Journal articles on the topic 'World politics – 1919-1932'

The authors’ research attention is focused on the specifics of the Australian memorial practices dedicated to the World War I. The statement is substantiated that in the Australian context memorials and military monuments formed a special post-war and post-traumatic part of the visual memory of the first Australian global military conflict. The features of the Australian memorial concept are clarified, the social function of the monuments and their important role in the psychological overcoming of the trauma and bitter losses experienced are noted. The multifaceted aspects of visualization of the monumental memory of the World War I in Australia are analyzed. Monuments and memorials are an important part of Australia’s visual heritage. It is concluded that each Australian State has developed its own concept of memory, embodied in various types and nature of monuments. The main ones are analyzed in detail: Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne (1928–1934); Australian War Memorial in Canberra (1941); Sydney Cenotaph (1927-1929) and Anzac Memorial in Sydney (1934); Desert Mounted Corps Memorial in Western Australia (1932); Victoria Memorials: Avenue of Honour and Victory Arch in Ballarat (1917-1919), Australian Ex-Prisoners of War Memorial (2004), Great Ocean Road – the longest nationwide memorial (1919-1932); Hobart War Memorial in the Australian State of Tasmania (1925), as well as Villers-Bretonneux Australian National Memorial in France dedicated to French-Australian cooperation during the World War I (1938). The authors demonstrate an inseparable connection between the commemorative practices of Australia and the politics of national identity, explore the trends in the creation and development of memorial practices. It is noted that the overwhelming majority of memorial sites are based on the clearly expressed function of a place of memory, a place of mourning and commemoration. It was found that the representation of the memorial policy of the memory of Australia in the first post-war years was implemented at the beginning at the local level and was partially influenced by British memorial practices, transforming over time into a nationwide cultural resource.

The authors’ research attention is focused on the specifics of the Australian memorial practices dedicated to the World War I. The statement is substantiated that in the Australian context memorials and military monuments formed a special post-war and post-traumatic part of the visual memory of the first Australian global military conflict. The features of the Australian memorial concept are clarified, the social function of the monuments and their important role in the psychological overcoming of the trauma and bitter losses experienced are noted. The multifaceted aspects of visualization of the monumental memory of the World War I in Australia are analyzed. Monuments and memorials are an important part of Australia’s visual heritage. It is concluded that each Australian State has developed its own concept of memory, embodied in various types and nature of monuments. The main ones are analyzed in detail: Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne (1928–1934); Australian War Memorial in Canberra (1941); Sydney Cenotaph (1927-1929) and Anzac Memorial in Sydney (1934); Desert Mounted Corps Memorial in Western Australia (1932); Victoria Memorials: Avenue of Honour and Victory Arch in Ballarat (1917-1919), Australian Ex-Prisoners of War Memorial (2004), Great Ocean Road – the longest nationwide memorial (1919-1932); Hobart War Memorial in the Australian State of Tasmania (1925), as well as Villers-Bretonneux Australian National Memorial in France dedicated to French-Australian cooperation during the World War I (1938). The authors demonstrate an inseparable connection between the commemorative practices of Australia and the politics of national identity, explore the trends in the creation and development of memorial practices. It is noted that the overwhelming majority of memorial sites are based on the clearly expressed function of a place of memory, a place of mourning and commemoration. It was found that the representation of the memorial policy of the memory of Australia in the first post-war years was implemented at the beginning at the local level and was partially influenced by British memorial practices, transforming over time into a nationwide cultural resource.

In 1927, the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW), the national organization founded in 1899 by veterans of the Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars, appeared destined for historical obscurity. The organization that would later stand with the American Legion as a pillar of the powerful twentieth-century veterans' lobby struggled to maintain a membership of sixty thousand veterans. Despite desperate attempts to recruit from the ranks of the nearly 2.5 million eligible World War veterans, the VFW lagged behind in membership both the newly minted American Legion and even the Spanish War Veterans. The upstart Legion alone, from its 1919 inception throughout the 1920s, averaged more than seven hundred thousand members. Indeed, in 1929, Royal C. Johnson, the chairman of the House Committee on World War Veterans Legislation and a member of both the Legion and the VFW, described the latter as “not sufficiently large to make it a vital factor in public sentiment.” And yet, by 1932, in the middle of an economic crisis that dealt severe blows to the membership totals of almost every type of voluntary association, the VFW's membership soared to nearly two hundred thousand veterans. Between 1929 and 1932, the VFW experienced this surprising growth because the organization demanded full and immediate cash payment of the deferred Soldiers' Bonus, while the American Legion opposed it. Thus, by challenging federal veterans' policy, the VFW rose out of relative obscurity to become a prominent vehicle for veteran political activism. As important, by doing so the VFW unwittingly set in motion the protest movement known as the Bonus March.

In the last eighty years, an enormous amount of scholarly attention has been devoted to explaining why Europe was at the centre of two cataclysmic conflicts in the first half of the twentieth century. The books considered here represent part of a resurgence of interest in British foreign policy in the interwar period and are primarily concerned with the policy of reconciliation towards the former Central Powers after the First World War, especially the appeasement of Germany. They offer a further opportunity to challenge the still-held misapprehension that appeasement was a strand of British policy that only appeared after Hitler's rise to power. They also offer a means of examining British foreign policy through sources inside and outside the government. Gordon Martel's volume illustrates the amount of journalistic pressure that was put on the British government to recognize and act on the likely threats to international peace. Austen and Neville Chamberlain, the sons of the great nineteenth-century Conservative politician, Joseph Chamberlain, were at the centre of the British foreign policy making process during the interwar period. Indeed, Robert Self's two volumes of letters written by Neville Chamberlain to his sisters illustrate how steeped in foreign and domestic politics the whole Chamberlain family was. Richard Grayson sees a long, unbroken attempt to accommodate Germany diplomatically starting with Austen Chamberlain and the treaty of Locarno. The importance of Neville Chamberlain's contribution to the history of British foreign policy is offered further recognition through surveys of the historiography of his premiership by David Dutton and Robert Caputi.

El presente ensayo aborda la iconografía de San Martín representada por pintores y escultores peruanos y extranjeros. Vemos como los artistas reconocieron en San Martin el haber sido quien proclamó la independencia del Perú. Este aspecto de orador fue la cualidad que lo distinguió y que fue apropiada por Leguía cuando este se asoció con la figura de San Martin y se proclamó como el fundador de la Patria nueva. Palabras Clave: Iconografía de San Martin, Augusto B. Leguía, Daniel Hernández, arte y política, Carlos Baca Flor, pintura y escultura peruana en el oncenio Abstract This essay seeks to investigate the iconography of José de San Martín (1778-1850) as shown in his portrayal by Peruvian and foreign painters and sculptors. We see how these artists acknowledged San Martín as the one who proclaimed the independence of Peru. This rhetorical aspect was the key element that distinguished him and this same element would later be appropriated by Augusto B. Leguía (1863-1932), when the latter one associated himself with the figure of San Martín and proclaimed himself the founder of the “Patria Nueva”. Keywords: Iconography of José de San Martín, Augusto B. Leguía, Daniel Hernández, art and politics, Carlos Baca Flor, Peruvian painting and sculpture during the Oncenio (1919-1930)

An attempt is made in the article to trace the revolutionary influence of the ideological program of the German Bauhaus An attempt is made in the article to trace the revolutionary influence of the ideological program of the German Bauhaus school (1919–1932) on the art of ceramics, to show the general historical, social and political contexts, the change of the cultural and artistic paradigm in European art after the First World War and to mark some points of contact in the cultural and artistic processes of Western Europe and Ukraine in the first half of the 20th century. The purpose of this article is to highlight the history and achievements of the ceramic workshop of this school, the theoretical foundations of its activity, the highlight the history and achievements of the ceramic workshop of this school, the theoretical foundations of its activity, the organization of the educational process, which are not too well known to Ukrainian researchers. The school has practiced are volutionary method of teaching artists and designers whose task is to create a harmonious living space for a person, which contributes to the spread of functionalism. In the 1920s and 1930s the formation of a national style in the art of Ukrainian ceramics has taken place due to the interaction of two factors – the folk pottery tradition and the innovative influences of European stylistic trends. Mezhyhiria Artistic Ceramic Technical College has become one of the centers of this development. Its program is similar to the Bauhaus program in many aspects. An attempt to reveal some common approaches in the organization of work of two educational institutions and their significance in the formation of the modernist stylistics of ceramic art, in particular porcelain and earthenware of the mid-20th century is made.

In recent years, Ukrainian scholars have increasingly turned to rethink our history. From oblivion emerge long-forgotten names, those of scientists who in one way or another have influenced the development of national and world science. However, due to the Soviet doctrine, the achievements of these scientists had long been out of the Ukrainian community's attention. One of the striking examples is the legacy of Mykyta Shapoval, which is still poorly researched, but in the conditions of today, it requires an in-depth study. After all, the issue of Ukraine's revival is relevant today, so the return of scientific ideas, of those scientists who spoke about national state formation, remains an important component in choosing the right model of nation-building. The main purpose of the article is to outline the historical representation of the sociological ideas of Nikita Shapoval regarding the role of scientific knowledge, the classification of sciences and the place of sociology among them, basic sociological categories (personality, society, state), as well as to outline perspective directions of the study of its sociological heritage. Based on the materials worked out by M. Shapoval, it was found out that at the initial stage of his creative and public-political activity he was a supporter of Nietzschean While in emigration during 1919–1932, M. Shapoval laid a solid foundation for sociological research in Prague, wherein 1924 he opened the Ukrainian Institute of Social Studies (Ukrainian Sociological Institute). Here he publishes the first textbook of national sociology "General Sociology", as well as the monograph "System of Social Sciences and Sociography (Ethnology)". The authors analyze M. Shapoval’s ideas regarding the classification of sciences, the place of sociology in it and its subject field. They also identify the main scientific approaches that he proposed to explain social phenomena and processes.

At the western border of Romania, the communist-Bolshevik ideology made its presence felt at the end of 1918 on the Hungarian chain, in the conditions of ideological turmoil of this type generated by the Bolshevik socialist group in Budapest formed around Kun Béla. In Oradea there was a socialist group even before the First World War. Its leader was Katz Béla in the fall of 1918. Bolshevik ideas were often spotted in the county in the immediate future, facilitating the formation of a fairly important communist group throughout the interwar period. At the end of 1919, the socialist leader Eugen Rozvany, recently returned from the front, a member of the Socialist Party of Transylvania and Banat, made his presence felt in Oradea. He joined the communist movement in 1920, where he held an important position until his departure to the USSR in 1932, placing himself at the head of the Bihor and even national communist movement. He was the one who seriously imprinted the communist movement in Bihor and beyond. Breiner Bela was added immediately. Along with them, new leaders were formed who turned to communism in a very short time, such as Sándkovitz Sándor (Alexandru Sencovici) and Mogyorós Sándor (Alexandru Moghioroş). Oradea and Bihor played an important role in the national communist movement. This is demonstrated by the fact that after the Second Congress of the Communist Party of Romania, held in 1922, the communist movement in the country was organized into eight regional secretariats. One of them was in Oradea. The Communist Party of Romania, the Bihor county organization, was a political structure overwhelmingly dominated in the interwar period, as can be seen, by members of the Hungarian and Jewish communities. They made the law in the organization, and if someone did not agree with its conduct, he was quickly shot dead. This is also the case of Eugen Rozvany, who, when he had a different position from the local communists on “the self-determination of the peoples of imperialist Romania”, he supported the idea of the Romanian national state, was unmasked, removed from the party, whose fate was sealed.

This study demonstrates the Germany's policy towards Iraq after the arrival of the Nazis to power in 1933 till the end of World War II. Because of the geopolitical importance of Iraq, and specifically after its independence and its entry into the League of Nations in 1932, the international parties became in a struggle to dominate Iraq in particular, and the Middle East in general. The study aimed to shed light on Hitler's policy of dominating the Western influence in Iraq, occupying new areas in order to penetrate his power and control, and in his desire to acquire Europe, he was striking the influence of his enemies, especially Britain. The study identified a problem that was based on Germany's betting on time as a significant factor, and how it could be used to serve its strategic plan, taking into account Britain's pressure and its interests in Iraq. The study came out with many conclusions, the most important of which is Germany's growing role to find a foothold in the Middle East, as well as the poor strategic planning of Germany since it did not have any clear goals in that region. In addition, its policy was a reflection of the plans of its allies. The structure of the study was divided into an introduction, and three axes: first, German-Iraqi relations 1919-1939; second, World War II and the Iraqi stance of it it; third, May’s movement 1941 and the German attitude of it, finally, the Conclusion which included the most important findings and recommendations, namely: 1- The growing role of Germany to find a foothold In the Middle East after it achieving its national unity in 1870. However, the German penetration in Iraq was not easy as it was interrupted by many challenges caused by the major countries, particularly Britain. 2- the Germanic strategic planning in the Middle East was poor because it did not have clear goals in the region. Its movements there came as if they were only a reaction to the Allied plans and the depletion of Britain's power. 3- Germany's defeat in the First World War made it interested in restoring its position in Europe and improving its internal conditions, which led to the decline of its international relations with other countries, including Iraq. 4- The developments in Iraq in 1941 provided a valuable opportunity for Germany, but its military failure in its war operations affected its political activities in Iraq to the extent that it ended the German role in Iraq. 5- Germany’s failures began in the last years of the war that reached its climax in 1943, signaling the end of Germany’s aspirations in the East in general and Iraq in particular. Hence, an important stage of the German activities had ended in which Iraq was an arena for conflict between Britain and Germany.

Rond 1910 werd in de BWP de Vlaamse kwestie een vrije kwestie. De ‘versmelting’ van twee volken in een ‘âme belge’, via tweetaligheid, werd afgewezen. Onder impuls van Huysmans beriep het Vlaamse socialisme zich op de idee van culturele autonomie: het recht op onderwijs in de moedertaal van de lagere school tot de universiteit en dus de vernederlandsing van de Gentse Rijksuniversiteit. Daarmee behoorde het Vlaamse socialisme tot de voorhoede van de Vlaamse beweging. Het Waalse socialisme daarentegen verdedigde nog de superioriteit van het Frans en de mythe van een tweetalig Vlaanderen, en kantte zich tegen die Vlaamse hoofdeis.Tijdens de tweede fase (1919-1935) was de Vlaamse beweging verzwakt en het Vlaamse socialisme verdeeld. Huysmans slaagde er slechts met moeite in om een ongunstig partijstandpunt ter zake te verhinderen en de Vlaamse kwestie als een vrije kwestie te behouden. Het ‘Compromis des socialistes belges’ van november 1929 was gebaseerd op regionale eentaligheid en een minimale tweetaligheid in het leger en de centrale besturen. Het legde mee de fundamenten van de evolutie naar het beginsel van de territorialiteit inzake bestuur en onderwijs (1930 en 1932).Tijdens de derde fase (1935-1940) hield die pacificatie geen stand. Conflicten versterkten elkaar. De partijleiding kwam in handen van de Brusselaar Spaak en de Vlaming De Man, die met zijn Plan van de Arbeid in 1933 de BWP even uit de impasse had gehaald. Het ging om een nieuwe generatie die het socialisme een andere inhoud wilde geven: streven naar een volkspartij in plaats van klassenstrijd, een ‘socialisme national’, een autoritaire democratie als antwoord op een aanhoudende politieke crisis. Vooral aan Waalse kant werd daartegen gereageerd. Tevens werd de evolutie in het buitenlandse beleid, de zelfstandigheid los van Frankrijk, bekritiseerd. De Spaanse burgeroorlog en de eventuele erkenning van generaal Franco dreef de tegenstellingen op de spits. Voor het eerst had de partij met Spaak een socia-listische eerste minister (mei 1938-januari 1939). Hoewel alle socialisten tegen Franco waren, verschilden de Waalse socialisten van mening met de meeste Vlaamse socialisten over de vraag of de regering daarover moest vallen. Er was ook de tegenstelling over een al dan niet toenadering tot de christelijke arbeidersbeweging vanwege een dan noodzakelijke schoolvrede en een subsidiëring van de katholieke ‘strijdscholen’. Daarop entte zich de taalkwestie. In de Kamer viel de fractiecohesie terug tot 53%.De Vlaamse socialisten waren niet alleen veel sterker vertegenwoordigd in de fractie (40% in 1936), hun zelfbewustzijn nam ook sterk toe. Ze ergerden zich steeds meer aan het bijna exclusieve gebruik van het Frans in de fractie, in het partijbestuur en vooral tijdens congressen. Wie geen of weinig Frans kende, wilde niet langer als minderwaardig worden behandeld. Zeker als dat samenviel met een andere visie. Het eerste aparte Vlaams Socialistisch Congres ging door in maart 1937. Het wilde de culturele autonomie zo veel mogelijk doortrekken, maar keerde zich tegen elke vorm van federalisme, waardoor de Vlaamse socialisten in een klerikaal Vlaanderen een machteloze minderheid zouden worden. Bij de Waalse socialisten groeide de frustratie. Ze organiseerden aparte Waalse Congressen in 1938 en 1939. Ze benadrukten drie vormen van Vlaams imperialisme. De ongunstige demografische evolutie maakte een Vlaamse meerderheid in het parlement en politieke minorisering mogelijk. De financieel-economische transfers van Wallonië naar Vlaanderen verarmden Wallonië. Het verlies aan jobs voor ééntalige Walen in Wallonië en in Brussel was discriminerend. Dat laatste zorgde voor een francofone toenadering en een gezamenlijke framing. Het flamingantisme had zich al meester gemaakt van Vlaanderen, bedreigde via tweetaligheid nu de Brusselse agglomeratie, waarna Wallonië aan de beurt zou komen. Op 2 februari 1939 stonden Vlaamse en Waalse socialisten tegenover elkaar. De unitaire partij dreigde, naar katholiek voorbeeld, in twee taalgroepen uiteen te vallen. Zover kwam het niet. De wallinganten, die een politiek federalisme nastreefden, hadden terrein gewonnen, maar de meeste Waalse socialisten bleven voorstander van een nationale solidariteit. Mits een nieuw ‘Compromis’ dat met de Waalse grieven rekening hield. De mythe van het Vlaamse socialisme als Vlaams vijandig of onverschillig is moeilijk vol te houden. Wel ontstond na de Tweede Wereldoorlog een andere situatie. Tijdens de jaren 1960 behoorde de Vlaamse kwestie tot de ‘trein der gemiste kansen’ . Na de Eerste Wereldoorlog en de invoering van het enkelvoudig stemrecht voor mannen werd de socialistische partij bijna even groot als de katholieke. De verkiezingen verscherpten de regionale en ideologische asymmetrie. De katholieke partij behield de absolute meerderheid in Vlaanderen, de socialistische verwierf een gelijkaardige positie in Wallonië. Nationaal werden coalitieregeringen noodzakelijk. In de Kamer veroverden zowel de socialisten als de christendemocratische vleugel een machtsbasis, maar tot de regering doordringen bleek veel moeilijker. Die bleven gedomineerd door de conservatieve katholieke vleugel en de liberale partij, met steun van de koning en van de haute finance. Eenmaal het socialistische minimumprogramma uit angst voor een sociale revolutie aanvaard (1918-1921), werden de socialisten nog slechts getolereerd tijdens crisissituaties of als het niet anders kon (1925-1927, 1935-1940). Het verklaart een toenemende frustratie bij Waalse socialisten. Tevens bemoeilijkte hun antiklerikalisme de samenwerking van Vlaamse socialisten met christendemocraten en Vlaamsgezinden, zoals in Antwerpen, en dat gold ook voor de vorming van regeringen. In de BWP waren de verhoudingen veranderd. De macht lag nu gespreid over vier actoren: de federaties, het partijbestuur, de parlementsfractie en eventueel de ministers. De eenheid was bij momenten ver zoek. In 1919 was het Vlaamse socialisme veel sterker geworden. In Vlaanderen behaalde het 24 zetels (18 meer dan in 1914) en werd het met 25,5% de tweede grootste partij. Bovendien was de dominantie van Gent verschoven naar Antwerpen, dat met zes zetels de vierde grootste federatie van de BWP werd. Het aantrekken van Camille Huysmans als boegbeeld versterkte haar Vlaamsgezind profiel. In een eerste fase moest Huysmans nog de Vlaamse kwestie als een vrije kwestie verdedigen. Zelfs tegen de Gentse en de Kortrijkse federatie in, die de vooroorlogse Vlaamsgezinde hoofdeis – de vernederland-sing van de Gentse universiteit – hadden losgelaten. Naar 1930 toe, de viering van honderd jaar België, was de Vlaamse beweging opnieuw sterker geworden en werd gevreesd voor de electorale doorbraak van een Vlaams-nationalistische partij. Een globale oplossing voor het Vlaamse probleem begon zich op te dringen. Dat gold ook voor de BWP. Interne tegenstellingen moesten overbrugd worden zodat, gezien de financiële crisis, de sociaaleconomische thema’s alle aandacht konden krijgen. Daarbij stonden de eenheid van België en van de partij voorop. In maart 1929 leidde dit tot het ‘Compromis des Belges’ en een paar maanden later tot het minder bekende en radicalere partijstandpunt, het ‘Compromis des socialistes belges’. Voortbouwend op de vooroorlogse visie van het bestaan van twee volken binnen België, werd dit doorgetrokken tot het recht op culturele autonomie van elk volk, gebaseerd op het principe van regionale eentaligheid, ten koste van de taalminderheden. Voor de Vlaamse socialisten kwam dit neer op een volledige vernederlandsing van Vlaanderen, te beginnen met het onderwijs en de Gentse universiteit. Niet zonder enige tegenzin ging een meerderheid van Waalse socialisten daarmee akkoord. In ruil eisten zij dat in België werd afgezien van elke vorm van verplichte tweetaligheid, gezien als een vorm van Vlaams kolonialisme. Eentalige Walen hadden in Wallonië en in nationale instellingen (leger, centrale besturen) recht op aanwerving en carrière zonder kennis van het Nederlands, zoals ook de kennis ervan als tweede landstaal in Wallonië niet mocht worden opgelegd. De betekenis van dit interne compromis kreeg in de historiografie onvoldoende aandacht. Dat geldt ook voor de vaststelling dat beide nationale arbeidersbewegingen, de BWP vanuit de oppositie, in 1930-1932 mee de invoering van het territorialiteitsbeginsel hebben geforceerd. Een tussentijdse fase C uit het model van Miroslav Hroch.___________ ‘Frenemies’? 2Communitarian tensions in the Socialist Party 1919-1940. Division, Compromise. Crisis. Part Two: 1935-1940 Around 1910, the Flemish question became a free question in the BWP. The ‘merging’ of two peoples in a Belgian soul (âme belge) through bilingualism was rejected. According to Huysmans, Flemish socialism appealed to the idea of cultural autonomy: the right to education in one’s native language from primary school to university, and therefore, the transformation of the state University of Ghent into a Dutch-speaking institution. Hence, Flemish socialism became part of the vanguard of the Flemish Movement. Walloon socialism, on the contrary, continued to support the superiority of French in Belgium and the myth of a bilingual Flanders. It turned against this key Flemish demand.The next stages were dominated by the introduction of simple universal male suffrage in 1919. The Catholic Party maintained an absolute majority in Flanders, the Socialist Party acquired a similar position in Wallonia. During the second phase (1919-1935) initially the Flemish Movement was weakened and Flemish socialism divided. Huysmans hardly managed to keep the Flemish question a free question. The ‘Compromise of the Belgian Socialists’ (Compromis des socialistes belges) of November 1929 was based on regional monolingualism and a minimal bilingualism in the army and the central administration. The territorial principle in administration and education (1930 and 1932) was accepted. Dutch became the official language in Flanders.During the third phase (1935-1940) pacification did not hold. Conflicts strengthened one another. The party leadership fell into the hands of the Brussels politician Spaak and the Fleming De Man. The latter had just offered the BWP an answer to the socio-economic depression with his ‘Labour Plan’ (Plan van de Arbeid). This new generation wanted a different socialism: rather a people’s party than stressing class conflict, a ‘national socialism’, an authoritarian democracy as a response to a persistent political crisis. In particular Walloons reacted against these developments. At the same time, they critisized the foreign policy of diplomatic independence from France (‘los van Frankrijk’). The Spanish Civil War and the possible recognition of General Franco stressed the divisions. With Spaak, the party had a Socialist Prime Minister for the first time (May 1938-January 1939). While all socialists were opposed to Franco, Walloon socialists had a conflicting view with most Flemish socialists on whether the govern-ment should be brought down on this subject. There was also a conflict over the question of rapprochement with the Christian labour movement concerning a truce over the school question and subsidies for the Catholic ‘propaganda’ schools. The language question worsened the situation. In the Chamber, party cohesion dropped down to 53%.Not only were the Flemish socialists much more strongly represented in the socialist parliamentary group (40% in 1936), their assertiveness also increased. They became more and more annoyed with the quasi-exclusive use of French in their parliamentary group, in the party administration, and mostly during party congresses. Those who knew little or no French no longer wanted to be treated as inferior. Especially, when they had different opinions. The first separate Flemish Socialist Congress was held in March 1937. The Congress wanted to pursue cultural autonomy as far as possible, but opposed any form of federalism, as Flemish socialists would become a powerless minority in a clerical Flanders.Frustration grew among Walloon socialists. They organised separate Walloon Congresses in 1938 and 1939. They emphasized three forms of Flemish imperialism. Unfavourable demographic developments made a Flemish majority in Parliament and political minoritisation likely. Financial-economic transfers impoverished Wallonia to the benefit of Flanders. The loss of jobs for monolingual Walloons in Wallonia and Brussels was discriminatory. This contributed to common framing among Francophones: “Flemish radicalism” was accepted in Flanders, presently threatening the Brussels agglomeration via bilingualism, and Wallonia would be next.On 2 February 1939 Flemish and Walloon socialists opposed one another. The unitary party was in danger of splitting into two language groups, following the Catholic example. It did not come to that. The Walloon radicals, who pursued political federalism, had won some ground, but most Walloon socialists remained supporters of national solidarity, provided the adoption of a new ‘Compromise’ that took account of Walloon grievances.The myth of Flemish socialism as hostile or indifferent to Flemish issues is hard to maintain. After the Second World War, however, the situation became different.

The City of Tartu is proud of its university and its status as a university town. The university is an even stronger memory site than the city and has special meaning for Baltic Germans in addition to Estonians, but also for Ukrainians, Armenians, Poles, Latvians, Jews and other minorities of the former Russian Empire. The commemoration of the anniversaries of the University of Tartu is a very graphic example of the use of memory and the susceptibility of remembering to the aims of the current political system and of various interest groups. Here history has become an “active shaper of the present” according to Juri Lotman’s definition. This article examines the commemoration of jubilees of the University of Tartu through two hundred years. Nowadays Estonians consider the entire history of the University of Tartu to be their own starting from its founding by King Gustav II Adolf of Sweden in 1632. The Estonian language was not unknown in the university in the Swedish era – knowledge of Estonian was necessary for pastors and some examples of occasional poetry written in Estonian have survived from that time. The university was reopened in 1802 when it was already part of the Russian Empire and became a primarily Baltic German university. It shaped the identity of the Baltic provinces in Russia and contributed to their growing together culturally in the eyes of both the German-speaking upper class and the Estonian- and Latvian-speaking lower class. The Estonian and Latvian languages were both represented at the university by one lecturer. There were also Estonians at the university in the first decades already but at that time, education generally meant assimilation into German culture. The 50th jubilee of the Imperial University of Tartu was commemorated in 1852 as a celebration of a Baltic German university. The 100th anniversary of the imperial university in 1902 was commemorated at a university where the language of instruction had been switched to Russian. The guests of honour were well-known Russian scientists, church representatives and state officials. For the first time, a lengthy overview of the history of the University of Tartu was published in Estonian in the album of the Society of Estonian Students under the meaningful title (University of the Estonian Homeland). Unlike the official concept of the 100 year old university, this overview stressed the university’s connection to the university of the era of Swedish rule. When the Russian Empire collapsed and the Estonian nation became independent, the University of Tartu was opened on 1 December 1919 as an institution where the language of instruction was Estonian. The wish of the new nation to distance itself from both the Russian and German cultural areas and to be connected to something respectably old was expressed in the spectacular festivities held in 1932 commemorating the 300th anniversary of the University of Tartu. After the Second World War, Estonians who ended up abroad held the anniversaries of the Estonian era University of Tartu in esteem and maintained the traditions of the university student organisations that were banned in the Soviet state. The 150th anniversary of the founding of the university was commemorated in the Estonian SSR in 1952 – at the height of Stalinism. The Swedish era university was cast aside and the monuments to the king and to nationalist figures were removed, replaced by the favourites of the Soviet regime. Connections to Russia were emphasised in every possible way. Lithuanians celebrated the 400th anniversary of their University of Vilnius in 1979, going back to the educational institution established in the 16th century by the Jesuits. This encouraged Estonians but the interwar tradition of playing up the Swedish era was so strong that the educational pursuits of the Jesuits in Tartu (1585–1625, with intervals) were nevertheless not tied into the institute of higher education. So it was that the 350th anniversary of the University of Tartu was celebrated on a grand scale in 1982. The protest movement among university students played an important role in the restoration of Estonia’s independence. Immediately thereafter, the commemoration of the anniversaries of the Estonian era university that had in the meantime been banned began once again. The 200th anniversary of the opening of the Imperial University of Tartu (2002) passed with mixed feelings. The imperial university as a university of the Russian state no longer fit in well and it was feared that the connection to the Swedish era would suffer. Yet since this period had nevertheless brought Tartu the greatest portion of its scientific fame, a series of jubilee collected works were published by various faculties. On the other hand, nobody had any qualms about commemorating the 375th anniversary of the Swedish era university five years later (2007) on a grand scale with new monuments, memorial plaques, exhibitions, a public celebration and a visit from the King of Sweden.

En este estudio analizaremos el recorrido de los católicos reaccionarios a partir de la Guerra de Independencia y su cambio de antinacionales a nacional-católicos hasta convertirse en fascistizados en el periodo entre la Guerra Civil y el estallido de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. En ese sentido cabe destacar la labor de José Pemartín. La centralidad del estudio la ocupan tres temas contenidos en su obra más importante, Qué es lo Nuevo: la diferencia de matices con respecto a los valores expresados por otros intelectuales nacional-católicos anteriores y contemporáneos a él; la tentativa de conciliar el ideario nacional-católico con las ideas falangistas; y la doctrina fascista. Palabras clave: nacional-catolicismo, fascismo, monarquismo, institucional, circunstancial, tradicionalismo.Topónimo: EspañaPeríodo: Siglo XX ABSTRACTThis study analyses the path traversed by Catholic reactionaries after the War of Independence and their transition from antinational to National Catholic until they converted to Fascism during the period between the Civil War and the outbreak of World War Two. In this respect, it is worth highlighting the work of José Pemartín. This study mainly focuses on three themes in his most important creation, Qué es lo Nuevo: the differences in tone in comparison with the values expressed by both earlier and coetaneous National-Catholic intellectuals; the attempt to reconcile National-Catholic ideology with Falangist thinking; and Fascist doctrine. Keywords: Nacional-Catholism, Fascism, monarchism, institutional, circumstantial, traditionalismPlace names: SpainPeriod: Siglo XX REFERENCIASÁlvarez Junco, J. 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RESUMEN:El objetivo del artículo es aproximarnos a la controvertida biografía del comisario Manuel Brabo Portillo. El trabajo está basado en fuentes primarias y secundarias. El método utilizado es empírico. En el imaginario del mundo sindicalista revolucionario, Brabo Portillo era el policía más odiado, la reencarnación de la cara más turbia del Estado. Fue, así mismo, un espía alemán relacionado con el hundimiento de barcos españoles, el asesinato del empresario e ingeniero Barret y el primer jefe de los terroristas vinculados a la patronal barcelonesa. La conflictividad que afectó a España en el período de la Primera Guerra Mundial es fundamental para entender los orígenes del terrorismo vinculado al pistolerismo, que marcó la historia político social española del primer tercio del siglo XX.PALABRAS CLAVE: Brabo Portillo, pistolerismo, espionaje, sindicalismo, Primera Guerra Mundial.ABSTRACT:The objective of the article is an approach to the controversial biography of Police Chief Manuel Brabo Portillo. The work is based on primary and secondary sources. The method used is empirical. In the imagery of the revolutionary syndicalist world, Brabo Portillo was the most hated policeman, the reincarnation of the murkiest face of the state. He was also a German spy connected with the sinking of Spanish ships, the murder of businessman and engineer Josep Barret and the first head of the terrorists linked to Barcelona employers. The conflict that affected Spain during the period of the First World War is fundamental in order to understand the origins of terrorism linked to pistolerismo, which marked Spanish social political history during the first third of the twentieth century.KEY WORDS: Brabo Portillo, pistolerismo, espionage, syndicalism, First World War. BIBLIOGRAFÍAAisa, M., La efervescencia social de los años 20. Barcelona 1917-1923, Barcelona, Descontrol, 2016.Aguirre de Cárcer, N., La neutralidad de España durante la Primera Guerra Mundial (1914-1918). I. Bélgica, Madrid, Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, 1995.Alonso, G., “’Afectos caprichosos’: Tradicionalismo y germanofilia en España durante la Gran Guerra”, Hispania Nova, 15, 2017, pp. 394-415.Amador, A., El Terror blanco en Barcelona. Las bombas y los atentados personales. Actuación infernal de una banda de asesinos al servicio de la burguesía. El asesinato como una industria, Tarragona, Talleres gráf. 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I. The early twentieth century may seem, at first glance, a strange place to begin a survey of attitudes towards deafness. At this point, the American Deaf community was just forming, American Sign Language was not yet recognised as a language, and most Americans who did consider deafness thought of it as a disability, an affliction to be pitied. As I will demonstrate, however, modernist writers actually had a great deal of insight into issues central to the experience of many deaf people: physical and visual language. While these writers were not thinking of such language in relation to deafness, their experimentations into the merging of the body and language can offer us fresh perspectives on the potential of manual languages to impact mainstream society today. In the early decades of the twentieth century deafness was becoming visible in new ways, due in large part to the rapid expansion of schools for the deaf. This increased visibility led to increased representation in popular culture. Unfortunately, as Trent Batson and Eugene Bergman point out, these literal portrayals of deafness were predictable and clichéd. According to them, deaf characters in literature functioned almost exclusively “to heighten interest, to represent the plight of the individual in a technocratic society, or simply to express a sense of the absurd” (140). In all of these cases, such characters were presented as pitiable. In the least derogatory accounts, like Isabel Adams’ 1928 Heart of the Woods, characters stoically overcome their “disability,” usually by displaying miraculous proficiency with lip-reading and the ability to assimilate into hearing society. Other texts portray deaf people as grotesques, as in Mary Roberts Rinehart’s 1919 “God’s fool,” or as the butts of jokes, as in Anatole France’s 1926 The Man Who Married a Dumb Wife, a Comedy in Two Acts. Constructed as pathetic and disgusting, deaf characters were used thematically to invoke a sense of revulsion at the unknowable other, at those perceived as languageless and therefore cut off from full access to humanity. Literature was not the only medium in which representations of deaf people were appearing with greater frequency. Early filmmakers also demonstrated a fascination with the idea of deafness. But as John S. Schuchman points out in Hollywood Speaks, as in literature, these portrayals were nearly always one-dimensional. Depicted as mutes, fakers, comically clueless, and deeply unhappy individuals, with few exceptions these characters created a very negative image of deafness. In Siege (1925), for example, a deaf character is driven to suicide by cruel mockery. In The Silent Voice (1915), another deaf character contemplates suicide. In the 1932 version of The Man Who Played God, a deaf character falls into a deep depression, sends away his fiancé, and declares “I am not a man. I am just an empty shell…I am only an animal now” (qtd. in Schuchman 48). Without the solidarity of Deaf culture, community, or pride, these characters become morbidly depressed and alienated; they experience their hearing loss as a subject of shame, and it was this image of deafness that was presented to the public. Despite these unpromising literal references to deafness, however, the early twentieth century does in fact offer intriguing and productive ideas about how we might understand deafness today. In the years separating the beginning of the last century from this one, public perceptions of deafness have undergone a significant shift. Buoyed by developments in American Sign Language research and the political activism of the Deaf President Now movement (1988), Deaf people are increasingly viewed as a linguistic minority with a distinct and valuable cultural identity and history, whose communicative differences have much to teach us about how we all interact with language. Deafness (the capital D signaling the distinction between Deafness as a culture and deafness as an audiological condition) is now understood in many circles as a linguistic difference, rather than as a deficiency. And hearing modernist writers had very interesting things to say about the value of linguistic and communicative difference. Modernists’ interest in communication emerged in large part because the same cultural movement toward linguistic homogenisation that led to the denigration of sign language and the exclusive focus on speech and lip-reading in American deaf education also sought to draw a line around the kinds of language considered acceptable for usage in writing. Many of modernism’s formal innovations developed as responses to the push for conformity that we see evidenced in the thinking behind the Oxford English Dictionary, which was completed between the 1880s and the 1920s—notably the period during which most modernist writers were born and began publishing. The 1858 proposal for the dictionary was, in fact, one of the first instances in which the term “standard language” was used (North 12). A desire to establish “standard language” usage was also the goal of the American Academy of Arts, established in 1916 and dedicated to maintaining the integrity of English. Such projects strove to consolidate American national identity around the standardised use of the English language, thereby eliminating spaces for linguistic and communicative diversity within the national body politic. Within literary circles, many rebelled against both the political and aesthetic underpinnings of this movement by experimenting in increasingly dramatic ways with how written language could represent the fragmentation many associated with modern life. As part of their experimentation, some of these writers attempted to develop the idea of embodied language. While they were ignorant of the actual manual languages used by the deaf, the ways they were thinking outside the box in relation to communication can give us both a new perspective on manual languages and new insights into their relevance to mainstream society today. II. One writer whose poems engaged such themes was the poet Hart Crane. Though he worked during the period we think of as high modernist, publishing major volumes of verse in 1926 and 1930, his work challenges our definitions of modernist poetry. Unlike the sparse language and cynicism of his contemporaries, Crane’s poems were decadent and lush. As Eliza New has noted, “Hart Crane is the American poet of Awe” (184); his work reflected his belief in the power of the written word to change the world. Crane viewed poets as inheritors of an ecstatic tradition of prophesy, to which he hoped his own poems would contribute. It is because of this overflowing of sentiment that Crane frequently found both himself and his work mocked. He was accused of overreaching and falling short of his goals, of being nothing more than what Edward Brunner termed a “splendid failure” in the title of his 1985 book. Critics and ordinary readers alike were frustrated with Crane’s arcane language and convoluted syntax, as well as the fact that each word, each image, in his poems was packed with multiple meanings that made the works impossible to summarise. Far from constituting a failure, however, this tangled web of language was Crane’s way of experimenting with a new form of communication, one that would allow him to access the transformative power of poetry. What makes Crane instructive for our purposes is that he repeatedly linked this new conception of language with embodiment. Driven in part by his sense of feeling, as a gay man, a cultural outsider, he attempted to find at the intersection of words and bodies a new site for both personal and cultural expression, one in which he could play a central role. In “General Aim and Theories,” Crane explains his desire to imagine a new kind of language in response to the conditions of modernity. “It is a terrific problem that faces the poet today—a world that is so in transition from a decayed culture toward a reorganization of human evaluations that there are few common terms, general denominators of speech that are solid enough or that ring with any vibration or spiritual conviction” (218). Later in the same essay, Crane stresses that these new common terms could not be expressed in conventional ways, but would need to constitute “a new word, never before spoken and impossible to actually enunciate” (221). For Crane, such words were “impossible to enunciate” because they were not actually spoken through the mouth, but rather expressed in other ways through the body. In “Voyages,” a six-part poem that appeared in his first book, The White Building, Crane explores the potential of these embodied words. Drawing in the influence of Walt Whitman, the work is an extended meditation on the intersection of languages, bodies, and love. The poem was inspired by his relationship with the merchant seaman Emil Oppfer. In it, embodied language appears as a privileged site of connection between individuals and the world. The first section of “Voyages,” which Crane had originally titled “Poster,” predated the composition of the rest of the poem by several years. It opens with a scene on a beach, “bright striped urchins” (I. 2) playing in the sand with their dog, “flay[ing] each other with sand” (I. 2). The speaker observes them on the border between land and sea. He attempts to communicate to them his sense of the sea’s danger, but is unsuccessful. And in answer to their treble interjectionsThe sun beats lightning on the waves,The waves fold thunder on the sand;And could they hear me I would tell them: O brilliant kids, frisk with your dog,Fondle your shells and sticks, bleachedBy time and the elements; but there is a lineYou must not cross nor ever trust beyond itSpry cordage of your bodies to caressesToo lichen-faithful from too wide a breast.The bottom of the sea is cruel. (I. 6-16) The speaker’s warning is incomprehensible to the children, not because they cannot literally hear him, but because he is unable to present his previous experience with the sea in a way that makes sense to the them. As Evelyn J. Hintz notes, “the child’s mode of communication is alogical and nonsyntactical—‘treble interjections.’ To tell them one would have to speak their language” (323). In the first section of the poem, the speaker is unable to do this, unable to get beyond linear verbal speech or to conceive of alternative modes of conveying his message. This frustrated communication in the first section gives rise to the need for the remaining five, as the poet explores what such alternatives might look like. In sections II through VI, the language becomes more difficult to follow as Crane breaks away from linearity in an attempt to present his newly conceived language on the page. The shift is apparent in the stanza immediately following the first section. –And yet this great wink of eternity,Of rimless floods, unfettered leewardings,Samite sheeted and processioned whereHer undinal vast belly moonward bendsLaughing the wrapt inflections of our love; (II. 1-5). It is not only that Crane’s diction has become more difficult and archaic, which it has, but also that he creates words that exist between two known meanings. “Wrapt,” for example, both visually and aurally calls to mind ‘wrapped’ as well as ‘rapt.’ “Leewardings” points both toward ships and something positioned away from the wind. What it means to be unrestrained or “unfettered” in this position, Crane leaves unclear. Throughout the remainder of the poem, he repeatedly employs these counterintuitive word pairings. Words are often connected not through logic, but through a kind of intuitive leap. As Brian Reed describes it, “the verse can…be said to progress ‘madly…logically,’ satisfying a reader’s intuition, perhaps, but rarely satisfying her or his rage for order” (115). The lines move according to what Crane called a “logic of metaphor” (General 63). Like his curving syntax, which draws the reader into the beautiful melody before pulling back, withholding definitive meaning like the sea’s waves lapping and teasing, Crane’s metaphoric associations endlessly defer definitive meaning. In “Voyages,” Crane associates this proliferation of meaning and lack of linear progression with physicality, with a language more corporeal and visceral that transcends the restrictions of everyday speech. In a letter to Waldo Frank describing the romantic relationship that inspired the poem, Crane declared “I have seen the Word made Flesh. I mean nothing less, and I know now that there is such a thing as indestructibility” (O 186). Throughout “Voyages,” Crane highlights such words made flesh. The sea with whom the speaker seeks to communicate is embodied, given “eyes and lips” (III.12), a “vast belly” (II. 4-5), “shoulders” (II. 16), and “veins” (II. 15). What’s more, it is precisely through the body that communication occurs. “Adagios of islands, O my Prodigal, / Complete the dark confessions her veins spell” (II. 14-15, emphasis mine), the poet entreats. He describes the sea’s “Portending eyes and lips” IV. 12), her “dialogue with eyes” (VI. 23), and declares that “In signature of the incarnate word / The harbor shoulders to resign in mingling / Mutual blood, transpiring as foreknown” (IV. 17-19, emphasis mine). It is only through this wordless communication that the kind of sublime meaning Crane seeks can be transmitted. For him, this “imaged Word” (VI.29) permits access to knowledge that conventional language obscures, knowledge that can only be transmitted through manual connection, as the speaker asks the sea to “Permit me voyage, love, into your hands…” (III.19). Crane saw the proliferation of meanings that he believed accompanied such embodied language as a response against the movement toward a standardisation of language that threatened to edit out modes of communication and identities that did not fit within its confines. As Thomas Yingling notes, “meaning, such as it occurs in Crane, is a process of indeterminacy, is constituted precisely in the abrupt disfigurements and dislocations, in the sudden clarities and semantic possibilities” (30). It was in large part these “semantic possibilities,” these indeterminate and multiple meanings that refused to line up, which led critics to characterise Crane’s work as a “poetics of failure” (Riddel). As later research into sign languages has revealed, however, far from representing a failure of poetic vision, Crane was actually incredibly forward thinking in associating embodied languages with a non-linear construction. Conventional spoken and written languages, those Crane was attempting to complicate, are necessarily linear. Letters and sounds must proceed one after another in order for an utterance to make sense. Manual languages, however, are not bound by this linearity. As Margalit Fox explained nearly a century later in Talking Hands, Because the human visual system is better than the auditory system at processing simultaneous information, a language in the visual mode can exploit this potential and encode its signals simultaneously. This is exactly what all signed languages do. Whereas words are linear strings, signs are compact bundles of data, in which multiple unites of code—handshapes, location and movement—are conveyed in virtually the same moment. (101) Such accounts of actual embodied languages help to explain the frustrating density that attends Crane’s words. Morphologically rich physical languages like the kind Crane was trying to imagine possess the ability for an increased layering of meaning. While limited by the page on which he writes, Crane attempted to create this layered affect through convoluted syntax and deliberately difficult vocabulary which led readers away from both a sense of fixed meaning and from normative standards usually applied to written words. Understanding this rebellion against standardisation is key to the turn in “Voyages.” It is when the speaker figures the sea’s language in conventional terms, when he returns to the more straightforward communication that failed in the first section, that the spell is broken. “What words / Can strangle this deaf moonlight?” (V. 8-9), he asks, and is almost instantly answered when the sea’s language switches for the first time into dialogue. Rather than the passionate and revelatory interaction it had been before, the language becomes banal, an imitation of tired words exchanged by lovers throughout history: “‘There’s // Nothing like this in the world,’ you say” (V. 13-14). “ ‘—And never to quite understand!’” (V. 18). There is “Nothing so flagless as this piracy” (V.20), this loss of meaningful communication, and the speaker bemoans the “Slow tyranny of moonlight, moonlight loved / And changed…” (V. 12-13). With the reversion to conventional language comes the loss of any intimate knowledge of both the sea and the lover. The speaker’s projection of verbal speech onto the sea causes it to “Draw in your head… / Your eyes already in the slant of drifting foam; / Your breath sealed by the ghosts I do not know” (V. 22-24). The imposition of normative language marks the end of the speaker’s experiment with new communicative modes. III. As he demonstrates by situating it in opposition to the enforced standardisation of language, for Crane embodied language—with its non-linear syntax and layered meanings—represented the future in terms of linguistic development. He saw such non-normative languages as having the potential to drastically change the ways human relationality was structured, specifically by creating a new level of intimacy through a merging of the semantic and the physical. In this way, he offers us productive new ways to think about the potential of manual languages, or any other non-normative means of human expression, to fundamentally impact society by challenging our assumptions about how we all relate to one another through language. When asked to define deafness, most people’s first response is to think of levels of hearing loss, of deficiency, or disability. By contrast, Crane’s approach presents a more constructive understanding of what communicative difference can mean. His poem provides an intense mediation on the possibilities of communication through the body, one that subsequent research into signed languages allows us to push even further. Crane believed that communicative diversity was necessary to move language into the next century. From this perspective, embodied language becomes not “merely” the concern of a “disabled” minority but, rather, integral to our understanding of language itself. References Batson, Trent, and Eugene Bergman, eds. Angels and Outcasts: An Anthology of Deaf Characters in Literature. 3rd ed. Washington DC: Gallaudet UP, 1985. Brunner, Edward J. Splendid Failure: Hart Crane and the Making of The Bridge. Champaign: U of Illinois P, 1985. Crane, Hart. “Voyages.” The Complete Poems of Hart Crane: The Centennial Edition. New York: Liveright, 2001. ———. “General Aims and Theories.” Hart Crane: Complete Poems and Selected Letters. Ed. Langdon Hammer. New York: The Library of America, 2006. 160-164. ———. 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