away. Nowhere do the local authorities officially commemorate the murder of the 160,000 Jews by the Nazis or the deportation of more than 100,000 Poles in 1945/46. The monument to the victims of the ghetto in Lviv, erected in 1992, was privately financed.

Everything which recalled the Soviet presence in the city also had to disappear. Similar to what took place in Riga and other Baltic cities, many monuments to the Red Army were dismantled. Russian schools were closed. In one district, Pushkin Street and Lermontov Street had to yield to street names honouring members of the Organisation of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA).

The second characteristic of this history policy is the creation of a Ukrainian national continuum in a city which only became ukrainised after 1945 and where there was practically no Ukrainian continuity. This invented continuity starts with Daniel, a 13th century Galician ruler, and stretches to include the Ukrainian pop singer Ihor Bilozir, who was beaten to death by Russians in 2000. In one leap the story progresses from the West Ukrainian People’s Republic, which was proclaimed in Lviv on November 9, 1918 and only existed for three months, to the “Act of Ukrainian Statehood” of June 30, 1941. With this Act the Ukrainian OUN nationalists Stepan Bandera and Yaroslav Stetsko, who had entered the city with the Wehrmacht, proclaimed an independent Ukrainian state but this independent Ukraine was only tolerated by Nazi Germany for a few days.

Ultranationalists, right-wing extremists and collaborators of the Nazis are being rehabilitated because they fought against the Russians. The Lviv Historical Museum has redesigned some of its rooms, titling them “Ukrainian efforts at liberation and independence”. In the suite of rooms, theorists and proponents of a radical fascist nationalism such as Dmytro Doncov, members of the Ukrainian Wehrmacht battalions Nachtigall and Roland and of the SS Division Galizien, which attracted almost 80,000 Ukrainians volunteers, are portrayed as heroes without any criticism or qualifications. Tributes are paid in particular to two personages of the OUN/UPA: Stepan Bandera, perceived in Poland primarily as a murderer, for whom a monumental memorial complex was erected next to the Church of St. Elisabeth in 2007, and Roman Shukhevych, the commander of the Nachtigall Battalion.

Changes to the names of the military units who collaborated with the Nazis are a new feature since 2006–2007, with the German names now yielding to Ukrainian denominations. Thus, the Wehrmacht Nachtigall Battalion now officiates as “DUN” (Druzhyna ukraïnskykh natsjonalistiv, Legion of Ukrainian Nationalists), and the SS Division Galizien as “U.D. Halytschyna” (Ukraïnska Divizja Halychyna) or “1^st U.D. Halytschyna”. To this end, the death’s-heads, trimmings, mirrors, insignia and badges of the SS have been removed from the uniforms on display, trivializing the museum exhibits and playing down their connection to Nazi Germany.

The third characteristic of the politics of remembrance commemorating the city of Lviv is the invention of a new martyrdom. In the context of a “contest of victims” the aim is to find martyrs suitable to be placed on the altar of a national construction of memory. In Ukraine, this cult of victimization has taken the Great Famine (“Holodomor”) of the years 1932–1933 as its most important point of reference, and the government is currently endeavouring to obtain international recognition of the Holodomor as a “Ukrainian Holocaust”. In Lviv remembrance focuses particularly on the massacres carried out by the NKVD in the prisons of Lviv in the last days prior to the invasion of the city by the Germans in June 1941. The NKVD was given the order to either arrange for political prisoners to be transported to the interior of the USSR or to liquidate them. As the Germans rapidly advanced on the city, more than 4000 persons were shot in the prisons. Since 1991 such atrocities can once again be openly spoken of. The municipal authorities together with victims’ organisations have erected several monuments commemorating these tragic events. But none of these new monuments bear any references to the brutal pogrom openly perpetrated against the Jewish civilian population after the invasion by the Wehrmacht by a vengeful mob, the Ukrainian auxiliary police force and Ukrainian nationalists under the approving eyes of the Nazis.

The amalgamation of nationalist heroes and victims of Stalinism in a joint mausoleum amounts to a sanctification of Ukrainian suffering. The mausoleum was consecrated in Łyczaków/Lychakiv Cemetery in 2006. This new part of the cemetery was designed so as to tower above the Polish military cemetery of the First World War (Cmentarz Lwowskich Orląt), which it thus symbolically displaces. The memorial site also pays tribute to the Nachtigall Battalion and the SS Division Galizien (“1^st U.D. Halychyna”). In 2006 the municipal authorities announced their intention of moving the remains of Stepan Bandera, Yevhen Konovalets, Andrij Melnyk and other leaders of the OUN/UPA and reburying them there.

Lviv has been seized by a remembrance mania – but only a selective politics of remembrance and musealisation is brought to bear on the past. The focus is only on the rebirth of the Ukrainian nation and on Ukrainian suffering. The city’s multicultural legacy is forgotten and suppressed.

How will Polish, German, American and Jewish tourists recognise themselves and their narratives in this landscape of monuments? How do such policies fit in with the hoped for integration of Ukraine in Europe? With this revisionist blanking out, will future generations of West Ukrainian pupils still realise that these “heroes” enlisted in the ranks of the Wehrmacht and the SS? Will questions once be asked as to what extent they collaborated in the “ethnic cleansing” of Poles and Jews? All serious questions in view of the problematic selective representations of history which have changed and shaped the museums, streets and monuments in Ukrainian Lviv since 1991.

translated from German by Helen Schoop

prof. Delphine Bechtel - deputy director of Centre Interdisciplinaire de Recherches Centre-Européennes, professor of Department of German Studies of University Paris IV - Sorbonne. The scope of her scientific interests encompasses among others: Yiddish literature and culture in Central and Eastern Europe, politics, culture and literary contacts between German and Jewish authors writing in Hebrew or Yiddish in Central and Eastern Europe (Russia, Poland), multi-cultural cities in Central and Eastern Europe.

What is Auschwitz today? This is a question that needs to be asked at the beginning in order to even enter into the topic of affiliation. Various concepts define the space of Auschwitz. Former inmates, who created this Place of Commemoration after Second World War, termed their blueprint by the word Museum. Then, a Monument was built in Birkenau in the 1960s, as if the ruins of this former Nazi death camp were not enough to commemorate it. Following that, the concept of the world’s biggest Cemetery emerged. Finally, the name the Place of Commemoration appeared. This term is a neologism that perhaps best reflects the inability to call a spade a spade.

Of all similar places in Europe, this one is included on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The entry indicated that this place is to be representative for all other sites of this type and that others will no longer be listed. I do not know what does the term “sites of this type” mean. Does this mean other Vernichtungslagern? Or the entire system of concentration camps? Is the GULAG Soviet system of camps included into this typology? In the provision “other sites of this type”, placed on this worldwide list, we encounter a legal interpretation of Auschwitz as the most broadly conceived heritage of man and mankind and thus, in a tangible way, we touch on the issue of affiliation.

This can be viewed on very different levels that do not exclude one another: historical, political, emphatic and also moral or task-oriented. A certain subjectivism, that is completely normal and natural in this place, develops in this complexity of levels. We cannot escape this subjectivism in this place, because people have the right to feel more or less linked to this place. Undoubtedly, various kinds of memories are crossing in Auschwitz today. The annihilation of the Jewish nation was one thing and the history of the concentration camp was another. We hope that there is no need to explain this difference today. One Jewish survivor remembers forty, fifty persons from his family who ended up there and did not survive. And among other victims, dozens of living persons remember this one cousin who died there as, for instance, a political prisoner. These are extremely different social situations.

The differences can also be political and ideological. For some, it will be primarily a place of education. There are communities for whom Auschwitz plays a very important identity role. In this case, I am thinking about the Jewish diasporas and to some extent also about Roma. In Poland, to a large extent, this constitutes an independence symbol, although it should also be remembered that Poland also has different interpretations of the Auschwitz history. As quite different is this place for the elites that were the majority of inmates in the first period. It was quite different for inhabitants of the Zamość region who were sent to Auschwitz to be exterminated. And Auschwitz was still quite a different place for residents of Warsaw after the fall of the Warsaw Uprising. Finally, Auschwitz was completely different for people from round-ups in street cars who did not at all know why they landed there, as they were not involved in any activity of the resistance movement. This place is, of course, a great experience for the Germans. Their presence there, often very helpful, creates profound interpersonal relations with this place. For Catholics, Christians, this is also a certain reference to the world of martyrdom and holiness that is manifested in this place and this also cannot be omitted .

Looking at Auschwitz from these various points of view, it is easy to understand why the 1990s, after the fall of communism, were years of such difficult conflicts. Suddenly, all these memories met in this place and began to notice each other. For this reason, I hope that today we have become wiser.

Among all affiliations, the most striking is the affiliation to those whose ashes are mixed with this soil. The memory and affiliation of the successors of victims are this first memory and this first affiliation, above all, of course of the world of Jews but also of Poles, Roma and prisoners of the Soviet Army.

Auschwitz is of course a symbol of the Holocaust, but also the largest former concentration camp. Thus, groups that visit Auschwitz today identify with this place as well as other stories that did not happen so often in this place as elsewhere. Priests died more often in the Dachau death camp, but they are remembered in this place. Women died in the Ravensbrueck camp. German homosexuals or Jehovas witnesses also in other camps—Dachau, Sahsenhausen, Oranienburg and Flossenburg. The disabled, who did not perish at all die in the camps, but often in the facilities attached to hospitals or in specially designed lorries by exhaust fumes are also remembered here.

And what can be said about Nazi criminals, on the other side of the barbed wires? In Auschwitz there were about 8,000 free people, SS and Gestapo members who worked there. Historians estimate that there were about 70,000 of them in the entire system of camps, out of which 1,600-1,700 were brought for court proceedings after Second World War. An overwhelming majority of them were sentenced to three or five years of imprisonment, often in suspension. This awareness should also be kept in mind and this raises a multi-faceted and profound question about affiliation to the place.

And since we are talking about the perpetrators, one very delicate problem remains. The victim and the prisoner of the camp could have had the experience of being the perpetrator at the same time, because the system was designed in such a way. A trusty, Blockaltester, a prison mate from a plank bed could at a certain moment be the perpetrator because he hit (his neighbor), stole a bread (from him), informed on (him), did not help. And here we touch the essence of humanity, something that each of us can encounter in our own life. This means that each of us is not only this impeccable human being but that we have different faces.

At the time of the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, there was a thesis that this Place of Commemoration is already passing into European history, that everything had already been said. But we can judge at least by attendance that people still continue to seek for answers. In the last five years, the number of visitors doubled annually. Last year, we achieved the highest number of visits since the end of Second World War. Quite suddenly, a few years ago, South Korea appeared in visitor statistics - today almost 40,000 visitors a year, which is almost as many as from France or Israel. South Korea represents a completely different world and a completely different history. Countries such as Manchuria, China, Japan and South Korea have their own dramas stemming from World War II. And yet, their nationals still feel the need and willingness to come visit this place. In the 1990s, Auschwitz was a symbol primarily for Europe, Israel and North America. Now, it is beginning to function as a truly world-wide symbol.

Attendance has two ends. There are also geographical, political and historical areas that do not feel connected to Auschwitz or do not want to manifest this. First of all, I would like to point to Austria as a problematic case. Three thousand visitors last year, as compared with 60,000 Germans or 56,000 Italians. If 3,000 visitors come from Austria and about 25,000 from the Czech Republic, this means that we are facing an educational and identity problem that has not been overcome and we must think about it jointly. I stress: together. There are hardly any visitors from Africa and Arabic countries.[1] This is a problem in the context of today’s challenges and the result of this neglect is the emergence of the new geography of the Holocaust denial. .

In the future, an important element will be the fact that in today’s Europe national determinant stops being the most important point of reference for one’s own identity. There are mixed groups that want to find their identity in this Place in a different way—as doctors, lawyers, priests.

There are also other determinants of subjective affiliation - particular care of maintaining the Place. For years, half of the budget of this Place has been contributed by the Polish government. The second half has been worked out by the museum and single percents have been coming from foreign assistance. And after all affiliation has been linked exactly with responsibility and thus it is primarily a moral problem.

In conclusion, I would like to discuss the question of participation. This is perhaps the most important question stemming from membership and responsibility. When one sees photos from the liberation of Auschwitz, it is necessary to think about reportages from Ruanda. And the question is not about these two events, but about our passivity. In the idea of social participation, a person is linked to what he or she co-creates, to what he or she builds, to that in what he or she engages in and to the goals he or she fulfills. Affiliation to this place or affiliation of this place to a concrete person would thus be reaching this goal which means never again. But meanwhile, millions of people visit this place and other places of this kind—Yad Vashem or the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. And these millions of persons sit later in front of TV sets, watch reports from Darfur and do not see any link. Living in free states, they criticize those who did nothing in Hitler’s times. Several weeks later, having returned home, they themselves do completely nothing as regards other tragedies of the world.

Also answering the question that I was asked, I would say that Auschwitz as a Place of Commemoration is, in a dramatic way, common, and in a dramatic way, nobody’s. Unfortunately, still.

[1] Data from 2011. In 2019, 2 million 320 thousand people from all over the world visited Auschwitz - at least 396,000 visitors from Poland, 200,000 from Great Britain, 120,000 from the USA, 104,000 from Italy, 73,000 from Germany, 70,000 from Spain, 67,000 from France, 59,000 from Israel, 42,000 from Ireland and 40,000 from Sweden. Source: Website of Auschwitz Museum

Piotr Cywinski (born in 1972) is a historian, director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, member of the International Auschwitz Council, Catholic activist, former chairman of the Club of Catholic Intelligentsia in Warsaw.

The wave of strikes in the summer of 1980 and its consequence, the birth of NSZZ Solidarity started the deepest phase of the crisis of the communist state in Poland. The economic crisis, growing since 1976, had led to a destabilisation of the political system based on hegemonic position of the Polish United Workers' Party (PZPR) in 1980. The creation of NSZZ Solidarity and its over year long period of legal functioning significantly altered the social awareness, a change which could no longer be reversed by the so-called politics of normalisation, which began after the introducing of martial law in Poland in December 1981. The banning of Solidarity and the pacification of civil protests, which peaked on the 31^st of August 1982 when demonstrations of supporters of the union took place in 66 cities, had not stopped the economic, social and political changes which put the People's Republic of Poland (PRL) in a state of chronic crisis and, after a change of the international situation, led to its downfall. Below I will try to enumerate the most important factors which, in my opinion, made the crisis grow and, in consequence, led to the breakdown of the system in 1989.

1. Changes in the USSR. This factor appeared last, only after the proclamation of the politics of perestroika by Mikhail Gorbachev in 1986 but has to be mentioned first as it played a crucial role in inclining the team of general Wojciech Jaruzelski to begin changes in the political system, which, eventually, led to its complete breakdown. In July 1986, during a meeting of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Gorbachev said, that the countries of Middle and Eastern Europe “can no longer be carried on our back. The main reason – the economy”. This meant that in the Kremlin opinion was prevalent, that the model of cooperation within the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance, which was based on the transferable ruble, needed to be changed. The supply of petroleum and natural gas – the main export articles of the USSR – to the Comecon countries at set prices had no longer been profitable for the Soviet economy. It also was not a coincidence that one of Moscow's most important postulates after the government of Tadeusz Mazowiecki had been formed was the transition to USD as currency in mutual trade.

Although the knowledge remains limited regarding the plans of the Soviet leadership in the second half of the 1980s, Andrzej Paczkowski was probably right to say that “Gorbachev did something like an amputation on the Brezhnev >Doctrine<, which lost its ideological sense and became more of a geopolitical rule. The former pressure Moscow put on Warsaw subsided no later than 1987-1988 and was replaced by extensive conformity of intentions and actions”. General Wojciech Jaruzelski's team's hands were bound at that time as far as system reforms go, but that did not prevent it from using the Soviet deterrent in contacts with the West, the opposition and the Church until the end of its regime. French researcher Jacques Levesque even claims, that Jaruzelski for a long time was not using the freedom which Gorbachev had given him.

2. The state of the economy. Although in 1983 economic growth was recorded for the first time in five years, it had not been the result of real changes in the economic system, but of the return of the economy to the old ruts, from which it had been removed first by Gierek's team's mistakes, later by the strikes of 1980-81 and finally by the militarisation of many companies and the economic sanctions undertaken by the Western countries against Poland. Already in 1985 economic growth slowed down because, according to one of the party's analyses, “the material-resource barrier, […] resulting from insufficient national reserves and low import possibilities, became very apparent”.

Repeated by Jaruzelski's team after the introduction of martial law, declarations that the continuation of economic reforms, which officially began in 1981, is needed, quickly proved to be propaganda fiction. As general Jaruzelski correctly observed in 1982: “A paradoxical phenomenon accompanies the reform: on the one hand the liberalisation of the rules governing the economy and on the other the rigor of martial law”. The rigor of martial law had not been the main reason why the introduction of a real reform of the inefficient economic system of PRL was a failure, however. In fact the system could not be reformed, what was made clear by the unrelenting resistance of the people governing the economy. The situation is well illustrated by the example of closing down 106 unions of state-owned companies in 1982 in a reform which brought in their place 103 unions, different only in name. “Essentially there is no institutionalised force, which would comprehensibly introduce the reform into economic practice, there is no approach to the reform as a political-economic complex” - it was said in a lengthy analysis of the socio-political situation made in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and ordered by general Czesław Kiszczak in May 1984.

According to Władysław Baka, the government's representative for the reform, during the meetings of the Council of Ministers in July 1983 and June 1984 plans aiming to openly “thwart the reform” were forced. One of their main supporters was supposedly Deputy Prime Minister Zbigniew Messner, who argued that “brought to completion, the model of socio-economic reform outlined by minister Władysław Baka means in essence the change of socio-political system” i.e. the fall of socialism. The continuation of the reform was defended, according to Baka, by Jaruzelski, but he changed his mind a year later on a National Council in Poznań and supported Messner's limited option instead. After a couple of months, in November 1985, the latter became Prime Minister and the office of government's representative for the reform was removed. Real reforms had not begun until 1988-89 when Mieczysław Rakowski's cabinet introduced regulations guaranteeing freedom of economic activity and liberalising the rules of sales with foreign countries. If the political system had not followed, Rakowski's reforms could have lead to the realisation of the so-called Chinese model of transformation, that is the introduction of market economy with the maintaining of authoritarian political system.

3. Instances of state privatisation. Compared to the general economic decay of the 1980s, the rise of the private sector in the economy was a curious occurrence. In the years 1981-1985 it had increased its production level by nearly 14% while the production of the national sector decreased by 0,2%. Private enterprise was still highly limited, however, and many key members of the PZPR criticised the instances of “certain groups getting richer without grounds”. However, gradually, especially in mid-level state apparatus, belief was getting stronger that without development of the private sector the deficit on the market of consumer goods could not be satisfied.

The so-called Polonia (Polish diaspora) companies had a special position within the private sector. Foreigners of Polish descent were taking part in their establishment on the basis of the law from July 1982. “Polonia companies steal highly qualified cadre from the national sector. Some of the employees leave from foreign trade offices, they possess information which is a business and national secret. […] Cases of informal contacts with the employees of departments in charge of the Polonia companies are also frequent” - was the alert in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in May 1984.

The Polonia companies became a sort of a testing ground for the authorities and especially for the secret service (both the SB and military). The behaviour of entities functioning within market mechanisms was tested and used in operational activities. What followed was a gradual acquaintance of part of the government elite with the thought of a need for radical breaking off with the economic system based on national property, originating in the 1940s. In such a way a climate appropriate for the reforms of the Rakowski government was beginning to appear, with the side-effect of the process of so-called nomenclature enfranchisement.

4. Deregulation of the political system. Its main symptom became the weakening of the position of the PZPR, hitherto playing a hegemonic role in the political system of PRL. The crisis of the years 1980-1981 and the martial law left the PZPR with about 1 million members less. Only in the middle of the decade had the party stopped shrinking and the number of members stabilised at 2.1 million. The process of aging of the party had not been stopped however, and the proportion of people under 29 years of age decreased from the level of 15% in 1981 to only 6.9% in 1986, while the average age of a PZPR member raised to 46 years of age. A similar process began to threaten also the ranks of the party apparatus, over 12 thousand functionaries strong. Personnel review of the members of Central Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party from 1984 showed that in the years 1985-1986 as many as 23% of its employees would reach retirement age. At the same time only 6% of over six hundred political employees of the Central Committee were younger than 35 years of age.

The communist party was becoming old and was losing its influence, becoming less of a core of the political system and more of a tool of various pressure groups operating within the government apparatus. The most important of these groups was a part of the officers' corps of the Armed Forces. In the first year of martial law 32 officers were delegated to high positions in the party apparatus, and 88 more to national administration. Among them were 11 Ministers and Deputy Ministers, 13 voivodes and vice-voivodes and 9 secretaries of the Executive Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party. Furthermore 108 “lawyers in uniforms” were delegated to work in the prosecution service and civil judiciary.

Besides the military men the role of higher functionaries of the Security Service (SB) and other people working in the economy apparatus also increased in the 1980s. All of them were obviously members of the PZPR but in reality often opposed many decisions and solutions forced by the functionaries of the PZPR apparatus. The leaders of the All-Poland Alliance of Trade Unions (OPZZ) were also members of the communist party. The Alliance was supposed to replace Solidarity in public consciousness. For this to happen, the leaders of the PZPR had decided, that leaders of the OPZZ had to receive a much wider autonomy than all the other socio-political organisations were given before, including the allied parties United People's Party and the Democratic Party. “We must include different opposing elements from the party itself […] controlling us from our system positions, constantly stinging us in our bottoms” - said general Jaruzelski about OPZZ in December 1986. Still, OPZZ with nearly 7 million members, in time became a force, which, especially in the late 1980s, contributed significantly to the limiting of the level of control of the PZPR over state apparatus and especially over the part, which governed the economy.

5. Evolution of social moods. After the introducing of martial law, the social moods became relatively stable. In 1983 nearly 40% of pollees believed that the economic situation would become better, 8% that it would become worse and the rest, over 50%, thought that it would remain the same or did not have an opinion. This state of a kind of waiting began to change in the middle of the decade in a direction very unfavourable for the authorities. While in December 1985 46% of the pollees described the economic situation as bad, in the following months the figure grew quite consistently: 55% in April, 58.5% in December 1986 and as much as 69.1% in April 1987. In the following months it was becoming even worse and that significantly affected the consciousness of the elite of the authorities. A team of three general Jaruzelski's advisors, the Secretary of the Central Committee of the PZPR Stanisław Ciosek, Deputy Minister of Internal Affairs Władysław Pożoga and the government spokesperson Jerzy Urban wrote in a memorial in January 1988 this about the matter: “The moods are below the red line, which means the critical point of explosion has been passed. There is no explosion because the tendencies are suppressed in the society by various stabilisers (historic experience, mainly of the 13^th of December 1981, the role of the Church, lower influence of the opposition, apathy)”. The assessment was that such a state affected the authorities in a bad way and part of the apparatus “as usual in decadent times, begins to question the leadership, plot intrigues, plan future personal configurations. In time it will begin to plot”. It was therefore proposed to “make a drastic turn, in which there would be few words, many actions”. Ultimately such a turn of action, in the form of the Round Table Talks, happened a year later.

According to Mirosława Marody “three types of experiences of the broadest social reach” were making the mood worse. The first was increasing inflation devaluing “life's work of individuals and their families”. The second was the “feeling of disproportion between the effort put into achieving and keeping a decent standard of living and its effects”. Its main source were the persistent problems with supplies (especially manufactured goods) and that created a stark contrast with not only the situation in the Western countries but also with often visited Soviet Bloc countries. The third experience generating social frustration according to Marody was “the belief that methods of action offered to the individuals by the system lead to nowhere”. This affected mainly the young and the broadly understood intelligentsia, most severely affected by the apathy increasing during the 1980s.

6. Church and political opposition activity. In the 1980s, in front of the eyes of the PRL's authorities, the Catholic Church turned from their main opponent into an important factor stabilising social mood. That is why, not abandoning various behind-the-stage actions aimed against the clergy, of which the kidnapping and killing of the priest Jerzy Popiełuszko by SB functionaries became a symbol, the leadership of the PZPR in practice accepted the unprecedented rise of the Church's potential which took place in the 1980s. It was apparent both in record-breaking number of new priests and temples built (according to government data in 1986 over three thousand churches were being built) as well as in quick development of Catholic press and publishing houses. In the middle of the decade there were 89 Catholic periodicals, with circulation of 1.5 million. Politics of the authorities regarding the founding of new churches and Clubs of Catholic Intellectuals had also been liberalised. Additionally, Church structures played a dominant role in the distribution of charity aid from the West, while its substantial amount constantly worried the authorities.

The authorities expected that the liberal course would bring gradual increased acceptance of the system by the clergy. But the double dealing of the Church hierarchy, calculated for parallel dialogue with the authorities and discreet support of the moderate part of the opposition, disoriented Jaruzelski's team. They knew that the support of the Church would be necessary to introduce the system reform plans maturing since the middle of the decade but they could not determine to what extent the bishops would be willing to endorse them, nor how far they identified themselves with the aims of the opposition.

Meanwhile, the opposition, despite its weakness apparent in the middle of the decade, became a constant factor generating resistance against the system. In late 1985 the Ministry of the Interior assessed that there were over 350 different opposition structures in Poland, over half of them active in the area of just 5 of the 49 then existing voivodeships: Warsaw, Wrocław, Gdańsk, Kraków and Łódź. According to the SB its hard core was 1.5 thousand people while over 10 thousand worked as distributors of newspapers, messengers and printers. The number of “active sympathisers” was estimated to be 22 thousand people, what would give in total “about 34 thousand people directly involved, to a larger or lesser extent, in illegal activity”. This opposition was divided into different groups opposing each other, but generally fitted into one of two categories, differing in their attitude to the PRL authorities. While the radical category, in which Fighting Solidarity created in 1982 by Kornel Morawiecki had the most potential, wanted to organise a general strike and overthrow the regime in a revolution, the moderate category, gathered around Lech Wałęsa and Temporary Coordinating Commission of Independent Self-governing Trade Union Solidarity assumed that the deteriorating economic situation and pressure from the West would finally force Jaruzelski's team to begin talks with the opposition. From the point of view of the authorities it was important for the moderate group to be stronger than the radical one and when, in 1988, the leadership of the PZPR finally decided to talk with Wałęsa and his collaborators, the opposition radicals turned out to be too weak to stop the Round Table Talks and later to boycott the contractual parliamentary elections in June 1989.

Prof. Antoni Dudek (born 1966) – political scientist, deals mainly with recent Polish political history. Member of the Council of the Institute of National Remembrance.

Years of destiny – watershed years in European and general history – are topics which not only greatly interest historians but are obviously also of great interest to politicians, educationalists and for the difficult to grasp but omnipresent culture of memory. The year 1956 is without doubt such a year, and various aspects of this fateful year are examined in brief statements below.

1. A direct trajectory from 1956 to 1991?

The basic problem of the collective memory of 1956 is the fact that in the years of political upheaval between 1989 and 1991, this date was considered a symbol of anti-Soviet, anti-communist resistance. In 1989, the years 1956 in Hungary and Poland, 1968 in Czechoslovakia, 1980–81 in Poland and the events in the GDR, the Baltic Soviet Republics, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary and Yugoslavia were all perceived as part of a teleological process, as the prequel to the collapse of the USSR. The notion of an inevitable advance (from dictatorship to democracy, from a single-state party to a multi-party system, from a centralised managed economy to a liberal market economy) was doubtlessly inspiring for those involved. But after a brief time of euphoria the fundamental differences in the deep-seated changes which took place in these countries have become apparent, and these differences in their turn have minimised the experiences shared across borders and made it more difficult to come to a cross-border understanding of particular events.

For interpretations of the year 1956, the fundamental differences between Hungary and Poland are particularly relevant. In Poland the text of Khrushchev’s “Secret Speech”, delivered to the delegates of the 20^th Party Congress of the CPSU, was officially circulated and played an inspirational role for the process of de-Stalinisation. In the autumn of 1956, the reform communist Władysław Gomułka, who had been released after a three-year stint of imprisonment, was extremely popular. Although Polish society was quickly disappointed in him, in 1956–57 Gomułka was able to present himself as the saviour of the national interest at a time when the Soviet Union stood poised to invade Poland. In contrast, the Hungarian Prime Minister Imre Nágy was unable to influence the train of events in any profound way; his heroic image is not primarily associated with his actions during the revolutionary year of 1956 but with his martyr’s death. Had he and others not been executed, they would never have become the symbols of the will to freedom of a small Central European nation existing within the Soviet hegemonic sphere.

2. Patriotism and communism

A second basic problem touches on the relationship between patriotism and communism. Can a communist behave patriotically? Or is a patriot by definition not a communist? György Litván differentiates between two left-wing (reform socialist and national democratic) and two right-wing (national conservative and radical right) camps, both of which mistrusted the Soviet Union and demanded the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungary as quickly as possible. During this brief magic moment of Hungarian history, communists and anti-communists alike – notwithstanding all internal political dissensions – shared a common criticism of Soviet imperialism. In the struggle for the memorialisation of 1956, many anti-communists attempt to portray all communists as serving only Soviet interests, whilst one group of Polish and Hungarian communists regards 1956 as a nationalist reform-communist attempt to preserve the true values of socialism freed from Stalinist despotism. As part of the same struggle for interpretive dominance, yet another group of Hungarian communists refers to 1956 as a “counterrevolution” which aimed to restore the ultraconservative regime of the years 1919–1944. In the official Hungarian account up until 1989 the talk was of a civil war barely averted with the help of Soviet troops.

After 1972 Janos Kádár attempted to replace the term “counterrevolution” with “national tragedy”, however the former term remained part of the party’s official language up until January 18, 1989. On that day, for the first time Imre Pozsgay speaking in the Politburo referred to 1956 as a justifiable national uprising. What made this comment all the more significant was that this categorisation of 1956 as harking back to positive Hungarian traditions became the nucleus of a “counter-memory” and subsequently contributed to the historical de-legitimisation of the Kádár regime. At the same time this fundamental re-evaluation of 1956 with its reworking of the politics of remembrance paved the way for negotiations between the representatives of oppositional groups and the country’s rulers. This resulted in a number of symbolic events: Imre Nágy, who had been executed on June 16, 1958, was solemnly reburied together with other victims on June 16, 1989. On October 23, 1989, the 33rd anniversary of the start of the revolution, the “People’s Republic” of Hungary was proclaimed a republic, thus aligning with Hungary’s democratic traditions. Many years later, when Imre Mécs, who represented the opposition in the talks, was asked who had made negotiations possible and who had chosen the participants, his answer was brief and unambiguous: the masses thronging Heroes’ Square in Budapest on June 16, 1989.

3. 1956 and the reputation of the Soviet Union

The third problem has to do with the role of 1956 as it affected the international political reputation of the Soviet Union. Viewed from the perspective of 1989, the year 1956 is often considered as marking the beginning of the end of the Soviet Union, and reference is made to the chain of events extending from Czechoslovakia in 1968 and Poland in 1980 up until the dissolution of the Soviet Union on December 25, 1991. However, the historical importance of this year also had an impact on the developing world. The conduct of the great powers Britain, France, the Soviet Union and the United States during the various crises which erupted in 1956 (Poland, Hungary, Suez) was decisive for their positions as colonial powers or global players. The support provided to the developing nation Egypt against the imperialism of the British and French increased the Soviet Union’s credibility and not only among “Third World” countries.

The USA did no do much to support the liberation of “captive nations”; the containment of communist expansion was the only thing they took seriously. The Soviet Union portrayed itself, not without some success, as the friend of anti-colonial countries, primarily in Africa. Up until the end of the 1960s, approximately 31 African states gained their independence, a process which boosted the Soviet Union’s global reputation, while its image as the oppressor responsible for suppressing the Hungarian struggle for freedom faded. Decolonisation was one of the frontlines of the Cold War where change was possible, but there was no question of that occurring in the Central European Soviet sphere at the time.

4. 1956 as a cultural watershed

The year 1956 represents a cultural watershed. In contrast to the political arena, the “thaw” in Central and Eastern Europe led to a general decrease in Soviet control in the cultural sphere. The brutal repression of the Hungarian revolution did much damage to communist and social-democratic parties in Western Europe. What is less well known is the disappointment with the United States as a potential supporter of “captive nations”. For the so-called generation of ’68 this disappointment led among other things to a re-evaluation of the term “the West” in favour of a more cultural connotation. The experiences of 1956 showed that in the politically bipolar world and without the chance of achieving fundamental political change, culture can create a bridge despite strongly guarded borders.

For the generation in Central Europe who grew up after 1956, the West stood less for IBM, de Gaulle, or Kennedy than for Hemingway, Sartre, and Pasolini, and even Brigitte Bardot, and Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. Those who kept the cultural bridges open between East and West included Shostakovich, Wajda, Gombrowicz, Örkény, Heym or Kundera – to name only a few well-known cultural figures. After the thaw, a return to the previous stand-off or even to models of “socialist realism” was no longer simply possible.

5. Conclusions

The year 1956 represented a watershed for all societies in the Soviet bloc: the impact of the events in Poland and Hungary spread through the countries in Central Europe, encouraging opposition. The memory of 1956 showed that changes and modifications to the Soviet system were possible even at the very heart of power, whilst any attempt at violent liberation from Soviet hegemony in the satellite nations would inescapably lead to the use of force. Thus, the bipolarity of the world was enforced politically, but not culturally, within the respective spheres of interest of the two super powers. The memory of 1956 had little influence on the programmes put forward by the reform and protest movements during the “Prague Spring” or by Solidarność; rather they served as a warning against the comprehensive claim to power of the Moscow leadership and their local satellite rulers. 1956 was without doubt a watershed which stretched beyond Central Europe, but it is of only limited use when constructing a collective European memory: the events in East and West were too variegated and the experiences too different.

translated from German by Helen Schoop

Prof. Attila Pók - Member of the Presidium of Hungarian Academy of Sciences and deputy to the director of the Institute of History of Hungarian Academy of Sciences. From 1996 to2008 he was the deputy to the President of Historical Committee of Hungarian Academy of Sciences. He is a member of the Faculty of the Institute of European Studies and visiting Professor of History at Columbia University in New York.

In the first half of 1933 great famine (Holodomor) broke out in Ukraine. People were dying by the millions. Hundreds of villages and thousands of farmsteads were wiped off the face of the Earth. The dead were buried in cemeteries, wastelands, very often in allotment gardens. They were also thrown into wells, which were then filled up. Long ditches were dug in the gorges and corpses were heaped there.

It was not allowed to write or talk of the famine. And it obviously was not allowed to erect monuments on the graves of the people killed by the famine. The first cenotaphs were raised in 1983 across the globe, in Edmonton and Winnipeg. In May 1986 a monument of the victims of the Holodomor was unveiled in downtown Los Angeles and in 1993 in Chicago. The United States Congress allotted plot in Washington D.C. for a monument to commemorate the Ukrainians who died because of the famine. The monument will be unveiled in the Fall of 2008 on the 75^th anniversary of this tragedy of the Ukrainian nation.

In Ukraine monuments in the places of burial of the famine victims started to appear in the Fall of 1989. One of the first to be unveiled was the memorial to the victims of Stalinist terror in Pankowce village in Starosinyavskiy Raion in Khmelnytskiy Oblast. For many years the work involved with localising the famine victims and the raising of monuments or memorial signs was done by social organizations, mainly by the Association of Famine-Genocide of the years 1932-1933 in Ukraine (established in July 1992). In the recent period the work is supervised by the Secretariat of the President of Ukraine. All places of burial of the victims should be found before the 75^th anniversary of the Holodomor. Work on identifying the dead began in all oblasts.

What happened in Ukraine in the years 1932-1933 then? Why was it impossible to talk about it until December 1987? It is then that the Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Ukraine, Volodymyr Shcherbytsky, was forced to confirm through clamped teeth that there was a famine, one caused by a natural element – drought.

Historians have no trouble proving the intention of the authorities to use terror famine and noticing its results. It is much harder to prove why Stalin had this intention. No documents can attest to that because the leader had no obligation to explain his motives to his subordinates. Nevertheless, when there is no clear document, historians should find fragments of indirect evidence, which together would form a motive.

In 1988 a United States congressional committee, overseen by Executive Director John Meys, recognized Ukrainian famine of 1932-1933 as genocide. As a result, on the request of an Ukrainian diaspora organization, an international committee consisting of world class lawyers, led by George Sandberg, was formed. It examined the evidence and supported this decision by a majority of votes. Both committees based their decisions mainly on testimonies of emigrants.

Today we also need eyewitness testimonies. The main terror famine action, which was the confiscation of food during constant searches of individual farmsteads, was conducted in January 1933 based on oral orders on all levels of government, from the Kremlin to a single village. All other technological elements of this form of reprisal are documented. The effects of this Stalinist action, described in countless documents, are also well known.

Documented terror technology consisted of:

- irregular introduction of the “black plank” regime in the first stage of the terror (November-December 1932);

- constant searches of peasant homesteads for hidden grain, sometimes with penalties in kind, confiscation of meat and potatoes (November-December 1932);

- confiscation of all kinds of food during the searches of homesteads (January 1933);

- propaganda action aimed to stir up hate of starving townspeople towards “kulaks-saboteurs”;

- blockade of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic and the Kuban region of North Caucasian Country;

- ban of the term “famine” even in documents labelled top-secret.

Famine terror took place in a situation of socio-economic crisis and the crisis itself had been a result of economic politics. Defining his politics from 1929 to January 1933 Stalin himself found a clear term for it – “rushing”[1]. In industry this politics meant setting unfeasible growth speed, with reprisals of the ones who lagged behind. In the countryside “rushing” took the form of confiscation of crops. Compulsory deliveries of grain were stopped only next Spring and then the state would help the peasants with widely advertised loans for seeds and food. The “general line of socialist industrialization” was accompanied by increased number of deaths of starvation among peasants whose grain was taken and among townspeople, who were given less bread or were left with no central food provision at all.

In the West an influential movement has emerged, consisting of the so-called “revisionists”, that is researchers who want to clear the USSR history of biased opinions from the Cold War period. In particular they object to calling the Ukrainian famine of 1932-1933 genocide, which is established in historiography thanks to the works of R. Conquest and G. Meys. In unison with them, Russian scholars claim that the grain was sacrificed to a “holy cause” - the industrialization. They claim that without the “rushing” the USSR would not have been able to withstand the attack of Nazi Germany.

Let us leave to the future generations the answer to the question, whether the death of hundreds of thousands of people in various regions of the USSR, including Ukraine, as a result of compulsory deliveries of grain and selling it abroad, can be considered genocide. We are talking of something different here, of extermination of millions of people organized by the Kremlin under the guise of compulsory deliveries and not in their result. Until the last months of 1932 people in Ukraine, and in other regions, were dying because they were deprived of grain. In November 1932 they started dying because they were deprived of all other food.

Our opponents usually give three arguments which disprove, as they believe, the thesis that Holodomor was a genocide. Firstly, people of all nationalities were dying of starvation in the Ukrainian countryside. Secondly, the Ukrainians were not persecuted because of their nationality. Thirdly, can famine be called genocide when Soviet authorities organized help on a large scale for the people of the Ukrainian SSR and Kuban in 1933?

The argument that people of different nationalities were dying in the Ukrainian countryside is not convincing. It does not answer the question why the number of famine victims in Ukraine and Kuban in 1933 was larger by an order of magnitude than in other regions of the European part of the USSR. The answer is simple: terror was aimed against rural areas of Ukraine in which not only Ukrainians lived. The fact that people of many nationalities were dying is understandable. Terror famine could not be targeted at specific people – it hit in a large area.

Other arguments have to be taken into consideration. Let us first focus on the thesis that the Ukrainians were not persecuted because of their nationality. In the United States congressional committee investigating the Holodomor witnesses were asked the same question: why was Stalin exterminating you? Because we are Ukrainian, they answered. How else could the peasants answer? This was the belief which became prevalent in the Ukrainian diaspora and which also became popular in Ukraine after 1991.

And who was Stalin really exterminating? American researcher of Ukrainian national communism, G. Meys, was the first scholar to say that Stalinist terror in Ukraine was targeted not against people of a certain nationality or a professional group but against the citizens of the Ukrainian State created in the period of the fall of the Russian Empire, which survived its own destruction and was revived as a Soviet state. The idea that Ukrainians were to be destroyed as a political factor and as a social organism and not an ethnic group was presented in Meys' report during the first scientific conference dedicated to the Holodomor organized in Montreal in 1983.[2]

Our opponents say that it is impossible to reconcile the organization of famine-genocide with large scale food-aid for the starving. The fact that such aid was given is unquestionable. Robert Davies and Stefen Wheatcroft published a monograph in 2004, in which they enumerate 35 party-government resolutions regarding giving food-aid to the starving regions of the USSR. The first one is dated February 7 and the last one July 20, 1933. Total aid was 320 thousand tonnes of grain of which 264.7 thousand tonnes were directed to Ukrainian SSR and to Kuban, and 55.3 thousand tonnes to all other regions together[3].

These numbers convinced R. Conquest that the thesis of famine-genocide is incorrect. Davies and Wheatcroft emphasise in an annotation on the jacket of their book, that their line of reasoning “differs from the earlier opinions of numerous historians, including R. Conquest”. Conquest acquainted himself with the book when it was still only in manuscript and his verdict is also located on the jacket, next to the annotation of the authors: “It is indeed an extraordinary contribution to research on such an important problem”. In the book the authors cited a fragment of his letter written in September 2003, after reading the manuscript. In this letter Conquest stated, that Stalin did not organize the famine in 1933 on purpose, although he did nothing to prevent the tragedy[4].

Aid for the starving was advertised as care of the party for the people who were in trouble of their own fault. The technology of terror famine is already known. There is only one thing to add, state aid for the starving peasants. Then, and only then, this form of reprisal might be a deliberate action of the Kremlin!

Indeed, can one imagine that Soviet authorities were constantly hunting a man only because he was Ukrainian? It is also impossible to think that the authorities would kill a man just because he was a peasant. Only one conclusion is possible: the Holodomor occurred as a result of specific circumstances.

During the first communist assault in the years 1918-1920 the Bolsheviks managed to build the basics of command economy. In 1929 Stalin began a new assault. He wanted to realize what Lenin did not manage to: drive dozens of millions of small commodity goods producers into communes. As a result, in the early 1930 a colossal social outburst began to develop. Stalin was forced to give up the communes and restrict himself to artels, that is he allowed the peasants to have allotment gardens. Thinking that the kolkhozniks would make do with the crops from their allotment gardens he began taking practically all of the grain from the countryside. Peasants had no right to get any grain until they carried out the plan of compulsory deliveries, which were, in practice, unlimited. Grain found after the end of the purchase was considered hidden from record or stolen. Peasants did not want to work in the kolkhozes without pay and the state accused them of sabotage. Crisis of the kolkhoz system threatened to bring down the entire economy. In January 1933 the government was forced to change unlimited compulsory deliveries into flat-rate state purchase of grain on the conditions of a tax. This meant, that the state finally recognized the property right of kolkhozes and kolkhozniks to the farm produce. The new law changed the relations between the town and the countryside as radically as the decree introducing the tax in kind in Match 1921. The kolkhozes were shaped into what the living generations remember.

Our colleagues in the West understand the socio-economic causes of famine of 1932-1933 in the USSR, though not all of them, as we have already presented, understand the Stalinist politics of “rushing”. Most of them, however, underestimate the other side of the problem – the national one. For them a starving Ukrainian peasant is just a peasant and not a citizen of the Ukrainian Soviet state. They understand the Soviet Union as a union of lawless republics created by the so-called titular nation. But the USSR became such an entity only after the famine of 1932-1933 and the terror of 1937-1938. Before that the Soviet Union was a union of states.

Richard Pipes, recognized as an expert in Russian history, claims, that national Soviet statehood was a fiction since the very beginning, since a dictatorship with its centre in Moscow was hidden beneath it[5]. One must agree with this statement, but should not limit oneself to it. Within the scope of such an opinion of the Soviet authorities we will be able understand neither the Holodomor, nor the confrontation, destructive for the USSR, of B. Yeltsin and M. Gorbachev in Moscow.

When the sick Lenin was faced with the fact of the creation of a common state by way of “autonomization” of national republics, he introduced fundamental corrections to the constitutional structure. A union of states was created into which entered, “together and on equal terms”, the Russian Federation and all the other independent republics. It was emphasized in the constitutions of the union republics and in the all-union constitution that every republic has a right to leave the Soviet Union (of course the procedure was not given). In such a way Lenin managed to outsmart history and maintain the essential part of the shattered pre-revolution empire in a new Soviet shell.

Soviet statehood is a difficult term both in the original, Russian, sense and in the secondary, national one. Ancillary to the dictatorship of Kremlin leaders, the Soviets had real executive power. Thanks to this power the party of the Bolsheviks was turning into a state structure.

The dual structure of power has to be considered Lenin's ingenious invention. But even it was not safe for the centre, which should be called the Kremlin and not Moscow. Moscow is the capital of Russia, the republic with the most rights. Bolshevik leaders changed the all-Russian Central Committee of the Russian Communist Party into an all-union organ. Although Russia remained the state-building republic, the all-union centre did not aim to identify with it (the constitutional structure of the USSR prevented that) nor to create in Moscow a rival centre of Russian power. The rule “together and on equal terms” which applied when formally independent republics joined the USSR was rejected in the years 1990-1991 as a result of the confrontation between M. S. Gorbachev and B. N. Yeltsin.

What was the danger in the dual structure of power during the transition from Soviet statehood on the Kremlin to national statehood? The danger was both of a primary and secondary character. The secondary danger concerned the actions of various political activists who did not share some of the opinions of the centre or who could, already during the course of action, oppose it. That is why the entire Politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine perished in the heat of the reprisals, dozens of thousands of the employees of the apparatus and representatives of national intelligentsia.

The primary danger that explained the reprisals lurked in the very same privileges of the structure of power that the Kremlin secured for itself. In the hands of the Soviets, obviously including the national Soviets, real executive power was focused, which gave the party the nature of a state structure. As long as this power was wielded directly by the Kremlin there was no danger of collapse of the Soviet Union. But if such control seeped by itself into local party structures (in the case of a crisis of central government) the danger of a collapse was becoming real. The greatest threat, according to the Kremlin, was Ukraine – a republic with long-lasting tradition of national (not Soviet!) statehood. This republic neighboured Europe and as far as economic potential was concerned (including workforce) it matched all the other national republics put together.

After the creation of the USSR the Kremlin began developing a campaign of entrenching Soviet control in the non-Russian environment in the national republics. In Ukraine this campaign of entrenching quickly left the framework of a purely bureaucratic undertaking and became a tool for a national revival. After the census of 1926 the Ukrainian leadership insistently applied to the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party to incorporate into the republic the neighbouring areas of the Russian Federation, including the Kuban Oblast, where Ukrainians were the majority of the population. These efforts were fruitless. The leadership of the Ukrainian SRR managed, however, to get the permission of the Kremlin to Ukrainize the areas beyond the borders of the republic, where the Ukrainians were the majority of the population,. Shortly, in Kuban Ukrainian language was introduced to administrative offices, schools and mass media. The Kremlin watched theses successes with growing concern. Fully Ukrainized Kuban would have to be incorporated into the Ukrainian SRR and that would increase the already dangerously large Ukrainian workforce in the USSR.

After everything that has been said it is only left to present the proof why the decision made by the Kremlin to confiscate food stock in the Ukrainian countryside in January 1933 was possible. The evidence concerns August 1932.

Historians properly assessed Stalin's habit of resting for a couple of months each year in the resorts of North Caucasus. “Tending the property” in the Kremlin were L. M. Kaganovich (party line) and W. M. Molotov (Soviet line). Taking the highest precautions of secrecy Stalin had to contact them by sending handwritten letters via special agents of State Political Directorate (GPU). When Stalin was in the Kremlin the contact was oral and there were no traces of it left in the documentation of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Russian Communist Party. This circumstance clearly marks the boundaries between the institutional and personal responsibility for everything that happened in the country. It is clear what can be blamed on the higher collective organ of state party, the Chekists and the whole Politburo of the Central Committee, and what Stalin himself and his closest assistants from these years, L. M. Kaganovich, W. M. Molotov and P. P. Postyshev, can be accused of.

Editor-in-chief of the book “The Stalin-Kaganovich Correspondence, 1931-36” O. W. Khlevniuk noticed the following rule: even in secret correspondence Stalin was constructing, for himself and for his people, an unreal view of events, allowing the highest authorities to keep “political face”[6]. In a letter to Kaganovich dated August 11, 1932 he was unusually frank, however, because he wanted to make him the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine. Kaganovich was in the middle of a staff combination and that is why he should know its essence and the nature of the urgent matters in Ukraine he would be responsible for.

The essence of Stalin's letter dated August 11, 1932 is contained in two paragraphs:

“The most important now is Ukraine. The matters in Ukraine are going badly. Badly on the party line. They say that in two Ukrainian oblasts (Kiev and Dnitropetrovsk, I believe) about 50 regional committees opposed the idea of compulsory deliveries of grain calling them unrealistic. In other regional committees the matters, they say, are not much better. How could it be so? This is not a party but a parliament, a caricature of a parliament. Instead of managing the regions Kosior was manoeuvring between the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party directives and the requests of regional committees and manoeuvred himself into a hopeless position. Badly on the Soviet line. Chubar is no leader. Badly on the GPU line. Redens (Stanislav Redens, GPU head in the Ukrainian SSR until January 1933) can not handle the fight against the counter-revolution in such a large and special republic as Ukraine.

If we do not attempt to repair the situation in Ukraine now, we may lose it. Remember that Piłsudski is not asleep and his agents are much stronger than Redens or Kosior believe. Remember also that in the Communist Party of Ukraine (50 thousand members, ha-ha) there is no lack (yes no lack!) of rotten element, conscious and unconscious Petlurans and finally – Piłsudski's agents. As soon as matters go to worse this element will not hesitate to open a front inside (and outside) the party, against the party. The worst part is that the Ukrainian top brass does not see these dangers. It can no longer be so”[7].

If we examine the situation in the USSR in the second half of 1932 based on Soviet newspapers we will find only reports of successful completion of new constructions of the first Five-Year Plan. The GPU reports to which Stalin refers to in his letter to Kaganovich show a different view – gloomy and ominous. The town was starving, the countryside was starving. Communist-party Soviet apparatus was completely confused or openly rebelled. Dissatisfaction with the actions of the authorities was growing among the rank and file party members.

A crisis that took place 1.5 year before the events described should also be mentioned. In early March 1930 Stalin stopped the collectivisation because of peasant outbreaks. Canadian historian Lynne Viola ascertained that the well-known article titled “Dizzy with Success” was published because of the outbreaks in Ukraine and North Caucasus, which in terms of the number of participants, were well ahead all other regions of the USSR put together[8]. Only one thing should be added to what she wrote: Stalin was especially frightened by outbreaks in the border regions of the Ukrainian SSR at that time. He understood that Ukraine is not just a region like the others but also a republic of high status, one neighbouring with Europe. He expressed that in his letter to Kaganovich from August 11, 1932. After enumerating the undertakings which could lead to a breakthrough in Ukraine he ends thus: “Without these and other similar measures (economic and political strengthening of Ukraine, first the border regions etc.) I repeat – we may lose Ukraine”[9].

The second half of 1932 became, therefore, a moment in which two crises met and compounded – in the socio-economic and the national politics of the Kremlin. According to the documents Stalin was most afraid of a social outbreak in starving Ukraine. Reprisals, which soon began, were aimed at once against Ukrainian peasantry (terror famine) and Ukrainian intelligentsia (individual terror on a mass scale, purges in the cells of the communist party). Severe reprisals were directed not against people of a certain nationality but against the citizens of the Ukrainian State. And it is obvious they were Ukrainian. The point is, that citizens of Ukraine, even Ukraine in the humble guise of a Soviet republic, by their very existence were a threat to the Kremlin criminals who took control of the party and the new empire they created.

When we say, that the state made Ukrainian peasants completely dependant on it by confiscating their food supplies, they demand: show us a document! There is no document, there is no genocide. People who survived the Holodomor say that special brigades were conducting searches in peasants' farmsteads and taking all the food. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of testimonies from different villages create a consistent image. If it is so, the only correct conclusion needs to be drawn: those who were conducting the searches were doing so by order, even when it was not written on paper. But they demand a document...

Well, we can present a written document, but only in a proper context. The story has to begin with the “five ears of corn” law, which was supposed to prevent “waste” of crops.

“Meeting the demands of workers and kolkhozniks” (as it is written in the preamble) the Central Executive Committee and the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR on August 7, 1932 passed a resolution “On the protection of property of State enterprises, kolkhozes and cooperatives, and the consolidation of socialist property”. For theft of property execution by firing squad was proposed and “in case of mitigating circumstances” imprisonment for a period not less than 10 years[10].

In November 1932 Stalin was delegating special commissions for compulsory deliveries of grain overseen by: W. M. Molotov – to Ukrainian SRR, L. M. Kaganovich – to Kuban. According to the instructions he received, Molotov prepared the text of two resolutions of the Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine dated November 18 and of the Council of People's Commissars of the Ukrainian SSR dated November 20, identically named “On measures to strengthen state grain procurements” (final text was signed by Stalin). It included ominous items about punishing the “debtors” in kind – taking the meat and potatoes[11]. Taking advantage of the situation created by terrorist actions of these commissions the Politburo of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party defined the Ukrainization of North Caucasus as “Petlurian”. In a resolution of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party and the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR dated December 14, 1932 it was demanded to “in North Caucasus immediately start using Russian instead of Ukrainian in all Soviet documentation, cooperative organs of the “Ukrainized” regions and in all newspapers and magazines, as Russian would be easier to understand for the population of Kuban, and to prepare the schools to change the language of instruction into Russian before Fall”[12]. In December 1932 the peasants' homesteads were constantly searched for grain. Both the ones being searched and the ones doing the searches got used to it. The searches were led by chekists and conducted by starving members of committees of indigent peasants (they received a certain percentage of the found grain) and by workers sent from towns. Just like the year before in compulsory deliveries the countryside was deprived of almost all of the grain even before the searches.

On January 1, 1933 Stalin sent a telegram to Kharkov requesting deliveries of grain and proposed to the Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine and the Council of People's Commissars of the Ukrainian SSR to “spread the information through rural councils, kolkhozes, kolkhozniks and individual workers, that:

a) all who will of their own accord give back to the state the grain previously stolen and hidden need not be afraid of reprisal;

b) kolkhozniks, kolkhozes and individual workers who insist on hiding the grain stolen and concealed from record will be punished in the most severe ways according to the resolution of the Central Executive Committee and the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR dated August 7, 1932.”[13]

The telegram, which consisted of the two items quoted above, seems odd. Stalin never addressed the peasants of any union republic with threats. Furthermore, he knew that there was no grain in Ukraine, because the searches conducted by the chekists gave meagre results. The sense of the document is clear, however, if we confront the two items. The second one is addressed to the ones who ignored the demand stated in the first one, that is the ones who did not give the grain away. And how could one ascertain who did not give the grain away? Only by conducting searches! Stalin's telegram was, therefore, a signal to continue the searches.

The people, who survived the Holodomor were saying that during the searches not only potatoes and meat with pork fat was taken from them, as the resolution about the penalty in kind stated, but all foodstuffs. The telegram, therefore, leaves no doubt as to the identity of the man who gave the signal to begin the reprisal action of confiscating food, the organiser of terror famine.

Stalin's actions need to be analysed together. On a joint meeting of the Politburo of the Central Committee and the Presidium of the Central Control Commission of the All-Union Communist Party on November 27, 1932 he connected the failure of compulsory deliveries of grain not with the politics of issues (which he gave up in January 1933, transferring relations between the state and the kolkhozes to the tax system) but with harmful activity and sabotage in kolkhozes and sovkhozes. “It would be unwise – said the General Secretary – if the communists, assuming that the kolkhozes are the socialist form of management, did not answer with a crushing blow to the attack of these separate kolkhozniks and kolkhozes”[14].

The original reason of the terrorist actions was the striving of the Stalinist group to shift the responsibility for the economic collapse in “socialist construction”, which led to famine in the whole country, off themselves. The “crushing blow” was aimed against the republic, which could use the catastrophic results of “rushing” the economy to leave the USSR. Stalin was afraid that the top brass of the Ukrainian SSR could use the social outburst, maturing among the peasants who were starving for two years in a row. The depriving of all the food was an effective way of thwarting the rebellious potential of the Ukrainian countryside.

Stalin did not restrict himself to confiscation of food. On January 22, 1933 he wrote, by his own hand (the manuscript survived) the directive of the Central Executive Committee of the All-Union Communist Party and the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR beginning with the words: “Information has reached the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party and the Sovnarkom, that peasants are leaving Kuban and Ukraine in search for food and going to Central Black Earth Region, to Volga, to Moscow Oblast, Western Oblast, Belarus”. The Kremlin demanded a blockade of the Ukrainian SSR and Kuban from the leadership of the neighbouring regions[15].

The people who survived the Holodomor were convinced that the government was exterminating people because of their ethnicity. Reality was more complex: the government was at the same time exterminating and saving the Ukrainian peasants. Pavel Postyshev, who arrived in Ukraine in the end of January 1933 with dictatorial letters of authority, had two tasks: to organize the Spring sowing and to liquidate the “nationalistic aberration” in the party and the Soviet apparatus. In February he delivered the grain supply of the Ukrainian SSR to feed the starving. He was helping only those who could work. That is how peasants were taught to work in a kolkhoz. At the same time Postyshev attacked the Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine and the nonparty intelligentsia. 74 849 people were arrested by the chekists in 1932 and 124 463 in 1933[16]. Following the Holodomor and mass reprisals of 1937-1938 the republic lost its rebellious potential (with the exception of Western oblasts, which were incorporated into the USSR in 1939).

The politicians who threw Ukraine into the spiral of terrifying reprisals are no more. The totalitarian state, the leadership of which was responsible for the Holodomor, also no longer exists. We expect the international community to recognize this crime as genocide. Above all we expect that from the Russian Federation, which also lost millions of human lives in the years of Stalin's rule.

[1] Сталин И. Сочинения. – vol. 13. – p.183-184.

[2] Famine in Ukraine 1932–1933. – Edmonton, 1986. – p.12.

[3] Davies R.W., Wheatcroft Stephen G. The Years of Hunger. Soviet Agriculture, 1931–1933. – Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. – p 481-484.

[4] Ibidem, p. 441.

[5] Пайпс Ричард. Россия при большевиках. – М., 1997. – p.184.

[6] Сталин и Каганович. Переписка. 1931–1936 гг. – М., 2001. – p.18.

[7] Ibidem, p. 273-274.

[8] Lynne Viola. Peasant rebels under Stalin. – New York, Oxford, 1996. – p. 138-140.

[9] Сталин и Каганович. Переписка. 1931–1936 гг. – p. 274.

[10] Ibidem, vol. 3, p. 453-454.

[11] Голод 1932–1933 років на Україні: очима істориків, мовою документів. – К., 1990. – p.254; Колективізація і голод на Україні. 1929–1933. – К., 1992. – p.549.

>[12] Ibidem, p. 293-294.

[13] Голод 1932–1933 років на Україні: очима істориків, мовою документів. – p. 308.

[14] Трагедия советской деревни. – vol. 3. – p.559.

[15] Ibidem, pp. 32, 635.

[16] Нікольський В.М. Репресивна діяльність органів державної безпеки СРСР в Україні (кінець 1920‑х – 1950‑ті рр.). – Донецьк, 2003. – p. 119.

prof. Stanisław Kulczycki (born 1937) – Ukrainian historian, deputy director of the Institute of History of the Ukrainian Academy of Sciences. 

The creation of Solidarity was a great challenge for the whole political construction of post-Yalta Europe. This construction had been tested on a number of occasions in the post-war decades by the societies striving for freedom from the dependence on the USSR and from its consequence – the communist system.

1. In 1956 - a crisis in Poland and especially in Hungary exposed the hollowness of the strategy of “liberation”; the West remained passive regarding the pursuit of liberty behind the Iron Curtain.

2. In 1968 – liberalisation of the Prague Spring did not cause a significant support from the West and the armed intervention did not disturb the détente process.

3. The politics of easing of relations (détente) meant on the one hand the acceptance of the existing division in Europe, but on the other it could constrain the radical actions of the regimes on our side of the Iron Curtain.

4. Connected with détente but emphasised by Carter (Brzeziński), the politics of defending human rights was an additional restraint and obligation against blatant cynicism.

5. The pontificate of John Paul II from the beginning was boosting both the Poles' and other East European nations' self esteem.

The attitude of the powers regarding the crisis in Poland in the period 1980-81 requires inspection with great detail, however it is already possible to say, that neither the East, nor the West was prepared to revise the status quo. Poland was to remain a part of the Eastern Bloc, the existence of which was no longer questioned. However:

1. The powers of the West emphasised the right of the Poles to govern their affairs without outside interference, in practice – without Soviet intervention.

2. It is difficult to overestimate especially the US initiative from December 1980 warning the USSR against an intervention in Poland.

3. While the rule of non-interference in internal matters of Poland was emphasised, the issues of the need for dialogue among the Poles and the acceptance of “S” as a permanent element of Polish reality were raised.

4. At the same time, in the light of well-known economic problems, the West had no vision or political courage to draft a significant plan of economic aid.

5. We know of no attempts to talk between the Yalta signatories regarding Poland, what would in any case be highly unlikely because of the USSR position.

This listing can be summed up by the probably correct assessment of American politics made by the vice-minister of the People's Republic of Poland, Józef Wiejacz, in early December 1981: “Democratised Poland with recognised political pluralism (although without a free test of strength) remaining a socialist country and a member of the Warsaw Pact is a desirable goal of the USA. Such Poland would radiate its influence on other socialist countries, not excluding the USSR. The influence would be stronger if it was supported by the reform of economy.” Wiejacz added, that the limiting of economic aid for the People's Republic of Poland was the result of uncertainty about further internal political developments in Poland (it was not known who would ultimately benefit from the aid). In early 1981 the Polish government's request for financial aid of 3 billion USD (and additional 5 billion USD from the Western capitals) was rejected. The willingness of the other Western powers to become involved was significantly smaller, e.g. the West Germany government remained restrained in December 1980 and in the Fall of 1981 informed the Polish authorities in Warsaw, that they could not count on such significant financial aid.

Solidarity's leaders and advisors were mainly realists and rightly assessed the limits of possible changes of the status of Poland. They were choosing the politics of “small steps”. Solidarity declared self-limitation and respect of the division of Europe, avoided speaking out on the affairs of other countries and emphasised the will to build the subjectivity of Polish society in a country still controlled by the communists, at least as far as alliances, control of the army and foreign policy go. The tactic of these statements was obvious to everyone. The establishing of a separate course in the contacts with Western leaders, mainly, but not only, trade unions, was a departure from this scheme. During the visits of Solidarity's leaders in Rome, Paris and in the Fall of 1981 in West Germany, the custom of agreeing in the matters of meetings and statements with the Polish diplomatic agencies was disregarded. The “Message to the Working People of Eastern Europe” was a particularly far-reaching departure from the scheme. It was passed by Solidarity's Convention of Delegates in September 1981 and although it was not an effect of political calculation it ultimately played a moral role and made positive relations of Poles with their neighbours easier.

The introducing of martial law on December 13^th interrupted the “Polish experiment” and was an attempt do return to status quo ante. The moral commitments undertaken in the era of détente and during the Solidarity period by the Western powers did not allow to return to the politics of cynicism, however. The experience of the attack on Solidarity was an important, perhaps necessary, ingredient accelerating and defining president Reagan's politics towards the USSR. The chilling of the international climate and the intensifying of the arms race in the conditions of technological revolution were challenges, which the USSR could no longer meet.

The Polish crisis, lasting also after 1982, was one of the important factors of the erosion of the post-Yalta system. It was also contributing to the weakening of the Soviet Bloc as a result of the maintained intense resistance and the existence of organised opposition in Poland, which had contact with organizations and even the governments of the Western world.

Solidarity was present in the scope of opinion of the people in the West, the situation which was supported by the press, but also by the enormous humanitarian aid undertaken with the most intensity by Germany. It seems that this aid contributed in a decisive way towards the breaking of distrust between the Poles and the Germans, which was the crucial condition of the success of changes of 1989.

The overcoming of habits and barriers natural in the world of politics required many specific attempts that were for some time very difficult, however. In mid-1985 in a letter to Zbigniew Bujak, being in hiding, Bronisław Geremek wrote: “In international public opinion a view is becoming prevalent that it had to be the way it happened on the 13^th of December and that the situation in Poland returned to the East European norm already. And this is the function of the interviews I give: that it could have been different, that <S> does exist, that <S> can be a political partner, that Poland is and will remain different from the others.”

The construction of such an opinion was a result of many factors, including the influence of John Paul II. It seems that his activity should be linked with the breakthrough of 1986, which was the decision of the US government to end the economic sanctions introduced after December 13^th depending on the release of political prisoners (including Bujak, arrested in the middle of the year) and making by the Pope the visit of Jaruzelski in Vatican dependant also on the release of the prisoners. The amnesty in September 1986 allowed for open, however still illegal, functioning of the opposition. Jaruzelski was received in Vatican in 1987 and that unlocked the diplomatic contacts of the People's Republic of Poland on the big stage and helped to end the sanctions mentioned earlier. In June 1987 John Paul II could make another visit in Poland, which had a big importance in reviving the activity of Solidarity. Numerous visits of people of importance from the West in Poland in 1987 included from that time the meetings with Wałęsa and his advisors.

The way out of the Polish crisis through negotiations and compromise was in accordance with the ideas and priorities of the Western powers shaped already in 1981. At least until the Fall of 1989 the dissolution of the Eastern Bloc was not taken into consideration, only its pluralisation and evolution. Poland should follow the road of gradual democratic reforms based on a possibly wide consensus. The West was also not ready to tackle the various problems, mainly economic, which had to arise from the rapid dissolution of the Eastern Bloc. This process had to take time.

What had been said earlier leads to the conclusion, that the actions of the leaders of Solidarity in 1989 were rational to the utmost and matched the ideas and expectations of the leaders of the West well and at the same time did not provoke a counterattack of those forces, which would be willing to defend the Soviet empire. The model of Polish transformation became an impulse which stimulated the freedom movements in East Germany and in Czechoslovakia, although not all are willing to admit it today.

The example of a rebellion and self-organization of a society against a monolithic state and its progressing erosion was noticed by other societies. After all, thousands of articles around the world were written about Solidarity, but also about the limited and gradual demands. The peaceful method of protest and pressure became known, together with the building by way of mobilising the masses in a calm, but determined, action. Other movements, such as Sajudis or the democratic movement in East Germany and Czechoslovakia of the end of the 1980s, adopted similar ways of self-organization and protest. Whether it was the example of Solidarity or their own experience can only be answered by further studies and analyses.

Even before the June elections the Solidarity Citizens' Committee passed a statement about international affairs, in which it was written: “We declare readiness to cooperate with all forces working for pluralism and democracy in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, in the USSR. We express sympathy towards the nations of the USSR fighting for their rights, especially the Belarusians, Ukrainians and Lithuanians. […] At the same time we declare that we support that, which strengthens the unity of Europe and the popularisation of the European idea. Poland can not exist without Europe, but there is also no peaceful Europe without Poland.”

The option chosen by Solidarity in 1989 and especially during the forming of the Mazowiecki government and afterwards, was unambiguously pro-Western, aiming to establish equal relationship with the USSR and pave the way to integration with Western Europe. The politics of “small steps”, which was the essence of actions of the mainstream of Solidarity, turned out to be a very effective one, not only for the Poles, but also for the neighbouring nations.

prof. Andrzej Friszke (born in. 1956) – historian, vice-president of Institute of National Remembrance. Linked to the Institute of Political Studies of Polish Academy of Science (PAN). He was editor in Solidarity Weekly „Tygodnik Solidarność”. Member of editor board „Więzi”.

The 20th century was an age of totalitarianisms, both of which cited the danger emanating from the other to legitimise its own actions. The ravages, mass murders, deportations were usually justified as preventive measures. In this respect there are reciprocal and close causal connections between the crimes of the communists and those of the national-socialists. A memorial culture which only looks at the crimes of one of these totalitarian systems runs the risk of being harnessed to the service of the other totalitarian system and consequently of abetting its crimes or of playing down those crimes. The two memorial sites discussed in my essay are illustrative examples of this.

The “House of Terror”

The house at Andrássy Street 60 was virtually predistined to become a museum because, until 1945, it was the headquarters of the Hungarian national-socialists, after which it was occupied by the communist political police until 1989. The center-right nationalist government of Viktor Orbán spared no costs, and in 2002 it had created the most imposing museum in Hungary of the last 15 years. The courtyard of the museum houses photo installations consisting of a “wall of perpetrators” and a “wall of victims”. Well appointed rooms have been created over three floors, which focus on selected aspects of two dictatorships: that of the Arrow Cross Party and that of the Communists.

From the start, socialist and liberal politicians criticised the idea of a setting up a museum in this house. Foreign Minister László Kovács suggested creating a “House of Remembrance and Reconciliation” at another site instead of a “House of Terror”. But reconciliation demands a suitable acknowledgement of guilt. This has practically not happened on the part of the perpetrators.

The first room of the exhibition focuses on the “double occupation”. While a conscious decision was taken not to depict the road to the Holocaust in the exhibition – strangely enough this was the only topic about which there was a general consensus between all political parties, who agreed to consign this topic to a separate museum set in a more remote location – the abridged and truncated depiction of history has resulted in outrageous compromises. Visitors are led to believe that only a few individuals can be held responsible for the attacks on Jews, although in reality the reverse was the case. In view of the incriminating fact that several hundreds of thousands of Hungarian profited from the theft of Jewish property and that the ruling parties prior to 1944 barely differed from the Arrow Cross Party in their anti-Semitism, such information is completely misleading. While the policies of Miklós Horthy acted as a brake on the most radical Hungarian anti-Semites, his merits cannot be used to cover up the responsibility for the persecution of Jews which occurred prior to 1944.

The most obvious failure of symbolic representation occurs in the room which shows a change of clothes. Two figures, each with their back to the other, wearing the uniform respectively of the Arrow Cross Party and of the communist political police, are positioned on a revolving podium. In addition, a screen shows shadowy figures changing their clothes. As in 1945 not a single member of the Arrow Cross Party put on the uniform of the political police, this representation can only be described as a falsification of history. If the organizers of the exhibition had wanted to show the similarities between the two totalitarian parties, then they would have had to highlight the continuities among the supporters of both parties.

The curators’ concept of revealing continuities by using members of the political police as examples is also indicative of a key issue of this exhibition: all references to a national responsibility for the crimes have been avoided. All that visitors can read about the members of the political police is the comment: “an organisation of radical left-wing elements, criminals and former hangman’s assistants of the Arrow Cross Party”. In fact, there was not a single “hangman’s assistant of the Arrow Cross Party” among the leaders of the political police, that is, among the persons whose portraits are displayed in the exhibition, nor were there any common criminals. Many, indeed, were staunch communists. For a large majority revenge may have motivated and influenced their decision to join the police because, to a large extent, the first members of the political police were Jews who had suffered first-hand experience of oppression under the government of Miklós Horthy (1 March 1920–16 October 1944) as conscripted members of the Jewish Labour Service (a special unit for forced labour in the Hungarian army), that is, as victims. Only a few of them had returned from exile. The exhibition primarily shows compromising material about communists. The museum “House of Terror” has given virtually no space to antifascism.

In the room on anti-communist resistance, visitors can read the following text: “Several thousands of people enlisted in various armed resistance organisations (...) The names of many of them are unknown. Communist lies are still being told about others, although they are true heroes”. It is difficult to interpret such sentences in any other sense than by taking them to mean that all anti-communists movements, including extreme right-wing and racist movements, were heroic and should be glorified, which means that the motives behind such anti-communist movements should not be scrutinised and differentiated.

This undifferentiated presentation of individual life stories results in a confusion between perpetrators and victims. This is particularly evident in the reconstructed torture cellar. There is no reference next to any of the portraits in the cells informing visitors about what exactly the persons represented there stood accused of and why they had become victims of the Terror. Victims where a discussion of their biography as perpetrators would have been necessary were either left out or belonged exclusively to the anti-communist camp. This concept is an indication of the current political considerations of the organizers of the exhibition who, while they did dare to present controversial figures from the anti-communist camp as victims, failed to apply the same standards to communists.

The aim of the Hungarian politics of memory to create meaning is unmistakeable when one examines the speeches and comments made at the museum’s inauguration. In his opening speech in February 2002 Minister President Viktor Orbán stated that dictatorships in Hungary had always only come to power with outside help. However, this does not apply in the case of the Soviet Republic (19 March – 2 August 1919). And during the government of Döme Sztójay (22 March–29 September 1944) the deportations of Jews were carried out for the most part by Hungarian officials.

The Central Cemetery

The victims of all important political trials held between 1945 and 1962 are buried in the Central Cemetery in two large plots. In plot 298 lie the remains of people executed between 1945 and 1956 for alleged or actual “war crimes” and “crimes against humanity”, but also the remains of people who were victims of show trials. Arrow Cross members, war criminals, democrats, and socialists all lie here side by side. In the adjacent plot 301 the victims of show trials held prior to 1956 as well as participants in the revolution of 1956 are buried.

After the fall of communism the grounds became a site of memory where the different interpretations of the past collided. Already in 1989 the fringe artists collective Inconnu erected numerous so-called Kopjafa (wooden beams in the style of the burial steles of the Magyars prior to their Christianisation) on plot 298. In the same year and as a reaction against the modernity of the memorial site, a stylised entrance resembling a Magyar farmhouse was erected, bearing the inscription: “Wanderer, you who come here can only enter this gate if you have a Hungarian soul.” Behind it a marble tablet was put up with the following inscription: “They died a martyr’s death for the fatherland”. Sentences such as these exemplify a stance whereby those buried there are considered victims of a special persecution directed against Magyars. The fact that the perpetrators (judges, policemen, officers, politicians, etc.) without exception considered themselves as Magyars is thus indirectly denied by the initiators of these funerary inscriptions.

The fact that both innocent victims and mass murders rest together in plot 298 and even that some of these mass murderers were not executed for their crimes but on trumped up charges has not been a topic of discussion for more than 15 years. A “cleansing” of the plot with the removal of problematic persons is unlikely and would be difficult to enforce because the families would consider this a desecration of the grave. When we look at many of the victims we find a mixture of actual and contrived guilt. Were there to be a consistent separation, only a few persons would remain in the plot. This situation is made even more complicated by the fact that one group is totally missing from the plot: the communists who were killed during the show trials. They were either not buried here or they were exhumed already in 1956 and ceremoniously reburied. And so, for the right-wing camp there is no reason to criticise or review those buried there. The possibility of replacing the commemorative plaques with new texts, thereby doing justice to the complexity of both sites of memory, is clearly a task which the political decision-makers have continued to avoid up to the present day.

translated from German by Helen Schoop

Krisztián Ungváry (born 1969) – Hungarian historian specializing in political and military history of 20th century. His most popular works are studies on sieges laid to Budapest during World War II. One of the founders of the Hungarian Association of Boy Scouts.

As a preamble I would like to briefly present the story of Bratislava’s Coronation Hill. The site played an important part in the coronation ritual of the kings of Hungary. The newly elected king would ride to the hill, dismount, and then take one step in all four cardinal directions with his raised sword in hand to signify his willingness to defend the country. In 1897, a marble monument to Maria Theresa was unveiled on the site, a masterpiece by the Bratislavan sculptor János Fadrusz. In 1920 the monument was blown up by Czech soldiers. After the formation of Czechoslovakian Republic a monument to Milan Rastislav Štefanik flanked by an enormous lion was erected there.

In the time of the so-called “Slovak State” (1938–1944) the lion was considered superfluous. In socialist Czechoslovakia even the general was removed from the site. Today we admire monuments celebrating the Slovak triumvirate of national rebirth from the years 1848/49: Ludovít Štúr, Jozef Miloslav Hurban and Michal Miloslav Hodža.

Not unusually for Europe, certainly for Central Europe, the city has many names. The names – Preßburg, Bratislava and Pozsony – do not merely mark political vicissitudes and underscore the multi-ethnic composition of this city on the banks of the Danube, they also indicate the differing respective memories of the city. Even the use of these names in the 19th and 20th centuries points to certain characteristic traits of Central European nation-states – as modern and tolerant nations. In a recently published collection of essays on the city’s historiography Elena Mannová wrote: “At first glance one could claim that there are many histories of this city, all of which developed as a consequence of political and social changes and of changes of rulers over the different ethnic groups living in the city.”[1] Although in this essay I will be looking at the Hungarian chapter of the city’s history and at Hungarian traditions, I would like to emphasise that I am a committed supporter of a collective, supranational reading of Bratislava.

The most important aspects of the Hungarian contribution to this city will be summarised in five points: Bratislava as the city of royal coronations, as a centre of so-called “Hungarus patriotism”, as the venue of the Hungarian Diet, as “the Hungarian muse in Bratislava”, and as the city of the Kraxelhuber.

In the semiotics of the city, Hungarian memories of the city rest on the following elements: the rectangular castle with its four corner towers where the “Holy Crown of Hungary” – also known as the Crown of St. Stephen – is kept, St. Martin’s Cathedral where the kings of Hungary were crowned, and the palace of the Catholic Primate, where in 1848 Ferdinand V gave his consent to certain reforms as part of a new constitution. In the Hungarian tradition Bratislava was given the attribute “coronation city”. In December 1526 Ferdinand I of Habsburg was elected King of Hungary in the Franciscan monastery and crowned in Stuhlweissenburg/Székesfehérvar. From the middle of the 16th century onwards, Bratislava was, to all intents and purposes, the kingdom’s capital. Its proximity to Vienna played an important role in this decision. According to Hungarian etymological studies, the city’s Hungarian name of Pozsony can be traced back to the personal name of a territory around the castle in the early medieval period.

In Hungarian memory medieval Bratislava was an important border fortification. In his celebrated epic poem “The diver Kund”, published in 1829, the famous Hungarian romantic poet Mihály Vörösmarty (1800–1855) tells the story of a diver who managed to sink the Danube fleet of King Henry III in Preßburg in 1052. In Hungarian eyes the “deputy” capital city of Bratislava was always on the west of the country, on the margins of the country, not merely because of its German-speaking population and its progressiveness, but also because of its political position and its resident aristocracy and citizens.

I use the term “Hungarus patriotism” to describe a mindset which preceded the concept of a modern national identity; its point of origin was loyalty to the whole of the Kingdom of Hungary and it was not dependent on the respective person’s class or native language. The multi-talented scientist and teacher at the Evangelical Lyceum of Preßburg, Matthias/Matej/Mátyás Bél (1684–1749) encapsulates such “Hungarus patriotism”.

The Slovak language area in the north, the Hungarian language area in the south and the German-Austrian language area to the west all formed part of the city’s hinterland. As regards religion, the city was populated by a Roman Catholic majority, a relatively strong Protestant Lutheran minority and a Jewish Diaspora. In his work Mátyás Bél demonstrates his linguistic and religious tolerance, valuing all languages spoken in his country. He was the editor of a multivolume encyclopaedic work, written in Latin, on the Kingdom of Hungary covering all its historical, political, economic and ethnographic aspects.

Bratislava has a long tradition of multilingualism. A citizen or intellectual of Bratislava spoke at least three languages. National historiography narratives tend to ignore or neglect this tradition. An in-depth study of the work of journalists and teachers would be worthwhile, for example the work of Karl Gottlieb von Windisch (1725–1793), founder of the newspaper Preßburger Zeitung, or of Tobias Gottfried Schröer (1791–1850), who referred to himself as a “Hungarus” and who wrote about both Hungarian and Slovak culture, or of Lajos/Ĺudovít Szeberényi (1820–1875), a professor und clergyman of Slovak parentage and a translator of Slovak folk songs into Hungarian.

Between 1825 and 1848 the Hungarian Diet met nine times in Preßburg. It would be only a slight exaggeration to state that the modern state of Hungary originated in Bratislava. Among the members of parliament of those years we can find such extraordinary personalities of Hungarian history as Count István Széchenyi, Ferenc Kölcsey, the poet who wrote the national anthem, Miklós Wesselényi, Lajos Kossuth, Ferenc Deák and, not least, Lajos Batthyány (1807–1849), a native of Preßburg who became the first prime minister of the liberal Hungarian government and was martyred in the revolution of 1848/49.

In his book A Hungarian Nabob Mór Jókai, the foremost Hungarian novelist of the 19^th century, described those years as follows: “Big ideas, extensive reforms rise up in front of the public, people read newspapers in the coffee houses (...), during the day the public visits the gallery of the Parliamentary Building with the same zest and curiosity as they would pay a visit to the theatre.”

Protagonists of Hungarian literature such as Mór Jókai (1825–1904) and Sándor Petőfi (1823–1849) lived and worked in the coronation city. Jókai attended the Evangelical Lyceum for three years as an “exchange pupil”. In the former Kingdom of Hungary it was customary in areas where several languages were spoken for parents to send their children for a time into a family which spoke a different language to allow the children to learn the language of their neighbours. The first time Petőfi arrived in Preßburg he came on foot and as a soldier, later he tried his aptitude as an actor in the summer theatre on the other bank of the Danube.

Bratislava has earned for itself the title ‘city of schools’. In 1465 King Matthias Corvinus founded a university, the Academia Istropolitana in Preßburg. 1606 was the year in which the Evangelical Lyceum was founded, an educational establishment which went on to play an extraordinarily important role in German, Slovak and Hungarian culture over the centuries. A Roman Catholic school has existed Bratislava since 1714. Its teachers included the Jesuit György Káldi (1572–1634), who translated the Roman Catholic bible into Hungarian. The Royal Academy of Jurisprudence, founded in 1784, was also very important for Hungarian and Slovak culture.

Bratislava could also be considered as the birthplace of an ungarländische press (Ungarländisch means Hungarian in a political, territorial and historical, but not necessarily ethnic, sense). The newspaper Preßburger Zeitung was first published in 1764, followed in 1780 by the first issue of the Hungarian-language newspaper Magyar Hírmondó [The Hungarian Courier] and in 1783 by the Slovak Prešpurské Noviny (Preßburger Zeitung).

And, finally, who were the Kraxelhuber? In the Hungarian perception the citizens of Preßburg were loyal subjects of the Habsburg monarchy and strongly infiltrated with Viennese culture. The citizens of Preßburg were often referred to with a certain irony as Kraxelhuber by the Hungarians. Originally the name was a play on the work in the vineyards. In 1890 almost 60 percent of the city’s population were ethnically German. A Kraxelhuber was a conservative citizen with an ungarländische identity. He spoke Hungarian but was notable for speaking an accented Hungarian which made him look slightly ridiculous. The Kraxelhuber was a frequently occurring character in humorous Hungarian newspapers in the last third of the 19th century. In the era of the Hungarian illusion of a nation-state at the beginning of the 20^th century Preßburg was given a Hungarian appearance including Hungarian street names and inscriptions; the St. Elisabeth University was founded in 1914. After the end of the Habsburg monarchy Pressburg/Bratislava/Pozsony became the capital city of Slovakia in the newly founded state of Czechoslovakia. In the inter-war period the city became a centre of cultural life for the Hungarian minority in the First Czechoslovak Republic.

[1] Mannová, Elena: Pozsony historiográfiája (Egy multietnikus város múltjának differenciált bemutatása a 19. és 20. század politikai fordulatai után) [The Historiography of Bratislava. A differentiated approach to the history of a multiethnic city based on the political changes in the 19th and 20th century] In: Fejezetek Pozsony történetébol magyar és szlovák szemmel. Szerk. Czoch Gábor, továbbá Kocsis Aranka, Tóth Árpád [Pictures of the History of Bratislava through the Eyes of Hungarians and Slovaks, ed. by G. Czoch, in collaboration with A. Kocsis and Á. Tóth]. Kalligram, Pozsony 2005. pp. 47–48.

prof. Csaba Gy. Kiss (born 1945) – Hungarian political scientist, prominent expert on Central European issues. Historian of culture and literature, conducts comparative research studies on literatures of Central Europe and myths and national symbols in literature. Professor of Universities in Budapest and Zagreb. President of Scientific Council of European Network Remembrance and Solidarity.

The recent years have proven that the vast majority of discussions and debates about the past in countries of Central-Eastern Europe were concentrating and still concentrate around the problem of existence and operation of the sites of memory. They were and most probably they will be for long an essential factor shaping “historical politics” of each nation and state aware of its past. Unarguable is the fact that the programs of historical education of societies and - most importantly - processes of remembering collective past and shaping of collective future are developed and realized on the basis of the sites of memory. United Europe more and more frequently reaches to its historical roots while looking for a binder enabling construction of the common culture of memory. The problem of relation to the past that is permanently present in historical debates is the proof of that.

While Europe politically and economically and otherwise becomes unity in almost exemplary way then the attitude to the past, experiences resulting from it and accompanying emotions demonstrate how difficult becomes development of common culture of memory, how deeply is in this respect still divided our continent. Different experiences from the past, lack of opportunities to carry out an open dialogue about it still remain factors significantly hindering such process. Different levels of historical awareness and mainly different and not always comprehensible for the other partners historical experiences of societies of particular European states cause, that carrying out an open and honest dialogue that is respecting facts and experiences resulting from the past and above all taking into account sensitivity of the others, becomes very complicated. The necessity to create a common ground for European dialogue about the past becomes a challenge for people aware of this fact.

Europe of the 20th century still is in shadow of the two bloody and devastating wars and – what is particularly important – of the two totalitarian systems: German National Socialism and Soviet Communism. This horrible heritage of the past left its stamp on history of the whole European continent. It became the common experience. It was common but also unique since these experiences were recorded in memories of particular states and nations differently and today they take quite different meanings. This distinctness is best expressed by symbols and tokens of our memory of past, in the sites of memory.

The conference on the sites of memory, their significance and role in contemporary world and in historical discourse according to intentions of its organizers should bring closer and define the problem and ipso facto to contribute to understanding of the culture of memory of our neighbors.

Intention to set up a conference on sites of memory in the Central-Eastern European states emerged in 2005 during numerous, sometimes emotional discussions we used to carry out with colleagues from Austria, Germany, Hungary and Slovakia while working on guidelines of the project of the European Network “Remembrance and Solidarity”. It is the result of our common effort to create the ground for exchanging experiences and opinions that is indispensable for the process of development European culture of memory. In this work we were united by the need to create the European culture of memory based on dialogue and respect for the past.

Creation of the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity whose task is analysis, documentation and propagation of knowledge about history of the 20^th century, the century of wars, totalitarian dictatorships and suffering of civilian population, based on common declaration signed on February 2^nd, 2005 in the Royal Castle in Warsaw by the Ministers of Culture of Poland, Germany, Slovakia and Hungary, was a step in this direction.

Tasks of the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity: connection of initiatives of public and private institutions, NGOs, scientific centers and sites of memory in various European countries with aim to actualize the main message that underlies establishment of this initiative so important for European dialogue. The European Network Remembrance and Solidarity will support and finance realization of joint scientific and educational projects which contribute to better knowledge of the past, its understanding and to construction and development of the European culture of memory. The Foundation European Network Remembrance and Solidarity was founded on August 23^rd, 2005 by professor Józef Szajna – a prominent Polish artist, former prisoner of KL Auschwitz-Birkenau.

The Conference on the sites of memory in Central-Eastern Europe is the first initiative starting European dialogue on problems of the past which came into being within the circle of people creating the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity. It is held in a particular place, in a hall called New Chamber of Representatives of Royal Castle in Warsaw which was destroyed during the World War II and was rebuilt by Polish society. It is in this very hall that in 1791 the text of the Constitution of 3^rd May came into being. This Constitution set foundations of modern structure for Polish state. It was the first in Europe and second in the world, after the United States of America, document of this kind. The goal of the Constitution of 3^rd May was to reform the state and gave it solid foundations.

As the organizers of the conference we will not contribute to creation of a document so significant for development of each of our states but drawing on achievements of our predecessors from 200 years ago we can ensure that free and substantial exchange of opinions on various problems of our common past will contribute to restoration of dialogue necessary for the development of European culture of memory and to preparation of solid foundations for this dialogue.

Andrzej Przewoźnik (1963-2010) – historian, long-term Secretary General of the Council for Protection of Memory Struggle and Martyrdom. One of originators of the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity. Killed in the plane crash in Smolensk in April 2010.

When you look back at the year 1968, you will encounter the curious fact that while the “Prague Spring” is accorded a great measure of respect and sympathy in the West, in Prague, particularly after the emergence of an independent Czech Republic in the years 1992/93, it is viewed with scepticism and even open rejection by important elements of the new political elite and public opinion-makers. While in Europe, including the former Eastern Bloc, its suppression is viewed as a national, Czechoslovak tragedy, the gist of many Czech commentaries voiced in the first half of the 1990s was that the “Prague Spring” was primarily a struggle between various communist parties, and the whole event is viewed as an episode in the history of an absurd experiment – communism.

In the early 1990s opinions about Dubček varied widely in the Czech Republic. Younger and more conservative journalists located him irretrievably in the communist camp. A more differentiated view conceded that the reformers of 1968 were endeavouring to make the system more humane but at the same time they stood accused of illusory, inconsistent and weak policies. In this more differentiated view, the central importance of the “Prague Spring” lay in its failure, because this finally buried the illusion of the reformability of the communist system. Conversely, such well known protagonists of 1968 as Karel Kosík, Jiří Pelikán or Eduard Goldstücker accuse the new liberal-conservative political establishment of behaving no different towards the “Prague Spring” than the Husák regime at the time. They conclude that the “Prague Spring” was “buried twice” by political rulers, once after 1968 and once after 1989. The neo-liberal parties emerged as the victors of the political process of differentiation which took place in Czechia after 1989 and wanted to make it clear that they had different concepts of democracy and society than those voiced in 1968. With their schematic contrast between a “natural order” and the “hubristic construction” of a technocratically designed, better world, all socialists and moderate leftists were branded as political enemies who imperilled the basic principles of human liberty. The “Prague Spring” became a political issue and the focus of political disputes. Up until 1989 criticisms did not concentrate on party members but on the “generation of 1968” and the dissidents associated with them, for example the civil rights movement “Charta 77”.

If one wants to understand the temporary disdain for the “Prague Spring” after 1989 even within the carefully considered anti-communism of the Czech Republic, then it must understood that a large part of this is due to the particular manner of its failure. Failure was successive and the most difficult part was carried out by the reformers themselves. Their inability not to abandon certain political principles, preferring to relinquish power rather than hoping that their sheer persistence in staying on and occupying certain functions would constitute a lesser evil was not a coincidence. It reflected the basic difference between a reform-communist politics carried out by proconsuls and legal and democratic politics by politicians who know they are bound to the people, to parliament and to their country’s constitution. The suppression of the reform-communist experiment led to resignation, cynicism, and emigration. The twenty years of the Husák regime were characterised by a retreat into private life accompanied by an outward appearance of collaboration with the regime. Repression, but also political conformity and self-abnegation, transformed the country into a cultural waste land. All thoughts of reform were banished from the party until 1989.

The political exploitation surrounding the concept of the “Prague Spring” which characterised the first half of the nineties is only gradually receding. The emergence of more differentiated judgements and a more carefully argued style of altercation in the disputes surrounding the legacy of the “Prague Spring” are unmistakeable. Moreover, despite the controversial assessment of the reformist experiment, the “Prague Spring” and its violent suppression have been deeply inscribed in the collective memory of Czech citizens. According to various surveys, the “Prague Spring” is viewed by the majority as an attempt to renew democracy and as a matter which concerns the majority of the nation.

The perception of the Prague Spring took a different course in Slovakia. Both the reform movement of 1968 and the consequences of its failure were much slower in Slovakia. As the country’s decentralisation turned out to be the only reform of 1968, which survived the political restoration of 1969, this gave the Husák regime a certain legitimacy within Slovakia. Under the communist regime Slovakia experienced the biggest leap in urbanisation and industrialisation in its history. The change of regime in 1989 did not lead to a strong polarisation between a democratic opposition and official structures, and this was reflected in a more muted debate about the communist past and in the rejection of the policy of “lustrations” which was widely applied in Czechia after 1989. In Slovakia after 1989 there was, in general, a more positive attitude to the legacy of the reforms of 1968.

Neither reform communism nor Eurocommunism left a theoretical or institutional legacy on which the newly won democracies after 1989 could or needed to build. Reform communism as a democratic concept is neither identical with the democratic awakening which swept through all levels of society, referred to as the “Prague Spring”, nor with its meaning both for Czech and Slovak history and in European history.

Why did the “Prague Spring” fascinate the West? For socialists and Eurocommunists the “Prague Spring” stood for the hope that the longed for combination of social justice and democracy could become a reality. For modernisers and technocrats it was an experiment which might have shown whether a convergence of systems would be possible, whether the expansion of the welfare state in the West could have had a counterpart in a democratisation with a more market-based economy in the East. For social-democrats the Prague Spring was an inspiration and opened up a perspective whereby the split of the left into communists and social-democrats could have been overcome.

The idea that the totalitarian Soviet communism might be overcome peacefully and without bloodshed electrified even middle-class and conservative politicians such as Margaret Thatcher or George Bush senior. The sheer notion of a non-violent ending of the partition of Europe touched almost everyone, even otherwise apolitical citizens. And finally, the “Prague Spring” was a global media event. Millions of people on their televisions watched the invasion of a small country, which was not threatening anybody but had only set about clearing away its own lies and undemocratic practices. The Prague Spring lastingly changed the view of the nature of Soviet communism. Well-known European intellectuals such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Bertrand Russell denounced the military intervention as “Moscow’s Vietnam”.

In the former Eastern Bloc the Prague Spring has had a lasting impact, as for a few months the mutability of the dictatorial Soviet-style system became a reality in favour of new freedoms. The protests against the military intervention in the Soviet Union, Poland, Hungary and the GDR by small and at the time powerless groups of dissidents marked a break in the development of the Eastern bloc. It was the start of a civil society opposition and the historical end of reform communism.

The “Prague Spring” gives little cause for self-righteous judgements. Neither the simple formula of the reform communists who claim that it was a direct precursor of the “Velvet Revolution” nor the neo-liberal explanation which contrasts the interests of the people, who wanted democracy, with those of the reform communists, who were only striving to modernise their rule, are right.

Culturally, the 1960s represented a productive time of new beginnings. The civilisatory backwardness of the East compared to the West was not yet so obvious, and the pre-ecological fetishisation of growth and technology promoted the idea, which many believed in at the time, of a long-term convergence of the systems in East and West. The astonishing global renaissance of Marxism in the 1960s facilitated communication across borders and political blocks. Ideologically, the “Prague Spring” represented the zenith of contemporary misconceptions. The reformers trusted in the idea that the new social structures which had been created by nationalisation could no longer be overturned. Because they really did believe in socialism’s historical mission, they dared to attempt more democracy.

Despite the above mentioned programmatic limitations, the social processes of 1968 represented a system transformation which could not have been halted without resorting to violence. The historical importance of the “Prague Spring lies in the democratic subversiveness of the reform and transformation process which provided historical proof of the potential for a communist dictatorship to be overcome by peaceful means.

 translated from German by Helen Schoop

Jan Pauer PhD - historian, translator and philosopher. In  1990-1993 collaborated with the committee of Czech historians set up by the Czech government for studies on history of former Czechoslovakia in 1967-1971. Since 1993 works in Centre of Central and Eastern European Studies of the University of Bremen. Cooperated in realisation of many documentary films, took part in many radio programs and wrote many articles for newspapers on history, culture and politics in Central and Eastern Europe.

Spoglądając na rok 1968, natrafiamy na niezwykły fakt, iż mianowicie „Praska wiosna” na zachodzie odbierana była z szacunkiem i sympatią, natomiast w Pradze, zwłaszcza po powstaniu niepodległej Republiki Czeskiej w 1992/93 r. znaczne części nowych elit politycznych i opiniotwórczych przyjmowały ją raczej ze sceptycyzmem i otwartą dezaprobatą.

Podczas gdy w Europie, nawet w krajach byłego bloku wschodniego, jej stłumienie uważa się za narodową, czechosłowacką tragedię, w pierwszej połowie lat dziewięćdziesiątych słychać było czeskie głosy, które upatrywały w „Praskiej wiośnie” przede wszystkim walkę frakcji komunistycznych pomiędzy sobą, a całe wydarzenie uważały za epizod w historii absurdalnego eksperymentu – komunizmu.

W Republice Czeskiej wczesnych lat dziewięćdziesiątych opinie o Dubčeku zaczęły się znacznie różnić. Młodsi konserwatywni dziennikarze przypisywali go bezpowrotnie obozowi komunistycznemu. Nieco bardziej zniuansowane głosy przyznają wprawdzie, iż ówcześni reformatorzy starali się uczynić ustrój bardziej ludzkim, krytykują ich jednak za iluzoryczną, niespójną i słabowitą politykę. Główne znaczenie „Praskiej wiosny” dostrzegają w jej niepowodzeniu, ponieważ dzięki temu ostatecznie pogrzebana została iluzja o możliwości zreformowania ustroju komunistycznego. Przeciwnie, znani uczestnicy wydarzeń roku 1968, tacy jak Karel Kosík, Jiří Pelikán lub Eduard Goldstücker, twierdzą, iż nowy establishment liberalno-konserwatywny wobec „Praskiej wiosny” zachowuje się nie inaczej niż swojego czasu reżim Husáka. „Praska wiosna” została rzekomo dwukrotnie „pogrzebana” przez przywódców politycznych – po 1968 r. i po 1989 r. Z procesu dyferencjacji politycznej w Republice Czeskiej po 1989 r. zwycięską ręką wyszły partie neoliberalne. Chciały zaznaczyć, że mają inną koncepcję demokracji i społeczeństwa niż ta sprzed 1968 r. Dzięki schematycznemu przeciwstawieniu „porządku naturalnego” i „aroganckiej konstrukcji“ zaprojektowanemu technokratycznie lepszemu światu, wszyscy socjaliści i lewicowi liberałowie zostali oznaczeni jako polityczni wrogowie, zagrażający podstawom wolności człowieka. „Praska wiosna” stała się wydarzeniem politycznym i znalazła się w centrum politycznej konfrontacji. Jednak to nie członkowie partii przed 1989 r. stali się celem krytyki, ale „pokolenie 68” oraz związani z nimi dysydenci, na przykład w postaci ruchu obywatelskiego „Karta 77“.

Jeżeli chcemy zrozumieć chwilowe lekceważenie „Praskiej wiosny” po 1989 r. również w ramach refleksyjnego antykomunizmu w Czechach, dużą jego część należy w szczególny sposób tłumaczyć jej porażką. Nadeszła sukcesywnie, a najtrudniejszą jej część załatwili sami reformatorzy. Ich niezdolność do niezrezygnowania z określonych zasad politycznych i oddania władzy we właściwym czasie, zamiast roić sobie, że zwykłe trwanie na określonych stanowiskach jest mniejszym złem, nie była przypadkiem. W niej odzwierciedlała się istotna różnica pomiędzy zreformowaną komunistyczną polityką zastępczą oraz legalną i demokratyczną polityką, która wie, że jest podporządkowana narodowi, parlamentowi i konstytucji kraju. Stłumienie próby zreformowania komunizmu doprowadziło do rezygnacji, cynizmu, emigracji. Ucieczka w życie prywatne oraz zewnętrzna kolaboracja z reżimem cechowały dwudziestolecie rządów Husáka. Represje, ale również konformizm polityczny i zapieranie samego siebie przemieniły kraj w kulturalną pustynię. Do 1989 r. wszelkie myślenie o reformach zostało z partii wykluczone.

W pierwszej połowie lat 90-tych polityczna instrumentalizacja bardzo powoli ustępuje. Zróżnicowane oceny oraz powrót stylu argumentacyjnego w sporach o dziedzictwo „Praskiej wiosny” są niewątpliwe. Ponadto, mimo kontrowersyjnych ocen tego reformatorskiego eksperymentu, „Praska wiosna” i jej gwałtowne zduszenie jest głęboko wpisane w zbiorową pamięć obywateli. Według ankiet większość osób uważa „Praską wiosnę” za próbę odnowienia demokracji oraz sprawę większości narodu.

Inaczej wyglądało podejście do „Praskiej wiosny” na Słowacji. Zarówno proces reform w 1968 r., jak i następstwa jego porażki były tam spowolnione. Ponieważ federalizacja kraju była jedyną reformą z roku 1968, która przetrwała restaurację polityczną po 1969 r., reżim Husáka na Słowacji posiadał pewną legitymację. Słowacja pod panowaniem komunistów wykonała największy skok urbanizacyjny i industrializacyjny w swojej historii. Zmiana ustroju w 1989 r. nie doprowadziła do silnej polaryzacji pomiędzy demokratyczną opozycją i oficjalnymi strukturami, co przełożyło się na umiarkowaną konfrontację z komunistyczną przeszłością oraz dezaprobatę wobec „lustracji” prowadzonej w Czechach po 1989 r. Na Słowacji po 1989 r. nastawienie wobec dziedzictwa procesu reform z 1968 r. było generalnie bardziej pozytywne.

Komunizm reformowany, tak samo jak eurokomunizm, nie pozostawił ani w sensie teoretycznym, ani instytucjonalnym dziedzictwa, do którego mogłyby czy wręcz musiałyby nawiązać nowo zdobyte demokracje po 1989 r. Komunizm reformowany jako koncepcja demokratyczna nie jest jednak ani identyczny z ogólnospołecznym zrywem demokratycznym, który nazywany jest „Praską wiosną”, ani z jego znaczeniem dla historii czeskiej, słowackiej, ani europejskiej.

Dlaczego „Praska wiosna” fascynowała Zachód? Dla socjalistów i eurokomunistów „Praska wiosna” była nadzieją, że wytęsknione połączenie sprawiedliwości społecznej i demokracji może się urzeczywistnić. Dla modernizatorów i technokratów była eksperymentem, który mógł pokazać, czy następuje konwergencja ustrojów, czy rozbudowa państwa dobrobytu na Zachodzie znajduje odpowiednik w demokratyzacji i wolnorynkowym otwarciu się Wschodu. Dla socjaldemokratów „Praska wiosna” była inspiracją i zarysowała perspektywę przezwyciężenia podziału lewicy na komunistów i socjaldemokratów.

Wyobrażenie, iż totalitarny komunizm sowiecki może zostać pokojowo i bezkrwawo przezwyciężony, zelektryzowało nawet polityków o przekonaniach obywatelskich i konserwatywnych, takich jak na przykład Margaret Thatcher czy George Bush Senior. Sama wizja możliwości pokojowego przezwyciężenia europejskiego podziału poruszała prawie wszystkich, nawet osoby niezaangażowane w politykę. Wreszcie była „Praska wiosna” wydarzeniem medialnym na skalę światową. Miliony obywateli zobaczyły na ekranach telewizorów nocny najazd na mały kraj, który nikomu nie zagrażał, ale starał się posprzątać własne kłamstwa i niedemokratyczne praktyki. „Praska wiosna” trwale zmieniła sposób patrzenia na naturę komunizmu sowieckiego. Znani intelektualiści europejscy, jak Jean-Paul Sartre i Bertrand Russell piętnowali interwencję wojskową jako „moskiewski Wietnam“.

„Praska wiosna” trwale wpłynęła na kraje byłego bloku wschodniego, ponieważ możliwość zamiany dyktatorskiego systemu o sowieckim charakterze na nowe swobody na kilka miesięcy stała się rzeczywistością. Protesty przeciwko interwencji wojskowej organizowane w Związku Radzieckim, Polsce, na Węgrzech i w NRD przez małe i wtedy bezsilne grupy dysydentów wyznaczyły cezurę w rozwoju bloku wschodniego. Był to początek obywatelskiej opozycji oraz historyczny koniec komunizmu reformowanego.

„Praska wiosna” daje niewiele okazji do ferowania jednoznacznych wyroków. Ani prosta formuła reformowanych komunistów, iż jest ona bezpośrednim poprzednikiem „aksamitnej rewolucji”, nie jest prawdziwa, ani też neoliberalne przeciwstawianie interesów narodu, który pragnął demokracji, interesom reformowanych komunistów, którzy dążyli jedynie do unowocześnienia swojej władzy.

Pod względem kulturowym lata sześćdziesiąte oznaczają produktywny czas przełomu. Jeszcze nie tak bardzo widoczne cywilizacyjne zapóźnienie wobec zachodu oraz przedekologiczny fetyszyzm wzrostu i techniki wzmacniały perspektywę długoterminowego zbliżania się ustrojów na wschodzie i zachodzie, w którą wtedy wierzono. Zdumiewający, światowy renesans marksizmu w latach 60-tych ułatwiał komunikację ponad granicami i blokami. Ideologicznie „Praska wiosna” znajdywała się na poziomie współczesnego jej błądzenia. Ówcześni reformatorzy byli przekonani, że struktury społeczne powstałe poprzez upaństwowienie nie mogą już zostać zrewidowane. Właśnie dlatego, że wierzyli w historyczną misję socjalizmu, odważyli się na więcej demokracji.

Mimo wspomnianych ograniczeń programowych ogólnospołeczny proces roku 1968 stanowił transformację ustrojową, której bez przemocy nie udałoby się już zatrzymać. To właśnie w demokratycznej wywrotowości tego procesu reform i transformacji, dzięki której został złożony historyczny dowód na możliwość pokojowego przezwyciężenia dyktatury komunistycznej, leży historyczne znaczenie „Praskiej wiosny”.

dr Jan Pauer - historyk, tłumacz i filozof.  W latach 1990-1993 współpracował z utworzoną przez rząd czeski komisją historyków do badań nad historią byłej Czechosłowacji w latach 1967-1971. Od 1993 roku pracownik Centrum Badań Europy Wschodniej Uniwersytetu w Bremie. Współtwórca wielu filmów dokumentalnych, uczestnik kilkunastu audycji radiowych oraz autor artykułów prasowych na temat historii, kultury i polityki w Europie Wschodniej.

Pri spätnom pohľade na rok 1968 sa vynára zvláštna skutočnosť, že zatiaľ čo sa „Pražská jar“ stretávala na západe s rešpektom a sympatiami, narážala spomienka na toto obdobie v Prahe predovšetkým po vzniku samostatnej Českej republiky 1992/93 u značnej časti nových politických elít a tvorcov verejnej mienky skôr na skepsu či otvorené odmietanie. Zatiaľ čo v Európe, a síce aj v bývalom východnom bloku, je potlačenie „Pražskej jari“ vnímané ako národná československá tragédia, zaznievali v prvej polovici deväťdesiatych rokov z Českej republiky hlasy, ktoré v „Pražskej jari“ videli predovšetkým boj komunistických frakcií medzi sebou a celú túto udalosť vnímali ako jednu epizódu v dejinách jedného absurdného experimentu – komunizmu.

V Českej republike sa v raných deväťdesiatych rokoch mienky o Dubčekovi značne rozchádzali. Mladší konzervatívni novinári ho nenávratne umiestnili do komunistického tábora. O niečo diferencovanejšie hlasy pripúšťajú, že vtedajší reformátori sa snažili o viac ľudskosti, ale zároveň im pripisujú iluzórnu, nesúdržnú a neduživú politiku. Hlavný význam „Pražskej jari“ vidia v jej stroskotaní, pretože tým bola ilúzia reformovateľnosti komunistického systému definitívne pochovaná. Naopak známi aktéri roku 1968 ako Karel Kosík, Jiří Pelikán alebo Eduard Goldstücker obviňujú novú liberálno-konzervatívnu vládnucu vrstvu, že sa voči „Pražskej jari“ nestavia inak, ako to svojho času robil Husákov režim a tvrdia, že „Pražská jar“ bola „pochovaná“ dvakrát, po roku 1968 ako aj po roku 1989, prostredníctvom práve aktuálnych držiteľov politickej moci. Z politického procesu diferencovania po roku 1989 vzišli v Českej republike ako víťazi neoliberálne strany. Chceli jasne ukázať, že majú inú koncepciu demokracie a spoločnosti, než tí z roku 1968. Pomocou schematického porovnania „prirodzeného poriadku“ a „domýšľavej konštrukcie“ technokraticky načrtnutého, lepšieho sveta boli všetci socialisti a ľavicoví liberáli označení ako politickí nepriatelia, ktorí ohrozovali základy slobody človeka. „Pražská jar“ sa stala politickou záležitosťou a stála v centre politických sporov. V centre kritiky do roku 1989 nestáli členovia strany, ale predstavitelia roku 1968 a s nimi spojení disidenti ako napríklad v podobe hnutia za občianske práva „Charty 77“.

Ak chceme toto dočasné podceňovanie „Pražskej jari“ po roku 1989 pochopiť aj v rámci reflektovaného antikomunizmu v Česku, tak sa veľká časť z toho dá vyvodiť práve z mimoriadneho spôsobu svojej porážky, ktorá sa dostavila postupne a o jej najťažšiu časť sa postarali samotní reformátori. Ich neschopnosť popustiť od určitých politických zásad a radšej včas odovzdať moc, než dúfať, že ich číre zotrvanie v istých funkciách je menším zlom, nebola žiadna náhoda. V tom sa odrážal podstatný rozdiel medzi reformno-komunistickou politikou a legálnou demokratickou politikou, ktorá sa zaväzuje vernosťou voči ľudu, parlamentu a ústave krajiny. Potlačenie tohto reformno-komunistického pokusu vyústilo do rezignácie, cynizmu, emigrácie. Útek do súkromného života a vonkajšia kolaborácia s režimom boli počas dvadsiatich rokov Husákovho režimu typické. Represie, ale aj politické prispôsobenie a sebazaprenie premenili krajinu na kultúrnu púšť. Všetky reformné myšlienky boli až do roku 1989 zo strany vylúčené.

Politická inštrumentalizácia v prvej polovici deväťdesiatych rokov ustupuje len pomaly. Diferencovanejšie názory a zavládnutie argumentatívneho štýlu v spore o dedičstvo „Pražskej jari“ sú nepochybné. K tomu sa pridáva i skutočnosť, že napriek kontroverznému hodnoteniu tohto reformného experimentu, je „Pražská jar“ a jej násilné potlačenie hlboko vryté do kolektívnej pamäte občanov. Podľa výsledkov uskutočnených ankiet vníma väčšina ľudí „Pražskú jar“ ako pokus o obnovenie demokracie a ako záležitosť väčšiny národa.

Inak prebehol proces vysporiadavania sa s „Pražskou jarou“ na Slovensku. Nielen reformný proces v roku 1968 ale aj následky jeho porážky tu boli silne spomalené. Keďže federalizácia krajiny bola jedinou reformou roka 1968, ktorá prežila politickú obnovu po roku 1969, disponoval Husákov režim na Slovensku istou legitimitou. Na Slovensku sa za komunistického režimu uskutočnil najväčší urbanizačný a industrializačný skok v celej jeho histórii. Zmena režimu v roku 1989 tu neviedla k silnej polarizácii medzi demokratickou opozíciou a oficiálnymi štruktúrami, čo sa odrazilo v opatrnom vysporiadavaní sa s komunistickou minulosťou a v odmietaní „lustrácií“ prebiehajúcich po roku 1989 v Česku. Na Slovensku jestvoval po roku 1989 všeobecne pozitívnejší postoj voči dedičstvu reformného procesu z roku 1968.

Reformný komunizmus ako aj eurokomunizmus nezanechali ani teoreticky ani inštitucionálne žiadne dedičstvo, na ktoré by novo vzniknuté demokracie po roku 1989 mohli alebo dokonca museli naviazať. Reformný komunizmus ako koncept demokracie nie je však identický ani s celospoločenským demokratickým vzplanutím, ktoré sa nazýva „Pražská jar“, ani s jeho významom tak pre české a slovenské ako aj pre európske dejiny.

Prečo „Pražská jar“ tak fascinovala západ? Pre socialistov a eurokomunistov bola „Pražská jar“ nádejou, že vytúžené prepojenie sociálnej spravodlivosti a demokracie by sa mohlo stať skutočnosťou. Pre modernizátorov a technokratov to bol experiment, ktorý by mohol ukázať, či sa koná systémová konvergencia, či budovanie blahobytného sociálneho štátu na západe nachádza obdobu v demokratizácii a trhovohospodárskom otvorení na východe. Pre sociálnych demokratov bola „Pražská jar“ inšpiráciou, ktorá otvorila perspektívy pre prekonanie rozštiepenia ľavice na komunistov a sociálnych demokratov.

Predstava, že totalitárny sovietsky komunizmus by mohol byť prekonaný mierovo a bez krviprelievania, elektrizovala dokonca občianskych a konzervatívnych politikov ako napríklad Margaret Thatcherovú alebo Georga Busha seniora. Len číra predstava o možnosti nenásilného prekonania európskeho rozštiepenia zapôsobila takmer na všetkých, aj na nepolitických ľudí. A nakoniec bola „Pražská jar“ aj svetovou mediálnou udalosťou. Milióny občanov mohli v televízii vidieť nočné prepadnutie jednej malej krajiny, ktorá nikoho neohrozovala, ale ktorá sa len usilovala o ukončenie vlastných klamstiev a nedemokratických praktík. „Pražská jar“ natrvalo premenila pohľad na povahu sovietskeho komunizmu. Známi európski intelektuáli ako Jean-Paul Sartre a Bertrand Russell označili túto vojenskú intervenciu za „Vietnam Moskvy“.

V bývalom východnom bloku mala „Pražská jar“ trvalý účinok tým, že zmeniteľnosť diktátorského systému sovietskeho razenia v prospech nových slobôd sa stala na niekoľko mesiacov realitou. Protesty proti vojenskej intervencii v Sovietskom zväze, v Poľsku, Maďarsku a NDR zo strany malých a vtedy bezmocných skupín disidentov vyznačili cezúru vo vývoji východného bloku. Bol to začiatok civilnej spoločenskej opozície a historický koniec reformného komunizmu.

„Pražská jar“ poskytuje málo dôvodov na neústupčivé názory. Ani jednoduchá formula reformných komunistov, že „Pražská jar“ bola priamym predchodcom „zamatovej revolúcie“ a ani neoliberálna konfrontácia záujmov ľudu, ktorý chcel demokraciu, a záujmov reformných komunistov, ktorí sa snažili len o modernizáciu svojej moci, nie sú správne.

Z kultúrneho hľadiska sú šesťdesiate roky obdobím produktívneho vzplanutia. Ešte nie veľmi viditeľné civilizačné zaostávanie východu za západom a pred-ekologický fetišizmus rastu a techniky podporovali vtedy uznávanú perspektívu dlhodobého priblíženia sa systémov na východe a západe. Pozoruhodná celosvetová renesancia marxizmu v šesťdesiatych rokoch uľahčovala komunikáciu presahujúcu hranice. Ideologicky sa „Pražská jar“ nachádzala na vrchole vtedajšieho súdobého omylu. Vtedajší reformátori sa spoľahli na to, že spoločenská štruktúra vzniknutá zoštátnením už nie je revidovateľná. Práve preto, že verili v historickú misiu socializmu, odvážili sa tiež vyskúšať viac demokracie.

Napriek už spomínaným programovým obmedzeniam bol celospoločenský proces roka 1968 systémovou transformáciou, ktorá by sa bez násilia už nedala zastaviť. V demokratickej subverzivite reformného a transformačného procesu, prostredníctvom ktorej bol podaný historický dôkaz o možnosti mierového prekonania komunistickej diktatúry, leží historický význam „Pražskej jari“.

20. storočie bolo epochou totalitárnych režimov, ktoré sa navzájom legitimovali prostredníctvom nebezpečenstva, ktoré vychádzalo od druhého. Pustošenie, masové vraždy, deportácie sa vykonávali väčšinou s poukazom na preventívne opatrenia. V tomto ohľade jestvujú medzi zločinmi komunistov a nacistov vzájomné a úzke kauzálne prepojenia. Kultúra spomínania, ktorá sa zaoberá len zločinmi jedného totalitárneho systému, podstupuje riziko, že bude nepriamo slúžiť druhému totalitárnemu systému a jeho zločinom alebo že ho bude bagatelizovať. Dve miesta spomienok, ktorým sa venujem v mojom príspevku, sú pre to exemplárnymi príkladmi.

„Dom teroru”

Dom na Andrássyho ulici číslo 60 bol priam predurčený pre zriadenie múzea, pretože tu až do roku 1945 mali svoju stranícku centrálu maďarskí nacionalisti a po nich až do roku 1989 komunistická politická polícia. Národná konzervatívna vláda Viktora Orbána nešetrila žiadne náklady a vytvorila tu v roku 2002 najimpozantnejšie maďarské múzeum za posledných 15 rokov. Na nádvorí múzea sú vystavené fotoinštalácie vo forme „Steny páchateľov” ako aj „Steny obetí”. Na troch podlažiach boli vytvorené veľkolepo zariadené priestory, v ktorých sa prezentujú vybrané aspekty dvoch diktatúr, diktatúry Šípových krížov ako aj diktatúry komunistov.

Politici z tábora socialistov a liberálov od začiatku kritizovali ideu zriadenia múzea v tomto dome. Minister zahraničných vecí László Kovács žiadal, aby sa namiesto „Domu teroru” zriadil na nejakom inom mieste „Dom spomienok a zmierenia”. Zmierenie však predpokladá primerané uznanie viny. A k tomu zo strany páchateľov nikdy nedošlo.

V prvej výstavnej miestnosti sa tematizuje „dvojitá okupácia". Táto výstava síce nemá vedome zobrazovať cestu k holokaustu – zvláštnym spôsobom panoval medzi stranami len v tom ohľade konsenzus, že táto téma má byť odsunutá do separátneho a na vzdialenejšom mieste nachádzajúceho sa múzea – avšak v skrátenom znázornení sa pristúpilo na neslýchané kompromisy. Návštevníkovi sa výstava pokúša vsugerovať, že za prechmaty voči Židom je zodpovedných len niekoľko málo ľudí, hoci to v skutočnosti bolo presne naopak. Vzhľadom na priťažujúcu skutočnosť, že z lúpeží židovského majetku profitovalo niekoľko stotisíc Maďarov a že vládne strany sa vo svojej nevraživosti voči Židom pred rokom 1944 sotva odlišovali od strany Šípových krížov, je hore uvedená informácia absolútne zavádzajúca. Síce politika Miklósa Horthyho pribrzďovala radikálnosť maďarských antisemitistov, avšak tieto jeho zásluhy nesmú prekryť zodpovednosť za prenasledovanie Židov pred rokom 1944.

V miestnosti, v ktorej sa prezentuje prezliekanie, zlyháva symbolické znázornenie najzreteľnejšie. Na točiacom sa pódiu sú umiestnené dve, chrbtom k sebe postavené postavy, ktoré majú oblečenú uniformu Šípových krížov a komunistickej politickej polície. Na inštalovanej obrazovke sú okrem toho viditeľné dva prezliekajúce sa tiene. Keďže v roku 1945 si ani jediný člen strany Šípových krížov neobliekol uniformu politickej polície, možno túto prezentáciu označiť len ako falšovanie dejín. Keby autori výstavy chceli ukázať spoločné znaky medzi oboma týmito totalitárnymi stranami, tak by museli poukázať na kontinuitu u prívržencov oboch týchto strán.

Koncept autorov výstavy, ktorý sa snaží poukázať na kontinuitu na príklade členov politickej polície, poukazuje zároveň na problém tejto výstavy: výstava sa vyhýba tematizovaniu národnej zodpovednosti. O členoch politickej polície je možné nájsť len jednu polovetu: „organizácia pozostávajúca z ľavicovo-radikálnych elementov, kriminálnikov a bývalých prisluhovačov Šípových krížov”. V skutočnosti však vo vedení politickej polície, teda medzi tými osobami, ktorých portréty sú na výstave prezentované, nebol ani jeden „prisluhovač Šípových krížov” a taktiež žiadny obyčajný kriminálnik. Mnohí boli skutočne presvedčení komunisti. U veľkej väčšiny z nich ale mohla byť motiváciou pre vstup do politickej polície aj túžba po pomste, pretože medzi prvými členmi politickej polície boli prevažne Židia, ktorí okúsili utláčanie počas režimu Miklósa Horthyho (1.3.1920–16.10.1944) najprv ako členovia židovskej pracovnej služby (špeciálna jednotka pre nútené práce v maďarskej armáde), teda ako obete. Len niekoľko málo prišlo z emigrácie. Táto výstava prezentuje o komunistoch predovšetkým kompromitujúci materiál. Pre antifašizmus je preto v múzeu „Domu teroru“ sotva vytvorený priestor.

V miestnosti venovanej antikomunistickému odporu si môžete prečítať nasledujúci text: "Viaceré desaťtisíce sa hlásili k organizáciam ozbrojeného odporu (...). Mená mnohých sú neznáme. O iných sa ešte stále rozširujú komunistické klamstvá, hoci sú ozajstnými hrdinami". Je ťažké chápať tieto vety inak než tak, že tým všetky antikomunistické hnutia, teda aj tie pravicovo-radikálne a rasistické hnutia, majú byť chápané a velebené ako hrdinské, čo znamená, že motívy antikomunizmu sa neprešetrujú a nediferencujú.

Takáto nediferencovaná prezentácia jednotlivých osudov vedie k zámene páchateľov a obetí. Mimoriadne dobre badateľné je to v zrekonštruovanej mučiarni. Vedľa žiadneho z portrétov vystavených v celách nie je uvedené, z čoho presne tieto vyobrazené osoby boli obvinené a prečo sa stali obeťami teroru. Obete, pri ktorých by mala byť vysvetlená aj biografia páchateľa, sú vynechané alebo patria výlučne do antikomunistického tábora. Takéto stvárnenie poukazuje na aktuálne politické úvahy autorov výstavy, že síce sa odvážili zobraziť sporné osobnosti antikomunistického tábora ako obete, avšak nepoužili to isté meradlo v prípade komunistov.

Pri analýze niekdajších otváracích prejavov a komentárov sú účelné zámery v maďarskej politike spomínania nepochybné. Predseda vlády Viktor Orbán povedal vo svojom otváracom prejave vo februári 2002, že diktatúry v Maďarsku sa k moci mohli dostať vždy len prostredníctvom pomoci zvonka. To však neplatí v prípade Republiky rád (19.3.–2.8.1919). A počas obdobia vlády Dömeho Sztójaya (22.3.–29.9.1944) boli deportácie Židov realizované z najväčšej časti prostredníctvom maďarských štátnych úradníkov.

Centrálny cintorín

Obete všetkých dôležitých politických procesov medzi rokmi 1945 a 1962 sú pochované na dvoch parcelách Centrálneho cintorína. Na parcele 298 odpočívajú tí, ktorí boli medzi rokmi 1945 a 1956 popravení kvôli údajným alebo skutočným „vojnovým zločinom” a „zločinom proti ľudskosti”, ale aj tí, ktorí sa stali obeťami ukážkových procesov. Členovia Šípových krížov, vojnoví zločinci, demokrati, socialisti tu ležia bok po boku. Na susednej parcele 301 sú pochované aj obete ukážkových procesov spred roka 1956 ako aj účastníci revolúcie v roku 1956.

Tento terén sa po prevrate osvedčil ako miesto spomienok, na ktorom na seba narážajú rôzne interpretácie minulosti. Alternatívna skupina umelcov „Inconnu” inštalovala už v roku 1989 na parcele 298 početné takzvané „Kopjafa” (drevené trámy v štýle zvyku pochovávania u starých Maďarov pred kristianizáciou). Ako reakcia na modernosť tohto pomníka vznikol ešte v tom istom roku štilizovaný vchod do maďarského sedliackeho dvora s nápisom: „Pútnik, ktorý prídeš sem, môžeš cez túto bránu prejsť len s maďarskou dušou.” Za ním bola upevnená mramorová tabuľa s nasledovným nápisom: „Skonali mučeníckou smrťou pre svoju vlasť”. Tieto vety exemplárne reprezentujú postoj, podľa ktorého majú byť tu pochované osoby považované za obete špeciálneho a proti Maďarom nasmerovaného prenasledovania. Skutočnosť, že páchatelia (sudcovia, policajti, dôstojníci, politici atď.) považovali bez výnimky aj seba samých za Maďarov, iniciátori týchto náhrobných nápisov pritom nepriamo popierajú.

Okolnosť, že na parcele 298 odpočívajú nielen nevinné obete, ale aj masoví zločinci, prípadne že dokonca niektorí masoví zločinci neboli popravení za svoje činy ale za vymyslené delikty, sa vyše 15 rokov netematizovala. „Čistka” tejto parcely od takýchto problematických osôb sa sotva dá presadiť, pretože by to ich pozostalí považovali za zneuctenie hrobu. Pri mnohých obetiach sa dá konštatovať kombinácia zo skutočnej a vymyslenej viny. V prípade dôsledného rozdelenia by na tejto parcele mohlo ostať pochovaných len málo osôb. Táto situácia je sťažená tým, že na tejto parcele úplne chýba jedna skupina osôb: komunisti, ktorí boli zabití počas ukážkových procesov. Buď tu vôbec neboli pochovaní, alebo boli ešte v roku 1956 exhumovaní a slávnostne opäť niekde inde pochovaní. Tak pre pravicový politický tábor ani nejestvuje žiadny dôvod vyvíjať kritiku ohľadne tu pochovaných osôb. Eventualite, vymeniť pamätné tabule a prostredníctvom nových textov zohľadniť komplexitu oboch spomienkových miest, sa politickí predstavitelia s rozhodovacími právomocami očividne až dodnes vyhýbajú.

„Pamäť delí,  história zjednocuje"^[1].

Zakončenie konfrontácie Východ - Západ, európska integrácia a proces rozširovania Európskej únie sa pričinili k medzinárodnej výmene skúseností a komunikácii medzi občanmi a štátmi v takom rozsahu, v akom by sa kedysi európske národy  neodvážili ani pomyslieť, a to vo všetkých  oblastiach: hospodárstva, kultúry, vedy a politiky. Tiež v oblasti  historických vied neboli možnosti kooperovania s partnermi zo strednej a východnej  Európy  nikdy tak diferencované, rôznorodé, a kontakty medzi vedcami z Východu a Západu tak intenzívne ako sú v súčasnosti. Za taký stav veci je treba vo veľkej miere vďačiť  rozšíreniu Európskej únie o štáty strednej a východnej Európy v rokoch 2004 a 2007 a zrušeniu väčšiny vnútorných hraníc EÚ. Ale významný vplyv je tiež treba pripísať aktivitám podporujúcim  kultúru, ktoré boli predsavzaté v Európe a ktoré hlavne prostredníctvom mnohostrannej spolupráce slúžia vytvoreniu tzv. „európskej pridanej hodnoty”.

Krzysztof Pomian, vynikajúci znalec „Európy a jej národov”^[2], a súčasne riaditeľ  Múzea Európy, ktoré vzniká v Bruseli sa, v analýze preloženej v poslednej dobe do mnohých jazykov, zaoberá problémom „európskej totožnosti” a sebavedomia Európanov presahujúcimi  komunikáciu a kooperovanie. V svojej práci Pomian prichádza k záveru, že národy Európy sa sformovali  na základe  prenikajúcej sa kresťansko - židovskej tradície zasahujúcej do  histórie, písma, práva, mnohých aspektov umenia, architektúry a celej rady prenikajúcich sa navzájom  kultúrnych vzťahov, a  konečne a predovšetkým na základe  „narodenia sa Európy v duchu osvietenia”. Napriek tomu európske národy  nie sú schopné rozvinúť spoločnú totožnosť, pretože ich spôsob myslenia a postupovania sú diktované kategóriami a hodnotami prevažujúcimi v danom národe. A preto  európska totožnosť je síce „historickou skutočnosťou”, ale súčasne sa ukazuje, že je „stále častejšie problémom politickým”.^[3]

Skutočne je treba poznamenať, že napriek hore predstaveným  pozitívnym rozvojovým tendenciám, sa (zatiaľ) nepodarilo  vytvoriť európsky „pocit MY”, a že sa  ešte neuformovala spoločná  historická pamäť a  európska totožnosť. Ľudské myslenie, ponímanie sa najčastejšie obmedzuje na známe, národné vzorce a  historické povedomie, nachádzajúce svoj odraz vo verejných  debatách. Mediálne diskusie o  historických témach v značnej miere nepresahujú  národné horizonty. O „Európe”  síce mnohí hovoria, ale naďalej platí „primát národných vzťažných rámcov” a zásada „druhoradosti  európskej pamäte voči pamäti národnej”.^[4]

Najväčší význam na ceste k utvoreniu  európskeho vedomia zohráva to ako  sa chápe minulosť. Vyvstáva otázka či je možná spoločná  historická pamäť. To otázka je dôležitá preto, že spolu s rozšírením  Európskej únie sa s prekvapujúcou   silou „vrátila” do povedomia občanov  téma komplikovanej minulosti európskeho kontinentu . História XX. storočia  bola zriedka tak prítomná v politickom a verejnom živote ako dnes. V súčasnosti určite nikto nebude požadovať definitívne oddelenie  „hrubou čiarou” od minulosti a skončenia vysporiadania so zločinmi spáchanými v tom storočí. Naopak. Viac ako 60 rokov  po skončení II. svetovej  vojny a 20 rokov po páde komunizmu v Európe sa problémy ako diskusie na témy histórie, pamäte a upamätnenia vrátili do takmer každodennej diskusie.

Nemecko a iné  európske štáty zahájili z širšej perspektívy a odnova proces skúmania vlastnej histórie a  európskych dejov. Štáty  Európy revidujú obrazy histórie, ktoré  prevzali od iných, diskutujú o vlastnom národnom spomínaní   historických udalostí, a súčasne hľadajú  spoločné relácie ku kohéznej, medzinárodnej kultúre pamäti. Francúzsky historik Pierre Nora vypracoval modelovú ideu „Lieux de memoire” – ideu „Miest pamäte” v materiálnom aj prenesenom zmysle, ktorá bola úspešne realizovaná na príklade Francúzska. Ten úspech je známkou nového zainteresovania sa históriou a možnosťami jej ponímania. Spolu so zavedením  koncepcie „Lieux de memoire” Noryho vznikli tiež mnohé štúdie o miestach pamäte v Nemecku, Taliansku, Holandsku a  iných štátoch.^[5] Myšlienka „Miest pamäte” sa v poslednej dobe uplatňuje tiež v rámci veľkého bilaterálneho poľsko-nemeckého projektu spolupráce.^[6]

Tematika skúmania histórie a  historickej pamäte presahuje v svojom rozsahu vedecký  rámec a tvorí veľmi aktuálnu tému^[7], o čom svedčia hoci diskusie sprevádzajúce nás každý deň o novo tvorených miestach pamäte, pomníkoch upamätujúcich obete či informácie o  historických múzeách venovaných osudom jednotlivých skupín alebo konkrétnym historickým udalostiam. Už v roku 1990 bol v Budapešti utvorený „Ústav pre dejiny maďarskej revolúcie 1956”. Iné ústavy skúmajúce  komunistickú minulosť a odpor stavaný podobným nátlakom boli utvorené vo Varšave, Bratislave, Prahe a Bukurešti. V roku 2001 bolo v  Berlíne otvorené „Židovské múzeum”, v roku 2004 „Múzeum Varšavského povstania” vo Varšave, v 2005 bola ukončená stavba pomníka upamätujúceho obete Holocaustu v Berlíne, v 2006 v Tbilisi a Kyjove otvorili „Múzeum sovietskej okupácie”. Rok 2007 bol  začiatkom plánovania „Múzea II. svetovej vojny”, ktoré má vzniknúť v Gdansku, a v roku 2008 boli zahájené v Berlíne práce spojené s pomníkom na pamiatku  nemeckých a iných Rómov zavraždených v období národného socializmu. Takisto v roku 2008 bol  v Prahe založený „Ústav pro studium totalitních režimů”. V 2009 bol v Bukurešti bol postavený  centrálny pomník upamätujúci obete Holocaustu, ktorého autor  je Peter Jacobi, umelec pochádzajúci z nemecky hovoriacej časti Transylvánie. V roku 2009 vznikla nadácia „Útek, vyhnanie, zmierenie” – stredisko venované vyhnaniam na celom svete, so zvláštnym dôrazom položeným na osud nemeckých bežencov a odsunutých. Všetky tie iniciatívy je možné chápať ako znak „nového  historického povedomia”. Nie je možné zabudnúť na už spomenuté „Musee de l'Europe” v Bruseli venované  histórii európskej integrácie od roku 1945, ktoré sa má  stať centrálnym miestom potvrdenia európskeho povedomia. Dali by nájsť ďalšie príklady z iných štátov.

Etienne Francois, spolu vydavateľ trojdielnej  prezentácie „Nemecké Miesta Pamäte” hovorí o všeobecnej  tendencii „rastu významu kultúry pamäte” a o „celoeurópskej potrebe  pamäte”^[8]. Súčasne poukazuje, a nie bezdôvodne, na to, že ten druh pamäte v žiadnom prípade nezahrnuje celú minulosť. Skutočne, v dnešnej politickej diskusii sa venuje  menej pozornosti práve skoršiemu  historickému obdobiu, keď sa v Európe utvorili spoločné hodnoty a kultúrne relácie jednaké pre mnoho národov. Nové  historické povedomie sa značne viac  odvoláva zvláštnym spôsobom na bolestné udalosti najnovšej histórie, hlavne na „krátke”  XX. storočie Ten druh  historického povedomia skôr delí ako prospieva vytvoreniu spoločnej totožnosti, pretože kontinuita histórie a  historickej pamäte bola narušená  zločinmi v tomto storočí, zločiny, ktoré svojimi rozmermi prekročili hranice ľudskej predstavivosti. Nie je možné nepriznávať sa k histórii XX. storočia, ale dnes, 20 rokov po skončení konfliktu Východ - Západ, treba ešte silnejšie nadväzovať na intelektuálne a kultúrne korene Európy.

Aké  konkrétne udalosti XX. storočia  doviedli k tomu, že  pamäť skolabovala, spôsobili hlboké rany vo vedomí európskych národov a viedli k tak veľkému množstvu rôznorodých obrazov histórie na tomto kontinente? Prvý zlom kontinuity civilizácie vyvolala I. svetová  vojna, ktorá v Európe (ako aj na celom svete) prerazila cestu totalitným ideológiám  a priviedla k alienácii   „Európu našich predkov”^[9] (Pomian). Krivdy spáchané v neskoršom  období XX. storočia sú priamo aj nepriamo spojené s I. svetovou vojnou: „etnické čistky" (vyhnania, prenasledovania a exterminácia ľudstva) a II. svetovou  vojnou, ktorá nadobudla charakter genocídy konkrétnych skupín  nacistickým Nemeckom vo východnej Európe a národnosocialistická okupácia a režim, ktoré zvlášť vo východnej oblasti  Európy viedli k  zničeniu celých  kultúrnych scenérií; nedajúce sa spočítať škody spôsobené vojnou, prenasledovanie Židov a Holocaust; úteky, vyhnania a vynútená  migrácia behom a na konci II. svetovej vojny; zločiny genocídy spáchané za vlády Stalina, režim okupácie realizovaný ZSSR v štátoch  východnej a strednej Európy, a na koniec  Gułag. „Auschwitz” a „Gułag” sú symbolmi ukrutnosti vtedajšej doby. Štáty východnej Európy v rokoch 1933-1944 sa stali  scénou pre politiku teroru a Hitlera a Sovietov.^[10]

Hore uvedené udalosti ukazujú jednu spoločnú a smutnú vlastnosť – tie činy  sú nerozlučne spojené s bezhraničným nezákonným právom a nepredstaviteľnou ukrutnosťou. Miliónom občanov  priniesli  obrovské utrpenie, hoci často neboli vôbec spojení s vtedajšími politickými udalosťami. Tie skutočnosti, a zvlášť obrovský počet obetí oplákavaných v mnohých krajinách sú prítomné v pamäti  európskych národov, hoci prítomné veľmi rôznorodým spôsobom, pretože každý národ v prvom rade vníma danú udalosť historicky  z perspektívy vlastného osudu. Neraz sa tiež stáva, že pamäť o danej udalosti rozšírená v jednom národe konkuruje alebo je dokonca v opozícii voči tomu, ako  tú istú udalosť vníma iný národ.  Politické rozdelenie Európy na východnú a západnú časť,  totalitné a demokratické systémy, ktoré sa udržiavali  po II. svetovej vojne viac ako 40 rokov mali dlhodobý vplyv  na ľudské myslenie.^[11]

V súčasných   medzinárodných debatách o minulosti (pokiaľ sa uskutočňujú mimo úzky kruh vedcov) je možné hovoriť o jednom hlavnom probléme. Vo vzájomnom vnímaní západných a východných štátoch je možné registrovať  na asymetriu istého druhu. V čase studenej vojny boli západné štáty Európy a bývalá  Federálna republika Nemecka v otázke vysporiadania sa s minulosťou silne spojené s USA, a zeme východnej Európy sa zdali  byť „značne vzdialené”. Dlhodobým následkom takej tradičnej orientácie na Západ je fakt, že, vzhľadom na jazykovú bariéru   proces vysporiadania sa s minulosťou trvajúci v zemiach strednej a východnej Európy od roku 1989  do dnes neprenikol v svojom plnom rozsahu do povedomia mnohých ani do politickej  historickej diskusie. Príkladom  podporujúcim tú tézu môže byť vášnivá debata o vyhnania a núteného presídlenia Nemcov, ktorá bola  v rokoch 90-tych vedená v Poľsku ako vo vedeckých  kruhoch tak aj v tlači, a ktorá sa do dnes nedočkala širokej  ozveny a reakcie v Nemecku. A na druhej strane odborná literatúra historická vydávaná v západných jazykoch je cenným prameňom,  ktorý často využívajú a ktoré sú ďalej rozvíjané štátmi  strednej a východnej Európy .

Prejavom rozporného a konkurenčného  ponímania histórie a asymetrie je stanovisko publikované v roku 2002 Českého zväzu historikov – „Historici Proti neustálemu narušovaniu histórie”.^[12] Pojednáva o kontroverzných témach z histórie nemecko-českej XX. storočia. Tento manifest? SA stretol len s minimálnou  odozvou v Nemecku, ale bolo to súčasne prejavom starostlivosti malého štátu o to, že bolestné historické udalosti, aké Čechy precli behom  XX. storočia, ako aj ich  historické výsledky, ako napr. debata „Nútené emigrácie v Európe” nie sú náležitým  spôsobom doceňované.

Na pozadí rôznorodého vnímania histórie XX. storočia  európskymi národmi ako aj nie zriedka búrlivých mediálnych a politických debát,  národnostných rozdielov v interpretácii najdôležitejších udalostí, nesúdržných obrazov histórie a „rovnobežných skutočností” v Európe sa zrodila potreba  diskusného fóra, iniciatívy a inštitúcie sprostredkujúce v pokiaľ možno čo  najviac multilaterálnom rozsahu medzi rôzne usmernenými kultúrami pamäte. Jedine pochopenie „rôznorodosti” môže podporiť vzájomné pochopenie a posilniť fundamenty európskeho povedomia.

V roku 2008 zverejnilo „Medzinárodné združenie na obranu ľudských práv Memoriál” (Moskva)  „apel” o vytvorenie „medzinárodného  historického fórum”, ktoré by podporovalo  medzinárodnú  diskusiu. Napriek tomu, že vtedajší návrh  sa v hlavnej  miere vzťahoval na otázku pamäte v kontexte sovietskeho priestoru moci,  apel, ktorý sformuloval  „Memoriał” a ciele na ňom založené  sú všeobecne aktuálne: „Národné rozdiely v interpretácii dôležitých udalostí historických sú prirodzené a nevyhnutné. Je nutné však  vedieť, aký vzťah zaujať voči tým rozdielom. […] Nemá zmysel ignorovať „cudzie” spomienky a chovať sa tak, akoby neexistovali. Nemá zmysel vyhlasovať, že sú  neodôvodnené [...]”^[13].

V roku 2008 česká strana  oficiálne vyzvala, aby bola v Európe vytvorená medzinárodná „Platforma skúmania totalitnej minulosti”. Taká platforma (múzeum alebo ústav) si kládla ako cieľ medzi iným vklad do „spoločného európskeho dedičstva” špecifických skúseností nových členských štátov EÚ. Okrem toho platforma mala prevziať vedecké a  didaktické úlohy a koordinačné funkcie. Tá myšlienka, hoci v mnohých  aspektoch podobná premisám a cieľom  Nadácie „Európska Sieť Pamäť a Solidarita”, pôsobiacej od roku 2005 však nebola uskutočnená.^[14]

K dnešnému dňu v zásade existuje zhoda ohľadne toho, že  historické udalosti je treba skúmať zohľadňujúc ich komplexnosť vo vzťahu ku všetkým angažovaným stranám alebo stranám tými udalosťami dotknutými. Nie je pochýb o tom, že „potreba historickej pamäte” všetkých strán musí byť rovnako rešpektované a tvoriť vzťažný bod behom diskusií. Niet pochýb o tom, že minulosť je nutné analyzovať so zohľadnením a odvolaním sa na perspektívu partnerov diškurzu. Vedomie unikátnosti každého štátu a jeho kultúry pamäte je podmienkou vzniku spoločného „európskeho trhu histórie”.^[15]Nadácia Európska Sieť „Pamäť a Solidarita” si stavia  cieľ činnosti podporujúce mnohostranné, a pri tom spoločnosťové vnímanie histórie orientované na rozdiely aj spoločné vlastnosti.

prof. Matthias Weber (nar. 1961)- historik, germanista. Od roku 1999 mimoriadny profesor  Univerzity v Oldenburgu. Od mája 2004  je riaditeľom Federálneho ústavu kultúry a histórie Nemcov v strednej a východnej Európe. Člen Riadiaceho výboru Európskej Siete Pamäť a Solidarita.

[1] Cytat: Pierre Nora: Nachwort. [Doslov] in: Etienne Francois, Hagen Schulze (ed.): Deutsche Erinnerungsorte [Nemecké miesta pamäte], t. III. München 2001, s. 681-686, tu s. 686; viď tiež publikácie in: Transit. Europäische Revue 38 (2010), téma: „Vereintes Europa - geteilte Geschichte" [Zjednotená Európa – rozdelená história].

[2] Titul rozprawy Pomiana, por. Krzysztof Pomian: Európa a jej národy. Preklad z francúzskeho jazyka: Matthias Wolf. Berlin 1990.

[3] Krzysztof Pomian: Europäische Identität. Historisches Faktum und politisches Problem [Európska totožnosť. Historické fakty a politický problém], link: http://www.eurozine.com/articles/article-2009-08-24-pomian-de.html, stiahnuté  dňa 01.01.2010, publikácia v Transit. Europäische Revue 37 (2009); titul originálu: De Europese identiteit. Een historisch feit en een politiek problem. in: Leonard Ornstein, Lo Breemer (ed.): Paleis Europa. Grote Denkers over Europa. Amsterdam 2007, s. 29-54.

[4] Etienne Francois: Geteilte Erinnerungsorte, europäische Erinnerungsorte. [Rozdelené  miesta pamäte, európske miesta pamäte] W: Robert Born, Adam S. Labuda, Beate Störtkuhl (ed./red.): Vizuálne konštrukcie histórie a  historickej pamäte v Nemecku a v Poľsku 1800-1939 (Spoločné dedičstvo/Wspólne Dziedzictwo, III), s. 17-32, tu s. 26.

[5] Z množstva publikácii  o tejto téme uvádzame príklady štúdií: Pierre Nora (ed.): Les lieux de memoire, t. 1-3, Paris 1984-1992; Mario Isnenghi (ed.): II luoghi della memoria. Simboli e miti Dell'ltalia Unita. Rom, Paris, 1996; Etienne Francois, Hagen Schulze (ed.): Deutsche Erinnerungsorte [Nemecké miesta pamäte], t. 1-3. München 2001; Pim den Boer, Willem Frijhoff (red.): Lieux de memoire: et identites nationales. La France et les Pays-Bas. Amsterdam 1993.

[6] V súčasnosti zavádzaný projekt „Deutsch-polnische Erinnerungsorte / Poľsko – nemecké miesta pamäte” pod vedením Roberta Traby a Hansa Henninga Hahna v rámci  Centrum historických štúdií  Poľskej akadémie vied v Berlíne / Zentrum für Historische Forschung Berlin der Polnischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zob. http://www.cbh.pan.pl/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=46&catid=21&ltemid^:::74&lang =de, stiahnuté  dňa 01.01.2010.

[7] Por. Johannes Feichtinger: Europa, quo vadis? Zur Erfindung eines Kontinents zwischen transnationalem Anspruch und nationaler Wirklichkeit. [Európa, quo vadis? Vznik kontinentu medzi potrebou transnárodnosti a národnou skutočnosťou] W: Moritz Csäky, Johannes Feichtinger (ed.): Europa - geeint durch Werte? Die europäische Wertedebatte auf dem Prüfstand der Geschichte. [Európa – zjednotená v hodnotách? Európska debata o hodnotách z hľadiska  histórie] Bielefeld 2007, s. 19-43, tu s. 35; Publikácie   slovenských, českých a rakúskych autorov hore uvedenej tematiky v: Moritz Csäky, Elena Mannová (ed.): Collective Identities in Central Europe in Modern Times. Bratislava 1999; Krisztiän Ungväry: Belastete Orte der Erinnerung. [Zaťažené miesta pamäte] W: Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte [Zo súčasnej  politiky a histórie] 29-30 (2009), s. 26-33.

[8] Francois: Geteilte Erinnerungsorte (viď poznámku 4), s. 17, 19.

[9] Pomian: Európa a jej národy (viď poznámku 2), s. 141.

[10] Por. Editorial Transit 38 (2010), zošit „Vereintes Europa - geteilte Geschichte“ [Zjednotená Európa – rozdelená história].

[11] Burkhard Olschowsky: Erinnerungslandschaft mit Brüchen. Das „Europäische Netzwerk Erinnerung und Solidarität” und die Traumata des alten Kontinents. [Rysy na krajobrazie pamäte. Nadácia Európska Sieť Pamäť a Solidarita a trauma starého kontinentu] in: Transit 35 (leto 2008), s. 23-48, tu s. 26.

[12] Stanovisko „Historikové proti znásilňování dějin. Stanovisko Sdrużení historiků Ćeské republiky", vydané v: Příloha ke Zpravodaji Historického klubu 12, 2 (2001), s. 3-7; preklad do  poľského jazyka: Historický prehľad/ Przegląd Historyczny 94 (2003), s. 59-63.

[13] Hlavička apelu: „Nationale Geschichtsbilder. Das 20. Jahrhundert und der Krieg der Erinnerungen. Ein Aufruf von Memorial” [Národné obrazy histórie. XX. st. a vojna  spomienok. Apel Memoriálu];  in: Osteuropa 58 zeszyt 6 (2008), s. 77-84, citát s. 81; stiahnuté dňa 01.01.2010.

[14] O iniciatíve zahájenej v rámci českého predsedníctva v Európskej únii viď Ma­teusz Gniazdowski: Český návrh  utvorenia platformy pre skúmanie totalitnej minulosti Európy. „Biuletyn" (Poľský ústav pre medzinárodné veci/ Polski Instytut Spraw Międzynarodowych), č. 47 (515) z 26. 09. 2008, s. 1931-1932; viď tiež: „Europas Gewissen und der Parlamentarismus - Entschließung des Europäischen Parlaments vom 02.04.2009 [Európske povedomie a parlamentarizmus – rezolúcia  Európskeho parlamentu zo dňa 2. 02. 2009 ]. č: P6_TA(2009)0213, stiahnuté dňa 01.01.2010.

[15] Nora: Nachwort [Doslov] (viď poznámku 1), s. 685 a ďalšie.

In den vergangenen Jahren wurde immer wieder heftig darüber diskutiert, wie das historische und kulturelle Gedächtnis des neuen erweiterten Europa, unter dem vor allem die erweiterte Europäische Union verstanden wird, künftig aussehen soll. Heftig umstritten waren dabei zumeist Themen, die die Geschichte der vormals dem Warschauer Pakt zugehörigen, ehemals kommunistisch beherrschten Staaten betrafen. Gedächtnis- und Erinnerungskonflikte entzündeten sich vor allem an ihren nationalen je unterschiedlichen Sichten auf ihre Geschichte und deren Bewertung im 20. Jahrhundert. Hier stehen vor allem jene Staaten im Mittelpunkt der Diskussion, deren Umgang mit nationalsozialistischen und kommunistischen Verbrechen nicht mit den im westlichen Europa und insbesondere der Bundesrepublik in den vergangenen Jahrzehnten entstandenen Erwartungen und Standards übereinstimmen.  

Dabei ging und geht es nicht nur darum, welche historischen Ereignisse in welchen Formen erinnert werden oder besser gesagt: erinnert werden sollten. Mindestens ebenso heftig wird darüber diskutiert, wie diese historischen Ereignisse zu bewerten sind und wie sie in die jeweiligen nationalen bzw. transnationalen Geschichtsnarrativen eingeordnet werden. Bei diesen Diskussionen spielt auch die Frage nach den jeweiligen Prioritäten in Bezug auf die Darstellung und Erinnerung zu anderen historischen Ereignissen, insbesondere den nationalsozialistischen Verbrechen, eine nicht minder wichtige Rolle.

Nicht zuletzt geht es dabei auch um ästhetische Fragen, um adaptierte Formen und quantitative Dimensionen, die die Bedeutung von Denkmälern oder Gedenkstätten an der Höhe, Größe oder der in Quadratmetern gemessenen Ausdehnung der jeweiligen Anlagen festmachen und aus ihrer schieren Größe Rückschlüsse auf ihre Bedeutungszumessung in Bezug auf Denkmäler für andere – oft als konkurrierend empfundene – Ereignisse ableiten.

Diese Diskussionen werden derzeit vor allem in Bezug auf die sich entwickelnden Erinnerungskulturen in den ehemals sowjetisch dominierten postsozialistischen Staaten Mittel- und Ostmitteleuropas geführt, die im Verlaufe des 20. Jahrhunderts zum Schauplatz von Verbrechen der zwei großen totalitären Systeme, Nationalsozialismus und Kommunismus, wurden. Viele dieser Staaten erlebten dabei eine mehrfache Besetzung, die heute mit regional und national je unterschiedlicher Gewichtung die seit 1991 entstehenden Erinnerungskulturen in diesen Staaten prägt. Eine Sonderstellung in dieser Diskussion nimmt die Entwicklung in der Russischen Föderation ein, der die ausschließliche Schuld für die im gesamten Ostblock begangenen Verbrechen zugewiesen wird. Dabei wird beiläufig übersehen, dass die russische Bevölkerung ebenso Opfer stalinistischer Verbrechen wurde wie die später von der Sowjetunion besetzten Länder. Hinter diese Erinnerungen treten die autoritären Regime der Zwischenkriegszeit zurück, die ihrerseits wiederum Personen oder Gruppen aus politischen, religiösen und/oder ethnischen Motiven verfolgten.

Verbunden mit der Abgrenzung zur ausschließlich als sowjetische Fremdherrschaft bewerteten Zeit nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, dienen sie der Beförderung einer nationalstaatlichen Identität und gehen mit einer umfassenden Externalisierung von Schuld und Verantwortung – zumeist nach Moskau – sowie der Konstruktion einer eigenen national begründeten Opfer- bzw. Widerstandsidentität einher.

Damit verbunden ist eine sichtbare Inbesitznahme des öffentlichen Raums mit:

- eigenen Denkmalen und Symbolen, die an die Stelle bisheriger treten,

- der Umbenennung von Straßen und öffentlichen Einrichtungen (wozu auch so profane Einrichtungen wie Cafés und Restaurants gehören),

- der Zerstörung/Überformung von als fremdbestimmt klassifizierten Denkmalen und staatlichen Symbolen, die neutralisiert bzw. nationalisiert werden und somit gleichzeitig die Spuren der totalitären Vergangenheit getilgt werden,

- Reaktivierung nationaler und religiöser Symbole, die wegen ihrer Tabuisierung und Unterdrückung im öffentlichen Raum unter kommunistischer Herrschaft positiv konnotiert sind.

Die neu entstehenden Denkmäler und Erinnerungsorte erfüllen neben der Erinnerungs- und Gedenkfunktion auch Informationsaufgaben. Zum einen werden aufgefundene Orte von Massakern und Massengräbern markiert. Zum anderen werden mittels aufgestellter Informationstafeln Anhaltspunkte für die Identifizierung der Opfer gegeben, indem in den Massengräbern gefundene persönliche Fundstücke wie Zigarettenetuis, Brillen oder Federhalter mit Initialen abgebildet und die Bevölkerung um Mithilfe bei der Identifizierung der Toten gebeten wird. In Nekrologen werden die Namen der identifizierten Opfer veröffentlicht und ergänzt, um das Ausmaß der erlittenen Verfolgungen und Verbrechen sichtbar zu machen.

Während an die von den deutschen Besatzern während des zweiten Weltkriegs begangenen Verbrechen und den Kampf gegen die nationalsozialistische Herrschaft in den ehemals sozialistischen Staaten – wenn auch ebenfalls selektiv – in Form von Denkmälern, Museen und Gedenkstätten sowie Ritualen erinnert wurde, waren die durch die Sowjetunion bzw. die nationalen kommunistischen Machthaber begangenen Verbrechen tabuisiert und erleben seit 1991 eine nachholende Memoralisierung.

In den vergangenen Jahren ist in den ehemals kommunistisch beherrschten Staaten Ostmittel- und Osteuropas eine vielfältige materielle Erinnerungslandschaft in Form von Denkmälern, Museen und Gedenkstätten entstanden. Die Recherchen der „Bundesstiftung zur Aufarbeitung der SED-Diktatur“ im Rahmen des Dokumentationsprojektes „Erinnerungsorte an die kommunistischen Diktaturen“ haben bisher mehr als 3500 Denkmäler, Gedenkstätten und Museen erfasst. Darunter befinden sich ca. 400 Denkmäler, die in der Russischen Föderation an den Großen Terror 1937/38 erinnern, oder etwa 300 Denkmäler, die in der Ukraine für die Opfer der großen Hungerkatastrophe Holodomor 1932/33 errichtet wurden. An die Niederschlagung der Ungarischen Revolution 1956 erinnern mehr als 150 Denkmäler. Diese beziehen sich zumeist auf nationalstaatliche bzw. konkrete regionale Ereignisse und konkrete Verbrechen. Dabei wird an Aktionen, Persönlichkeiten oder Gruppen erinnert, die für den nationalen Widerstands gegen die kommunistische Herrschaft und für nationale Selbstbehauptung stehen. Damit verbunden ist eine positive Erinnerungserzählung, die insbesondere in den baltischen Staaten oder in der Ukraine[1] ihren Schwerpunkt auf den antikommunistischen Kampf legt und seine Protagonisten als Widerständler und Opfer des Kommunismus verortet. Inwieweit dieser Widerstand zugleich mit einem Eintreten für demokratische Werte verbunden war, ist dabei sekundär.

Denkmäler zur Erinnerung an die unter kommunistischer Herrschaft begangenen Verbrechen und deren Opfer entstanden jedoch keineswegs nur nach dem Untergang der kommunistischen Regimes. So wurde zum Beispiel 1981 ein Denkmal für den Aufstand 1956 in Poznań errichtet. In der „freien Welt“ entstanden zahlreiche Denkmäler zur Erinnerung an kommunistische Verbrechen und ihre Opfer. Hierzu gehören zum Beispiel die Denkmäler, die in Westeuropa, Kanada oder den USA für die ungarische Revolution 1956 oder das Verbrechen von Katyn errichtet wurden.

Nach 1989/90 entstanden in den ehemals kommunistisch beherrschten Staaten jedoch nicht nur Denkmäler und Museen, die sich kritisch mit der Vergangenheit auseinandersetzen oder an die Opfer erinnern. Es entstanden auch Museen, Gedenkstätten und Erinnerungszeichen, die in positiver Bezugnahme auf die kommunistische Vergangenheit errichtet wurden. Hierzu gehören zum Beispiel – wie in einigen ehemaligen Sowjetrepubliken – neu errichtete Stalin-Büsten oder die Stalin gewidmeten Museen in Tbilissi, Geheimdienstmuseen wie in Dnipropetrovsk oder in Marij El.

Diese in den letzten Jahren entstandene vielgestaltige materielle Erinnerungskultur in Form von Tausenden von Gedenkstätten und Museen, Gedenkzeichen, Denkmälern, Mahnmalen, Sakralbauten und Museumsparks lässt jedoch keinen Rückschluss darüber zu, wie die Erinnerung an die kommunistischen Verbrechen tatsächlich im kollektiven Gedächtnis verankert ist oder welche Bedeutung eine Mehrheit der Bevölkerung solchen Zeichen im öffentlichen Raum zumisst. Oftmals wurden diese Denkmale von privaten oder lokalen Initiativen und Opferverbänden gegen Desinteresse oder gar den Widerstand einer Mehrheit der Bevölkerung oder staatliche Stellen initiiert. Aus der Vielzahl der neu errichteten Denkmale auf eine homogene nationale Erinnerung zu schließen, verstellt den Zugang zu den heute oftmals nebeneinander existierenden Erinnerungen und unterschiedlichen Bewertungen. So existieren zwar in der Ukraine mehrere hundert Denkmäler zur Erinnerung an die große Hungerkatastrophe von 1932/33. Aus dieser Zahl an Denkmälern jedoch zu schlussfolgern, dass die Erinnerung an den Holodomor und seine Opfer schon zum erinnerungskulturellen Kanon der neuen Ukraine gehören würde, wäre verfehlt.

Beredtes Beispiel hierfür ist auch die in die Hunderte gehende Zahl von Denkmälern für die Opfer der stalinistischen Repressionen oder des GULag, die in der Russischen Föderation entstanden sind. Vielerorts ist schon die Existenz dieser Denkmäler für die Masse der Bevölkerung unbekannt, geschweige denn, dass sie Teil einer lebendigen Erinnerungskultur wären.

[1] Weitere Beispiele aus Rumänien, Ungarn oder Kroatien aber auch weiteren Staaten ließen sich anführen.

All countries politicize history. All nations draw on the past to justify decisions taken in the present. All nations tell stories about the past in order to understand their present too. Nevertheless, in Russia, the relationship between the state and the past is unusual, and therefore deserves some extra attention. To put it bluntly, Russia is a country where the recent tradition of falsification and manipulation of history is simply deeper and more profound than anywhere else. After all, Russia’s Soviet elite deliberately and decisively falsified history for a long time, over many years. They retouched photographs to remove discredited comrades, they changed history books to put themselves at places where they had not been, they tormented and manipulated professional historians.

Russia’s current elite is not the Soviet elite, and I don’t believe Russia’s leaders are trying to re-create the Soviet union. However the leading members of this new elite are people who were raised and trained not only in the Soviet union, but inside the culture of the old KGB, where they absorbed the prevailing attitudes and assumption. In the old Soviet KGB, there was simply no such thing as neutral or objective history: History was something to be used, cynically, in the battle for power - and if you don’t use it, then your enemies will.

Until recently, this instrumental attitude towards history was actually not dominant in post-Soviet Russia. In the 1980s, during the era of glasnost, discussion of history was a national obsession. During the economic crisis which followed the Gorbachev period, people were simply too busy to worry about the past: people stopped talking about the Gulag, and about Stalinist repression, simply because they had more urgent things to do.

But in Putin and Medevedev’s Russia, this is no longer the case: nowadays events are present in Russian textbooks, or absent from official culture, because someone has taken a conscious decision that it should be so. Deliberate choices are being made about Russian history for deliberate, immediate, political reasons. Most of all they are being made in order to legitimize the power of the ruling elite. Precisely because there is no genuine democratic process at work in Russia, the current leadership must always have a degree of insecurity about their position, and about their true popularity. The manipulation of history is one of the means by which they would like to convince the public that they are the rightful rulers of Russia. Looking at what has been included, and what has been left out, tells us a great deal about the political goals of contemporary Russia.  

The first and most obvious subject missing from contemporary discourse is of course the Gulag, and indeed the entire history of the Stalinist period, during which millions of people were murdered in camps, in massacres and in the course of being deported around the country. In the 1980s, as I’ve said, this topic was a matter of urgent public debate. In the 1990s, when I was working on my book on the Gulag, this period was mostly considered irrelevant, or boring. Now, however, it is slowly taking on the air of a political taboo, and it is once again considered a touchy or dangerous subject.

I don’t want to exaggerate here: Not all Russian archives are closed, and not all Russian historians write about the glorious Soviet space program. Dotted around Russia, it is even possible to find a handful of informal, semi-official, and private monuments to the Gulag and the terror. Nevertheless, from the perspective of Moscow, a city of vast war memorials and huge public structures these local initiatives do seem insufficient. I’d guess that the majority of Russians are not even aware of them.

This lack of memorials reflects something deeper, too. Although there was much talk about doing so at the end of the 1980s, and though there was an aborted “trial” of the communist party in the early 1990s, there have for the most part been no official investigations, government inquiries, or public apologies. Indeed there has still never been a legal acknowledgement of what happened in Stalin’s Russia at all. Thus while victims can be rehabilitated, they can also be refused rehabilitation for no good reason.

There are many reasons for this, but I would pick out two. One is that the current Russian leadership consists, as I say, largely of people who are former KGB officers, and they simply have no interest in focusing on the crimes carried out by their organization. More importantly, though, it seems to me that there is actually now a link made, in some people’s minds, between the discussion of the past that took place in the 1980s, and what Russian remember as the total collapse of the economy in the 1990s. What was the point of talking about all of that, many people have said to me: it got us nowhere.

The regime echoes this sentiment. More than once, newspapers and politicians have formally stated their belief that a discussion of the crimes of the past is a sign of national weakness, one which the current Russian leadership therefore does not encourage. Just to use a personal example, the only mention of my Gulag book that I am aware of, in a mainstream Russian newspaper, was in an article about foreign espionage in Russia . Thus a book on Gulag is not a contribution to popular debate, but a kind of foreign attack on the Russian psyche.   

So what kind of history is being officially encouraged? Judging from the recently Russian history textbook, released with great fanfare by Putin himself, it is probably best described as a kind of selective rehabilitation of the Soviet and Stalinist past. Of course there is no public discussion of the gulag, but there is also no great interest in, say, the rapid industrialization which Stalin set in motion, or the collectivization of land. Instead, it is Stalin’s wartime leadership which has been chosen as a subject to celebrate, and in particular the end of the war: the moment of imperial conquest, when Soviet-style communism was imposed on Russia’s western neighbors.

Examples of this trend are numerous. Every year, the May celebrations of the anniversary of victory in 1945 grow more elaborate: This year, they included several thousand Russian soldiers dressed in Soviet uniforms, waving the Soviet flag, and singing Soviet songs. There are new books about the war too, whole shelves of them, a notable feature at Moscow bookstores which once had few history books at all.

So powerful is this interpretation of history, in fact, that it has begun to have political connotations, particularly regarding Russia’s neighbors, and especially Poland and the Baltic states. Part of the problem seems to be that the history of these countries, and in particular the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, does stand in the way of a heroic picture of the war. Vladimir Putin himself went out of this way to describe the invasion of the Baltic states and eastern Poland in 1939 as a decision justified at the time by the correlation of forces or the need for self-defense, and this explanation is repeated in textbooks. A similar problem occurs in any discussion of 1945, which the Russians remember as a moment of victory and liberation, and Russia’s neighbors remember as the beginning of a new occupation. Disputes over this issue last year led to a major diplomatic battle between Russia and Estonia.

But these are perhaps also illustrations of a point I made earlier: Namely, that the Russian leadership uses history to reinforce its own somewhat shaky legitimacy.Why Poland and Estonia, after all? Could it be because they are, of all Russia’s closest neighbors, the most successful? Both have open, capitalist economies, and both have successfully made the transition from communism to open, Western-style democracy. Estonian-style capitalism, with its encouragement for entrepreneurship, or Polish-style democracy, in which political parties take power from one another in unpredictable ways, threatens Putinist-style managed democracy. If this is a regime which is by definition insecure about its long-term support, it has to fear the existence of successful democracy among its neighbors.

Even more importantly, though, is the role that the celebration of the Soviet Union’s imperial zenith is playing in a larger narrative about recent Russian history, namely the history of the 1980s and the 1990s. Famously, Putin once said that the collapse of the Soviet Union was the biggest geopolitical catastrophe of the 20^th century, presumably larger than either world war. He, and the Russian media and current Russian president who echo him, also now openly attribute the hardships of the 1990s not to decades of communist neglect and widespread theft, but to deliberate Western meddling, western-style democracy and western-style capitalism. Putinism, within which Medvedev fits naturally, represents, in its own interpretation, a return to the stability and safety of the communist period.

I am not, as I say, arguing here that Stalinism has been revived in Russia: The present government does not need that level of repression in order to stay in power  - and indeed might find that too great a use of violence could harm its image and legitimacy both domestically and internationally.  It has, however, found a use for the positive memory of Stalin, and we would do well to pay attention, and to ask ourselves why.

Anne Applebaum (born 1964) – American columnist of Washington Post and Slate. She is also a director of Political Studies in Legatum Institute in London, where she realizes projects concerning systemic and economic transformation. Former staff member of Washington Post. Worked also as foreign correspondent and deputy editor-in-chief of Spectator in London, as editor of political department of Evening Standard and columnist for several British newspapers like Daily and Sunday Telegraphs. In 1988-1991 she was a Warsaw correspondent of the Economist.