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Remembering the past to imagine the future  (Schacter et al, 2007) Abstract:  Author suggests the new approach to memory studies, where memory is a component of the guidance and control subsystem  of behaviour, that is mental structure initiating practical activities: 1) It is possible to represent that subsystem as a ‘molecule,’ which consists of three ‘atoms’: memory (past/experience), identity  (present/ritual), and imagination  (future/program); 2) ‘Atoms’ have common triple-layered narrative ‘nucleus’: specific narrative , schematic narrative template , and base mythic narrative ; 3) The core of ‘nucleus’ consists of three base mythic narratives: the fairy tale  (myth of booty), the heroic myth  (myth of others-sacrifice), and the myth of self-sacrifice ; 4) ‘Fundamental particles’ of base mythic narratives are self-sacrifice  (altruism), others-sacrifice , and booty , which represent the condensed experience of human evolution. We can call them ‘primal phenomena.’ Booty is the source of cannibalistic primal trauma , which is still not worked through and is fraught with unmotivated violence and conspicuous consumption, others-sacrifice is the origin of primal religion , and self-sacrifice is the primal phenomenon of sustainable society. The focus of analysis is the ‘nucleus’ of narrativity. Narratives are ‘carriers’ of memory, identity, and imagination. We can reduce the number of specific narratives to three base mythic narratives: the fairy tale is adequate for kin (family), the heroic myth is adequate for folk (nation), and the myth of self-sacrifice (Prometheus and Christ) is adequate for the global humanity. Comparing those narratives we can point out three main effects. Firstly , memory becomes deeper and encompasses a longer timeline, consequently expanding from ‘progenitors’ (the fairy tale) through ‘state founders’ and ‘Paleolithic ancestors’ (the heroic myth) to the ‘Big Bang’ (the myth of self-sacrifice). Secondly , identity, which presumes solidarity and altruism, becomes broader by including much more people in the number of ‘our own’: ‘kin’ (family), ‘folk’ (nation), and ‘humankind.’ Ethics, which are closely connected to solidarity and altruism, are gradually shifting from selfish values of survival to altruistic post-materialist values of self-expression. Thirdly , imagination creates more and more ambitious goals of behaviour. We can distinguish historical epochs based on the domination of one of those three co-existing  base mythic narratives: 1) In the pre-state hunter-gathering society it was the fairy tale; 2) In the state agrarian and industrial societies it is the heroic myth; 3) In the post-state information society it will be the myth of self-sacrifice, which is a singular reliable tool to create memory, identity, and imagination, which are adequate for our nascent Global Age. The author is aware that he suggests a dream, but he also believes that history is the embodiment of competing dreams. Therefore this essay is an invitation to discussion: ‘Hit me but listen to me.’ Keywords:  the guidance and control subsystem of behaviour, memory, identity, imagination, specific narrative, schematic narrative template, base mythic narrative, the fairy tale (myth of booty), the heroic myth (myth of others-sacrifice), the myth of self-sacrifice, self-sacrifice, others-sacrifice, booty, cannibalistic primal trauma, unmotivated violence, conspicuous consumption, primal religion, children sacrifice, primal phenomenon of sustainable society, altruism, egoism, ritual and program. Bio: Serguey Ehrlich, 1961, PhD, the chief editor of The Historical Expertise  (Moldova). E-mail: nestorhistoria2017@gmail.com Declaration of Conflicting Interest: The Author declares that there is no conflict of interest. Acknowledgements: I am very grateful to Stefan Berger, Astrid Erll, Natalija Majsova, Boris Mironov, Dmitry Panchenko, Milica Popovic, Ann Rigney, Victor Shnirelman, James Wertsch, and Tyler Wertsch for their very insightful comments on earlier versions of this paper, but of course the usual disclaimers apply. I would like to acknowledge the important contribution made by Oleg and Sharon Pekar towards translation of my essay. Contents Memory as a Component of a Subsystem of Behaviour How Does the ‘Space of Experience’ Destroy our ‘Horizon of Expectation’? Why Memory? Is History a Part of Memory? The Structure of Behaviour Booty as Primal Trauma Others-Sacrifice as Primal Religion Self-Sacrifice as ‘the Prime Phenomenon of All Past and Future World-History’ Structural Concordances between Three Base Mythic Narratives and the Concepts of Marshall Mcluhan, Jan Assmann, Abraham Maslow, Georges Dumézil, and Fernand Braudel The Rat Ethics of the Fairy Tales The Deception of Heroic Myth The Dead End of Modernity The Transformation from Quantity to Quality ‘I Felt Sorry for Humans’ or ‘For their Sakes I Sanctify Myself’ ‘That Holiest-of-Holies Holocaust of the Jews’ Shakespeare is Ours! Witch-Hunts of Today? Narodniks of the Global Scale Bibliography Memory as a Component of a Subsystem of Behaviour Astrid Erll (2008: 2) regrets that ‘despite two decades of intensive research, the design of a conceptual toolbox for cultural memory studies is still at a fledgling stage.’ The main reason of that desperate situation is that current memory studies are ‘more practiced than theorized’ (Confino, 2008: 78). The problem is exacerbated, believes Erll (2008: 2, italics added), by the fact that research is practiced ‘within an array  of different disciplines and national academic cultures, with their own vocabularies, methods, and traditions.’ I completely agree that the dominant ‘atheoretical’ trend is an impediment to the progress of our discipline. At the same time I believe that the multidisciplinary nature of memory studies triggering permanent conceptual divergence is an advantage, which permits easily appropriate ‘an array’ of insights from different disciplines and shape on their grounds unexpected theoretical frameworks allowing to observe memory from various angles. In my opinion the seminal Reinhart Koselleck’s dichotomy ‘space of experience’ and ‘horizon of expectation’ is an exemplary case showing how the concept of an adjacent discipline could be adjusted to the requirements of memory studies and provide a promising starting point for a new theoretical approach grasping collective/cultural memory from an unusual perspective. Koselleck (2004: 256–259) argues that it is impossible to master the process of history analyzing only the ‘space of experience.’ For ‘deciphering history in its generality’ we should also take into account the ‘horizon of expectation’: ‘[T]hese two categories … indicate an anthropological condition without which history is neither possible nor conceivable.’ That means history has a double framework: experience-past and expectation-future. Kosellek writes further that it is possible to reduce ‘the conceptual couple “experience” and “expectation”’ constructing ‘history from the modalities of memory and hope’ (Koselleck, 2004: 256–259). In my opinion choosing hope, that is a dream of better future, as a counterconcept of memory Kosellek shows the right direction for our search but not the final point, because hope has a sluggish nature, we can call it a dream in the ‘passive voice,’ therefore it could not be a trigger of purposeful behaviour. For the successful pursuit of happiness we should transform our dream in ‘active voice’ and create a detailed image of better future as an objective of our behaviour. Therefore the reliable counterconcept of memory is not hope, but imagination . The first objection against using imagination as a counterconcept of memory assumes that meaning of the word ‘imagination’ is broader than future. Yes, it is possible to imagine something that already exists or existed, but we either never saw or have forgotten its image. Nonetheless the principal semantic area of the word ‘imagination’ relates to something that eventually could be real in the future. The main reason to prefer ‘imagination’ to Koselleks’ ‘hope’ is the practice of cognitive neuroscience revealing ‘striking similarities between remembering the past and imagining or simulating the future, including the finding that a common brain network underlies both memory and imagination’ (Schacter et al, 2012: 677). More and more scholars treat memory and imagination  as ‘the conceptual couple,’ where both terms mutually affect each other: ‘Memory acts on the imagination and imagination works with the material provided by memory,’ write the authors of the term ‘mnemonic imagination’ (Keightley and Pickering, 2017: 2; Keightley and Pickering 2012). The interplay of both phenomena is not only a metaphor, it is confirmed by neuroscience research (Persinger and De Sano, 1986; Schacter et al, 2007). Therefore Martin Conway and his colleagues (2016: 256–257, italics added) rightly believes that ‘in terms of understanding the brain basis of remembering and imagining it seems that both memories and episodic simulations of the future are mediated in large part by the same neural networks,’  hence ‘ we should be using the term remembering-imagining system  (RIS) rather than simply memory system.’ [1] In frameworks of memory studies the ‘conceptual couple’ memory-past and  imagination-future has a mediation—identity-present, because ‘identity’ subsumes not only common descent in the past, but also common fate in the future. Memory, identity, and imagination are three elements of the guidance and control subsystem of behavior forming the general scheme of mental prerequisites of practical activities, where individuals and groups: 1) Constitute themselves as subjects of behaviour through common identity  (rituals); 2) Imagine  objectives (programs) of their behaviour; 3) Try to achieve imagined objectives using patterns of behaviour (experience) from the stores of memory . The guidance and control subsystem of behaviour  (further abbreviated as ‘behaviour’) is not a linear  sequence where memory creates identity and identity creates imagination, it is a triangle  where three elements affect each other simultaneously. Metaphorically speaking behaviour is a molecule containing three atoms (memory, identity, and imagination) in the process of their permanent interaction. My analysis is inspired by Kosellek’s insights regarding double framework of the process  of history. So there is a valid question, why I replaced all three his concepts: ‘history’ to ‘behaviour’, ‘space of experience’ to ‘memory’ and ‘horizon of expectation’ to ‘imagination’ and added the third framework of ‘identity’? That is done simply because the German historian elaborated terminology for the needs of ‘conceptual history.’ It is impossible to apply directly his historical terminology to the field of memory studies, which is related not to ‘ objective ’ process of history ( a look from outside, where society’s temporal changes is driven by ‘fateful’ forces alienated from people: nature, economy, politics and so on), but to ‘ subjective ’ process of behaviour (a look from inside, where the driving forces of society’s temporal changes are intentions and efforts of society’s members). From that perspective the core of behaviour is subjectivelyexperienced  past, present, and future, that is memory, identity, and imagination. That triple framework opens a new promising perspective for our research because it allows studying memory as a component of the guidance and control subsystem (memory-identity-imagination) of behaviour. How Does the ‘Space of Experience’ Destroy our ‘Horizon of Expectation’?   Let us grasp the current global situation using above mentioned behavioural  framework of memory studies. The transition from the industrial society of nation-states to the information society of global humanity, is hampered by inertia of Durkheimian ‘collective representations.’ Both ‘elites’ and ‘masses’ still believe that if identity of the nation-state is not the crown of social creation, it is a necessary evil. The consensus of grim ‘realists’ is generated by disappointment with the idea of progress  which inspired Jules Verne’s contemporaries. The existence under the nuclear sword of Damocles compels the ‘risk society’ (Ulrich Beck) people to stop imagining the future and live for today  ( Hartog, 2015). The obsolete but still dominating memory (‘space of experience’) of Modernity destroys the imagination (‘horizon of expectation’) of Global Age.   This resulted in a paradoxical situation. Industrial Modernity, an identity ‘container’ of which is the nation-state, has led to the emergence of nuclear threat, growing environmental degradation, social inequality, and other global challenges, which cannot be solved within the national framework. At the same time, fearing of the future, which is based on those threats, does not allow us to do away with ‘short-term thinking’ (Guldi and Armitage, 2014) and imagine the global community capable of solving global threats effectively. One of the ‘side-effects’ of that fearing of the future is the common practice of reflecting our present inside the obsolete frameworks of Modernity. More than forty years ago Alvin Toffler (1980: 18) described in The Third Wave  ‘the old civilization in which many of us grew up,’ and presented ‘a careful, comprehensive picture of the new civilization bursting into being in our midst. So profoundly revolutionary is this new civilization that it challenges all our old assumptions. Old ways of thinking, old formulas, dogmas, and ideologies, no matter how cherished or how useful in the past, no longer fit the facts.’ From the context it is clear that ‘the old civilization’ is industrial society or Modernity and ‘the new civilization’ is information society. I am sure that it is impossible to overcome the ‘old ways of thinking’ until we are applying the concept of Modernity to our time. It is not neutral, but it is the biased container of theories, which correspond to passing away industrial era and do not fit to requirements of nascent information civilization. Despite that, most of social thinkers still are trying to ‘pour new wine into old furs’ adjusting new adjectives to already outworn Modernity: ‘high modernity’ (Anthony Giddens), ‘second modernity’ (Ulrich Beck), ‘late and liquid modernity’ (Zygmunt Bauman), and so on. In my opinion even the concept ‘postmodernity’ (Jean-François Lyotard) does not allow to get rid of ‘old ways of thinking’ completely. The stubborn devotion of intellectuals to the outdated terminology could be partly explained by the etymology of the word ‘modernity,’ which is a derivation from the Latin adverb modo  ‘presently, just now.’ For sure that name plays the deceptive role, because first of all we reflect the world existing ‘just now’ around us. That terminological pitfall is an important reason why we have not realized clearly how deep is the rupture between industrial and information stages. Therefore we are not able to elaborate effectively the new forms of memory, identity, and imagination suitable to our global mode of existence. To solve the problem we should use the term ‘Modernity,’ overloading with ‘industrial’ meanings, only as a signifier of the epoch between, roughly speaking, the beginning of seventeenth and the end of twentieth centuries and, how it was coined by Toffler (1980: 183), call our ‘just now’ the ‘information society,’ or ‘information era/stage/civilization’, and so on, which correctly render the essence of our time. Correct terminology will help ‘to diminish the control that the [national] past exercises upon the [global] future’ (Kuipers, 2011: 2). Benedict Anderson (2006) argues that identity of nation-state was imagined by scholars, writers and artists of the nineteenth century who ahead of time shaped memory in accordance with their representations of the future. Julien Benda (2011: 79, italics added) in The Treason of the Intellectuals  writes that ‘highbrows’ of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ‘have praised the efforts of men to feel conscious of themselves in their nation and race… and have made them ashamed of every aspiration to feel conscious of themselves as men  in the general sense . ’ That is intellectuals instilling people with the national framework of imagination have betrayed the universal values of international Respublica Literaria  of Early Modernity. We can interpret their volunteer degradation from mankind vision as a sacrifice for the sake of their nations: limiting themselves they widened identity, solidarity, and altruism of common people from local framework to national one. Unfortunately in the twentieth century the national memory, identity, and imagination brought poisoned fruit: the two world wars, many armed conflicts, mass terrors, and a wide array of genocides. To overcome the powerful momentum of nation-state memory, identity, and imagination we should remember that ‘constructors’ of nation-state were able to solve much more complex problems than we need to solve. ‘National idea’ of Modernity was ingrained in the public consciousness by intellectuals before  the industrial basis of nation-state was developed significantly. Now the technologies of information civilization are far ahead  of our ability to imagine an adequate identity for this type of society.  The intellectuals  of the twenty-first century should acknowledge the global needs, remind the universal vision of their spiritual ancestors of Renaissance and Enlightenment, stop playing by the rules of two previous centuries, activate their imagination because ‘[i]t is no extravagance to formulate the problem of the future ... in terms of imagination’ (Ricoeur, 1996: 3), and systematically work on reshaping obsolete national identity into global one: ‘I am a human being,’ must be the prevailing identification of everyone. Why Memory?   What role does memory play in the process of the global identity creation? It should not be questioned: which came first, the chicken or the egg? Memory, identity, and imagination fulfill equally important and interconnected functions in the process of behaviour. Memory has the paramount importance in my research because I look from the perspective of memory studies. That approach reveals that in the framework of behaviour memory  communicates with its ‘counterparts’: 1) as a base of group identity ; 2) and as a trigger of imagination , when memory often provides samples how to do it the other way. ‘Making the past into our  past’ (Wertsch, 2021: 92, italics in the original) memory is functioning as a base of group identity. Why ‘concretion of identity’ (Assmann, 1995: 125) is much more based on memory then on images of the future? It is because identity is a synonym of transtemporal  stability (‘sameness’/‘self-same’) [2]  and it is memory that ‘creates the assumption of stability that demarcates identity’ (Giesen, 2004: 109). The important reason why identity ‘gravitates’ to memory could be reconstructed in accordance with insights of Paul Connerton (1989) and Jan Assmann (2011) that identity is shaped by commemorative rituals , when unfamiliar people share common emotions. ‘Invariance’ intrinsic to ritual ‘implies certainty’  ( Rappaport, 1979: 209) and  ‘ certainty’ in its turn assumes a stable social order. The aim of ritual is persistent overcoming of current chaos  (instability) and reestablishing of primordial cosmos [3]  that is not simply stable but unchangeable sacral order of illud tempus , to which the myth of the ‘eternal return’ (Mircea Eliade) leads. Hence the stable mythologized past becomes the source of identity through mediation of allegedly unchangeable commemorative rituals. If images of the stable  past does not know the word ‘if’, unstable  ‘Proteus’ images of the future consists predominantly of manifold ‘if.’ Therefore the allegedly logical idea of building identity exclusively based on imagined common goals, which always are not completely rooted in our  common past, does not work in practice because it denies the stable ‘historical continuity.’ Thus, in the Soviet Union of 1920s there was an attempt to create identity by using the international values of future world revolution and denying the ‘damned past of Russian autocracy.’ Bolshevik leaders believed that the history narratives, which are permeated by ‘bourgeois-nationalist feelings,’ would be an obstacle in achieving the goal of the Third (Communist) International. Subsequently history in high schools was excluded and replaced by sociology. But in 1930s Stalin realized that ‘patriotic education’ is an indispensable instrument for the strengthening of military spirit. History, in other words the nationalist value of Russian collective memory, was reinstated in the high school curriculum instead of sociology, which was prohibited as a ‘bourgeois pseudoscience’ (Titarenko and Zdravomyslova, 2017: 33–41). The national memory of Modernity is a mainstay of the nation-state: ‘No memory, no identity; no identity, no nation’ (Smith, 1996: 383). Not only nation but every group exists as long as there is consent to a common identity, which presumes solidarity and altruism. [4]   Imagination is an important instrument of radical social changes. In that relation memory is also indispensable because of existence of a ‘short-circuit between memory and imagination’ (Ricoeur, 2006: 5), which provides ‘the very apparatus that enables change’ (Erll, 2011a: 174). Memory-imagination interplay means that studying collective representations of the past, which Durkheim’s disciple Maurice Halbwachs calls ‘collective memory,’ could provide fruitful insights for the ‘future thinking’ (Schacter et al, 2012: 688), regarding an ‘imagined community’ of the global information civilization. George Santayana’s maxim that ‘those who do not remember the past is destined to repeat it’ assumes that when we have ‘the more knowledge and understanding’ of the past, ‘the better we can shape the future’ (Bickford and Sodaro, 2010: 77). [5] McLuhan’s ‘global village’ designers are facing a double task. At first, it is necessary to deconstruct the skeleton of national memory and to show that identity based on that memory shapes patterns of behaviour that are unable to respond adequately to the challenges of the global information civilization. Subsequently, we should imagine the memory and identity of a future society, where the collective future needs are ‘the directive function’ for ‘shaping the collective past in the context of collective identity’ (Szpunar and Szpunar, 2016: 383). That means we should remind the patterns of human experience, which contain ‘viable sprouts’ of the informational global community. Is History a Part of Memory?   Double meaning of the word ‘history’ (the process of temporal changes and an academic discipline studying past) creates a lot of confusions. From the perspective of temporal changes memory has its own history, which is an indispensable part of history of behaviour. In the same time it is impossible to discuss memory outside its relations with history as an academic discipline. [6]   These words not only are frequently synonyms in common language, but some scholars argue that ‘boundary between history and memory is by nature porous’ (Fogu and Kansteiner, 2006: 302) and hence historiography is ‘by nature’ not an instrument of studying memory, but a subject of memory studies. There is a lot of evidence that supports this approach. Stefan Berger persuasively argues that professional historiography is a product of nineteenth-century nation-states and professionalization of historians was strongly motivated by striving to gain symbolic and other capital from their corporate position ‘as the only one that can speak authoritatively about the past’ (Berger, 2019). Historians, as the main experts in the field of society’s relations with its past, played and still play a leading role in the shaping of national collective memory, identity and imagination (Berger with Conrad, 2015). [7] In my opinion, that evidence proves only one thing: that many of historians are members of a ‘dishonest legion’ of scholars from different disciplines both in the humanities and natural science, who betray truth guided by ‘such non-rational factors as rhetoric, propaganda, and personal prejudice’ (Broad and Wade, 1983: 9). It is true that all scholars as members of their mnemonic communities are affected by powerful narratives, which are based on national, class, religious, and other interests. Therefore a historian must permanently make a choice between the universal narratives of science and the group memory narratives. [8]  When, for example, he/she is seriously engaging with his/her nation-state memory narratives he/she turns out to be an agent of national memory regardless to his/her investment in historical studies. Some alchemists made a contribution to the early stages of chemistry development, but that does not allow them to be called ‘chemists.’ From the perspective of academic standards it does not matter if a scholar either wittingly or unwittingly chooses between Hayden Whites’ emplotment, argument, and ideology ‘ modes ,’ because reflexivity and self-reflexivity are parts and parcels of our profession. [9]  There is a need to specify that the thesis of ‘unconscious’ choice of the nation-state ‘grand narrative’ (Jean-François Lyotard) is very dubious, simply because in most cases that choice is still a profitable business. Therefore, we should not ‘reify’ the desperate reality when historians promote nationalist propaganda under the name of science, but we must sustain standards of the historical discipline in accordance with the requirements of the Weberian ideal type  of academic profession, in which the central principle ‘consists in the search for truth’ (Popper, 1992: 4). [10] Claudio Fogu, Wulf Kansteiner, Stefan Berger, and others suggest not separate rigidly history and memory looking from the subjective  perspective of agents of institutionalized remembering, many of whom are biased by their national background. Astrid Erll (2008: 7) puts forward ‘dissolving the useless opposition of history vs. memory in favor of a notion of different modes of remembering in culture’ relying on the objective argument that both ‘modes of remembering’ have a common feature: ‘[T]he past is not given, but must instead continually be re-constructed and re-presented.’ This argument assumes that some modes  of knowledge directly operates with ‘objective reality given to us in sensation’ (Vladimir Lenin) and others like history and memory has access to ‘objective reality’ only through reconstructions. I believe that not only history and memory, but every  form of representation of reality including the so called ‘exact science’ represent not given  things but namely reconstructions  of past, existing, and future objects of reality. Hence the argument to reconstruction is not relevant, because it is not a specific attribute of ‘remembering in culture.’ I am not sure that we would receive new insights ‘dissolving the useless opposition’ between history and existing forms of memory, but blurring the borders between them we create a real risky to lose specific of two ‘ different  modes of remembering.’ Uniting memory and history simply because their common field is the past we imitate people who would unify astrology and astronomy on the grounds that both have as their subject ‘the starry sky above.’ In answering the question, ‘Why is history not a part of premodern and modern forms of memory?’ the first point to note is that history is seeking the truth about the past, which is universal for humankind, and memory is responsible for the shaping of particular groups’ identities through examples of ‘usable past’ (Van Wyck Brooks, 1918)  or ‘contemporized past’ (Assmann 1995: 129) and ‘practical past’ (White, 1914). For the agents of memory it does not matter whether their ‘heroic examples’ are facts or fakes. [11]  In its turn the honest historians are indifferent to how their research might affect any group identity:  ‘History is willing to change a narrative in order to be loyal to facts, whereas collective remembering is willing to change information (even facts) in order to be loyal to a narrative’ (Wertsch and Roediger, 2008: 324). Therefore Pierre Nora (1998: 8) argues that ‘memory and history, far from being synonymous, appear now to be in fundamental opposition.’ [12]  The boundary between unbiased history and biased memory is not ‘porous,’ there is ‘the growing gap between collective memory and the body of facts established by historical research’ (Shapira 1996: 22). History-truth is in principal conflict with memory-identity, because the universal truth of history is not compatible with ‘private’ identities of numerous mnemonic communities. The ardent French patriot Ernest Renan (1990: 11) openly warned his co-citizens of ‘progress in historical studies’, which ‘often constitutes a danger for [the principle of] nationality,’ and from his nationalist perspective he was absolutely right. [13]  Every group falls apart if it loses its identity-solidarity. That is why the nation-state is suspicious of people looking for the universal historical truth and pays a lot of attention to the shaping of the national memory. My opponents could ask: ‘Why do you persuade that the nation-state memory narratives are not compatible with the standards of historical profession and, at the same time, you argue that reshaping of collective memory in accordance with the needs of global information civilization is a part of our professional duties? Are there no contradictions in your statements? Humanities become ‘scientific’ when we look at the world from the entire humankind perspective. I believe the universal and objective perspective of the historical discipline is extrinsic to the multitude of ‘partial’ and biased nation-state memories, but universal ideals of academic historiography are fully appropriate for the global collective memory of information civilization. From the global perspective  memory- identity becomes equivalent to history-truth, therefore ‘history can be represented as the universal memory of the human species’  ( Halbwachs, 1980: 84). Yes, history is memory of the future! In that sense the historian is a prophet, who, contrary to Friedrich Schlegel, looking not only back but also forward. By searching for truth, he/she fearlessly destroys the nation-state memory, identity, and imagination and creates instead the global ones. Therefore, he/she brings the triumph of the global information civilization closer.   The Structure of Behaviour Memory, identity, and imagination are ‘atoms’ in the ‘molecule’ of behaviour. Atoms consist of nucleus and electrons. What entity can we call ‘nucleus’ of memory, identity, and imagination? Answering that question from the perspective of memory studies we should first of all find a phenomenon, which allows designating individual and collective mnemonic forms as two types of one memory concept. That phenomenon we are looking for is the ‘nucleus’. Reflecting that problem we assume that memory has individual and also collective or at least collected nature (Olick, 1999), [14]  but this assumption is still under discussion. Susan Sontag (2003: 85) insists: ‘All memory is individual.’ Not only irresponsible public intellectuals, but some rigorous scholars are skeptical towards the Halbwachsian concept of ‘collective memory’ (Bell, 2003; Gedi and Elam, 1996; Klein, 2000; Novick, 2007). [15]  Their criticism is partly justified, because the reference to ‘the perspective of the group’ as a carrier of collective memory (Halbwachs, 1992: 40) is pretty vague and it does not explain how individual and collective forms affect each other. We urgently need much more reliable carrier that is mediation tool between individual and collective memories. The decisive step in that direction is done by James Wertsch (2002; 2021). The heritage of Ernst Cassirer and Lev Vygotsky regarding the mediation role of natural and artificial languages, allows him to argue that narrative  is a carrier or a mediation tool of collective and individual memory. Wertsch’s narrative approach shifts the focus of analysis from the Nora’s lieux de mémoire , that is external ‘ spatial  expressions of memory’ (Kansteiner 2002: 191, italics added), to the essential temporal  interplay of its collective and individual forms: 1) Individuals string ‘the meat’ of personal experiences on the ‘skewer’ of collective narrative; [16]   2) At the same time, publicly shared personal experience, which is structured by the collective narrative, changes that narrative itself. [17]   Astrid Erll (2011a: 108) represents that process as a permanent exchange between collective ‘cultural schemata’ and their ‘individual actualization.’ [18]  That prolonged Bakhtinian dialogism between collective narratives and personal experiences creates the subject of ‘mnemohistory’ (Assmann, 1997: 9) or ‘the history of the memory’   (Olick, 2007: 87). [19]  It is crucial to specify that dialogic interaction of collective and individual memories is possible only through mediation of narrative. Erll (2011: 4) splits the history of memory studies in two phases: the first one was inaugurated in 1920s – 1930s by Maurice Halbwachs and others, who established the subject of collective memory; the second one was proclaimed in 1980s by Pierre Nora and other researchers delving ‘national remembrance and traumatic events’ (Erll, 2011a: 172). Erll (2011: 4–5, 15) also puts a question regarding the main trends of the future third phase of memory studies and ushers that it will be the dominance of ‘transcultural memory’: ‘Such an approach means moving away from site-bound, nation-bound, and in a naïve sense, cultures-bound research and displaying an interest in the mnemonic dynamics unfolding across and beyond boundaries.’ Yes, overcoming of ‘nation-bound’ is an important feature of the third phase, but, in my opinion, its essence is not limited by the transcultural agenda. Narrative nature of memory is another principal trend of current memory studies, which has been started in 2002, when the Wertsch’s book Voices of Collective Remembering  was published. It is remarkable that Erll (2011a: 147) is a zealous proponent of the narrative approach claiming that ‘the world of cultural memory is a world of narrative,’ but a long-term ‘unnarrative’ momentum of our discipline does not let her announce the ‘narrative turn,’ because in the field of memory studies it still plays a marginal role. In my opinion the main reason of that is the heritage of Halbwachs (1925), who never mentioned the word ‘narrative’ in his fundamental book « Les Cadres sociaux de la mémoire ». It is surprising, because psychologists use narrative as the main tool providing access to individual memory at least from the end of nineteenth century (Straub, 2006: 215). So it would be logical to implement that instrument to the field of collective memory. And it did was implemented by Frederic Bartlett (1932) in the classical book Remembering: A study in experimental and social psychology  dedicated to the role of narrative schemata  in the shaping of collective memory, but his ideas were interpreted without paying enough attention to the fact that schemata  has a narrative nature. Halbwachs won Bartlett because Pierre Nora, the main founder of the ‘memory turn’ in current cultural studies, continues the Halbwachsian ‘unnarrative’ tradition through seductive but in reality obfuscating metaphor of sites (realms) of memory  with obvious references to the mnemonic method of loci  of Antiquity. There is an intermediation between « Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire » and « Les lieux de mémoire ». I mean « La topographie légendaire des Évangiles en Terre sainte » (Halbwachs, 1941), an attempt of the author to apply his own theoretical concept to the specific memory case. Ignoring the narrative nature of memory he does not have a better way to capture it than pinning the evidence of Gospels to the map of Holy Land. It seems plausible that the Halbwachsian topographic principle inspired lieux de mémoire  of Nora. The ‘spatial’   sites of memory could be interpreted through temporal lenses of narratology as ‘discourses materialized’ (Schein, 1997: 663), because every commemorative site  has its name  subsuming a specific narrative with its own ritual. With that perspective the Nora concept allows ‘cataloguing’ the places where narratives are periodically transformed into performances. It is an important but limited function of lieux de mémoire. Nora over-expends heuristic capabilities of his approach inventing the class of so-called ‘immaterial’ sites of memory like Jeanne d’Arc’s legend and La Marseillaise . In my opinion to call them ‘sites’ means to multiply entities without necessity, because they have obvious narratives nature. There is no lieu de mémoire  without its own narrative unfolded in time. Time is primary in relation to space. In this sense, the concept of sites of memory is a kind of ‘derivative’ of narrative and therefore it is an auxiliary tool for the study of rituals of commemoration. The concept of ‘immaterial sites of memory’ rather looks like a disciplinary expansion of Pierre Nora’s ‘school’ without the necessary theoretical prerequisites and mimics the geocentric Ptolemaic model, where the planets’ orbits have been calculated through cumbersome system of ‘epicycles and deferents.’ The Earth of lieux de mémoire  circulates around the Sun of narratio , but not vice versa . Therefore the narrative approach should play the leading role in memory studies. Anyway it is not coincidental that narrative turn in memory studies was heralded by the psychologist Wertsch. It is better late than never. I hope the subjects of narrative nucleus  of memory and mediating function of narrative tools will become the focusof cultural memory research soon enough. Memory narratives are not just in forma tion, but primarily per forma nces, that is, instructions to what we should and should not do: ‘[T]he ideal narratio is said to be the narratio that is the most reliable guide for our actions’ (Ankersmit, 1983: 33) It is a kind of ‘authoritative discourse’, which ‘demands our unconditional allegiance’ (Bakhtin, 1981: 343). Memory narratives as ‘equipment for living’ (Burke 1998; Wertsch 2021: 25–29) perform an important socializing function, providing ethical  patterns, namely ‘beliefs, value systems and conventions of behaviour’ (Hobsbawm and Ranger, 2013: 9), therefore mnemonic community is always a moral  community. [20]  Every commemoration ritual not only transmits a ‘moral message,’ but also proves the ‘moral consensus’ among members of mnemonic community (Winter, 2008: 62). Memory has been given a sacral status in order to increase its performative power (Klein, 2000: 129). Erroneously named ‘history’ it provides ‘sanctification of social beginnings’ (Schwartz 1982: 376) and becomes the core of ‘civil religion’ (Bella, 1967). That function of memory narratives is paramount because ‘a society can live only if its institutions rest on potent collective beliefs ’ (Halbwachs, 1992, 187, italics added). A believer’s duty is to follow without any doubts the instructions of the sacral narrative, which effects through affects rather than rational knowledge, generating ‘strong emotional attachment’ to his own group (Wertsch, 2008: 49). Bronislaw Malinowski (1948: 79) argues that myth ‘contains practical rules for the guidance of man.’ [21]  Mircea Eliade (1987: 97–98) defines myth as a sacred pattern, ‘the paradigmatic model for all human activities.’ Maurice Halbwachs (1992, 59) prescribes a similar function to memory, it provides ‘models, examples, and elements of teaching,’ which shapes ‘the general attitude of the group.’ Jan Asmmann (1995: 132) points out that one of the functions of ‘cultural memory’ is ‘providing rules of conduct.’ The cognate approach of those authors allows us to identify both phenomena: ‘Memory is a collective myth shared by a group,’ which is ‘inherited through storytelling’ (Rønning, 2009: 149). [22]  That storytelling has three main objectives: 1) Memory . Mythic narratives answer the question ‘What should we remember as patterns of our behaviour?’; 2) Identity . Mythic narratives indicate whom we should consider being ‘our own’ and who are the ‘strangers’ and prescribe how to treat both ‘close’ and ‘distant’ ones; 3) Imagination . Mythic narratives designate goals we should achieve. Therefore narrative is a nucleus  of all three ‘atoms’ of behaviour: memory-past, identity-present, and imagination-future. Memory is experience  that is narrative in the past tense. Identity is ritual  that is narrative in the present tense. [23]  And imagination is program  that is narrative in the future tense. Narratives are programs of our practical behaviour. In its turn human deeds inspired by those programs are preserved in new narratives and through their mediation impact next iterations of practice. The permanent interchange between narratives and practices: ‘Speech is the mirror of action’ (Solon), creates the ‘perpetual motion machine’ of our life. There exists the structural concordance between them as mental and practical sides of the process of behaviour: ‘[T]he narrative mode is very close in form to the structure of action itself’ (Carr, 2008: 20). The world of narratives has its own structure. Wertsch (2021: 76), fruitfully unfolding ideas of Bartlett (1932), argues that in accordance with ‘numerous findings in psychology and cognitive science showing that human memory is weak on details but good at retaining general outlines of past events’ it is possible to reduce the multitude of specific narratives  to the limited number of schematic narrative templates. [24]  How many narrative templates are there? There is a multitude of answers: according to Uther (2004) there are 2399 basic plots, according to Poldi (1921)—36, according to Tobias (2012)—20, according to Booker (2006)—7, and so on. Josef Campbell (2004: 28), following van Gennep, [25]  reduces all myths and fairy tales to a singular narrative structure of the ‘ monomyth ’: [26]  ‘separation—initiation—return.’ Despite his hyper-reductionist approach Campbell (2004: 28) points out, that fairy tales and myths differ by their imagined  end purposes, namely to whom (to his own kin, to his own folk or to all humankind) the hero brings ‘boons’ sacrificing his own life. That subdivision of the ‘monomyth’ is very productive because ‘only the end can finally determine meaning’ of entire narrative (Brooks, 1984: 22). Therefore, from the perspective of the boons’ recipients target group ( kin , folk  or humankind ) the limited number of schematic narrative templates can also be reduced to three base mythic narratives , the traditional names of which are replaced in accordance with their imagined final goals, inspiring people with common identity to achieve them through the process of behaviour: the fairy tale ( myth of booty ), [27]  the heroic myth   ( myth of others-sacrifice ), and the myth of self-sacrifice . There is a common confusion in identification of sacrifice and self-sacrifice: ‘A chivalric ideal of male sacrifice based on the Passion of Jesus Christ’ (Frantzen 2004: From the inside flap). It is a perverted adaptation of Christ atoning for our sins, which is a symbol of the fearless non-violent behaviour facing death and it is not relevant to the heroic military deeds. In the context of my essay I split the generalizing term sacrifice  into two opposites: 1) the artificial term others-sacrifice  (human sacrifice, immolation, offering) means the ritually motivated act of killing other humans; 2) for a sacrificing of oneself I use the existing term self-sacrifice . In my essay the terms ‘self-sacrifice’ and ‘altruism’ are synonyms in accordance with the definition of Pitirim Sorokin (1960: 62, italics added): ‘Real altruism begins … when an individual freely sacrifices  his rightful interests in favour of the well-being of another.’ Each subsequent base mythic narrative expands in its time, space, and purpose frames: memory  becomes deeper, identity , which assumes solidarity and altruism, broadens the circle of ‘our own’ people and finally it results in changing the ethical norms, [28]  and imagination  creates more and more ambitious common goals: 1) ‘The kin (family)’ base mythic narrative is the fairy tale (myth of booty), which consists of three main elements: self-sacrifice , where the hero has a physical or mental [29]  fight [30]  to the death with a monster; [31]   others-sacrifice , where the hero defeats the monster; and returning home with booty . Self-sacrifice and others-sacrifice are means, where booty is a goal; 2) ‘The folk (nation)’ base mythic narrative is the heroic myth (myth of others-sacrifice), which consists of self-sacrifice and others-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is a means, where others-sacrifice is a goal; 3) ‘The humankind’ base mythic narrative is the myth of self-sacrifice, which consists of a singular element, where self-sacrifice is a goal without any means. Now we are able to represent the full structure of behaviour: 1) The ‘molecule’ of the guidance and control subsystem of behaviour  consists of three ‘atoms’: memory , identity , and imagination ; 2) ‘Atoms’ have common triple-layered narrative ‘nucleus’: specific narrative , narrative template , and base mythic narrative ; 3) The core of ‘nucleus’ consists of three base mythic narratives, where names are defined by their goals: the fairy tale  (myth of booty), the heroic myth  (myth of others-sacrifice), and the myth of self-sacrifice ; 4) ‘Quarks’ or ‘fundamental particles’ of base mythic narratives are self-sacrifice , others-sacrifice , and booty . Three ‘fundamental particles’ represent condensed experience of millions years of humankind evolution and they still powerfully govern our behaviour even in the situations when we are not able to realize that, because ‘the mental residue of those primaeval times has become a heritage which, with each new generation, needs only to be awakened , not to be re-acquired ’ (Freud, 1939: 208, italics added). Analyzing the ways self-sacrifice, others-sacrifice, and booty exert on our behaviour we should change the metaphorical pattern. Metaphors of molecular physics render well the spatial   structure  of behaviour, but to represent it as a process  of temporal  changes we need organic metaphors, which allow translate the ‘fundamental particle’ as the ‘ prime phenomenon .’ Oswald Spengler (1927: 105, italics added) applies that term, which is ‘the deep, and scarcely appreciated, idea of Goethe’ to ‘all the formations of man’s history, whether fully matured, cut off in the prime, half opened or stifled in the  seed .’ [32]  What ‘societal plants’ grow from the ‘seeds’ of self-sacrifice, others-sacrifice, and booty? Booty as Primal Trauma The wars, revolutions, and other extremal situations, when police control is not ubiquitous, are always accompanied with violence. The significant part of war crimes has no rational background and looks like a sadistic embodiment of refined ‘arts for arts’ sake. There was an obvious criminal motivation of East European peasants, who robbed their Jewish neighbors during the Second World War. The perpetrators also had the reasons to murder robbed people achieving a goal to get rid of the witnesses. But why did they torture their victims, most of whom were children, women, and elderly people? There could be a common explanation that peasants were so brutal because they got only elementary education, therefore atrocities were strongly affected by the medieval prejudices against the Jews. That explanation does not work in the case of heinous Nazis crimes. Germans were very well educated. Before 1933 German universities, science, literature, and arts had leading positions in the world. [33]  Why then did Germans not only rob and murder, but also torture Jewish, Roma, Polish, Soviet, and other civilians and prisoners of war? In that case we also have the simple answer: Germans were indoctrinated by the Nazis anti-human racial ideology. Using the ideological pattern can we say that Soviet soldiers committed robberies, rapes, and torture of German and other civilians because they were brainwashed by the cruel ideology of class fighting against the bourgeoisie  and Russian soldiers—the hears of Soviet victors of Nazis made the analogical crimes during the recent invasion of Ukraine because in result of a long-term media campaign they have been infected by resentment regarding lost grandeur  of the collapsed Soviet Empire? It is possible adding to ‘spiritual’ reasons (prejudices, ideologies, and resentment) the ‘materialistic’ motives: before and during the Second World War majority of Germans and East Europeans were totally frustrated by the Great Depression, the Soviet people were ruined by the brutal ‘collectivization’ and most of Putin’s regime soldiers, who committed atrocities in Ukraine, were recruited from severely depressed regions of Russia. Those reasons are not applicable to people from the country with the world’s largest economy, which assigns itself the role of an international watchdog of liberty and human rights. Why American soldiers were involved in mass torture in Vietnam (Rejali, 2007) and Iraq (Hersh, 2004)? Susan Sontag (2004) points out that an attempt of the American government to present the Abu Ghraib atrocities as the case of an isolated group of mentally unbalanced military servicemen is an obvious lie. She argues that Abu Ghraib is a lens exposing the longing for violence, which permeated the American society, where the ‘primeval’ initiations are omnipresent: ‘From the harsh torments inflicted on incoming students in many American suburban high schools ... to the hazing rituals of physical brutality and sexual humiliation in college fraternities and on sports teams.’ This relates not only to poor and middle classes, but to wealthy people as well. Sontag only mentions the scandalous Skull and Bones  initiation ceremony. Ron Rosenbaum (2001) reports that it ‘has bonded diplomats, media moguls, bankers and spies into a lifelong, multi-generational fellowship far more influential than any fraternity.’ Among members of that secret society are a few generations of Bush family. The ceremony is accompanied by the slogans: ‘The hangman equals death. The devil equals death. Death equals death’ and looks like the Satanic mass from the Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut . That independent of wealth and ideology sadistic obsession is a worldwide phenomenon. I believe Sontag is totally right putting torture-humiliation-dehumanization complex into the context of pre-modern and more precisely primeval rituals of initiation, which means that the omnipresent atrocities of Modernity are the consequences of a trauma of early humankind which we still have not worked through. That argument explains why the intensive and continuous efforts of German elites to cure their society from venomous Nazis heritage has only provided limited results (Olick, 2016), which is now under a threat from the growing popularity of far-right. Bronislaw Malinowski (1948: 121) suggests that ‘anthropology should be … the study of our own mentality in the distant perspective borrowed from Stone Age man … [T]o see ourselves from a distance, we may be able to gain a new sense of proportion with regard to our own institutions, beliefs, and customs.’ If we are really concerned about ‘Never again’ we should follow that insight of one of the fathers of social anthropology searching for historical roots of Slavery, Gulag, Holocaust, and other awful collective traumas of our distant and recent past. This is a duty of specialists in memory studies. Sigmund Freud (1939: 159) asserts that ‘the archaic heritage of mankind includes … also … memory-traces of the experiences of former generations.’ A reliable carrier of ‘the archaic heritage’ is the fairy tale. The central episode of it is fighting till death with a monster  for booty. The monster signifies not only wild carnivores, which presented the big danger for primeval hunter-gatherers; it is also an ‘avatar’ of ‘strangers’ who were competitors of ‘our’ community in control of territories for hunting, fishing, and gathering. In the situation of the Later Stone Age permanent starvation (Harris, 1978: 29–40) it was the fight with two-legged ‘monsters’ whether to acquire booty for food or to become the food of adversaries because captured enemies have been eaten by winners. [34]  ‘Under conditions where portable wealth does not exist; where food is too perishable and too clumsy to be accumulated and transported; where slavery is of no value because every individual consumes exactly as much as he produces’ (Malinowski, 1948: 296) a singular trophy of winners were bodies of defeated enemies. Those cannibalistic acts were reimagined as sacrificial rituals. [35]   To motivate ‘our people’ for such a ‘mortal combat’ our enemies must be presented as non-human monsters to whom the human treatment is unacceptable and who instead deserve torture and humiliation. For instance Native Americans believed regarding captured enemies that ‘their death might be the slower, their pain the more exquisite’ (Knowles, 1940: 158). The gloating torture of captured people was inverted fear of hunter-gatherers, who just happily escaped the fate of been eaten by their enemies. Dehumanization and ‘objectification’ of victims is an eternal rule of perpetrators. [36]  Therefore it is not strange that the endo-ethnonyms (the way to call themselves) of many primeval ethnicities mean ‘person,’ ‘people,’ ‘human,’ or ‘humankind’ (Proschan, 1997), exemplifying what it means to be human. That is ‘strangers’ are excluded from the humankind and as a subclass of ‘two-legged carnivorous’ could be aligned with their four-legged fellows and both should be symbolized as nonhuman ‘monsters’. Cannibalism is strictly prohibited worldwide in nowadays except some exotic hunter-gatherers tribes (Raffaele, 2006). From the perspective of Christianity it is the biggest sin, because ‘the cannibal is a diabolical figure in the most profound sense, an anti-Divinity’ (Avramescu, 2011: 135). The taboo  imposed by religion, moral, and criminal law is so strong that we do not dare to reflect on abhorrent patterns of our primeval ancestors’ behaviour. Our repulsion repressed that abominable heritage from our consciousness, in other words eliminates it from the public and academic discussions. Therefore the cannibalistic complex of our Paleolithic ancestors is the primal trauma of humankind, which is still not realized and hence is not worked through. [37]  Even legendary anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski (1948: 296) argues that ‘[h]uman man-hunting in search of anatomic trophies, the various types of armed bodysnatching for cannibalism, actual or mystical, as food for men and food for gods’ must be ‘kept apart from constructive or organized systems of warfare.’ His classification proves that the famous anthropologist appreciated ‘human man-hunting’ as an exotic deviation of the main trends of social evolution. That means the Stone Age cannibalistic violence ‘stifled in the seed’ of modern war crimes still represents a blind spot for the competent analysis. But that is repressed does not mean that does not exist. [38]  On the contrary, living into the hellish underground of subconscious space secures survival of that insufferable collective experience of cannibalism during thousands of years. Unfortunately it breaks through subconscious terrain not only as nightmares, chilling folktales, myths, and arts. Any weakening of the state control wages the mass atrocities towards ‘strangers,’ who usually are defenseless children, women, elderly people, and captured prisoners, dehumanized by their perpetrators in efforts to justify the violence committed against them. [39]   I should point out that usual explanation of perpetrators motivation by unbridled ‘animalistic instincts’ is totally wrong because carnivores are cruel but they do not have sadistic intentions. Torture is an exclusive traumatic product of our culture. My colleague Mark Tkaciuk aptly names such a destructive behaviour the social gravity . In accordance with his interpretation, in the critical situations of wars, revolutions, starvations, epidemics, and other social disasters people immediately retrieve the cultural patterns of the Stone Age as it is shockingly described by William Golding in Lord of the Flies . ‘Gravity’ means that it is difficult to cope with that challenge. Because it is ‘social’ we have a chance to overcome the sadistic longing for atrocities of many of our contemporaries. Thorstein Veblen, who coined the term ‘conspicuous consumption’ in The Theory of the Leisure Class , shows that the obsession of consumption, which in our era of welfare society is urgently threatening to destroy all non-renewable natural resources sustaining our existence, is another consequence of collective primal trauma. He writes that ruling strata of traditional society are inherited a ‘predatory habit of life (war or the hunting of large game or both)’ of primeval people (Veblen, 2009: 11). Barbaric warriors and medieval nobility were people of ‘exploit,’ whose main businesses were hunting and war. They shaped the main patterns of conspicuous consumption, which are inherited by the modern class of bourgeoisie . Veblen argues that when arrogant fat cats of our days prefigure themselves as aristocrats  they in reality imitate the behaviour of our ‘ savage ’ ancestors for whom hunting was the war against four-legged ‘monsters’ and war was the hunting for two-legged ‘ones.’ Primeval fear to be eaten by monsters triggers not only sadistic complex of torture but conspicuous consumption as well, which has similar nature with the stress-overeating . Demonstrating through excessive consumption their prosperity people unconsciously defend themselves of not working through primeval fears. The title of Nancy Fraser’s book Cannibal Capitalism  exposes the savage ‘birthmark’ of that civilized  ‘mode of production,’ which uses conspicuous consumption caused by the primal trauma as a lure for satisfaction its insatiable passion to the permanent expansion: ‘[C]apital’s expansionist drive is a brute and blind compulsion, and it is hardwired into the system’ (Fraser, 2021). Now the level of capitalist expansion achieved the scale, which threatens to destroy the natural environment, that is cannibalize our lives. I believe that the one of important duties of Academia should be working through the ‘metaphysical guilt’ (Karl Jaspers) of the Stone Age, the collective primal trauma inherited of cannibalistic practice of hunter-gatherers, which unfortunately still not discussed in current memory studies. Proliferating ‘trauma industry’ of last decades does not pay any attention to the key point of all perpetrations of the world history, namely the primal trauma of cannibalism and permanent fear  that it had once created. The ‘side-effect’ of that not worked through fear is ruinous conspicuous consumption. Aby Warburg insists that ‘science can predict and thus master fear’ (as cited in Gombrich, 1970: 302). Memory studies could help mastering that fear through public discussion about origins and long lasting effects of the collective primal trauma. Its remembering should become a part of globally mediated  prospective memory  (Tenenboim-Weinblatt, 2013) or premediation  (Grusin, 2010) preventing the ‘negative anthropology’ (Ulrich Sonnemann) of the future genocides and mass torture which potentially could be triggered by repressed memory of the collective cannibalistic primal trauma. Others-Sacrifice as Primal Religion The instrumental approach, which is directly related to the ‘primal phenomenon’ of others-sacrifice, is suggested by Max Weber (2001). His famous The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism , where he argues that religion affects many spheres of social life is considered as ‘one of the most fruitful examinations of the relations between religion and social theory’ (Tawney, 1960: 261). But it is impossible to define the branching tree of religious ideas and practices as the prime phenomenon ‘stifled in the seed.’ Trying to find the phenomenon shaping the nucleus of religion or, using authentic biblical term ‘faith,’ we would face an inevitable choice: what is the ‘prime,’ that is more substantial, a word of prayer  or an act of sacrifice ? Intellectuals are cherished by the first verse of The Gospel of  John : ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God’ (John 1:1) . That prophetic spiritual dictum is common to the myths of origin of different primeval people, where objects of material world are created through their naming (Rappaport, 1979: 201). The profound insight of our distant ancestors was far ahead of their cruel time, it becomes partly corresponding to reality only in information civilization. The primeval people, who mainly struggled for survival, for that reason were much more materialistic than we are. For them actions spoke ‘louder than words’: ‘[P]rimitive man has to a very limited extent the purely artistic or scientific interest in nature; there is but little room for symbolism in his ideas and tales; and myth, in fact, is not an idle rhapsody. … [T]he savage … is, above all, actively engaged in a number of practical pursuits, and has to struggle with various difficulties; all his interests are tuned up to this general pragmatic outlook’ (Malinowski, 1948: 75, 76). Therefore in searching for an authentic prime phenomenon we should refer to another biblical wisdom: ‘Faith without works is dead.’ The author clarifies what he means under work of faith: ‘Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered Isaac his son on the altar?’ ( James 2: 20–21). Abraham’s offering of the own child is a paradigmatic sacrifice , the religious phenomenon which ‘is well attested in the ancient world, especially in times of crisis’ (Hays, 2011: 181) by oral, written, and archaeological sources from Mediterranean region (Boehm, 2004; Brown, 1991; Burkert, 1983; Holway 2012; Tucker, 1999), different Slavic nations (Dragomanov and Wardrop, 1892), India (Manring, 2018; Snodgrass, 2004), China (Lu, 2009), Northern, Central, and South America (James, 2002; Tung and Knudson, 2010), and so on. Unfortunately we cannot say that it is the yesterday of humanity, because it is still in practice in different places on our planet (McDougal, 2006; Moodley, 2015). Sigmud Freud (1939: 94) argues ‘that religious phenomena are to be understood … as a return of long forgotten important happenings in the primaeval history of the human family.’ What kind of ‘long forgotten’ social practice is hidden behind a repulsive ritual of child sacrifice? A hint is contained in another paradigmatic child sacrifice: ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son’ (John 3:16). Irreligious modern people receive the words of sacrificing Son of God during the Last Supper: ‘Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life’ (John 6:54), only in the metaphorical way, but according to the decision of Fourth Council of the Lateran (1215) the Catholic Church insists on literal understanding of Eucharist (Holy Communion) as a transubstantiation  of bread and wine into flesh and blood of Our Savior. That interpretation involves theologians of Catholicism in permanent defense against the accusations of their Protestant opponents representing ‘the Catholics as cannibals who threatened to swallow up both Christ and the true religion. In numerous Protestant tracts, the Catholic mass was turned into a bloodthirsty rite, in which the priests ate God over and over again’ (Kilgour, 1990: 83).   Devoted children of the Catholic Church also found similarities between Eucharist ritual and cannibalistic practice. Among them are the members of the Uruguayan rugby team ‘Old Christians,’ who survived in Andes during 72 days eating their mates, who died after the plane crash on 13 October 1972. They justified themselves ‘that drawing life from the bodies of their dead friends was like drawing spiritual strength from the body of Christ when they took Communion’ (Parrado and Rause, 2007). That example of self-justification let us assume that worldwide known religious ritual of child sacrifice is a product of justifying rethinking of the so called filial cannibalism  (Lu, 2009) carried out by primeval people. Not only believers noticed the link between cannibalism and sacrificing rituals. Sigmund Freud (2004:164, 165) has the same approach. In accordance with his classical work Totem and Taboo  transition from the ‘primal horde’ to a ‘social organization’ started when brothers ‘killed and devoured their father and so made an end of the patriarchal horde’: ‘The totem meal, [40]  which is perhaps mankind’s earliest festival, would thus be a repetition and a commemoration of this memorable and criminal deed, which was the beginning of so many things—of social organization, of moral restrictions and of religion.’ In my opinion Freud’s intuition regarding cannibalistic-sacrificing complex is a powerful insight. But why does he believe that ‘primæval deed’ of our culture was an act of patricide (geronticide) instead of infanticide, which plays so prominent role (Kronos eating his children and sacrifices of Isaac and Jesus are only a few among many examples) in the oldest layers of religious consciousness? Why did not he take into consideration another version of the origin of paternalistic cult of totem as a kind of ‘Stockholm syndrome’ of people, who in their childhood witnessed abominable scenes of devouring of their siblings by their own parents and who inverted their fears to be eaten into unlimited gratitude to their omnipotent ogre fathers? Or why is it impossible to represent ‘the totem meal’ as a celebration of the glorious deed, when children sacrifice was abolished and replaced by an animal, which was treated as a clan protector of the cannibalistic sin and therefore it was given traits of an almighty father? Those assumptions are not less plausible than sophisticated interpretations of Freud and they could be supported by large amount of evidence. In that context it is not surprising that creating his legendary concept of Oedipus complex ‘the Viennese charlatan’ (Vladimir Nabokov) ignores the beginning of the mythical story, when Laius attempted the murder of his own son. Defending his biased theory Freud also chose not to mention the paradigmatic sacrifice of Abraham [41]  and to distort the meaning of Christ self-sacrifice: ‘There can be no doubt that in the Christian myth the original sin was one against God the Father. If, however, Christ redeemed mankind from the burden of original sin by sacrificing of his own life, we are driven to conclude that the sin was a murder’ (Freud, 2004:178). Formulating without a doubt that ‘original sin’ of Adam was not a disobedience to the prohibition of eating the forbidden fruit, but a cannibalistic murdering of God the Father, the father of psychoanalysis should repress the traces of his ‘meager Jewish religious education’ (McGrath, 1991). Writing his last book Moses and Monotheism  Freud had a nice opportunity to improve his own knowledge of biblical wisdom, but the scandalous conclusion of his ‘treatise’ that the ‘father’ of Jewish nation was killed by his ‘spiritual children,’ who rejected the refined religion of Egyptian sun god Aton and adopted the Midianite cult of volcanic ‘narrow-minded, … violent and blood-thirsty’ god Yahweh, shows that the author of Moses was not able to overcome the biased patricide concept. He insists that the main idea of Moses is linked up ‘with conclusions laid down twenty-five years ago in Totem and Taboo ’ (Freud, 1939: 80, 85). Surprisingly, Freud points out in his biblical ‘treatise’ that myths and legends of different ancient folks contain the common schematic narrative template A Ruler Orders to Get Rid of a Baby  (in most cases his own child): ‘The best known names in the series beginning with Sargon of Agade are Moses, Cyrus and Romulus. But besides these … [there are] Oedipus, Kama, Paris, Telephos, Perseus, Heracles, Gilgamesh, Amphion, Zethos and others.’ On another page he mentions ‘the early history of Jesus, where King Herod assumes the role of Pharaoh’. Providing that impressive sample Freud does not pay any attention to the fact that the murderous ‘challenge’ was initiated by fathers. In obsession with his theory of the patricide origin of culture Freud forgets that Christ is not God the Father, but Son of God and equates the ‘Christian Communion where the believer symbolically incorporates the blood and flesh of his God’ with devouring of the ‘primal horde’ father (Freud, 1939: 17, 22, 135). That is why he was not able to duly appreciate numerous evidence of children sacrifice (Isaac and Jesus are only two among many), which contain the texts of Old and New Testaments. His biased perspective diverts Freud of ‘naïve reading’ of Torah and the Gospels. [42]  Instead he suggests too much sophisticated interpretations of original sin and Moses death, drawing on an ‘arbitrary way’ to treat the sources: ‘I use Biblical tradition here in such an autocratic and arbitrary way, draw on it for confirmation whenever it is convenient and dismiss its evidence without scruple when it contradicts my conclusions’ (Freud 1939: 45). Aviezer Tucker (1999: 43) argues that ignoring obvious facts the beloved Jewish son Sigmund imitates the biblical Isaac, who also was not able to ascribe to his worshipped father the murdering intentions. Therefore Freud, who ‘shared the paternalistic cultural values of his historical milieu,’ may have been ready ‘to accept the discovery of immoral, guilty wishes on his own part, but not the guilt of the accusing father.’ Yes, the Freudian theory of culture has the factual base and the myth of Oedipus appeared not as pure fantasy. Even among modern hunter-gatherers the practice to get rid of the old members of a community, who are appreciated as extra mouths to feed, still exists (Harris, 1978: 25; Willerslev, 2013: 148). But that practice could not shake the ground of the ‘down-to-earth’ primeval people surviving in the situation of permanent starvation and instill in their ‘numb’ souls the religious ‘fear and trembling,’ as Søren Kierkegaard argues regarding the Abraham’s sacrifice of his own child. Not only during the Stone Age, but also in early state-societies in times of a great danger existed the tradition of the ‘powerful sacrifice,’ when victims were children. The obvious example is a Phoenician city Carthage, where people believed that gods would be pleased by offerings if victims are not alien adults but ‘their own youngest children’ (Brown, 1991: 169). I am not sure if there exists any ritual to sacrifice elderly people in critical situations. Therefore it is not occasional that in religious sources geronticide plays less significant role in comparison to ubiquitous infanticide. Because that Freud has to construct his theory on the base of the Sophocles play Oedipus Rex , where there are no cannibalistic meanings, which are paramount for Totem and Taboo , since he was not able to find another reliable mythical story related to his sophisticated idea of child’s desire for the opposite-sex parent and jealousy toward the same-sex parent. Furthermore proving his biased patricide concept of culture the author had to distort the plot of Oedipus’s story. Researchers point out ‘Freud’s selective reading of the Oedipus legend, from which he suppressed the origins of the tragedy in the sins of Oedipus’s father, Laius—notably Laius’s attempt to murder his son—in order to focus on the purely intrapsychic drama, Oedipus’s love of his mother and hatred of his father’ (Robinson, 1993: 147). In my opinion it is not plausible that geronticide could have more significant impact on religious representations of primeval people than sacrificing of their own off-springs. It means that, despite Freud’s claim, ‘the beginning ... of religion’ was infanticide. The ideology of decolonization creates another obstacle to the approach, which establishes the link between the origin of religion and filial cannibalism . Academic proponents of the politically correct decolonizing concept argue that evidence of ritual cannibalism was a kind of ‘blood libel.’ Since the Age of Discovery Europeans used it for dehumanization of the native population of conquered overseas lands. That strategy provided to colonizers the moral right to enslave and exterminate ‘abhorrent monsters’ of the human race (Arens, 1979). Opponents of ‘ultra-decolonizing’ approach agree that colonizers did exaggerate the number of cannibalistic cases in their reports, but do not accept total denial of the phenomenon of ritual cannibalism among native people and provide convincing evidence that such rituals did exist (Sahlins, 2003). Denying the ritual cannibalism the zealous critics of colonialism from Academia reiterate behaviour of the left Western intellectuals, who in 1930s denied the existence of Gulag, because from their point of view it would discredit the ‘progressive’ idea of socialism (Partington, 2008).   Even ‘deniers’ of human sacrifices recognize cases of starvation cannibalism proved by the huge number of evidence. It is directly related to our primeval ancestors. About 50 to 30 thousand years ago they mastered the technologies, which allowed hunting mammoths and other big game successfully and getting results of food abundance (Harris, 1978: 17). It is not fully clear why the extinctions of most of great mammals occurred after that ‘Golden Age.’ Was it an effect of climate changes or herbivores giants were simply ‘overkilled’ by humans (Martin, 2005: 48–57)? Anyway before the transition to agriculture around 15 to 10 thousand years ago ancient hunter-gatherers survived during a long period of permanent starvation. Earth population decreased number of times and paleoanthropological data show that people, who lived during the so called Later Stone Age crisis, were affected by poor nutrition (Harris, 1978: 29–40). Primeval people lived then under a permanent threat of death by famine. Infanticide was their common practice of reducing number of eaters (Chapman, 1980; Harris, 1978: 24–25). In the situations of cruel starvation, when hunter-gatherers devoured their own children as a last food resource, they chose a single remedy for protection of their despaired minds and reimagined their ‘ daddy  sin’ as a sacrifice for the sake of transcendental numina  that are spirits and deities presiding over things and spaces. Rudolf Otto (1958: 14), who coined the famous term ‘numinous’ from that Latin word, believes that primeval people experienced mysterium tremendum  or ‘ur-emotion’ in that bloodthirsty ‘starting-point for the entire religious development in history.’ Of course, he is right, but Rane Willerslev (2013: 151), who calls sacrificing act the ‘sacrificial trickery,’ is right as well. Piously deceiving numina  our Later Stone Age ancestors eating their own children made the same that ‘civilized’ people did when they ate animals sacrificed for the sake of gods. The ancient Romans called that habit pars pro toto : 1) Ancient Greeks ascribed to Prometheus their own trickery when they burned on altars only bones and fat of sacrificed animals; 2) The Bible Leviticus  and Numbers  books contain precise prescriptions how to share sacrificed animals and other food between Yahweh, priests and sacrificers (Harris, 1978: 131); 3) An integral feature of the Vedic sacrificial system is “[t]he presentation of the smaller, the less adequate, and the abbreviated as the “equal” of the larger’ (Smith and Doniger, 1989: 206). In epochs, when sacrificing rituals were recorded in Holy books of different ancient civilizations, the abominable habit of children devouring became inappropriate, and therefore they were symbolically replaced by animals (Snodgrass, 2004: 82). [43]  If we take that into consideration it would not be difficult to reconstruct how cannibalistic practices of Later Stone Age’s primeval people were transformed into the ritual of child sacrifice. Abhorrent devouring acts of our Paleolithic ancestors instilled horror religiosus  (Kierkegaard, 2005: 44) into the souls of believers of all time and nations. Booty and others-sacrifice both are cannibalistic traumas of Humankind. But there are three principal differences between them: 1) Booty is ‘external’ cannibalism—devouring of prisoners, others-sacrifice is ‘internal’cannibalism—devouring of own children; 2) Torturing of prisoners is a by-product of the full fairy-tale plot: the self-sacrifice—the others-sacrifice—the booty. Sacrificing of children is a shortened fairy tale, where the self-sacrifice is eliminated; 3) Cannibalistic trauma of booty is not yet worked through and is fraught with atrocities and conspicuous consumption. The heinous trauma of others-sacrifice in the form of devouring own children has found productive or at least therapeutic output through different religious practices helping to treat that ‘neurosis of mankind’ (Freud, 1936: 91). Self-Sacrifice as ‘the Prime Phenomenon of All Past and Future World-History’ [44] The ‘work’ of child cannibalistic sacrifice is an important type of others-sacrifice. It is the prime phenomenon of religion , but contrary to Freud’s claim it is not the prime phenomenon of social organization , because the plot of child sacrifice—the others-sacrifice and the booty—is a misleading and not viable concept, which diverts people from realistic solutions of their problems. Cannibalistic acts of children sacrifice, which were committed by primeval people in desperate situations of mortal famine, inverted  the usual behaviour of hunter-gatherers, when adults searching for food for their children sacrificed their own lives struggling with wild animals and bloodthirsty neighbors. The filial cannibalism  ‘flipping faith into trickery’ (Willerslev, 2013: 151) could not be the prime phenomenon of social organization, because sustainable life requires valid premises. Therefore others-sacrifice  has as opposition self-sacrifice : 1) When hunter-gatherers drew on their own strength they sacrificed themselves for the sake of children and other members of their community. This is why Son of Man announced that the goal of His self-sacrifice was not for the sake of God, but  for the sake of people : ‘And for their sakes I sanctify myself’ (John 17:19); 2) When primeval people were frustrated and lost faith in themselves, they sacrificed their off-springs for the sake of gods in full correspondence with the aphorism coined by Marx: ‘Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.’  Therefore religion, according to Marxist terminology, is one of the forms of ideology that is ‘false consciousness,’ which represents reality through its distortions. The phenomena of others-sacrifice and self-sacrifice sanctify opposite types of behaviour: 1) Others-sacrifice, where the fate of the victim depends exclusively on the will of the sacrificer, provides the patterns of despotic  treatment in different forms of communities from family to state. Self-sacrifice is the pattern of freedom : ‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free’ (John 8:32); 2) Others-sacrifice assumes the formula do ut des  (I give that you might give). This trading with gods sanctifies so called equivalent exchange (alienation and appropriation) between people. Self-sacrifice, that is, self-giving proclaims the abolition of alienation or, metaphorically speaking, the expulsion of merchants from the temple of sociality; 3) Others-sacrifice creates the antisocial  patterns for egoistic  (selfish) behaviour. Self-sacrifice creates the prosocial patterns for altruistic  behaviour, which, using the expression coined by Auguste Comte, means ‘to live for others.’ In Latin ‘religio’ means ‘bond.’ Through self-sacrifice we establish bond with people  and through others-sacrifice we establish bond with gods . [45]  Which one is primal to maintain the society? There is a Russian proverb: ‘Trust in God, but do not stumble yourself’ (God helps those, who help themselves). From that not poisoned by transcendent opiates perspective others-sacrifice is not simply inverted, but perverted  self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is, not by chance, the starting point of all three basic myth narratives: the fairy tale, the heroic myth, and the myth of self-sacrifice. That is without self-sacrifice, which is ‘the basis of all human institutions’ (Benda, 2011: 127), is impossible to bring others-sacrifice and catch booty. It is the prime phenomenon , which holds entire construction of every human community of past, present, and future. Without self-sacrifice humankind is doomed to extinction. Among all religions there is an important exclusion. Christianity is a singular religion, which exhibits self-sacrifice. Yes, from the perspective of others-sacrifice it is possible to say that God the Father committed the sacrifice of his Son, because He did not stop the hangmen the same way as He held back the hand of Abraham sacrificing Isaac. But there is a principal difference between two paradigmatic sacrifices. Not only Isaac himself never expressed that he is ready to lay his life down, but no one was interested to know his opinion regarding his own fate. This is an obvious case of the familial despotism. The victim of others-sacrifice is always an object of violation. [46]  Jesus really was an initiator  and agent  of sacrifice, because He laid down His life willingly: ‘No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This commandment have I received of my Father’ (John 10:18). ‘Commandment’ in that context means not the ‘order,’ but the ‘license’ to solve His fate in accordance with His own will. Therefore the sacrifice of Christ is a paradigm of self-sacrifice. It is not surprising that Western civilization based on Christian values achieved the leading position in the World. Despite Christianity, as a religion, also distorts reality its self-sacrificing ‘engine’ ensures more effective everyday behaviour in comparison to unchristian societies. Self-sacrifice ‘by definition’ shapes realistic mental and practical patterns, that is, experimental relations with nature and theoretical reflection of those relations. It is not surprising that the first bursts of science, which is the driving force of industrial and information societies, appeared in the cradles of Eastern civilizations much earlier than in Europe, but only Europeans were able to establish that form of knowledge as a developed institution transforming it in a kind of terrestrial religion  of entire Humankind. Sir Edward Burnett Tylor argues that ‘magic is a pseudo-science.’ Rephrasing his dictum we can call science a true-magic . This ‘magic’ allowed Europeans to be the first who started disenchanting and mastering nature and society. Nowadays the Western Civilization is in a deep crisis. Muslim, Indian, and Far East competitors are attacking from different directions. But they are able to do that only by using Western technologies and gradually transforming themselves in accordance to Western standards. Meanwhile the main reason of current Decline of the West  is not the ‘westernization’ of competitors, but the process of ‘dewesternization’ of the West itself. I should point out that not the ‘abolition’ of religion is a trigger of the current degradation. The main reason of that desperate process is the total renouncement of self-sacrificing (altruistic) behaviour, which ‘in our type of culture … is understood to be deviant behavior’ (Weinstein, 2004: 55). Our longing for comfort, the egoistic state of spirit, which Jean-Luc Nancy (1991) defines as ‘unsacrificeable,’ erodes the mainstay of our civilization. To overcome that dangerous trend we firstly should reflect the current situation aiming to restore not the dead letter of religion, but the vital spirit of altruistic self-sacrifice. Structural Concordances between Three Base Mythic Narratives and the Concepts of Marshall Mcluhan, Jan Assmann, Abraham Maslow, Georges Dumézil, and Fernand Braudel The heuristic potential of academic concepts is often revealed through their conformity to the concepts of adjacent disciplines. The core of the guidance and control subsystem of behaviour consists of three base mythic narratives, which are careers, that is mediation tools , of memory, identity, and imagination. Let us search from the perspective of memory studies similarities between triple mythic narrative structure (the fairy tale, the heroic myth, and the myth of self-sacrifice) and the theory of media studies. Siegfried J. Schmidt (2008: 197–198) differs ‘communication instruments (such as language and pictures)’ and ‘technological devices’ (such as oral, written, print, and electric media). Unfortunately, linguistic communication instruments including narratives are still not fully appreciated by researchers. Even the prophet of ‘electric Age of Information’ Marshall McLuhan (1994: 36) predominantly reduces media of information to their ‘technological devices’ or ‘conduits.’ [47]  Expounding his legendary concept: ‘The medium is the message,’ he structures those tools imitating Matryoshka (the Russian nesting doll): the content of electronic media is print, the content of print media is writing, the content of writing media is speech, and the content of speech is ‘an actual process of thought, which is in itself nonverbal’ (McLuhan, 1994: 7–8). [48]  In my opinion, McLuhan’s Matryoshka contains a confusion, because it homogenizes two kinds of media, which perform principally different functions: communication instruments (‘speech’ and ‘thought’) and technological devices (‘writing,’ ‘print,’ and ‘electricity’). It is possible to define the main function of communication instruments (narrative is one of them) as ‘packaging of  information’ and, respectively, of technological devices as preservation and transportation of ‘packs with  information.’ The difference between these kinds of information media could be clarified through the analogy with means of transport. We can travel using different means: by foot, horses, motorcars, railways, planes, and so on. Of course, our choice of transport would affect time and expenses, but anyhow we can reach a destination. We can make a similar choice for delivering our messages packaged by communication instruments; in that case the choice of technological devices would also affect time and expenses for their delivering. [49]  Therefore, as an example, the communication instrument ‘speech,’ which the Canadian media-guru negligently jointed to the sample of technological devices, [50]  could be delivered in the forms of oral speech, written speech, printed speech, and speech aired by radio, television, and other electronic media. [51]  In accordance with that the main motto  coined by McLuhan should be rephrased: communication instruments are the messages of technological devices . Discussing McLuhan’s concept we did not divert from the issue of memory narratives because one of the main functions of technological devices is preservation of messages of communication instruments or ‘linguistic codifications of experience’ (McLuhan, 1994: 140). They act as ‘a store  of perception and as a transmitter  of the perceptions and experience of one person or of one generation to another’ (McLuhan, 1994: 139, italics added). [52]  Every technological medium of information has its own memory ‘store’: oral— folklore , written— archive , print— library , electronic—audio and video collections . The internet is not simply the main ‘conduit’ of electronic media, it becomes a ‘single medium’ (Kittler 1997: 31) of the global information civilization, embracing all existed depositories of information. Totality of media stores constitutes the cultural heritage . Therefore different kinds of memory narratives serve as media between people and their heritage. In this sense, ‘the medium is the memory’ (Erll, 2011a: 115). McLuhan points out that every type of technological devices creates the framework of communication for different historical epochs: oral media for limited archaic communities, writing media for elites of Antiquity and Medieval Age, print media for all citizens of Modern nation-states [53]  and electronic media for the cosmopolitan residents of the ‘global village.’ That proves the existence of interdependence between those types of technological devices of information media and three base mythic narratives of memory, identity, and imagination: the message of oral  media is the fairy tale, the message of writing  and print  media is the heroic myth, and the message of electronic  media is the myth of self-sacrifice. Looking at narrative [54]  as a mediation tool transforms it into an important subject of media studies. That approach creates common ground for interdisciplinary memory-media research. [55]   Concept of three base mythic narratives as media tools also correlates with concepts of memory studies (Jan Assmann), psychology (Abraham Maslow), sociology (Georges Dumezil), and history (Fernand Braudel). In the function of media three base mythic narratives are related to Jan Assmann’s (2010b: 122) communicative (social), political, and cultural forms of collective memory. From that perspective the fairy tale is a ‘carrier’ of the communicative (social) memory and subsequently the heroic myth and the myth of self-sacrifice are ‘carriers’ of the political and cultural memories. Three base mythic narratives are also congruent with some levels of the so-called Abraham Maslow’s pyramid of personal needs (Rouse, 2004) and the elements of the Georges Dumezil’s (1958) social ‘Indo-European triad’: 1) Maslow’s material (physiological) needs/ the fairy tale/ Dumézil’s ‘laborers’; 2) Maslow’s security need/ the heroic myth/ Dumézil’s ‘warriors’; 3) Maslow’s need for self-actualization/ [56]  the myth of self-sacrifice/ Dumézil’s ‘priests.’ We can notice the conformity of the three triads. In all those cases, the base mythic narratives are mediation tools between personal needs and social functions. Just as personal needs coexist within the structure of individual consciousness and social functions coexist in the structure of society, the coexistence of narratives of the fairy tale, the heroic myth, and the myth of self-sacrifice involves interactions of family, nation, and humankind frameworks [57]  of memory, identity, and imagination in our souls as well as in the social space. McLuhan’s Matryoshka-like model of interdependence of information media technological devices is fully applicable to narrative structure: the content of specific narrative is the schematic narrative template and the content of schematic narrative template is the base mythic narrative. The concept of base mythic narrative allows to embrace the universe of ‘narrativity’ in its full plenitude, starting from the volatile surface of specific narratives through schematic narrative templates to inert deep structure of base mythic narratives. That three-leveled typology corresponds to triadic temporal model of Fernand Braudel: 1) Specific narrative/ event; 2) Schematic narrative template/ cyclical phase (conjuncture); 3) Base mythic narrative/ the longue durée  (structure). From the perspective of the longue durée  we can distinguish historical epochs based on the domination of one of those three co-existing  base mythic narratives [58] : 1) In the pre-state  hunter-gathering society it was the fairy tale; 2) In the state  agrarian and industrial societies it is the heroic myth; 3) In the post-state  information society it will be the myth of self-sacrifice. Part II of the article   [1]  Karl K. Szpunar and Kathleen B. McDermott (2007) discuss a few cases of neurological research regarding amnesic patients’ ability to ‘form mental images of novel experiences that might take place in the future in a familiar setting, such as a possible event in their lives over the next weekend. These patients were markedly impaired in their ability to do this—their mental images were vague and highly fragmented when compared to those reported by a control group of people of the same average age and level of education but without amnesia.’ [2] Cf. ‘When it considers its own past, the group feels strongly that it has remained the same and becomes conscious of its identity through time’ (Halbwachs, 1980: 85, italics added). [3]  Cf. Ritual ‘mend[s] ever again worlds forever breaking apart under the blows of usage,’ and ritual ‘does more than remind individuals of an underlying order. It establishes that order’ (Rappoport, 1979: 197, 206). [4]  Cf. ‘To share an identity with other people is to feel in solidarity with them’ (Hollinger 2006: 23). [5]  Cf. ‘The ever-improvingknowledge of the past should throw light upon and open up the chancesfor future development’ (Straub, 2008: 217); ‘[T]he rationality of our actions gives some indication of the adequacy of our insight into the past (Ankersmit, 1983: 35). [6]  See a detailed review of different academic approaches to that problem (Erll, 2011a: 38–45). [7]  Julien Benda (2011: 72) writes about the ‘clerks’, he means ‘the poets, the novelists, the dramatists, the artists,’ who invested themselves ‘at the service of political passions’ and contributed a lot in waging the First World War. He points out: ‘But there are other “clerks” in whom this derogation from the disinterested activity of the mind is far more shocking, “clerks” whose influence on the laymen is much more profound by reason of the prestige attached to their functions. I mean the historians.’ Paul Connerton (1989: 16) writes about ‘the great German scholars’ of nineteenth and the first half of twentieth centuries Niebuhr and Savigny, Ranke and Mommsen, Troeltsch and Meinecke, whose historical activities are ‘part of the history of nationalism’: ‘They rejected any form of political universalism … Constructing a canon of historical research, they are at the same time participating in the formation of a political identity and giving shape to the memory of a particular culture.’ [8]  Cf. ‘Scholars should be able to demonstrate how to break out of the cage of collective identity’ (Erll, 2020: 555). [9]  Cf. ‘The historian certainly means to be objective and impartial’ (Halbwachs, 1980: 83). [10]  Cf. ‘Historians do not always live up to their own standards and retain biases, but these standards nonetheless remain at the core of historians’ aspirations’ (Wertsch, 2021: 93). [11]  Cf. ‘Collective memory, is essentially a reconstruction of the past that adapts the image of historical facts to the beliefs and spiritual needs of the present, where the knowledge of [historical facts] originally was secondary’ (Halbwachs, 1941: 9); ‘Collective memories always are biased in presenting the group’s past in a more positive light and dismissing those memories that do not serve the present goals of the group’ (Isurin, 2022: 94). [12]  Cf. ‘Where history is concerned, memory increasingly functions as antonym rather than synonym; contrary rather than complement and replacement rather than supplement’ (Klein, 2000: 128f.). [13]  Cf. an opposite opinion: [W]e cannot allow any … reflection to induce us to put the truth aside in favour of what are supposed to be national interests’ (Freud, 1939: 11) [14]  Cf. regarding another mental substance tightly connected to memory: ‘[T]he content of the unconscious is collective anyhow, a general possession of mankind’ (Freud, 1939: 212). [15]  Cf. ‘What miraculous procedure is responsible for the transformation, which takes place by the mere transition from a single individual to a group of individuals?’ (Gedi and Elam 1996: 38). [16] Cf. ‘Major plotlines … help us “string” past events in our minds, thereby providing them with historical meaning’ (Zerubavel, 2003: 13); ‘Voices of individual experience are “co-authored” by the narrative tools provided by a community’ (Wertsch, 2021: 198). [17] Cf. ‘Over time, individual distinct memories can become shared collective memories (Isurin, 2022: 34). Orlando Figes (2007: 636) points out that Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago  not only became the collective narrative for other survivors, but it was so strongly internalized by them that even erased their real experience: ‘The victims of repression frequently lacked a clear conceptual grasp of their own experience, having no structural framework or understanding of the political context in which to make sense of their memories. This gap reinforced their inclination to substitute … coherent and clear memories [of Solzhenitsyn and other writers] for their own confused and fragmentary recollections.’ [18]  Cf. ‘The memories “liberated” in narrative psychotherapy (or other social contexts) are embedded into an autobiographical narrative, which follows a broadly standardized scheme. This example makes it obvious to whatextent even the most intimate recollections and personal memories are constituted and encoded culturally’ (Straub, 2008: 225). [19]  Cf. ‘One may say that the individual remembers by placing himself in the perspective of the group, but one may also affirm that the memory of the group realizes and manifests itself in individual memories’ (Halbwachs, 1992: 40); ‘In combination, these two reinforce one another: each individual story helps to shape a larger history by providing it with detail, depth, and nuance, and, in turn, each story is enhanced and given broader meaning through its contextualization within a larger historical matrix’ (Hirsch and Spitzer, 2015, 18). [20]  Cf. ‘Where, in any account of reality, narrativity is present, we can be sure that morality or a moralizing impulse is present too’ (White, 1987: 24). [21]  Cf. ‘Myth was their [Ancient Greeks] great teacher in all matters of the spirit. There they learned morality and conduct’ (Finley, 1965: 284); ‘[M]yths present a model or charter for human behaviour and that the world of myth provides guidance for crucial elements in human existence — war and peace, life and death, truth and falsehood, good and evil’ (Bolle, Buxton, and Smith, 2020). [22] Cf. ‘Collective memory’ is ‘a misleading new name for the old familiar “myth” which can be identified, in its turn, with “collective” or “social” stereotypes’ (Gedi and Elam, 1996: 47). [23]   Discussing mythic core of memory we should not forget that ritual is inextricably tied to myth. Paul Connerton (1989: 78) calls ritual ceremonies ‘mnemonics of the body,’ therefore we can call mythic narratives ‘mnemonics of the mind.’ That means there are two kinds of memory: narrated ‘mythic’ memory and performed ‘ritualistic’  ones (Rappaport, 1979: 175). Connerton (1989) and Jan Assmann (2011) argue that function of ritual is shaping of collective identity, without which community is broken. Hence identity, which is an idea/value/belief of group belongingness  ‘ permeated by emotions’ (Davies 2018: 55), is based on ritual memory . Of course myth and ritual are not ‘one and the same’  ( Leach, 1970: 13), but they are corporeal (non-discursive numinous experience) and mental (discursive meaning of sacred) sides (Rappaport, 1979: 217) of the same  process of consolidation of mnemonic community. At least in the field of commemoration both phenomena are ‘counterparts’: ‘myth implies ritual, ritual implies myth’ (Leach, 1970: 13). That means identity-ritual is performed  myth of memory and conversely memory-myth is narrated  ritual  of identity. [24]  Cf. ‘[P]rimary framework allows its user to locate, perceive, identify, and label a seemingly infinite number of concrete occurrences defined in its terms’ (Goffman, 1980: 21). [25]  Cf. ‘A complete scheme of rites of passage theoretically includes preliminal rites (rites of separation), liminal rites (rites of transition), and postliminal rites (rites of incorporation)’ (van Gennep, 1960: 11). [26]  Campbell highlights that the author of the term is James Joyce (1939: 581). [27]  Vladimir Propp (1968: 90, 100) points out, that fairy tales are myths, which lost their sacral nature. Therefore, the ancient myths, which at a later stage degenerated to the fairy tales, allow us to view them as the myths of booty. [28] Prince Kropotkin (2021: 178) tightly connects ethics with solidarity (‘mutual-aid’) and altruism: ‘The ethical progress of our race, viewed in its broad lines, appears as a gradual extension of the mutual-aid principles from the tribe to always larger and larger agglomerations, so as to finally embrace one day the whole of mankind, without respect to its diverse creeds, languages, and races.’ [29] For instance, the Sphinx strangled and devoured anyone who could not answer her riddle. After having heard Oedipus’ right answer the Sphinx killed herself by throwing herself from her high rock into the sea. [30] In that point the basic plot is bifurcated between ‘ forza (force), plots of the body, and forda  (fraud), plots of the mind’ (Tobias, 2012: 34). Arnold van Gennep (1960: 17–18, italics added) notices that between neighboring tribes and ancient states there were so called ‘marches’/’marques’, unpopulated sacral zones ‘deserts, marshes, and most frequently virgin forests’, which ‘were used for market places  or  battlefields .’ Hence they were topoi  of fraud or force that is culminating points of fairy tale’s plot. [31]  The Aby Warburg’s vague insights: ‘The struggle with the monster as the germ of logical construction’; ‘The dialectic of the monster as the foundation of a sociological theory of energy’; ‘From the monstrous complex to the ordering symbol’ (as cited in Gombrich, 1970: 261–262), should be thoroughly reflected, because in my opinion they point out the crucial role that narratives of fairy tale and heroic myth play in our minds . [32]  What does the author of Decline of the West  assume under, using his organicist terminology, a ‘seed’ of every ‘matured society’? On different pages of his opus magnum  it means different phenomena: ‘culture,’ ‘style,’ and ‘arts’ (Spengler, 1927: 105, 205, 281), but each of them is too complex to be considered as a ‘seed’ of the ‘societal plant.’ [33]  Cf. ‘The utmost barbarism had happened in the nation that had previously grounded its identity on Kultur. … The triumphant notion of a German Kulturnation  was replaced by the traumatizing disclosure of the Holocaust; the nation that gave birth to a prodigious Weltliteratur  had procreated also the unspeakable and inconceivable horror of the extermination camps’ (Giesen, 2004: 120, italics as in original). [34]  Cf. ‘In some cultures parts of the bodies of defeated enemies have been eaten simply to degrade them and demonstrate the completeness of the victory’ (Ellwood, 2007: 73); ‘In some regions an intrusion on the part of a stranger, against the rules of intertribal law, and breaking through the normal dividing line, was dangerous to the intruder. He was liable to be killed or enslaved; at times he served as the piece de resistance  in a cannibalrepast. In other words, the execution of such a trespasser was determined by tribal law, by the value of his corpse for the tribal kitchen, or of his head to the collection of a head-hunting specialist’ (Malinowski, 1948: 286). [35]  Cf. ‘Sometimes the victima  were also victi , defeated enemies who … were now turned into slaves and doomed to be sacrificed to the Gods’ (Giesen, 2004: 59); ‘Where the positive form of human sacrifice exists there is, generally, an actual or symbolic eating of the sacrificial victim’ (Obeyesekere, 2005: 261). [36]  Cf. ‘The perpetrator, who dehumanizes other subjects, extending his control over the world into a realm that should be exempted from such treatment—the subjectivity of others’ (Giesen, 2004: 7). [37]  In accordance with a ‘formal definition’ of Neil Smelser (2004: 44, italics added) cultural trauma is ‘a memory accepted  and publicly given credence by a relevant membership group and evoking an event or situation which is a) laden with negative affect, b) represented as indelible, and c) regarded as threatening a society’s existence or violating one or more of its fundamental cultural presuppositions.’ The case of primal trauma of booty, which still has not been accepted publicly, proves that a ‘formal definition’ of cultural trauma should be extended. [38]  Cf. ‘The forgotten material is not extinguished, only “repressed”; its traces are extant in the memory in their original freshness’ (Freud, 1939: 152). [39]  Cf. ‘Whenever recent events produce impressions or experiences which are so much like the repressed material that they have the power to awaken it. Thus the recent material gets strengthened by the latent energy of the repressed, and the repressed material produces its effect behind the recent material and with its help’ (Freud, 1939: 153). [40]  ‘The totem meal ceremony rites,’ as Kurt Caswell (2008: 175) explains, is ‘an ancient sacrificial ritual in which the members of a clan affirm their identification with their god.’ [41]  Cf. the memoirs of Serge Moscovici, who got traditional Jewish education and unlike Freud was deeply upset by Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac: ‘It is difficult for me to express my fear and indignation when I thought about the little boy facing death. Did God have the right to order this sacrifice? I discussed this with my friend: it was a denial of justice, an abuse of a child by adults. So they can do with us what they want?’ (Moscovici, 1997: 50–51). [42]  Jan Assman (2018: 154) notices that Freud was not the ‘careful reader of the Bible.’ [43]  The Brahmana, one of the Vedic books explains that an animal sacrifice is a substitute to human sacrifice: ‘The man is the sacrifice because it is the man who offers it. And each time he offers it, the sacrifice takes the shape of the man. Therefore the sacrifice is the man’ (SB 1.3.2.1; 3.5.3.1, as cited in Smith and Doniger, 1989: 198). [44]  Spengler, 1927: 105. [45]  Cf. ‘In the violent act of sacrifice … the trauma of killing a member of the community merges with the triumphant construction of a bond between community  and deity ’ (Giesen, 2004: 23, italics added). [46]  The priests of all religions try to convince that sacrifice is not a ritual killing because allegedly the victim ‘willingly sacrificed itself’ (Smith and Doniger, 1989: 210). [47] Cf. ‘Type 1 regards media as conduits , or methods of transmitting information; and type 2 regards them as languages. … Media of type 1 include TV, radio, the Internet, the gramophone, the telephone—all distinct types of technologies—as well as cultural channels, such as books and newspapers. Media of type 2 would be language, sound, image’ (Ryan, 2006: 17, italics in the original). [48]   The statement regarding the ‘nonverbal’ nature of the ‘process of thought’ is an exaggeration, because in psychology exists the term ‘inner speech,’ which is defined as ‘verbal thinking’ (Alderson-Day and Fernyhough, 2015: 91). [49]  Erving Goffman (1980: 24) provides an example of the checkers practice, when players are able to render the same message, using different technological devices: ‘a move can equally well be made by voice, gesture, or the mails, or by physically shifting a checker by the fist, any combination of fingers, or the right elbow. [50]  It is remarkable that sometimes the author of Understanding Media  feels that a communication instrument ‘speech’ is heterogeneous to technological devices and replaces it by more suitable expressions: ‘sound,’ ‘oral culture,’ ‘ear culture,’ ‘audile-tactile perception,’ and so on (McLuhan, 1994: 16, 27, 32, 45). [51]  Cf. ‘[Story] is independent of the techniques that bear it along. It may be transposed from one to another medium without losing its essential properties’ (Bremond, 1973: 12, as cited in Ryan, 2006: 3–4). [52]  Cf. ‘Media technologies allow for the dissemination, from a spatial point of view, and the storage, from a temporal point of view, of the contents of cultural memory’ (Erll, 2011a: 122). [53]  Cf. ‘The sacred scriptures of legalist scholarship were originally handwritten and accessible only to a devoted professional elite. Civil society’s public sphere, in contrast, presupposed printed texts that could be reproducedand spread at relatively low cost’ (Giesen, 2004: 102). [54]  Mary-Laure Ryan (2006: 15–16) points out that narrative tools are applicable not only to verbal messages but also to non-verbal (music, painting, architecture and so on). [55]  Cf. ‘Media construct and create, shape, and distort memories’ (Erll 2018: 309). [56] That triadic perspective allows to present ‘love and belonging and esteem needs’ of Maslow’s needs hierarchy as a part of the self-actualization area. Cf. the other triadic reducing approach to Maslow’s needs hierarchy (Alderfer, 1972). [57]  Chiara De Cesare and Ann Rigney (2014: 20) call that interplay ‘multi-scalarity.’ [58]  Cf. ‘Historical periods are defined not only by the events that occurred in them, but also by the dominant narratives that frame them’ (Pisanty, 2021: 190).

Part I of the article The Rat Ethics of the Fairy Tales   In the pre-state hunter-gathering society people were guided by the fairy tale (myth of booty). The study of Walter Burkert (1996: 58–63) helps to understand this phenomenon through the comparison of seemingly incompatible entities: when a rat crawls out of a hole in search of booty, it precisely reproduces the subsequent steps of the fairy tale. It is possible to say that the fairy tale neatly corresponds to a pattern of small predator’s behaviour, which should hide his booty from big predators, so returning home with a heavy load is always a dangerous adventure. It is the oldest narrative of the human being. This creates a limited identity-solidarity-altruism, which is capable of uniting people only in the small groups (kin, clan, tribe, and so on). In Modern society the fairy tale unites families and gangs. In that perspective it is not odd that the mafia  means ‘family.’ The communicative (social) memory based on the fairy tale narrative is quite shallow. Even now people with strong kinship ties are able ‘to trace their patrilineal ancestors back seven to ten generations’ (Ismailbekova 2014: 377), it means not much more than 200 years. For ‘modernized’ people it is usually limited to ‘the time span of three interacting generations or 80–100 years’ (Assmann, 2010b: 122). The identity in accordance with which ‘our own’ are the only members of a family or a gang, creates the ethics of an egoistic attitude towards the world outside their circle, because it is based on materialist values of survival (Inglehart, 2018). Imagination of the fairy tale does not differ significantly from memory of ancestors, of their experience how to catch booty and return home safety. In such circumstances all innovations are not results of a purported behaviour inspired by imagination, but are chance finds only. It is an important reason behind the slow technological changes in the traditional society. Therefore the future of hunter-gatherers is a permanent Groundhog Day  that is the myth of the eternal return to the lost Golden Age. The path of the fairy tale society is not the strait line towards the future, but the closed circle.   The Deception of Heroic Myth In the epoch, when agriculture (the food-producing economy) becomes a necessary foundation of the state, the heroic myth (myth of others-sacrifice) was brought to the fore. The identity-solidarity-altruism of this myth unites more people than the fairy tale does. In the epoch of the Ancient and Medieval states the ‘national’ identity of the heroic myth was predominantly intrinsic to the members of sacral and military elite (Hroch, 2020: 9) and ‘they evince no interest in disseminating their ethnic culture to outlying groups or lower strata’ (Smith, 1999: 192). It was even common to stress the foreign origin of the upper strata of medieval monarchies, which differentiated them from the non-noble population. During the industrial Modernity identity of the heroic myth became much wider and managed to embrace all citizens of the nation-state. Establishing of national identity took a long time. Despite strenuous efforts of intellectuals ‘the peasantry refused to exchange local for national memory until almost the First World War’ (Gillis, 1994: 8–9). In order to establish national identity politics of memory shifts ‘the focus from individual heroes to the heroification of entire groups’ of compatriots, because ‘the nation is in all its citizens and the commonality of all its citizens is the nation’ (Giesen, 2004: 27, 33). The ethics of the heroic myth has a dual nature. In relation to ‘our own’ it becomes altruistic, simply because it teaches sacrifice of one’s own life for the sake of ‘our people.’ But it is not only love for ‘our ones’, it also includes ‘fear and hatred for the foreigner whether he is interior, whether he is exterior’ (Maurras, 1921: 128). Therefore in relations to ‘strangers’ it becomes even more selfish and hostile than the ethics of the fairy tale, because the purpose of the heroic myth is to sacrifice (kill) the enemy. ‘Political memory’ (Jan Assmann) is the core of mnemonic practices of Agrarian Society elites and Industrial Society citizens. It subsequently becomes deeper. In traditional societies the memory reached the state’s founders according to the first chronicles. During Modernity memory refers to archaeological sources and occasionally reaches the Paleolithic era in the search for the origins of a nation. The heroic myth is a clear example of manipulation through ‘false consciousness’ (Friedrich Engels) of ideology. The agents of national memory ‘teach citizens patriotic lessons about sacrificing personal comforts, or even their lives, for the good of the nation’ (Isurin 2022: 12). The citizen must paradoxically sacrifice himself ‘on behalf of the nation’ regardless of his own interests (Hroch, 2020: 16). [1] How is it possible to inspire people for that? Benedict Anderson (2006: 136, 143–144) writes that the nation-state is imagined by ‘philologists’ in the interests of the bourgeoisie.  For that they resorted to consanguine rhetoric of a people ‘of a common blood’ (Pomian, 1996: 30). That ‘implicit biologism, which assumes that nations are derived from direct genetic descent’ (Rigney, 2018: 252) and therefore ‘an entire nation can be viewed as a single extended family’ (Zerubavel, 2003: 66), is a fictive reference to kinship societies, based on the fairy tale. [2]  At the same time, the aim of real kinship societies for getting booty and the problem of sharing the booty are beyond the scope of the heroic myth. This ‘fictive kinship’ (Winter, 1999) strategy serves the objectives of the ruling classes not only because it allows them to increase their wealth at the cost of ordinary people’s lives as a result of external wars, but also because it protects the ruling minority from revolutions by transforming the social tensions into hate against ‘external enemies’ and ‘not with our blood’ internal strangers turning them into scapegoats [3] : ‘Nothing binds people more tightly than the need to defend themselves against an external foe. The best means of coping with internal political problems is to pursue an aggressive foreign policy’ (Assmann, 2011: 133). [4]  Unfortunately many of intellectuals played the immoral role of a goat-provocateur  leading human ‘herds’ to the butchery of the wars. Julien Benda (2011: 16, 17) writes that the citizens of democratic nation-states are more prone to wage wars then the subjects of medieval monarchs. In that context he reminds the slogan of French monarchists: ‘Democracy is war.’ Michael Mann (2005: 55–110) in The Dark Side of Democracy  partly approves last maxim. He argues that the practice of genocides of Modernity is largely due to the changes in the concept of sovereignty from the idea of God-given sovereign to the principle of people’s sovereignty. [5]  Ancient and medieval rulers were usually satisfied with their multiethnic subjects paying taxes regularly and resorted to genocidal violence only when confronted with disobedience: ‘When thou comest nigh unto a city to fight against it, then proclaim peace unto it. And it shall be, if it make thee answer of peace, and open unto thee, then it shall be, that all the people that is found therein shall be tributaries unto thee, and they shall serve thee. And if it will make no peace with thee, but will make war against thee, then thou shalt besiege it: And when the Lord thy God hath delivered it into thine hands, thou shalt smite every male thereof with the edge of the sword’ (Deut. 20:10–13). Whereas ‘the sovereign people’ of the Modern nation-state consider themselves as the exclusive owners of their state, who have a full right to govern their own country. This includes the right to oppress, expel, and even exterminate the ‘strangers,’ that is, ethnic and other minorities. Mann recalls that for a long time the democratic American state was engaged in the massive extermination of Native Americans and it exploited Black Slaves. Since then the situation has changed and Native and Black Americans were given official apologies for historic violence and injustices inflicted upon them. The former ‘internal strangers’ are gradually becoming ‘our own.’   At the same time, however, the US and other the most developed liberal democracies continue to have a cynical attitude towards ‘external strangers.’ In 1998, when Russia was governed by pro-Western Yeltsin’s administration, Stephen Walt (1998: 43) wrote that for external politics of the US interests are dominant over the moral values: ‘The United States has taken advantage of its current superiority to impose its preferences wherever possible. … It has forced a series of one-sided arms control agreements on Russia, dominated the problematic peace effort in Bosnia, taken steps to expand NATO into Russia’s backyard. … Although U.S. leaders are adept at cloaking their actions in the lofty rhetoric of “world order,” naked self-interest lies behind most of them.’ [6]  During the twenty-first century the Afghanistan, Iraqi, and Libyan regimes were overthrown under the pretext of defending the human rights. Western media usually refrained from sharing information about the catastrophic consequences of ‘attempts to establish democracy,’ which have left those countries ‘in chaos’ (Inglehart, 2018: 114). If humanitarian purposes were the real motivation for the above mentioned interventions, then the US should have reprimanded their long-term Persian Gulf monarchy allies, where the Universal Declaration of Human Rights  is violated in accordance  with the medieval legislation, which is in practice in these countries. This does not mean that the US invasions are ‘bad’ and the Russian invasion into Ukraine is ‘good.’ In comparison to Russia, where according to the social estates  medieval tradition only the ruling class members are viewed as ‘our own’ by government officials (Kordonsky, 2016), Western democracies, which consider all their fellow citizens as ‘our own,’ represent an important step forward. The US gives an example of the ultimate extension of identity, which can exist in a society based on the aggressive narrative of the heroic myth. The collective of ‘our own,’ where the altruistic norms are applicable, is limited to the national boundaries. The nation-state memory, identity, and imagination are not capable to come out of that frame. The Dead End of Modernity   Benedict Anderson (2006), Ernst Gellner (1983), Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (2013) write that the nation-state is a product of Modernity, which arose during the nineteenth century but proclaimed itself to be ‘primordial’ (the ancient origin) reality. However, the idea that capitalism is also a phenomenon of the nineteenth century lies beyond the scope of their research. Martin Albrow (1996: 28–51) argues that the nation-state is not only tightly connected to capitalism, but these two are the Siamese twins  that is different sides of the same process of modernization, where the ‘free market’ of low profit economy plays a deceptive role of cover-up for the inseparable ‘anti-market’ (Braudel, 1983: 230) high profit tandem of state power and big money. It is literally a military-industrial complex . Capitalist economy is not able to functioning without police, army, and other ‘militarized’ state institutions promoting interests of billionaires inside and outside of the nation-state borders. Therefore Manuel De Landa (2000: 48) suggests redefining the term ‘capitalism’ including the ‘power to manipulate markets’ as ‘a constitutive part of its meaning.’ Unlike the nation obsessed with its ancient roots, capitalism is more attuned to its longevity in the future. In my opinion the assumption that such phenomena of Modernity like nation-state and capitalism are transitory is sufficient to show they have generated problems that have no solution within their frameworks. The nuclear threat, environmental degradation and growing inequality are at the forefront of many global challenges, where nation-state and capitalism are not capable of providing an adequate answer: 1) Russian and Western scholars claim that there will be no winners in a nuclear war (Robock et al., 2007). It is pointless to create additional effective anti-missile systems; simply because humankind will perish regardless of on whose territory nuclear explosions occurred. Even if the leaders of the nuclear powers have enough sense not to use these weapons, there is a high probability that terrorists will be able to get hold of them. Despite that, the development of more powerful weapons of mass destruction continues. Security is a false pretext for the current arms race . The real reasons for it are the profits that have been made by arms manufacturers, who traditionally have close ties with governments. 2) Nuclear weapons could destroy humankind in an instant, whereas the environmental threat is not as obvious and therefore could be even more dangerous. The main reason behind environmental degradation is the conspicuous consumption race , which is caused by expanded reproduction required by capitalist economies: ‘Today, we are surrounded everywhere by the conspicuousness of consumption through the multiplication of objects and material garb’ (Connerton, 2009: 122). Current ‘consuming cult’ provokes various damaging consequences such as fashion , in other words the coercion of public opinion to throw away good clothes and other items, or the planned obsolescence of appliances breaking down shortly after the warranty has expired. [7]  Satisfying conspicuous consumption-based needs is leading to the exhaustion of irreplaceable resources, disastrous pollution of the environment, and a massive waste of public time and energy. [8]  Environmental pollution does not respect national boundaries. We can take care of the ecology of our own country, but if water, soil and air are polluted in other parts of our planet, the devastating consequences will affect the entire humankind. [9] 3) Growing inequality is related to the fact that modern development of technologies makes it possible to replace almost all routine operations, called ‘labor,’ by machines and artificial intelligence devices. In a society based on the formula ‘goods—money—goods,’ technological progress has been perceived not as the liberation of humankind from hard labor, but as a tragic loss of jobs, which requires the ‘developing successful strategies to cope with  artificial intelligence’ (Inglehart, 2018: 216, italics added). The conflict of modern ‘Luddites’ is articulated as ‘robots against workers’ (Byhovskaya, 2016). Within the frameworks of nation-state and capitalism it is impossible to overthrow the Social Darwinian ideology, according to which the right to creative activity is only for selected ‘Elois,’ whereas the masses of ‘Morlocks’ (Herbert G. Wells) are doomed to labor, which is meaningless under the new technological conditions (Graeber, 2018).   The Transformation from Quantity to Quality   The first step to solve the problems that the nation-state and capitalism are incapable of solving is to imagine post-state and post-capitalist forms of memory and identity, which would correspond to our global epoch of information civilization. The transition to the global information society represents an unprecedented change in the goals of social activity. Until now majority of people spent most of their time on acquiring material goods. The difference between the hunter-gathering economy and the agrarian and industrial stages is only the number of goods produced per unit time. The information revolution represents a case of ‘transformation from quantity to quality’ in the full sense of Hegel’s formula, because, according to Ronald Inglehart (2018: 1), it is the most radical transformation of personal values in the world history ‘from Survival values to Self-expression values.’ Current polls show that materialist values are inherent in members of agrarian and industrial societies, whereas in developed countries, which are undergoing the transformation to the global information civilization, we can see a consistently increasing number of people for whom ‘the self-actualization and the post-materialist values’ have gradually become more important than material motivation (Norris and Inglehart, 2009: 307). In accordance with these surveys the carriers of post-materialist values are less connected with nation-state identity and strive to identify themselves with the global humankind, whereas ‘materialists’ are xenophobic patriots of their nation-states (Inglehart, 2018: 176–188), according to Karl Marx’s maxim: ‘Patriotism is the ideal form of their sense of property.’ Limitations in material resources and goods lead to fierce struggles for them. The transition from ‘savagery’ to ‘civilization’ led to the state’s ‘monopoly of the legitimate use of violence’ (Max Weber) and the regulation of competition in accordance with private property rights. Society’s obsession with material needs has penetrated into the intellectual and artistic spheres in the form of copyrights, which are perverted ‘materialization’ of the spiritual nature of creativity. Marx’s attempt to define creativity as a kind of ‘skilled labor,’ which is ‘multiplied simple labor,’ turned out to be an intellectual defeat of the genius. It shows the extent to which the ‘economic materialism’ of Communism’s prophet was determined by the Weberian Spirit of Capitalism , the dominant value of the Industrial era. The poverty of the most artistic geniuses and the prosperity of their mediocre colleagues revealed that ‘innovative’ spiritual creativity, unlike ‘routine’ material labor, does not correspond to the calculation principles of market economy. There is a fundamental difference between material and spiritual production. The first one is a zero-sum game  from the perspective of the limited natural resources of our planet; the second one is as unlimited as our imagination. We must share material products amongst us, spiritual ones are able to multiply in the minds of each and every one of us: ‘If you have an apple and I have an apple and we exchange these apples then you and I will still each have one apple. But if you have an idea and I have an idea and we exchange these ideas, then each of us will have two ideas.’ [10]  It is impossible to alienate ideas and hence, by their own nature, they cannot be the property of either a person or a group. Therefore, ideas could not be goods like material products. While most people were involved in labor—the production of material goods, creativity—the production of ideas was forced to adapt to private property interactions. In the global information civilization the majority of people are engaged in the production of information. [11]  Therefore, the marginal, for the information society, material production, and property-based interactions will be gradually defined by the ‘image and likeness’ of the ‘spiritual’ principles of creativity. We can see today that the so-called ‘aspirational class’ is transferring the focus of social prestige from material conspicuous consumption to non-material ones: learning and reading, classical and contemporary art, travelling and sports (Currid-Halkett, 2017). Despite the awkward efforts to adapt the bourgeois  style of conspicuous consumption to the spiritual realities of the information civilization, these processes reflect a transition away from models based on the priority of material values. Benedict Anderson (2006: 18) writes that ‘print-capitalism’ played a leading role in the formation of Modernity. Marshall McLuhan (1994: 170) clarifies that ‘printing from movable types was the first mechanization of a complex handicraft, and became the archetype of all subsequent mechanization.’ Printing craft was not constrained by the medieval guild regulations and right from the beginning was developed on the basis of market relations. The need to expand the market had forced the transition from books printed in ‘international’ Latin to the ‘national’ vernacular books. The vernacular literature markets predetermined the future borders of the nation-states (Anderson, 2006: 33–35). McLuhan (1994: 172) describes social consequences of printing press: ‘The typographic extension of man brought in nationalism, industrialism, mass markets, and universal literacy and education.’   During the global information civilization, the internet plays a similar role as a ‘vehicle’ of new technologies, new social relations, and a new type of community. A precondition for the formation of the universal identity-solidarity-altruism of the ‘digital globalized age’ (Reading, 2011) is the global coverage and the ability to communicate in real time, that is globalization is the flip side of digitalization. Unlike ‘print capitalism,’ the internet creates opportunities for non-market information exchange. Powerful co-pirate  resources as Academia.edu , Google Scholar , ResearchGate , and Sci-Hub  have already been established. They allow scholars to exchange their ideas for free. And it is only the beginning! While the new technologies of communication create premises of global memory, identity, and imagination, the capitalist mode of production paradoxically destroys its own mnemonic community of nation-state. In their pursuit of happiness, that is cheap labor maximizing profits, the transnational monopolies ‘export’ capitals into poor countries and ‘import’ multi-ethnic workers from the Third World. The game in free market  includes progressive diminishing of social support in home countries. Agents of so called ‘global capitalism,’ inextricably linked with the governments, forget the anti-market  (Fernand Braudel) nature of their mode of production, which is not able functioning without military support of nation-state. It is impossible to secure global businesses of tycoons without willingness of co-citizens to sacrifice their lives defending the so called national  interests in far regions of the World. Paul Connerton (2009: 125) singles out that maximum profit race obliterates not only national form of memory, identity, and imagination, but local forms as well: ‘Economic expansion of the capitalist process of production, produces cultural amnesia not by accident but intrinsically and necessarily. Forgetting is built into the capitalist process of production itself.’ Thus business of construction systematically destroys lieux de mémoire . Exemplary case is the architectural plan of baron Hausmann of the second half of nineteenth century, which almost totally demolished the medieval city of Paris. Starting from the twentieth century the nation-state tries to save the landscape and architectural symbols of identity and resist to growing business appetites of his capitalist counterpart, adopting the legislation regarding preservation of national heritage, but we know that even in the twenty first century big business finds the ways to get around the law. Securing his profits capitalists destroy not only national and local memories but also personal and family memories, which traditionally are embodied in clothes, furniture, tableware, and other things passed down from generation to generation. The ‘longevity’ of things contradicts interests of business, which through mechanism of fashion  forces people to throw away ‘morally obsolete’ things together with transgenerational memories they contain. Connerton (2009: 64, 84) also writes that popular media, which deliver fashion appeal  to their audience, also invest in erasing of memory through their pursuit of sensations. Slaves of fashion  are taught by media to live in the present world of evanescent thrill and cool impressions, which provides no place for memory. It would be misleading to believe that erasing premodern and modern forms of memory capitalism clears way for postmodern global memory, because global memory preserves all preceding forms of memory. It means that the capitalist mode of production is a ‘shredder’ of memory in general. ‘I Felt Sorry for Humans’ or ‘For their Sakes I Sanctify Myself’   The global information civilization needs its own mythic narrative. What is going to be? The narrative of the heroic myth (myth of others-sacrifice) is the fairy tale (myth of booty), where the goal of booty is excluded. Subsequently, exclusion of the goal of others-sacrifice leads to the narrative’s transformation in which the goal is self-sacrifice. This end does not justify the means but cancels them instead in accordance with the Kantian categorical imperative: ‘Treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.’ Thus, the myth of self-sacrifice is realizing the dream of young Marx to overcome alienation. This is the most valuable and still relevant part of his heritage. European culture contains two reliable stories of altruistic self-sacrifice. According to Aeschylus Prometheus sacrificed his own liver, because the Titan felt ‘compassion for humans .’ And Christ ‘gave himself a ransom for all ’ (1Timothy 2:6). Both versions of the self-sacrifice narrative show that ‘our own’ are ‘neither Hellenes nor Jews,’ but all humankind, therefore it is impossible to be moral without global identity (Monroe, 2001:491). That means the morality of people of global information civilization must be rooted in the narrative of self-sacrificing (altruistic) behaviour. Another crucial insight: ‘In the Christian view the history of salvation is no longer bound up with a particular nation, but is  internationalized because it is  individualized ’ (Löwith, 1957: 195, italics added), reveals that to be global you should become a unique person, that is, a person, whose leading identity is a human being, and hence transcends national, ethnic, religious, class, and other ‘one-dimensional’ (Herbert Marcuse) group limitations of Modernity. [12] Therefore the global world of information civilization could not be a concert of two hundred sovereign  nations , it must be a concert of billions of sovereign  individuals . The paradox of global premises for profound ‘multi-dimensional’ individual development: ‘[T]he free development of each is the condition for the free development of all’ (Karl Marx), is not reflected thoroughly yet. The narrative of self-sacrifice is the best foundation to build memory, identity, and imagination of global information civilization. I am pointing out that essential features of self-sacrificing altruists—‘ universalistic  worldview’ and ‘ cognitive  orientation’ (Monroe, 1996: 4, 200; Cf. Weinstein, 2004: 50)—perfectly resonate with global  ‘form’ and informational  ‘content’ of our nascent civilization. That will allow us to overcome the borders of the nation-state and of the capitalist economy, which are disastrous for modern society. Humankind will die out if we do not realize that all people are ‘our own’ and our ‘motherland’ is the Earth: ‘Loyalty to the human race could very simply mean sacrificing my own narrow personal interests in favor of the interests of the human race as a whole (as when, for example, I make enormous personal sacrifices to ensure that the Earth’s air remains pleasant for everyone to breathe)’ (Abizadeh, 2005: 49). The space of the self-sacrifice narrative is ‘global’ and its identity-solidarity-altruism differs from the ‘family’ and ‘national’ ones, which are subsequently based on the fairy tale and the heroic myth. The global frame of a broad human identity determines the time dimension of the global ‘cultural memory’ (Jan Assmann), which eventually begins with the ‘Big Bang.’ The global ethics, which takes humankind to be ‘our own,’ engenders revolutionary changes in consciousness. It equates wars to such ‘tabooed’ crimes as incest and cannibalism and makes us terrified that efforts of the best minds still bring nuclear, ecological, and economic catastrophes closer. Ethics based on the self-sacrifice narrative declares that self-actualization is not the exclusive right of the so-called ‘elite,’ but the duty of all of us. We all should be ashamed that despite the unprecedented development of technologies, many of our contemporaries earn their living either as a muscular extension for hand tools or as a nervous system for machines and computers. For the global information civilization work means humiliation of human dignity: ‘Where the whole man is involved there is no work. Work begins with the division of labor and the specialization of functions and tasks in sedentary, agricultural communities. … In the electric age the “job of work” yields to dedication and commitment’ (McLuhan, 1994: 138). The human being should not work, he/she must create.   The ‘realists’ argue that the global identity is a non-viable concept: ‘You cannot imagine “us” without “them”. If entire humankind are “us”, who then are “them,” maybe the extraterrestrials or the penguins?’ That means the world should be divided between competing communities forever: ‘[O]ur common humanity will never make us members of a single universal tribe. The crucial commonality of the human race is particularism’ (Walzer, 1994: 83). The argument to ‘constitutive outside ,’ [13]  that is spatial dimension of identity, using by nationalists, including far-right politicians, against the global identity-solidarity-altruism concept, still holds monopoly over Academia. One of the influential political theorist Chantal Mouffe (2013: 316, italics added), believes that ‘[t]he affirmation of a difference is a precondition for the existence of any identity—i.e. the perception of something other which constitutes its exterior .’ The word ‘exterior’ suggests that ‘the affirmation of a difference’ between ‘us’ and ‘them’ is constituted only in spatial dimension. In accordance with that approach we should locate ‘them’ either in geographical space outside our nation-state borders (‘external other’) or in social space (‘encompassed other’) where ‘them’ are separated from ‘us’ by territorial, ethnic, religious, class, and other differentiations (Abizadeh, 2005: 52). [14] Jay Weinstein (2004: 48) suggests ‘nature’ as a cooperative opponent of ‘humanity’: ‘In the case of the human species, in particular, this other is nature, with which humanity as a whole can and must cooperate in order to survive and prosper.’ Arash Abizadeh (2005: 48–49, italics in original) argues that Mouffe and other ‘anti-cosmopolitans’ mistakenly confuse the shaping of an individual identity with a collective one, which could be shaped without any ‘constitutive outside’: ‘[S]ocializing an individual to identify with a collective identity could, rather obviously, simply occur through interaction with individuals who also identify with it.’ That could be interpreted as the global identity (‘I am a human being’) eliminates territorial, national, class, religious, and other social restrictions in creating an unlimited individual identity through constant dialogue with other ‘globalized individuals,’ who ‘are not “other” insofar as they belong to the same collectivity to which I do, but they are other insofar as they are not me.’ There is also an argument, which sounds like a direct answer to the putative ‘other’ (‘extraterrestrials’ and ‘penguins’) mockingly suggested by fellow nationalists: ‘[T]he “other” needed for “identity” does not necessarily coincide with concrete human others’ and there could be nonhuman entities like ‘the gods, animals, and so forth’ (Fritsch, 2005: 184). I put forward another not so sophisticated solution for creating the global identity. In my opinion ‘anti-cosmopolitans’ do not pay enough attention to the fact that it is possible to imagine the relational communities of ‘us’ and ‘them’ not only in the spatial dimension. I believe that we are able to construct the global identity in both dimensions: space and time . Abizadeh (2005: 58, italics added) provides a promising insight that ‘collective identity might be formed… on the basis of difference from the values of   a  past historical identity from which one wishes to mark one’s distance.’ The current global community of ‘us’ includes the majority of living people and previous generations, including all victims of the past. The community of ‘them’ in that case includes modern misanthropist politicians, who provoke enmity, and also the perpetrators of the present and the past. I hope the number of misanthropes will gradually diminish and in the near future the time dimension will become the main boundary between relational global communities of ‘us’ and ‘them.’ [15]   Global memory, identity, and imagination of the myth of self-sacrifice are the embodiment of a dream that gradually becomes a ‘material force’ (Karl Marx). Current memory studies represent a number of approaches, which abandon ‘methodological nationalism’ and observe memory from the ‘transnational’ (White, 1995), ‘cosmopolitan’ (Levy and Sznaider, 2002), ‘prosthetic’ (Landsberg, 2004), ‘transcultural’ (Briere, 2004), ‘global’ (Stepinsky, 2005), ‘post’ (Hirsch, 2009), ‘multidirectional’ (Rothberg, 2009), ‘digital’ (Garde-Hansen et al, 2009), ‘premediated’ (Grusin, 2010) ‘travelling’ (Erll, 2011b), ‘globital’ (Reading, 2011), ‘subtitled’ (Rigney, 2012: 622), ‘palimpsestic’ (Silverman, 2013), ‘prospective’ (Tenenboim-Weinblatt, 2013), ‘multi-scalar’ (De Cesari and Rigney, 2014), and other perspectives. That ‘transnational turn’ is grounded in the recognition that the phenomenon of national memory brilliantly described by Pierre Nora less and less corresponds to the ‘globalizing’ reality. Present-day memory does not fit into the container of nation-state. [16] ‘That Holiest-of-Holies Holocaust of the Jews’ [17] A crucial example of global memory is the memory of Holocaust (Assmann, 2010a). There is an important reason why it could play effectively the role of an ‘engine’ of growing compassion for all victims of world history, who are traditionally regarded as ‘strangers’ within the frame of the modern nation-state heroic narrative. Jews for two thousand years were paradigmatic ‘strangers’ for Christians, who believed that adherents of Judaism ‘crucified Jesus’ and therefore are their ‘natural enemy.’ To overcome that venomous ‘primordial’ pattern of anti-Semitism through instilling empathy to victims of Holocaust means to perform μεθάνοια  (the spiritual conversion) of about three billion people who inhabit Europe, both Americas, Australia, Northern Asia and Central and Southern Africa. From that perspective the memory of Holocaust is the promising first step  to construct the global memory, which obligatory should entail compassion for new and new groups of victims. The world-wide spreading of Christianity is the main argument against the Stef Craps’ (2019) opinion that the ‘local’ Western context is an obstacle for using the concept of the Holocaust as a pattern of global memory, because non-Western people allegedly could portray it as an imposing of neo-colonial hegemony. ‘Locatedness’ in that case is less important than the pattern of unprecedented empathy towards the former paradigmatic ‘strangers.’ Transforming ‘strangers’ into ‘our own’ is one of the greatest achievements of the humankind morality. The simple mnemonic formula: ‘All victims of the world history are our own,’ spreads beyond the Western ‘region of memory’ not only due to the really existing Western cultural hegemony, but firstly because this moral pattern is perfectly applicable to all victims of perpetration. I believe that not ‘locatedness’ is the principal obstacle for using the memory of Holocaust as a worldwide pattern of empathy and should agree with Valentina Pisanty, who points out another challenge: a contradiction between the global frame and attempts to establish the concept of ‘uniquely unique’ (Eckhardt, 1974: 31) Holocaust ‘qualitatively different than all the other massacres in history’ (Pisanty, 2021: 97). This assumption supported by agents of Israeli governmental institutions, international Jewish organizations, and also by a significant part of Western academics and intellectuals inevitably entails the following conclusion: ‘To make of the murdered Jews metaphors for all humanity is not to exalt but to degrade them’ (Edward Alexander as cited in Eckhardt and Eckhardt, 1980: 175). It is not only a personal view of Alexander. In 2019 The US Holocaust Memorial Museum released a Statement Regarding the Museum’s Position on Holocaust Analogies , which ‘unequivocally rejects efforts to create analogies between the Holocaust and other events, whether historical or contemporary’ (Bernstein, 2019). [18] It is not for granted that the argument of ‘incomparability’ of Nazis’ genocide of Jewish people with other genocides of world history is effective for the strengthening of ethnic Jewish identity, but for sure it is not applicable for construction of global memory, simply because every community appreciates sufferings ‘that we are experiencing ourselves as more important than distant sufferings. … One of the greatest moral challenges of our World is the ability to place ourselves in others’ shoes, but it is not surprising that we all have difficulties doing that’ (Olick, 2018). It is impossible to overcome that ‘moral challenge of our World’ if we divide victims into ‘ours’ and ‘others’ subsuming that our ones are more significant. The concept of ‘incomparability’ is an embodiment of perverted nationalistic pride inciting enmity among nations. Therefore it is not clear what goal do my ‘stiff-necked’ fellows want to achieve when they declare to other nations: ‘Our sufferings are incomparably more painful than yours?’ Maybe to protect Jewish people in our challenging world where far-right xenophobic movements gain more and more popularity? Current political trends do not convince that the pattern of ‘incomparability’ allows solving the problem. I believe that attempt to establish the ‘superiority in sufferings’ is a kind of ethnic arrogance towards non-Jewish people. How, for instance, should Japanese people react on those reflections of the author of the term ‘unique uniqueness’: ‘When thousands [19]  of Japanese were killed and maimed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, there was a goal behind the acts, a goal variously identifiable as resistance to aggression, restoring of peace, or whatever. … Such historical and contemporary examples possess, at best, only superficial resemblances to anti-Semitism. In contrast to them the destruction of Jewry is subject to no purpose beyond itself’ (Eckhardt, 1974: 33). The claim for ‘exclusiveness’ could have only one outcome, the growing resentment against Jews. In that context Valentina Pisanty raises the question, which Michael Rothberg (2021: 7) formulates in the Preface to her book: ‘Has a much-vaunted cosmopolitan Holocaust memory—with its linked slogans of “Never forget!” and “Never again!”—simply failed to prevent the rise of the right or, more darkly, might it even be implicated in that political turn?’ In my opinion in reality not ‘cosmopolitan’, but narrow nationalistic concept of ‘uniquely unique’ Holocaust ‘failed to prevent the rise of the right.’ While the correct use of Holocaust memory as a global engine of empathy towards all victims of world history really works. We can see that the global recognition of the Holocaust stimulates the emergence of new ‘icons’ in global memory, including victims of the capitalist colonialism and the communist Gulag, of numerous wars and genocides, of state terror and mass starvation, etc (Giesen, 2004; Rothberg, 2009; Zwigenberg 2014). Therefore ‘the ability to place ourselves in others’ shoes’ should become the main feature of the global memory of Holocaust. Global identity is formed through a gradual understanding that there is no such thing as victims who are ‘not our own.’ In the framework of global memory no hierarchy of victims could exist. All victims of violence should be equal and ‘our own’. Bernhard Giesen (2004: 3, italics added) defines this regime of memory, where ‘the victims assume the position that, before, was the place of heroes’, as ‘a new universalism  of mourning.’ This ‘politics of regret’ (Olick, 2007) [20]  is the real challenge to the ethics of the nation-state, which is based on the narrative of the heroic myth and prescribes sacrificing of ‘strangers’ for the sake of ‘our own.’ The deconstruction of the nation-state heroic mythic narrative and the demonstration of the disastrous results of its misanthropic ‘instructions’ of others-sacrifice has an obvious objective ‘Never Again,’ which means to ‘prevent the repetition of violence in the future’ (Bicford and Sodaro, 2010: 67), [21]  but this is only the first step to establishing the global narrative of memory, identity, and imagination. The myth of global information civilization cannot be concerned solely with the remembering of traumatic experience, simply because ‘negative simulations are remembered more poorly over time’ compared with positive simulations (Schacter et al, 2012: 688), hence ‘the thought of looking ahead’ should ‘inspire, not fear, but hope’ (Kuipers, 2011: 2). We need a dream for an optimistic future! Shakespeare is Ours!   What is ‘optimistic’ about the myth of self-sacrifice? The great unmasker of prejudices Freud (1939: 171–172) fully shares the prejudice of Modernity providing priority to ‘men of action’ that is ‘conquerors, generals and rulers’ instead of men of ideas. The answer of the information civilization consists of changing priorities in pantheons of memory; we should replace the military and political heroes, whose common business is to stir up hatred against foreigners, by the cultural heroes who heal the schisms between nations. Bernhard Giesen (2004: 21, 25) writes that there is the ‘fundamental ambivalence’ of political heroism, and from ‘an outside point of view, heroes become perpetrators.’ The cult of Genghis Khan is unacceptable for Russians, just as Suvorov for Poles, and Napoleon for Spaniards. Politicians, who, according to the strategies of Modernity, are trying to redistribute limited material resources in favor of ‘their own’ at the expense of the ‘strangers,’ cannot be examples for global humanity. In opposition to them are those who create inalienable spiritual values, which are the main product of the global information civilization. Memory about those creators  fully corresponds to Jan Assmann’s term of ‘cultural memory.’ The heroes of world culture—thinkers and writers, scientists and artists, inventors and explorers—should be the key figures in the pantheon of global memory, which narrative is the myth of self-sacrifice. The interconnectedness of creativity and self-sacrificial ethics becomes obvious for those who have themselves experienced creative inspiration: ‘The goal of creativity is self-giving’ (Boris Pasternak). The impulse of creativity never is a longing for material wealth. The real creator creates simply because he/she cannot stop creating and continues to do that even in circumstances when the nation-state tests his/her devotion to creativity through misery, exile, imprisonment, and even extermination. Art requires ‘self-sacrifice of the artist’ (Lacoue-Labarthe and Nancy, 1988: 78), because any kind of creative activity is by its nature everyday self-sacrifice for the sake of cognition of truth and beauty. It is not coincidental that Pitirim Sorokin (1957: 719) called his department in Harvard aiming ‘to make human beings less selfish and more creative’ the Research Center in Creative Altruism.  Creativity and altruism (self-sacrifice) are inseparable. When commemorating creative people of the past, we should not forget our contemporaries. Ann Rigney (2012: 621–622) writes that literature and arts play a key role in involving people in ‘the lives of others,’ and hence shaping common places of memory of distant nations (cf. Landsberg, 2004). Someone could argue that many of artistic geniuses shared prejudices of their time and even propagated the values, which now are completely inappropriate. Are not their ‘cults’ able to boost the hatred among the nations? All this depends of our perspective. In my opinion we should appreciate not the prejudices, hate speeches, indecent deeds, and so on, shared by our geniuses with their mediocre contemporaries, we should appreciate exclusively their unique insights, which enrich the common treasure of Global humanity. Yes, we need permanent efforts of Academia and media to separate the genial ‘wheat’ from the ‘chaff’ of ‘banality of evil’ in the works of cultural luminaries. To preserve that priceless world heritage we should strongly resist to any indecent attempts of hypocrite politicians, who now are trying to fish in troubled waters of the so-called canceling culture , that is erasing from cultural memory the ‘politically incorrect’ authors including Shakespeare (Watson, 2022). During the transition period the pantheon of national memory should be reshaped according to the accommodation for a global scale. The heroes of national culture, people who made a significant contribution to world heritage, should get priority in collective memory instead of politicians. For Russians the prime rank of national memory luminaries should be Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich, the creators of Russian medieval icons and Russian avant-garde paintings, Mendeleev and Bakhtin, Zvorykin and the Russian explorers of the Universe. 12 April 1961, the day of Gagarin’s space travel should become the main public holiday of the Russian Federation, because the memory of Gagarin leads Russian people towards the future. There is not enough to oppose heroes and victims, suppressing as Bernhard Giesen (2004: 151) suggests ‘the celebration of heroism’ on behalf of ‘public confessions of guilt,’ but first of all we need to replace political heroes in pantheons of memory by cultural ones. Compassion towards the victims in world history and admiration for the heroes in world culture form the foundations of global memory, identity, and imagination. [22]  The memory students Anna Reading and Tamar Katriel (2015: 1) have aptly remarked that ‘our name is human kind , not human cruel. ’ Human kind  is an excellent definition of the highest stage of Homo sapiens . It is obvious that conditio sine qua non for creating an effective pantheon of global culture’s creators is the common knowledge about them and hence the global shift from political to cultural frameworks of memory, identity, and imagination. In the current situation, when the powerful global media are not only the message but the memory as well (Hoskins, 2009), that transnational task does not look insoluble, because a similar one was successfully solved on the national scale during the nineteenth century, when the nation-state builders reshaped the traditional memory and representations of the agrarian majority in accordance with the requirements of political ‘Civic religion’ of industrial Modernity. For example, in the beginning of the nineteenth century French peasants had never heard about Vercingetorix, but through the efforts of general education agents their heirs were transformed ‘into Frenchmen’ (Weber, 1976), who were willing to sacrifice their lives during the First World War due to inspiration by the heroic deeds of Vercingetorix, Chlodwig, Charlemagne, and other political heroes of the past. We should not fear if opponents would denounce us of being addicted to ‘Utopian thinking.’ Almost one hundred years ago Julien Benda (2011: 211,italics added) replied to ‘professional providers of spiritual guidance,’ who asserted themselves as the ‘positive minds and not Utopians,’ which ‘are concerned with what is, not with what might be’: ‘They do not know that the moralist is essentially a Utopian, and that the nature of moral action is precisely that it creates its object by affirming it. ’   Witch-Hunts of Today?    In 1882 one of the ‘founding fathers’ of the French nationalism Ernest Renan (1990: 20, italics added) writes: ‘The nations are not something eternal. They had their beginnings  and they will  end . A European confederation will very probably replace them. But such is not the law of the century in which we are living. At the present time, the existence of nations is a good thing, a necessity even. Their existence is the guarantee of liberty, which would be lost if the world had only one law and only one master.’ Some ‘positive minds’ still have doubts regarding the realization of a dream of united humankind and almost a century and a half after Renan has predicted unavoidable end of nations are continuing to believe that even under the conditions of global information civilization the phenomenon of nation-state is forever. They support ‘incontestable’ argument with reference to the current rise of nationalism experienced in many Western countries. This can be answered by referring to historical analogies. Catholics and Protestants were engaged in ‘medieval’ witch-hunts not at the height of the Middle Ages, but during the Early Modernity of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Tens of thousands were executed in Europe and North America under accusations of witchcraft. Historians explain that irrational reaction through confusion over challenges posed by the transition to Modernity (Behringer, 2004). We are now experiencing a similar process. The post-modern nation-state, like the early-modern church, is unable to respond adequately to the current challenges. Trying to maintain its influence, it blames globalization for problems, which nation-state and its capitalist economy generated themselves: nuclear threat, ecological collapse, and growing inequality to name a few. Agents of the state, who condemn ‘global capitalism’ and at the same time keep stolen money offshore, are emblematic of this epoch. The nation-state is not really able to promote public prosperity but it is still capable of unleashing new witch-hunts against ‘anti-national elements,’ which in turn could result not in tens of thousands, but in tens of millions of victims. [23]  Ronald Inglehart (2018: 214–215) points out why the agenda of current nationalism is false: ‘High-income societies are currently regressing toward the xenophobic authoritarian politics,’ which ‘obscures the fact that the key conflict in contemporary high-income societies is between the majority and the one percent’ of the richest people. ‘If developed societies excluded all foreigners and all imports, secure jobs would continue to disappear, since the leading cause—overwhelmingly—is automation,’ which, it should be clarified, is performed in the obsolete frames of nation-state and capitalism. According to that the existing paroxysm of undemocratic nationalist feelings is triggered by an inherent conflict between the outdated nation-state identity and the contemporary reality of the nascent global community. If history is able to teach us anything, we must make every effort to ensure that an inevitable transition to a global civilization would not include modern witch-hunts. Memory studies are still looking for the adequate answer to the current nationalist challenge. Aleida Assmann (2020: 4), who was one of the leading promoters of global memory, rightfully warns that ‘the principles of liberal democracy are challenged in Europe’ by right-wing parties and regrets, in my opinion in vain, that ‘more than a decade’ she ‘emphatically opted for transnational memories.’ Now Assmann changed her mind and believes that ‘there is as yet no real alternative for the nation.’ Therefore the supporters of open society should be in opposition to nationalism of extreme right trying to fill the concept of nation with liberal values. Wulf Kansteiner and Stefan Berger (2021: 239) put under a question the idea of Assmann that nation-states are ‘neutral containers of values and memories equally hospitable to all kinds of political programmes. The re-nationalization of memory has once more revealed how thoroughly biased the national container appears to be and prompts us, yet again, to look for help in the writings of the proponents of the transnational turn in memory studies.’ Hence the opponents of far-right would inevitably lose their sincere fight, if they choose the obsolete nation-state terrain. Berger and Kansteiner not only argue that the current nation-state is quickly losing its previous democratic potential. [24] They try to defend democracy using the agonistic approach, which was initiated by a political theorist Chantal Mouffe (2000) and was transposed into memory studies by Anna Cento Bull and Hans Hansen (2016). From the perspective of Mouffe’s followers the main reason of the agonistic  turn is the inefficiency of consensual  cosmopolitan memory in the face of challenges of antagonistic  national memories. The mnemonic competition imitating democratic political debates, where opponents assume that they are not enemies  but adversaries , looks promising with regard to people sharing ‘values of liberty and equality for all,’ but ‘dissent about their interpretation’ (Mouffe, 2005: 121). That limitation of the agonistic approach is of paramount importance for Mouffe (2000: 105, 101) believing in ‘ineradicability of antagonism,’ which ‘is inherent in human relations,’ but it looks like memory studies specialists, who optimistically evaluate agonism as a remedy against far-right antagonism, did not work through  last point thoroughly. Debates with people, who do not share ‘values of liberty and equality for all’ and use instruments of democracy aiming (how far-right nationalists do) to cancel it [25] , could, with a high probability, get opposite of what we want, for instance, providing ‘cultural recognition’ (Pisanty, 2023) to ‘antagonists’ in public opinion. Therefore agonistic memory is not a panacea  and agon  should not replace consensus in memory politics, but both approaches could be combined for the achieving of ‘conflictual consensus’ among supporters of democratic values  in the framework of an ‘agonistic cosmopolitanism’ (Caraus, 2016). I can imagine, for instance, an agonistic cosmopolitan mnemonic competition of British democratic people with their Indian, Greek, and Kenyan peers. Britons would argue that Winston Churchill is the greatest hero because under his leadership the United Kingdom resisted without any allies to Hitler during the ‘Darkest Hour’ of 1940–1941, and after the USSR and the US entered the war his input in the victory of Allies was extremely significant as well. From the point of view of Jews, Indians, Greeks, and Kenyans Churchill is a perpetrator, who committed evil crimes against humanity: — Jewish people blame him ‘for “increasing the scale of the Holocaust” by refusing to allow Jewish European refugees into British Mandate Palestine during the Second World War’ (Liphshiz, 2010; Cf. Cohen, 1989).     — In the Indian public opinion he is responsible for the Bengal famine of 1943, when colonial policies created and then exacerbated the crisis resulted in at least two million deaths (Hickman 2008); — In Greece in 1944 the British commandment sought to delay the German withdrawal in order to prevent pro-communist Greek People’s Liberation Army (ELAS), which was the main force of partisan resistance, from establishing control over the country (Gluckstein, 2012: 47). The rebellion of left partisans was suppressed by British army in collaboration with Greek far-right, a lot of whom were former Nazis collaborators (Iatrides, 1972: 183); — In Kenya during the Mau Mau rebellion (1952–1960) at least 80 000 were interned and about one million were held in ‘enclosed villages.’ Prisoners were questioned by British forces with the help of ‘slicing off ears, boring holes in eardrums, flogging until death,’ and so on. A total of 1015 people were hanged between 1952 and 1956 (Curtis, 2003: 324–325). Churchill ‘told then the Cabinet that ”care should be taken to avoid the simultaneous execution” of large numbers of people. … [H]e was objecting here, not to large numbers of executions per se , but to large numbers of people being hanged at the same time .’ The Colonial Secretary Oliver Lyttelton promised with the perfect British sense of humor that he ‘would seek the advice of his Cabinet colleagues if any question arose of carrying out simultaneously death sentences imposed on more than, say, twelve persons’ (Toye, 2011: 296, italics in the original). It is obvious that for people from Israel, India, Greece, and Kenia Churchill never could be a hero. Therefore achievement of the ‘conflictual consensus’ is possible only due to, using Mouffe’s (2000: 102) terminology ‘conversion’ of Her Majesty’s subjects. How is it plausible that British people could feel empathy to the Churchill’s victims? Britons reflecting the Second World War from the perspective of nation-state, where ‘our people’ are only citizens of the Great Britain, definitely would find a lot of excuses for their loved Sir Winston and no facts would change their memory about the greatest British hero. Only people who have supranational views are able to understand that glorifying Churchill is an unforgivable insult of millions of residents of our ‘global village.’ But even for the ‘globalists’, who recognize that, it would be difficult to apologize publicly, because of the pressure of fellow nationalists. A British journalist reports that ‘[o]ne respected academic told me he was advised that if he pursued the study of Churchill’s responsibility for the number of deaths in the Bengal famine, his academic career would be compromised. This is the level of censorship to which we are willing to stoop’ (Hirsch, 2018). Even in the old democracies it is not easy to move against the nationalist trend, but recent time some brave young people are publicly criticizing the brightest star of British national memory (see e.g., Blair, 2020). That shows how difficult to perform the ‘conflictual consensus’ even among democratic supporters of ‘agonistic cosmopolitanism.’ Memory of Churchill is the case where reconciliation could be only achieved, if all ‘agonists’ pursue the global agenda. During the massive anti-Putin protests that rocked Moscow in 2011–2012 an impressive agonistic experiment has been launched on the one of leading Russian TV channels showing that debates with people, who are not sharing ‘values of liberty and equality for all,’ are able only to reinforce the convictions of anti-democrats. It was The Historical Trial  show, where two well-known public intellectuals—a liberal Nikolai Svanidze and an admirer of the Soviet project Sergei Kurginyan—discussed the crucial events of Russian history (Sharafutdinova, 2020: 136). There were fifteen ‘rounds’ in total and every time Kurginyan won the SMS voting (in the twelve cases his share was more than eighty percent). [26] This exemplary case warns that in the common to different countries current situation of the growing authoritarian trends the democratic by its nature agonistic approach could be using for discrediting the democratic values. ‘National return’ of Aleida Assmann and popularity of the agonistic approach of ‘a resolutely anti-cosmopolitan theorist Mouffe’ (Caraus 2016: 94) [27]  reflect the crisis of supranational perspective in current memory studies. What should we do in the situations when our opponents are people, who believe that democrats are their enemies, and therefore agonistic approach is not applicable to the mnemonic competition? In my opinion it is not realistic to change the minds of politicians, propagandists and other zealous agents of antagonistic memory, because they are highly motivated by financial, career, and other reasons. Yes, they are extremely stubborn and active, but they constitute only an insignificant minority. Therefore we should strenuously work with public opinion, addressing to the hesitant majority directly without venomous quasi-agonistic assistance of agents of antagonism. The mnemonic experience of the Soviet perestroika, when the ‘vernacular Stalinism’ (‘Stalin was severe, but fair leader devoted to the common people’) was discredited in public opinion in a few years despite the existence of powerful Stalinist lobby in media and among communist officials, shows that massive media campaign combining national (collectivization and the Great Purge) and international (the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact and the Katyn massacre) subjects of memory could be successful. The direct consequences of that ‘transnational turn’ in the late Soviet public opinion were two impressive political results: on 24 of August of 1989 the Congress of People’s Deputies of the Soviet Union condemned ‘the signing of the “secret additional protocol” of Aug. 23, 1939,’ and the other secret agreements with Nazi Germany (Simpson, 1990); on 13 of April of 1990 the official Telegraphic Agency of the Soviet Union  (TASS) published the Communiqué on Katyn: ‘The Soviet side, expressing deep regret in connection with the Katyn tragedy, declares that it represents one of the most heinous crimes of Stalinism’ (Szonert-Binienda, 2012: 633). This shows that direct communication with public opinion is able to change the memory, identity, and imagination of nation-states citizens towards transnational agenda of information civilization. I believe that the paramount reason of methodological concessions of memory studies to the nationalist prejudices of mass consciousness is a ‘problem of signifiers.’ In public opinion the terms ‘global’/’cosmopolitan’/’transnational’ are largely discredited because they are tightly connected with undemocratic ideology of neoliberalism, which despite its quasi-democratic rhetoric in reality follows the cynical slogan of Social Darwinism: ‘Survival of the fittest.’ It is  the main reason of common people’s revulsion of global project. The predatory ‘global’ capitalism, which in reality is a proxy of the leading nation-states, is, unwillingly, clearing the way for far-right nationalists to the top of power. How to eliminate the threat of global and nationalist heads of the capitalist monster? Kansteiner and Berger (2021: 204, italics added) write that ‘agonistic memory hopes to unsettle a hegemonic and deeply problematic neoliberal  status quo and give democratic socialism  a stronger voice in contemporary political debates.’ Nancy Fraser (2021, italics added) suggests ‘global democratic  ecosocialism ’ as an alternative enabling to ‘dismantle the “law of value,” abolish exploitation and expropriation, and reinvent the relations between human society and nonhuman nature, between goods production and caregiving, between “the political” and “the economic,” democratic planning and markets.’ I believe that filling the global project with the left altruistic agenda is a fruitful insight. In the frameworks of nation-state and capitalism we are not able to respond adequately to the critical challenges of nuclear, environmental, and inequality threats. ‘The capitalist information society’ is nonsense by definition, simply because information is not merchandise. Therefore its exchange could not be adequately regulated by market rules. The global Informational [28]  (Alexander Shubin) of new left internationalists, which have nothing in common with the old totally discredited itself ‘industrial’ communist movement, is able to oppose successfully both—national and supranational—manifestations of the current predatory mode of production, which destroys nature and society. Therefore specialists in memory studies should not only warn the public of the threat of growing undemocratic nationalist movements, but inspire people with the new promising ‘left’ social agenda of information civilization, which is authentic for the global framework of memory, identity, and imagination, where democracy could be successfully developed in accordance with its nature. The World should be democratic and socialist; for otherwise it would not exist at all. Narodniks of the Global Scale   Is there a social group that can achieve the revolutionary transition from the material mode of productions to the spiritual one? Marx persistently searched for a ‘driving force’ that could ‘remove’ the alienation of a world hypnotized by conspicuous consumption. His bet on industrial workers was not justified. Even geniuses are not always sufficiently gifted to foresee the future. Today we do not need to be geniuses. It is good enough simply to observe the world around us. We are witnessing the appearance of ‘carriers’ of the self-sacrifice narrative. By this I mean the fast growing volunteer movement, which has crossed national borders and which, for example, has involved at least 20 percent of the current UK population (Rochester et al., 2010: 38). The names of powerful NGOs, such as Care International  and Doctors without Borders , do speak for themselves. Volunteers do the same as the Russian Narodniks (Populists) of the nineteenth century did by providing medical care, education, and other help to the poor [29] . The difference is that for many volunteers of our time the meaning of ‘their own people’ has expanded beyond the nation-state borders and covers the entire globe. Volunteers are still a ‘class-in-itself’ (Karl Marx). They act in accordance with the altruistic ethics of the self-sacrifice, not fully realizing that they share the values of global memory, identity, and imagination. The objective of people of science, literature, and art, of public intellectuals, journalists, and teachers is to formulate and provide that memory, identity, and imagination to the carriers of volunteer ethics, to transform them into the ‘class-for-itself,’ the conscious vanguard of modern humankind. 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[3]  Cf. ‘The threat of violence inside the community is overcome by directing it toward a scapegoat’ (Giesen, 2004, 59). [4]  Cf. ‘War and war only can set a goal for mass movements on the largest scale while respecting the traditional property system’ (Benjamin, 1936); ‘ The war is waged by the ruling group against its own subjects and its object is not the victory over either Eurasia or East Asia but to keep the very structure of society intact’ (George Orwell) ( https://quotepark.com/quotes/1740271-michael-moore-george-orwell-once-wrote-and-its-not-a-matter-o/ ). [5]  Cf. ‘Already in the great revolutions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but at least in the course of the nineteenth, a new collective subject entered the political arena and claimed sovereignty: “the people”’ (Giesen, 2004: 98). [6]  I must point out that the inconsistent politics of The Cold War victors towards Russia provides no justification for the Putin’s regime aggression against Ukraine. [7]  Cf. ‘Modern consumers are constrained by the velocity of fashion’ (Connerton, 2009: 61); ‘A time span referred to in marketing as the “product life cycle”—becomes shorter. Long-term planning becomes less important, the facility to exploit market fashions more crucial. Companies innovate at a much faster rate’ (Connerton, 2009: 63). [8]  Cf. ‘The great industrial cornucopia has not only been polluting the earth with wastes and poisons; it has also been spewing forth increasingly shoddy, costly and defective goods and services’ (Harris, 1978: 8). [9]  Cf. ‘The ecological strand is the one that makes me think that we could be facing something different, a genuine epochal crisis, whose resolution requires overcoming capitalism once and for all’ (Fraser, 2021). [10] Groundlessly attributed to George Bernard Shaw. See: URL: http://quoteinvestigator.com/2011/12/13/swap-ideas/  (Accessed: 29 Jun. 2022). [11]  Cf. ‘An ever larger proportion of humanity is engaged in the production of information, an ever smaller proportion is involved in producing things. … The lack of solidity of the culture from which things are increasingly absent is becoming our daily experience. All that is solid melts into information’ (Connerton, 2009: 124). [12]  Cf. ‘The Gospel of Jesus does not imply any country, but obliterates the fatherland’ (Loisy, 1915: 60, as cited in Benda, 2011: 91). [13] Henry Staten (1984: 24) refers to Jaque Derrida, who writes in De la grammatologie  (1967) about ‘the power of exteriority as constitutive of interiority’ (Derrida, 1998: 313). Aletta F. Norval (1994: 135) writes that ‘the notion of the constitutive outside developed by Staten’s commentary on Derrida and Wittgenstein.’ [14] In my opinion Mouffe’s ‘exterior’ is a logical ‘slip of the tongue’ of a researcher who builds her concept of agonism  on the antagonistic ‘friend-enemy’ distinction of Carl Schmitt: ‘This is why I have chosen to conduct my critique of liberal thought under the aegis of such a controversial thinker as Carl Schmitt. I am convinced that there is much that we can learn from him, as one of the most brilliant and intransigent opponents of liberalism. I am perfectly aware that, because of Schmitt’s compromise with nazism, such a choice might arouse hostility. Many people will find it rather perverse if not outright outrageous. Yet, I believe that it is the intellectual force of theorists, not their moral qualities, that should be the decisive criteria in deciding whether we need to establish a dialogue with their work’ (Mouffe 2005: 4–5). Cf. ‘Mouffe draws on Schmitt at the risk of inheriting some of his viewswithout attending to their autodeconstruction’ (Fritsch, 2008: 183–184). [15]  Experience of historical catastrophes shows that rigid divide of ‘victims’ and ‘perpetrators’ does not fully correspond to reality, because destiny of people from both categories could be radically changed by the vicissitudes of fate, how, for example, it was during Stalin’s Great Purge, when a lot of high officials including members of the Soviet secret police, that is, obvious perpetrators were condemned to death. Besides that, during epochs of terror and genocide always exist ‘grey zones’, which should be analysed through the subtle classification of ‘implicated subjects’ thoroughly unfolded by Michael Rothberg (2019). But in the current draft of temporal dimension of global identity I cannot discuss that complex subject. [16]  Cf. ‘In recent years, there has been a concerted effort to go beyond methodological nationalism and explore alternative social frameworks for memory. Many of these initiatives have involved upscaling to frameworks that are larger than that of the nation with an emphasis on ‘transcultural’ processes that transcend the boundaries of languages and national cultures’ (Rigney, 2018: 249). [17]  The quotation is from the satirical novel My Holocaust  by Tova Reich (2009: 282). The author mockingly represents nationalistic, cosmopolitan, denying, trivializing, sacralising, and so on public discourses regarding Holocaust. The provocative ‘shock therapeutic’ approach of Reich demonstrates that prophetic tradition of self-criticism is still alive among Jewish intellectuals. It is a kind of Viktor Shklovsky’s ‘defamiliarization’ (остранение), allowing to scrape off the rust of ritual veneration and to be seen as anew that much vaunted memory of Holocaust is in deep crisis. [18]  580 academics signed the public letter requiring the retraction of that Statement, because it ‘is far removed from mainstream scholarship on the Holocaust and genocide. And it makes learning from the past almost impossible. The Museum’s decision to completely reject drawing any possible analogies to the Holocaust, or to the events leading up to it, is fundamentally ahistorical. It has the potential to inflict severe damage on the Museum’s ability to continue its role as a credible, leading global institution dedicated to Holocaust memory, Holocaust education, and research in the field of Holocaust and genocide studies. The very core of Holocaust education is to alert the public to dangerous developments that facilitate human rights violations and pain and suffering; pointing to similarities across time and space is essential for this task’ (Bernstein, 2019). [19]  Defending his biased approach A. Roy Eckhardt obfuscated number of Japanese victims, writing ‘thousands’ instead of at least two hundred thousand killed and wounded in immediate results of the nuclear bombardment and other about two hundred thousand hibakusha , who suffered from the late effects of radiation (Wellerstein, 2020). [20]  Cf. ‘Western politicians confessing the guilt of the nation are, hence, relying—mostly without being aware of it—on a pattern of Christomimesis that is deeply rooted in Occidental mythology’ (Giesen, 2004: 149). [21]  Cf. ‘In remembering the victims of the past, we construct their postmortal life—hoping for a future when no subject will ever be treated as an object’ (Giesen, 2004: 55). [22]  Cf. ‘Insisting on a positive construction of collective identity is accepted by outsiders—and that means by the vast majority of others in a globalized world—only if the alleged identity is constructed as a nonpolitical  one, which can be aesteticized by outside observers, or as the identity of a victimized  group’ (Giesen, 2004: 151, italics added ). [23]  Cf. ‘The forms of nationalism we are witnessing today may not be the same as earlier ones, but they could end up being even more destructive’ (Wertsch, 2021: xiv). [24]  Cf. ‘Voter apathy and civic privatism appear coupled with powerful new nationalisms in the context of the fear of globalization and increasingly multicultural memberships’ (Fritsch, 2008: 175). [25]  Cf. ‘While crying “ideas must not be censored,” negationists rehabilitate the people who burned book. It is theparadox of “mature” (post-Faurisson) negationism, but also of the entire current discourse of the xenophobicRight.’ (Pisanty 2021: 250). [26] https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%98%D1%81%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%B8%D1%87%D0%B5%D1%81%D0%BA%D0%B8%D0%B9_%D0%BF%D1%80%D0%BE%D1%86%D0%B5%D1%81%D1%81_(%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%BB%D0%B5%D0%BF%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%B4%D0%B0%D1%87%D0%B0) [27]  Cf.: ‘To believe in the possibility of a cosmopolitan democracy with cosmopolitan citizens with the same rights and obligations, a constituency that would coincide with “humanity” is a dangerous illusion’ (Mouffe, 2005: 106–107). [28]  See: http://www.informacional.ru/about_us.php [29]  It is remarkable that Pitirim Sorokin, who coined the term ‘creative altruism,’ was a member of the Socialist Revolutionary Party, whose program was based on ideology of their Populist movement predecessors.

Image: https://www.reddit.com/r/vexillology/comments/3vj5rb/flags_that_make_up_what_used_to_be_yugoslavia/ Memory landscapes in (post)Yugoslavia Edited by Milica Popović, Sciences Po CERI and University of Ljubljana and Natalija Majsova, University of Ljubljana Ландшафты памяти в (пост)Югославии.Редакторы раздела - Милица Попович (Центр международных исследований Института политологии (Париж) и Университет Любляны) и Наталия Майсова (Университет Любляны) The case of Republic of Serbia. Jelena Đureinović: “If we take Serbian historiography as an example, we can see that the revisionist historians, whose agency was decisive for post-2000 memory politics, are actually fewer than five people. However, their work resonates widely because they receive media attention, have access to media and agreed to act as agents of state-sanctioned memory politics.” the article will appear later The case of Slovenia. Mitja Velikonja: “The transitional decades have been marked by a rather schizophrenic situation, where political rejections of the socialist Yugoslav period of Slovene history coexist with a (pop)cultural fond or at least nuanced acceptance of this part of this same history.” https://www.istorex.org/post/mitja-velikonja-the-transitional-decades-have-been-marked-by-a-rather-schizophrenic-situation-1 The case of Republic of Croatia. Sanja Horvatinčić: “The story of Yugoslavia is used as a lesson on the acceptable version of socialism without its ‘negative sides’”. https://www.istorex.org/post/sanja-horvatincic-the-story-of-yugoslavia-is-used-as-a-lesson-on-the-acceptable-version-1 The case of Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina – City of Mostar. Monika Palmberger: “There are practices of ‘border crossing’ and acts of solidarities before, during and after the war.” https://www.istorex.org/post/monika-palmberger-there-are-practices-of-border-crossing-and-acts-of-solidarities-before-1 Miloš Vukanović: “The descendants of Montenegrin Chetniks were extremely pro-American in the 1960s-1980s. Now, they are pro-Russian with equal vigour, emphasizing Russia’s status as a bastion of Orthodox Christianity and anti-globalism” https://www.istorex.org/post/milos-vukanovic-the-descendants-of-montenegrin-chetniks-were-extremely-pro-american-in-the-1960s-1-1 Elife Krasniqi: “Kosovar Albanian historiography reflects a long history of oppression, which conditioned this focus on political narratives” https://www.istorex.org/post/elife-krasniqi-kosovar-albanian-historiography-reflects-a-long-history-of-oppression-1 Senka Anastasova: “Anticipatory memory practices as a potentially potent tool in the fight against capitalism today” https://www.istorex.org/post/senka-anastasova-anticipatory-memory-practices-as-a-potentially-potent-tool-in-the-fight-1

Miloš Vukanović: “The descendants of Montenegrin Chetniks were extremely pro-American in the 1960s-1980s. Now, they are pro-Russian with equal vigour, emphasizing Russia’s status as a bastion of Orthodox Christianity and anti-globalism” Memory landscapes in (post)Yugoslavia Edited by Milica Popović, Sciences Po CERI and University of Ljubljana and Natalija Majsova, University of Ljubljana and Catholic University of Louvain. Yugoslavia as a state existed twice, once as a monarchy and once as a socialist republic. Different historical legacies, state regimes, cultural and religious heritage are woven into the region – there is a myriad of different political entities and also a plenitude of political and/or national/ethnic identities. The dissolution of the socialist republic, responsible for an advanced modernization of the country and an unprecedented development of the region, ensued during the crisis of the 1980s, and continued all the way into the violent wars of the 1990s. In January 1992, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia fell apart. The end of the Yugoslav state, however, did not feature the end of the Yugoslav idea or the end of Yugoslav memory. While all are marked by “political abuse of power and the deeply unjust privatization processes” (Dolenec 2013: 7), each of the seven republics of Yugoslavia: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Serbia, North Macedonia and Kosovo,[1] - reveals a particular memoryscape, abundant in internal battles, which sometimes converge and sometimes diverge, weaving a complex net of (post)Yugoslav memory. In line with Catherine Baker's observation that “nationalism was an instrument, not a cause” (Baker 2015: 129), (post)Yugoslav memory continues to evolve in dialogue across the borders of (post)Yugoslav states. Although our approach in this series of interviews remains “republic-centered”, this does not in any way imply that we do not believe that (post)Yugoslav memory works as “nœuds de mémoire” (Rothberg 2009), producing new solidarities and possibilities for thought and action. Before you is the fifth in a series of seven interviews with seven leading scholars in memory studies, each discussing memory politics within one of the (post)Yugoslav republics. While the online edition of Historical Expertise will publish them one by one as they are ready, the printed edition of the journal will gather them all together and provide a well-rounded whole – a comprehensive, in-depth outlook on the memory landscapes in the (post)Yugoslav space today M.P. and N.M. 5. The case of the Republic of Montenegro. Interview with Miloš Vukanović, mag. sc., former Deputy Director of the National Museum of Montenegro and coordinator of the Association of History Educators of Montenegro, Podgorica, Montenegro Questions and Introduction by dr. Natalija Majsova Brussels-Ljubljana-Podgorica, 3.4.2020 Abstract: The recent historical victory of an alliance of three oppositional blocs in the Montenegrin parliamentary elections echoes a long history of growing disapproval of the contested rule of President Milo Đukanović and his Democratic Party of Socialists (DPS). Over three decades in power, this regime has advanced a combination of a markedly neoliberal economic model, plagued by outrageous levels of corruption, and an ambivalent national idea, built around the incompatible ideals of a romantic Montenegrin nationalism and the citizen-based model of statehood. In this interview, mag. Miloš Vukanović discusses the socially-divisive reverberations of these policies in memory politics, particularly focusing on the place of collective memory in secondary and tertiary education, museology and archive management. Key words : memory politics, Montenegro, revisionism, textbooks, museums, archives Montenegro declared independence on 3 June 2006, following a 55,5 %-majority vote at a nation-wide referendum (Morisson 2018, 130). The referendum concluded a decade of progressive deterioration of relations between the governments of Montenegro and Serbia, which had remained a single state after the disintegration of the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia in 1991, under the name of the “Federal Republic of Yugoslavia” (FRY) from 1992 to 2003, and “Serbia and Montenegro” from 2003 to 2006. Montenegro’s declaration of independence went hand in hand with its government’s promises to set it onto the path of democratization, economic liberalization, NATO-accession, and European integration. By 2006, such intentions were not novel to the international community; the current Montenegrin President, veteran of Montenegrin politics Milo Đukanović, one of the strongest advocates of Montenegrin statehood since the 1990s, had repeated them since 1996 (cf. Gallagher 2003). Montenegro’s attitude to the disintegration of the socialist Yugoslavia changed drastically over the last decade of the 20th century. In the early 1990s, the Montenegrin government supported the Serbian response to the disintegration of Yugoslavia, i.a. by taking on a pro-active role in the military operations in Dubrovnik in 1991 (Lukic 2001; Gallagher 2003). Over the following years, however, Serbian (1989-1992) and FRY (1992-1997) President Slobodan Milošević’s aggressively nationalist agenda encountered increasing opposition from the international community, turning the FRY into a war-exhausted pariah state. This increasingly unappealing image of the rump Yugoslavia opened up space for a Montenegrin national project (Gallagher 2003). In particular, the situation was recognized as an opportunity by a part of Montenegro’s political elites, i.e. Đukanović, who has, over the past thirty years in politics, “transitioned from being the youngest European Prime Minister, a Communist, a pro-Serbian nationalist, and an ally of Slobodan Milošević, to a champion of Montenegrin independence, and a guarantor of Montenegro’s European orientation and regional stability.” (Marović 2019) Initially Milošević’s protégé, Đukanović had held increasingly critical views of Milošević’s economic policy and foreign affairs since the financial crisis of 1993. After a series of disagreements, a decisive rift between Đukanović and Milošević took place in 1997. It coincided with a split in Đukanović’s party DPS (Democratic Party of Socialists of Montenegro, the transformed League of Communists of Montenegro), which led to the domination of Đukanović’s faction within the party, and his own victory in the 1997 presidential elections (Džankić and Keil 2016). Đukanović’s first presidency was marked by distinct efforts to secure the support of the international community and the other (post)Yugoslav republics for the Montenegrin declaration of independence. These included a clear rhetorical separation of Montenegrin and Serbian national identities, and a series of pragmatic steps, such as diplomatic discussions with the US government, an articulation of a decidedly pro-NATO and anti-Milošević stance in the Kosovo war in 1999, and economic measures, such as the introduction of a special customs regime, and of the German mark as the official Montenegrin currency in 1999. Apart from declaring himself a “modernizer” and a “technocrat” aiming to open up, democratize and westernize Montenegro, in 2000, Đukanović was the first (post)Yugoslav politician to deliver an official apology to Croatia for the atrocities committed against it by the Montenegrin soldiers and reservists in the Yugoslav wars (Gallagher 2003; Morrison 2018, Chapter 7). By the late 1990s, there was an international recognition that Montenegro was undergoing “the Slovenian syndrome” (Gallagher 2003), i.e. aspiring for self-determination and independence from an increasingly dysfunctional federal formation. Moreover, Montenegrin pleas for independence relied on its long tradition of internationally recognized statehood: the Kingdom of Montenegro, ruled by the Petrović dynasty since the 17th century, had officially been recognized at the Berlin Congress of 1878, and existed until incorporation into the Kingdom of Yugoslavia in 1918 (cf. e.g. Saggau 2017). However, the international community remained reluctant to support the possibility of the disintegration of FRY – especially after the fall of Milošević’s regime in 2000, a circumstance that was hoped to allow for a renegotiation of Serb-Montenegrin relations within a federal formation –, fearing this might aggravate the instability in Kosovo, which had become a UN-protectorate in 1999, following a war (Morrison 2018, 119). Milošević’s fall in 2000 did not contribute to smoother relations within the Federal Republic, which had de facto operated as two parallel formations since 1999; it changed its name to Serbia and Montenegro in 2003. A referendum on Montenegrin independence finally took place in 2006, the results opening the doors to the future narrated by Đukanović since the mid-1990s. In 2017, Montenegro joined NATO, fulfilling one of its independence-goals but the EU-accession process that began in 2006[2] today is in the danger of being hindered by international concerns about the state’s government. Đukanović’s party DPS, succinctly described by Bieber (2010) as a “party without a clear ideological profile”, has ruled the country from the introduction of the multi-party system in 1990, and was first defeated in the recent 11th parliamentary elections that took place on 30 August 2020. DPS’s defeat, by an alliance of three lists of oppositional parties – the conservative, pro-Serb bloc For the Future of Montenegro, the centrist Peace Is Our Nation bloc, and the socially progressive Black on White coalition, followed over a decade of consistent accusations of non-transparent governance and endorsing an economy plagued by corruption. Persistently ignorant of these serious charges voiced by the opposition and the international community alike, the Montenegrin state has officially always adhered to the principles of multiethnicity and religious pluralism. While these buzzwords intended to integrate the ethnic minorities (the Albanians, Bosniaks, Croats, Montenegrin Muslims, and Serbs) into the national project pervade political statements of the Montenegrin ruling political elite (Pavlović 2019), they do not offer conclusions or summarize valid governing guidelines, but are actually caps on top of long and difficult discussions. Despite Đukanović’s nominal endorsement of democracy, technocracy and modernization, and the constitutional proclamation of Montenegro as a “state of its citizens” regardless of ethnicity, different political stakeholders consistently employ nationalist rhetoric to advance their agendas (Vachudova 2019; Morrison 2018, chapter 10) – mirroring the use of nationalism by the DPS. A general fondness can be noted in the Montenegrin public sphere with regard to the socialist Yugoslav past, remembered as a time of economic development and progress (cf. Stojanović 2016). It is reminded of by both the preservation of street names and monuments, and by the nostalgic re-appropriations of socialist reference-points, such as Titograd, for modern products (Morrison 2018, chapter 10). At the same time, nationalist undercurrents have been evolving alongside this positive assessment of socialism. A nascent Montenegrin nationalism, advanced by the ruling political elite since the mid-1990s, has been (re)inventing itself at the crossroads of 19th-century romantic mythology and selective remembrance of the country’s Yugoslav history, prolifically used by state media to strengthen the position of Đukanović’s regime. Nevertheless, the results of the recent elections demonstrate that years of ever louder accusations of criminal activities (Marović 2019; Džankić and Keil 2017) cannot be completely overriden by media politics. It is difficult to predict how the new, ideologically heterogenous coalition government might influence the further development of the national imaginary in Montenegro, but it should be noted that nationalist inclinations are present across the political spectrum. The populist Democratic Front party, which has ties to the Serbian Orthodox Church, and will play an important role in the new ruling coalition as the major party of the For the Future of Montenegro bloc, is perhaps one of the clearest examples. In the following interview, mag. Miloš Vukanović discusses the outlined issues in the broader historical context, and shedding light onto their pragmatic everyday reverberations in the realm of secondary and tertiary education and research. Vukanović is an advisor at the Center for Civic Education (CCE) in Montenegro and one of the founders of the Association of History Educators of Montenegro (HIPMONT). He is a historian and holds a master’s degree in international relations from the University of Montenegro in Podgorica (2016), and has completed professional specialization in museology at the European College of the University of Jena in Germany (2017). His work in the field of history education focuses on museology, and teaching and exhibiting 20th-century history in post-conflict societies. In 2011-2018, Vukanović was a curator at the History Museum of the National Museum of Montenegro (NMMNE), where he contributed to the creation of the new permanent exhibition. For the past decade, Vukanović has also cooperated with the European Association of Historical Educators (EUROCLIO) as project coordinator and editor for Montenegro, as well as EUROCLIO ambassador in Montenegro. As an expert and a consultant, he is engaged on projects run by various intergovernmental and non-governmental organizations, such as the Council of Europe, the Regional Cooperation Council, the International Residual Mechanism in the Hague, ICOM, Geschichtswerkstatt Europa, Documenta, Topography of Terror, Yahad in Unum, and CDRSEE. His reflections on history education in Montenegro are regularly published in CCE expert manuals and other media, such as the European Pulse online journal. Your work is very socially engaged, as you aim to transfer insights from contemporary memory studies into school curricula, and your publications have raised important polemics with other Montenegrin historians, as well as other stakeholders in the State’s memory politics, such as the Serbian Orthodox church (SPC). What are, to you, the main goals of Montenegrin history textbooks used in primary and secondary schools, and what kind of a national remembrance culture do they encourage? According to standards, set up approximately 15 years ago in response to the recommendations put forth by the Council of Europe, textbooks in Montenegro try to fulfil a mixture of international and national requirements, which entail a separation of the curriculum into thirds, granting attention to national, regional and global history. Moreover, these schoolbooks have, for the past 15 years, taken into account the guidelines of the Council of Europe on the development of skills and other learning outcomes. In addition, there are requirements of the Montenegrin Ministry of Education, which stipulate that history textbooks for elementary and secondary schools should help to develop the sense of nationality and pride, while also encouraging tolerance, multinationalism, and multiconfessional cohesion within the nation. This reflects the multinational population of Montenegro, which, according to the latest census, consists of 45 % Montenegrins, 29 % Serbs, and other ethnic groups, e.g. Bosniaks.[3] At the same time, Montenegrin history textbooks encourage a rather inclusive national remembrance culture. An earlier version of the Montenegrin national history narrative was built around Montenegrin resistance against the Ottoman Empire, underscoring the idea of one nation, one religion, and one nationality, and effectively stereotyping Ottoman culture in a negative way. As the creation and the struggle for independence of the contemporary Montenegrin state are related to the history of and relations with the Ottoman Empire (from 15th century up until 1913), it is reasonable that the memory narrative of the Ottoman reign on Montenegrin territory is extremely relevant. By the 21st century, there appeared a general sentiment that Ottoman culture should not be antagonized, which was reflected in schoolbooks in certain ways too. For instance, the term “Turk”, which became used as a pejorative reference to the local Muslim population during the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s, has been replaced by the term “Ottoman”. While the Ottoman Empire remains considered a conqueror-nation, today’s schoolbooks also acknowledge the multifaceted impact of Ottoman culture on Montenegrin society; efforts to make room for Albanian culture as part of official discourses on Montenegrin identity are also evident. During the past several decades there has been a shift from a one-sided depiction of the Ottoman Empire as the historical enemy, toward a more complex view of the period, with a separate depiction of local and empire authorities (and their historical responsibility) as well with more emphasis on the significance and influence of Ottoman politics and culture on the regional and global history. Despite these efforts to make national remembrance culture more inclusive, some issues from 20th century history remain obscured in contemporary history curricula and textbooks. These issues, still considered controversial by national historians, start with the First World War and the creation of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia in 1918. In Montenegro, these events revolved around the Podgorica Assembly of 1918, which de facto signified the abolition of the Kingdom of Montenegro, integrating it into the Kingdom of Yugoslavia in a controversial way. The second set of controversies revolves around World War II, crimes committed by all sides involved, and especially around post-war crimes. The third set of questions that are largely ignored refers to the 1991-1995 period of the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the role of Montenegro in the Yugoslav Wars. Primary- and high-school textbooks deal with all the three sets of issues in a similar way, avoiding the controversies by only presenting the narrative that is supported by the current dominant strand in Montenegrin historiography. If we take 1918 and World War I as an example: two sides, the Greens and the Whites, were involved in the debate on the future of Montenegro as a state; current historiography privileges the Greens, while failing to critically assess the role played by the Whites.[4] Events related to the disappearance of the Kingdom of Montenegro in 1918, and the role played by the Montenegrin Petrović dynasty are also addressed in an uncritical way; they are simply written off as “bad”. Atrocities related to WWII are simply disregarded; and no recognition of Montenegrin responsibility or its role in the Yugoslav Wars of 1991-1995 can be detected.[5] 2. Which historical narratives and periods are emphasized by textbook narratives, as the most important and valuable? How do they position Montenegro vis-à-vis Europe and its immediate neighbors? The core nation-building narrative is the statehood continuation of Doclea / Zeta / Montenegro political idea on the territory of present-day Montenegro. Three political entities have existed on the territory of contemporary Montenegro. In the 10th-11th centuries, the principality and later the Kingdom of Doclea; in the 14th-15th centuries, the principality of Zeta, and later, under the Petrović dynasty, the Kingdom of Montenegro. Our currently dominant history narrative claims that all three political entities were formed on the same political idea, suggesting a long-term political continuity. Therefore, in 2016, Montenegro celebrated a decade of renewed independence, which was declared after the referendum of 2006; however, the idea of 1000 years of statehood was also underscored. Namely, the first official Montenegrin document written by the Prince of Doclea dates from 1016. Current history textbooks subscribe to this overarching narrative of 10 years of independence and 1000 years of statehood. This national myth functions in precisely the way outlined by Benedict Anderson, exemplifying his idea of an imagined community; of course, almost all European nations – (post)Yugoslav nations not excluded – try to construct this connection and continuation to previous political structures on the territory they now occupy. In Montenegro, it the myth of 1000 years of statehood also features in arguments between the state and the Serbian Orthodox Church; whenever the Church mentioned its historical continuity over “eight centuries”, the former DPS government would not shy away from contending that the continuity of the state is longer, i.e., a thousand years.[6] Moreover, the history of Doclea and Zeta is not exclusively an Orthodox Christian history – Zeta, which existed in 1220-1421, had incorporated notable Catholic influences due to the expansion of the Republic of Venice to its coastal regions.. While such dualities in the religious identity of Montenegro – which, in itself, is a rather novel construct the Montenegrin context – are mentioned in schoolbooks, they are actually quite difficult for people to comprehend. While no official public opinion survey on Montenegrin religious identities exists, ethnological studies actually show that the religious views and identification of Montenegrins are diverse and not at all predominantly Orthodox, as argued by the Serbian Orthodox Church. A confusion about relations between Montenegrin state formations and the Serbian Orthodox Church persists, as schoolbooks fail to address the fact that, under the Petrović dynasty (1696-1918), Montenegrin rulers were traditionally rather secular, not caring much for religion. Apart from the outlined overarching myth of the historical continuity of Montenegrin statehood, other myths and mythologies that refer to the pre-Yugoslav past feed into this narrative. Firstly, there is the 19th-century-idea of Montenegro as a nation that was never fully conquered by the Ottomans. Secondly, there is the idea of the so-called historical “purge of the Islamic population” – a myth created by Peter the II Petrović-Njegoš in the mid-19th century. In the late 1990s, certain changes were introduced to historical textbooks, dealing away with these previously propagated national myths. In 1995, the first post-Yugoslav history textbooks came out in Montenegro, designed to represent the history of Serbia and Montenegro. In part they dealt away with these previously propagated national myths, but the a major break from this narrative occurred after 2003, when a new generation of history textbooks was developed, edited in Montenegro without collaboration with Serbia (cf. MPN RCG 2003, 47). In current schoolbooks, created and approved by the Ministry of Education’s Department of Education (Zavod za školstvo Crne Gore) and Department for textbooks (Zavod za udžbenike),[7] the nation-building narrative is perpetuated through an emphasis on the reign of the Petrović dynasty and WWII and the antifascist – and National Liberation – struggle. Symbols of Montenegro’s monarchist history, such as Njegoš,[8] even made it into the iconography of post-WWII socialist Yugoslav Montenegro. Indeed, the Yugoslav authorities recognized these aspects of Montenegrin history as important elements for nation-building. In fact, according to a 2016 survey, the majority of the Montenegrin population is still mostly ignorant about their country’s pre-Njegoš, and even more so about its pre-Petrović history. These narratives position Montenegro as a nation that went through military struggle, glorious battles and engaged in international relations with European great powers (Russia, France, Italy), managing to achieve independence and full international recognition in 1878, and was on the side of the Allies in two World Wars. 3. What is the dominant State-supported interpretation of the socialist Yugoslav period of Montenegrin history? Having participated in the Partisan National Liberation Struggle during WWII, Montenegro entered the new Socialist Yugoslavia as a federal republic on equal terms. This is an important political statement, as Montenegro did not have independence in 1918-1941. In the socialist Yugoslavia, Montenegro achieved great economic growth, was reconstructed and industrialized; it also received aid from the Yugoslav community after the 1979 earthquake. Before 1945, there were fewer than 10 industrial factories in Montenegro; after 1945, the country underwent electrification, and its number of factories increased to over 50. Furthermore, two shipping companies were established; with around 76 cargo ships, Montenegro had the greatest per capita cargo ship capacity in the entire world. All these developments were, of course, accompanied by swift urbanization, the creation of a sewage system, and a functioning healthcare service. Moreover, socialist Yugoslav authorities invested heavily in national-identity formation in Montenegro by, for example, establishing a university and an Academy of Sciences and Arts. This helps explain why the general and state-supported interpretation of the socialist Yugoslav period in Montenegrin history is still predominantly positive. Due to the backwardness of pre-1945 Montenegro, there are far fewer antagonisms regarding nationalization and denationalization in Montenegro than in, for example, Croatia and Serbia. Moreover, the end of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was accompanied by the disappearance of the local bourgeoisie and economic elite. Certain sources, for example historian Branimir Kovačević, stress that after 1945, those few major businesses that had survived the destruction of WWII, were confiscated by the state. Their owners, strongly connected to the previous regime, either did not survive the war, or were socially marginalized and fled the country shortly after 1945. While the number of such businessmen, politicians and state officials was small, their post-war disappearance still marked the end of a class that had developed in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and remained loyal to it in 1918-1945 (cf. Kovačević 1993).[9] This is stated even bearing in mind that the controversial aspects of the socialist regime, such as the purges following the 1948 Informbiro dispute and the Soviet-Yugoslav split, which resulted in deportations of pro-Stalinist Yugoslav communists to the Goli Otok labour camp, and the lack of democracy and free speech are still widely spoken of and discussed. These discussions made it into the history textbooks in the 1990s and are common knowledge. However, a recent initiative to pass a law on compensating the victims of communist crimes was rejected by the DPS government. This sparked a heated discussion; in fact, the very topic is the most debated one when it comes to Montenegrin history; after all, Montenegro, whose League of Communists was notably pro-Stalinist, had the highest percentage of political prisoners at the Goli Otok labour camp, compared to all the other SFRY republics. In 2019, a monument to Josip Broz Tito was erected in Podgorica. On this occasion, Voice of America asked me: “Why did you erect a monument to an authoritarian figure?” This question is difficult to answer, as, out of all the authoritarian figures, historically and presently active in Montenegrin history, many agree that he was the best one. This might be hard to comprehend for someone coming from a democratic society, but Montenegro only started to become one in 1991, its level of democracy remaining debatable to this day. The limitation of such narratives is precisely the dominant perception that the Yugoslav past brought Montenegro great economic development, and increase in the overall quality of life, as well as low social inequality and respect for Montenegrin national identity. This is limited due to the neglect of war crimes committed by the socialist regime in the period of 1941-1945 and the months following the end of the war. In Montenegro specifically, there are not many debates about the internal conflicts during and immediately after WWII. However, ideas that originate in nationalist milieus in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia and Serbia are spilling over to Montenegro; these revolve around the Yugoslav state’s failure to address issues such as the Jasenovac concentration camp,[10] and the Ustaše crimes committed against the Serbs in the Drina region in 1941-1945. Such discussions, now attached to nationalistic tensions, are imported into Montenegro; in contrast to the Bosnian, Serbian and Croatian national identity, the current Montenegrin national idea is not based on self-sacrifice and conflicts with its neighbors. It is based on the conviction that Montenegro was victorious against the Ottomans, and in WWII, and not on the notion of “the crimes that were committed against us”. However, this second set of ideas, focusing on crimes, such as Jasenovac, is gaining momentum and is harnessed by certain parts of Montenegrin society to strengthen nationalistic tensions and their own sense of national identity. Regrettably, such revisionism of this period has to do with retaliation, the goal of which is one-sided criminalization of the socialist rule in favor of nationalistic narratives. This does not only refer to the legacy of WWII, but also to discussions on the Yugoslav Wars. For example, in contrast to the Montenegrin community, the Serbian national community in Montenegro denies the 1995 Srebrenica genocide, out of resentment for the history of Muslim atrocities against the Orthodox population. If we talk about the Muslim community of Montenegro, the sense of victimhood that I mentioned earlier is mostly characteristic of the Bosniak community in the north of Montenegro, who has strong ties to the Sandžak region and Bosnia and Herzegovina, and not of the Muslims that identify as Montenegrins. 4. Which sources (e.g. personal memories, literary works, films, …) do you find to be particularly important for nuancing textbook narratives and how are they utilized by cultural heritage-preservation institutions and museums? What can the impact of such sources be (could you give an example of a particularly well-executed project, exhibition, …)? The best sources are those that help to bring to life the general atmosphere of a given time period. Personal memories have proven to have the utmost impact; given the lack of such materials in the Montenegrin context, where anthropological research of such type is still very limited, written stories or personal objects, which carry personal stories are of help. All in all, something personal which describes a bigger story, or something general which evokes personal memories – these simple principles are note generally familiar to Montenegrin schoolteachers, and are only slowly becoming incorporated by younger generations of educators who strive to make the past more accessible to young pupils. However, there is still an acute lack of systematic research initiatives that would develop research based on oral history and ethnographic methods; such projects remain pursued as personal initiatives, which are limited in scope. The Montenegrin academic system has only recently started to create capacities for such research into its recent past, and it shows that some other (post)Yugoslav states, such as Serbia, Croatia and Slovenia have a longer and more established tradition in this domain. The Montenegrin Academy of Sciences and Arts has only now published its first comprehensive Lexicons, on Montenegrin diplomacy, on its writers and poets … currently, this is the state’s level of interest in history, and not the collection of the aforementioned source materials. I began working for Montenegro’s National Museum in 2011; by that time, it had been digitizing its collection of archival materials since 1998. Interestingly, in all this time, they had only managed to digitize 5 % of their collection. However, they have made amazing progress over the past decade; I left the team in 2017, but a younger team of experts has since been involved in the project, and it is near completion. Nevertheless, challenges remain. The absence of museum-studies programs in Montenegro means that our curators are either professionals in other fields who are self-taught museum workers, or they need to get the appropriate education abroad, which was my case. Another issue is the lack of personnel in museums who would focus on attracting European funding through mechanisms such as Creative Europe – as institutions other than Ministries remain focused on addressing long-standing organizational, internal challenges, this aspect of museum management remains undernourished. The described situation poses quite some challenges for museum curators. The majority of museums’ curatorial policies in Montenegro still prefer focusing on what are perceived to be the positive aspects of the nation’s past. For instance, in 2014-2015, the National Museum received generous funding for an exhibition of ballroom dresses of Montenegrin princesses – such topics are perceived as possessing public appeal. However, we have succeeded in updating the permanent collection on modern history, attempting to apply solutions supported by current museum scholarship. For example, trying to make the period of the “Informbiro period” following the 1948 Soviet-Yugoslav split, more accessible to the high-school pupils, we used a leather coat as a prop. Such coats were worn by police officers who took people to Goli Otok. A previous collaboration granted us access to two testimonials – one by a woman whose father had been taken to Goli Otok, and another by a woman whose grandfather was among the special officers who took people there. The coat, as the students were shown, symbolized sadness and fear to the first subject, but it was a symbol of patriotism, an elite lifestyle, and modernity to the second one. It should be mentioned that both interviewees’ grandparents had been in the Partisan National Liberation Struggle (NOR) movement during the Second World War. This intervention was used as a discussion opener, with groups of 14- and 18-year-old students. I would not say it changed their overall opinion about this historical period, but it certainly pushed them to consider it in a more complex way. We also wanted to use the iconic Fićo (Zastava 750) car in a similar say, to exemplify the polyvalence of memory, but unfortunately, we did not manage to actually implement this idea, as the museum floor was not reliable enough to hold the mass of the car. Logistics aside, this car is great for museum exhibitions. [11] As one of the first mass-produced cars in Yugoslavia, it tells a lot about the life of the Yugoslav middle and working classes. From manufacturing to design, it gives an insight into the Yugoslav economy and is useful for evoking personal memories, and invoking moments of the Yugoslav working class. It also presents a connection to the first years of mass tourism in that era, which was considered by the Yugoslav population as one of the symbols of the country’s self-perceived general prosperity. The museum’s new curatorial team has also succeeded in organizing several exhibitions on socially-engaged topics, such as the history of the Montenegrin healthcare system, consolidated in the 1950s, with massive social support. This exhibition stressed the eradication of malaria and cholera from Montenegro in the 1950s in order to present a counterargument to current anti-vaccine movements, which question the legitimacy of the national healthcare system. Moreover, in 2018, the National Museum held a series of anniversary-lectures, foregrounding the dissolution of the Kingdom of Montenegro and the end of WWI in 1918, the aftermath of WWII and the Yugoslav-Soviet rupture of 1948, the student protests of 1968 – such initiatives are cost-effective ways of attracting the public in the absence of funding for technologically advanced exhibitions. In 2019, the Museum organized a rather successful exhibition on the centenary of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia. Like all the Museum’s projects, this exhibition was put together by a local team of four curators and two researchers, with the help of additional texts provided by several regional scholars. While the National Museum always inquires the University of Montenegro’s History Institute about collaboration in such cases, the response is not always enthusiastic, as scholars often prefer to remain within more conventional channels of academic science communication. I have repeatedly voiced this concern about the need to improve the public dissemination of scientific output, which for now often remains disconnected from society at large – it takes decades for research to find its way into history schoolbooks. 5. The state archive is a very important institution for memory research. How is the archival system in Montenegro organized? Do you feel that it reflects a particular memory politics? The archives in Montenegro form an organized system, comprising the central National Archive in Cetinje,[12] and local subordinated subdivisions in municipal centers. The main units which are of priority to researchers are the National Archive in Cetinje and the second largest archival unit in Podgorica. However, not all archival collections are centralized in the archival system; some are kept at the National Library, in the Library division of the National Museum and at the Library of the Institute of History. Cetinje was the administrative center of Montenegro within the Montenegrin administrative unit (banovina) in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia (1918-1941). After 1945, all the administrative infrastructure was gradually moved to Podgorica, aside from cultural institutions that remained in Cetinje. Many museums, as well as the Arts and Music Academies and the National Library and the National Archive remained in Cetinje. At the same time, as the History Institute of the University of Montenegro was established in Podgorica, rationality dictated that the Podgorica unit of the National Archive hold the collections considered to be of particular importance to historians, such as the collection of sources on the workers’ movement – these sources have been collected since 1918 – and on the local Partisan movement – this archive has been kept since 1945. In short: most of the materials related to the political, economic and social history of the socialist Yugoslav regime are in the Podgorica archival unit. Archiving media texts, such as film and photographs, is problematic; for example, the Montenegrin Cinematheque – Film Archive is in charge of the film archives, but this institution was only established in 2000; previously, Montenegrin film heritage was archived in the Yugoslav Cinematheque in Belgrade.[13] A massive collection of various photographs from the post-1945 period curiously ended up in the Presidency after the post-1991 transformation of state institutions. It is being digitized, but remains under the authority of the Presidency. Another remarkable unit is the Archive in the coastal town of Kotor, once an important political and trade center, rivalling Dubrovnik. Unlike other Montenegrin coastal towns, it was never under Ottoman rule and did not undergo systematic destruction; due to this city’s particular history, Kotor’s archive includes a rich medieval collection. All these particularities of the archives of Montenegro demonstrate in which ways certain materials are preserved and researched first, both due to memory politics and the researchers’ particular interests. Thus far, the diplomatic and military history of the Principality and Kingdom of Montenegro have received the most attention, due to the state’s interest in the history of the Petrović dynasty, recognized as being of particular national significance. A recent interesting project on this history includes research into the education system, but many other social-historical topics, such as health, banking, the infrastructure of the postal service etc. remain to be dug into through collections that have yet to be sorted in order to become accessible. I had to deal with such a case during my time as an associate of the National Museum; it took several years to classify and store 10.000 archival items related to the Museum’s collection of WWII photographs – the major issue was that the materials had not been documented in a systematic way and certain information was practically untraceable. 6. From these different interpretations, could you notice different memory narratives on the Yugoslav monarchy, first Yugoslavia? How do these differences feed into contemporary memory narratives in Montenegro? The narrative of the Yugoslav monarchy and of the first Yugoslavia has always been neglected, overshadowed by the history of the Kingdom of Montenegro or the history of socialist Montenegro. This is predominantly because Montenegro did not exist as a separate political unit within the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. This period (1918-1941) is mostly ignored in public discourse because of the generally negative evaluation of the Kingdom of Montenegro’s loss of independence in 1918. Its integration into the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was soon followed by the Christmas Uprising, public outrage at the loss of independence, which was violently suppressed by the Serbian military. At this point, the Kingdom of Montenegro was still an internationally recognized state, its leadership was even invited to attend the Versailles conference in Paris. Montenegrin participation at the conference was, however, blocked.[14] To this day, the dominant interpretation of these events in Montenegro is that the country was betrayed by the Allies, wiped off the face of the globe because someone in France decided to create the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, where there was no room for Montenegro as a political entity. In this light, three interpretations have been developed. Firstly, there is the Montenegrin national narrative, which criticizes this period of Montenegrin national history as completely negative. This negative evaluation of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia is supported by narratives developed during the socialist Yugoslav period. This simplification is further complicated by the fact that the monarchist Yugoslav period of Montenegrin history is ignored by local historians as a research topic, in favor of the Ottoman and the socialist Yugoslav periods. One of the few issues from this period that are included in schoolbooks is the struggle of the Communist League. Today, as Montenegro is making efforts to portray its history in an increasingly nationalist perspective, this period is problematic as it remains under-researched in this respect. The simplest way to overcome the lack of research for the purposes of schoolbooks is to disregard this part of history as unequivocally negative, which is not entirely accurate. It must be noted that the Montenegrin upheaval that had begun in 1918 lasted into the late 1920s, accompanied and fueled by the general economic crisis plaguing the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, and its side-products, such as famine. The 1930s then involved mass prosecutions of the members of the Communist Party. Because of the coincidence of these two narratives, which are difficult to reconcile, the simplest popular solution is to discredit the entire period as negative. At the same time, there exists the Serbian nationalist narrative which praises this same period of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia as a glorious state, which brought about a capitalist and cultural renaissance. Indeed, in the 1930s, however, Montenegro witnessed an unprecedented development of its civic sector, including a surge in film-theatre openings, book-club launches, political campaigns, and construction projects. This interpretation has lately received increasing support of the Serbian mass media. Over the recent years, a new, third wave of interpretation has emerged which considers the national and economic problems during this period, while also accounting for the birth and development of new political ideas and civic movements. Overall, the dominant contemporary narrative of this period in Montenegro oscillates between the negativist and this third, reflective interpretation. 7. What are the main points of debate in academic, political, and popular interpretations of WWII, the creation of socialist Yugoslavia, and Montenegro’s role in it? This debate mainly revolves around the accusations, validation and criticism – or lack of criticism – of crimes committed by different local war factions during the War, in 1941-1945. In Montenegro, WWII involved the Yugoslav Partisan National Liberation Struggle, which was also a struggle against the local Chetniks – who were a more extreme faction than the ones in Serbia –, the Muslim militia, the Albanian Ballists, and the Montenegrin Greens, a local nationalist faction. All the factions except the Partisans were collaborationists, and, as anti-communist forces, received Italian and later also German support; at the same time, all these factions were in conflict with one another, as well as with the Partisans. All the sides involved in the war had committed atrocities. However, the 1945-1947 Commission for War Crimes only documented the crimes of the collaborationist factions. There has never been any debate about the Partisans’ crimes, as they were scarcely documented; this lack of transparency and of scientifically researched, verified information creates space for manipulation. The Montenegrin government nevertheless hasn’t initiated any kind of research on these questions related to wartime and post-war atrocities. At the same time, Serbian nationalists in Montenegro, with the support of the Serbian Orthodox Church, keep bringing up these crimes, while the government ignores them, hoping that the fact that the crimes of the nationalist factions were more severe will eventually put an end to these allegations. Moreover, there is currently a discussion between the Montenegrin civic sector and the government. Organizations such as the Human Rights Action NGO are pleading for the introduction of a law on retributions for the victims of communist crimes, such as the Goli Otok persecutions of Stalinist Communists after the Informbiro Yugoslav-Soviet split. Should this law be passed, it will lead to thorough investigations of the archives of the Yugoslav secret services in Montenegro. The current government is trying to prevent this from happening, preferring not to open up more historical controversies. Its overall argument is that it is acknowledged that such crimes were committed, and that a square in Podgorica is named after their victims, the vast majority of whom are no longer alive. 8. What are the specificities of Montenegrin Yugonostalgia? How is it reflected in personal narratives, in activist initiatives, and official interpretations of the Yugoslav past? The main specificities of Montenegrin Yugonostalgia are the permanent quiet resistance against aggressive nationalist revisionism, which spills over from the neighboring states, such as Serbia and BiH. The Montenegrin assessment of the socialist Yugoslav past remains predominantly focused on its positive impact on local socio-economic development; nationalist revisions of this narrative result from uncritical appropriations of nationalist revisions of history in the aforementioned neighboring states, catering to the rise of nationalism in the minority Serbian, Bosnian and Albanian communities in Montenegro. Currently, these narratives do not have remarkable political reverberations. Rather, they sometimes produce very paradoxical results: for example, Serbian right-wing nationalists may criticize the Partisans, but still attend the 9 May Victory Day Parade in Moscow. The descendants of Montenegrin Chetniks were extremely pro-American in the 1960s-1980s, supporting US anticommunism. Now, they are pro-Russian with equal vigour, emphasizing Russia’s status as a bastion of Orthodox Christianity and anti-globalism; these examples show that, in politics, history and academic argument often give way to nationalist and religious ideas. Although we can talk about Montenegrin nationalism, it is extremely weak, and, unlike Serbian, Bosnian and Albanian nationalisms, does not antagonize communism. Accordingly, the majority of the 600 monuments and statues celebrating and commemorating the Partisan National Liberation Struggle have been preserved, July 13th is still the main national holiday,[15] and the names of Partisan heroes have not been removed from schools or streets, with rare exceptions, where their names were assigned to different streets. The Partisan legacy is significant for the official interpretation of the Yugoslav past due to the constant promotion of the antifascist heritage of Montenegro as the basis of its multiculturalism and interethnic tolerance. At the same time, Yugonostalgia on the level of contemporary popular culture emerges from personal narratives and initiatives, choirs and popular music groups, such as Kids’ Pop Choir, popularizing Partisan song, and socialist lifestyle, in the sense of a subculture, popularizing Yugoslav popular culture of the 1960s-1980s. One of the main commercial radio stations is still called Radio Titograd. 9. Which groups or initiatives in Montenegro would you call mnemonic agents or even memory activists? Which are favored by media outlets? The top-down, government-supported memory politics in Montenegro is still in the process of self-development. It still oscillates between two conceptions of statehood: the nation-based narrative of the Kingdom of Montenegro and the narrative of a citizen-based nation (as proclaimed in the Constitution), based on the antifascist heritage of 1945. While the two narratives share some of the same values, they are also dissonant. A home-grown Montenegrin nationalist memory politics has begun to gain momentum fairly recently, due to increasing governmental support. As the declaration of independence in 2006 was not followed by a surge in living standards, the government gradually began to support nationalist interpretations of the past to retain its authority, including the victimization-interpretation of 1918, as the year of international betrayal of the Kingdom of Montenegro. If Montenegrin national identity was initially conceived on the basis of the idea of multiculturalism and tolerance to all national identifications, 1918 is currently increasingly harnessed to proclaim: “Never again 1918! Never again will we fall victim to Serbian nationalism!”. This points to a worrisome tendency, as a “one state – one nation” narrative is not sustainable in our context, nor is supported by the Montenegrin constitution. Nationalist narratives on Montenegrin (national) identity enable the proliferation of similar narratives by other national groups in Montenegro, which undermines the citizen-based state-model. In addition, narratives on Montenegrin identity and its history are often misused by political stakeholders for the sole purpose of short-term political gain. Symptomatically, two years ago, an argument ensued between the Croatian and Montenegrin governments, on intangible heritage in the Bay of Kotor, as the Montenegrin government filed a nomination to include the Boka Navy — the oldest naval institution in the world — on the Unesco Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. This resulted in outrage of the local Croatian community, whose instrumental role in the naval tradition was ignored in the application, and of the Croatian government. The 2018 Montenegrin-Croatian negotiations on the possibility of a joint nomination failed, and Montenegro filed the application as initially intended. The SPC is the main adversary of both outlined narratives on Montenegrin identity, as it views Montenegro as one of the “Serbian lands”, and Montenegrins as part of the Serbian national corpus. As such, the SPC is the main threat to the future development of both a narrative on Montenegrin national identity, and of a citizen-based memory narrative on local history, which would incorporate all ethnic groups and religions present in Montenegro. The SPC is also the main stakeholder in Montenegro that makes tremendous efforts as a memory activist, promoting pro-Serbian nationalist historical revisionism. Over the past decade, it has accepted that Montenegro has become an independent state, but it still treats its Christian population as a part of the broader Serbian national corpus. This last ideological, sociological and economic bastion of the pro-Serbian national idea in Montenegro persistently amplifies the described beliefs about the proximity of Serbia and Montenegro in its various activities, from preaching to other public events. Moreover, it considers Montenegrin Christian cultural heritage as Serbian cultural heritage, which means that it has retained possession and control of the country’s monasteries. Over the past three decades, it has actively contributed to transforming intangible cultural heritage in Montenegro, adapting churches and monasteries to appear more consistent with its pro-Serbian narrative. The design of Orthodox churches visibly reflects regional influences; the Serbian Orthodox Church, however, ignores international and national norms of heritage preservation and invests in reshaping the exterior and interior of Orthodox churches in Montenegro to resemble the ones in Serbia; the same principle is applied to all new churches built in the country. Despite the outrage of designers, architects and historians, the Montenegrin government has thus far tolerated such practices, hoping that this will help preserve national peace. In 2019, however, a new law on religious freedom was passed in the Montenegrin parliament, intended to put an end to such interventions in heritage; this triggered loud protests of the SPC.[16] 10. Given that the interview will be published in a Russian journal, another question remains relevant. What is the public discourse towards the Russian Federation, on one hand, and USSR on the other hand, today? Are there key Russian figures prominent in Montenegrin memory narratives, such as Stalin and maybe some others? Russia has always been considered a long-term political, military and cultural ally of Montenegro. In 2011 Montenegro celebrated 300 years of bilateral relations with Russia. At that point the government emphasized the importance of favorable relations between the largest and the smallest Slavic nation. As Montenegro first declared to join NATO at the beginning of its independence quest, political relations deteriorated, which eventually led to a shift in political discourse and the general public attitude towards Russia. The latter had been predominantly positive from Peter the Great’s rule in the early 18th century, and tied to the idea of Christian resistance against Ottoman rule, sponsored generously by the Russian Empire. This attitude reverberated in the cultural domain, as examples from Russian culture, such as case studies in Russian literature were generously included into Montenegrin primary and high-school curricula. Today, the official and public opinion of Russia remains generally favorable, but some efforts are made to nuance the stereotypes outlined above. Some efforts are detectable to cast the narrative about the three centuries of positive relations in a nuanced, complex light. Russian aid to Montenegro during the 18th and 19th century is now increasingly re-interpreted as Russian political gain and the results of businesslike partnership, rather than unconditional support and love, which was the norm until Montenegro’s declaration of independence. The Soviet Union is still considered as the main contributor, victor and victim of WWII. Great admiration for Russia and Russian culture persist in Montenegro; at the 80th anniversary of the beginning of WWII, the Montenegrin President publicly criticized the fact that Russian President Putin had not been invited to the event. At the same time, there is an increasingly critical assessment of Stalinism and of the post-Stalinist era; moreover, the positive sentiments are endangered due to Russia’s unconditional support to pro-Serbian and extremely conservative groups. Sources Bieber, Florian. 2010. The party system of Montenegro. In V. Stojarova and P. Emerson (eds.), Party Politics in the Western Balkans, pp. 119–130. Abingdon: Routledge. Džankić, Jelena, and Soeren Keil. 2017. State-sponsored Populism and the Rise of Populist Governance: The Case of Montenegro. Journal of Balkan and Near Eastern Studies, 19 (4): 403–418. DOI:10.1080/19448953.2017.1280981. Maksimović, Sandra. 2020. Montenegrin Law on Religious Freedom: Polarization that benefits the government(s)? European Western Balkans, 13.01.2020. Available at: https://europeanwesternbalkans.com/2020/01/13/montenegrin-law-on-religious-freedom-polarization-that-benefits-the-governments/. (20.7.2020). Gallagher, Tom. 2003. Identity in Flux, Destination Uncertain: Montenegro during and after the Yugoslav Wars. International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 17 (1), Studies in the Social History of Destruction: The Case of Yugoslavia (Fall, 2003): 53-71. Kovačević, Branislav. 1993. Od vezirovog do zidanog mosta - Tragična sudbina crnogorskih četnika u završnoj fazi rata 1944-1945. Beograd: Službeni list SRJ. Lukic, Reneo. 2001. The Withering Away of the Federal Republic of Yougoslavia. Nato Academic Forum. Available at: https://www.nato.int/acad/fellow/99-01/lukic.pdf. (15.06.2020). Marović, Jovana. 2019. Déjà vu, Montenegrin style: Milo Đukanović wins Montenegro’s presidential election. LSE European Politics and Policy (EUROPP) Blog (2019). Available at: http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/89525/1/europpblog-2018-04-18-deja-vu-montenegrin-style-milo-dukanovic-wins.pdf. (15.6.2020) Ministarstvo prosvjete i nauke Crna Gora. 2003. Strateški plan reforme obrazovanja 2002-2004. Podgorica: MPN RCG. Available at: http://www.mpin.gov.me/files/1054202517.pdf. (25.8. 2020) Morrison, Kenneth. 2018. Nationalism, Identity and Statehood in Post-Yugoslav Montenegro. London, New York: Bloomsbury Academic. Pavlović, Srđa. 2016. Montenegro’s ‘stabilitocracy’: The West’s support of Đukanović is damaging the prospects of democratic change. LSE European Politics and Policy (EUROPP) Blog (2016). Available at: http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/69998/1/blogs.lse.ac.uk-Montenegros%20stabilitocracy%20The%20Wests%20support%20of%20Đukanović%20is%20damaging%20the%20prospects%20of%20democratic%20cha.pdf. (15.6.2020). Saggau, Emil Hilton. 2017. A Shrine for the Nation: The Material Transformation of the Lovćen Site in Montenegro. Journal of Balkan and Near Eastern Studies, 2017. DOI: 10.1080/19448953.2018.1385934. Stojanović, Dubravka. 2016. The crossed swords of memory: the image of communist Yugoslavia in the textbooks of its successor states. European Politics and Society, 2016. DOI: 10.1080/23745118.2016.1269440. Vachudova, Milada Anna. From Competition to Polarization in Central Europe: How Populists Change Party Systems and the European Union. Polity 51 (4): 689–706. [1] All references to Kosovo, whether to the territory, institutions or population, in this text shall be understood in full compliance with United Nations Security Council Resolution 1244 and without prejudice to the status of Kosovo. It is important to note that in the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, Kosovo had the status of an autonomous province, while the other six states had a status of a republic. (Editors' note.) [2] Negotiations on the SAA (Stabilisation and Association Agreement) began in 2006, and the agreement was signed in 2007, entering into force in 2010. (Editors' note.) [3] The percentages of Serbs and Montenegrins revealed through state censuses (in the table below) have varied by over 20 % since the 1980s, seeing a gradual increase of the percentage of Serbs from 9 % in 1991 to 29% in 2011, and a decrease of the Montenegrin percentage (62 % in 1991, 45% in 2011). Rather than migration patterns, this trend reflects a correlation of the population’s ethnic identification with current identity politics. (Editors’ note.) Ethnic group census 1948 census 1953 census 1961 census 1971 census 1981 census 1991 census 2003 census 2011 Number % Number % Number % Number % Number % Number % Number % Number % Montenegrins 342,009 90.7 363,686 86.6 383,988 81.4 355,632 67.2 400,488 68.5 380,647 61.9 267,669 43.2 278,865 45.0 Serbs 6,707 1.8 13,864 3.3 14,087 3.0 39,512 7.5 19,407 3.3 57,453 9.3 198,414 32.0 178,110 28.7 [4] The Great National Assembly of the Serb People in Montenegro (Podgorica Assembly) culminated on 29 November 1918.25 Those in favour of union with Serbia printed their list of candidates and their agenda on white paper, while supporters of continued Montenegrin independence printed theirs on green paper. The terms Whites and Greens thus came to symbolize those either in favor of union or those in favor of the preservation of Montenegro’s independence, a loose union with Serbia or, at the very least, the preservation of a Montenegrin ‘entity’ within the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. A slim majority, however, voted in favor of Montenegro unifying with Serbia under the Karadjordjević dynasty and to depose King Nikola I Petrović-Njegoš and his dynasty. After the Assembly of Podgorica, the Great National Assembly announced the formal unification of Serbia and Montenegro. Following these proclamations, both Bosnia & Herzegovina and Croatia followed suit; the Kingdom of Serbs Croats and Slovenes, later the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, was declared on 1 December 1918. (Morrison 2018, 26-27) (Editors' note.) [5] See CCE publications for more details on Montenegrin history textbooks and the contemporary challenges of teaching antifascism. (Author’s note.) [6] These arguments, elaborated below, revolve around property issues and heritage; the SPC maintains that it has rights over religious buildings such as medieval monasteries and churches, which the Montenegrin state considers its own asset. (Author’s note.) [7] Importantly, in Montenegro, only one official textbook per subject is approved for use in schools. (Vukanović, this interview). [8] Romantic poet Petar II Petrovich-Njegoš (1813–1851) was the fifth vladika (secular and religious ruler of the region) of the Petrovich-Njegoš clan in 1830. Central to Njegoš’ epic is a heroic and poetic image of the Montenegrin tribesmen as protagonists of the folkloric myth of the struggle of the medieval Christian Serbian kingdom against the Ottomans. Njegoš also connects his heroic clansmen and their struggle with his own time, most notably attributing the epic to the contemporary leader of the Serbian uprising (1815-1817) within Ottoman-controlled Serbia. Njegoš does not seem to have distinguished clearly between the terms ‘Montenegrin’ (Crnogorski) and ‘Serbian’ (Srpski) in his works, leaving room for interpretation; his epic and construction of a national identity have subsequently been claimed by Montenegrin, Serbian and Yugoslav nationalists. (Saggau 2017, 15). (Editors' note.) [9] Nationalization of private property, nevertheless, did not leave families hungry, as Kovačević himself confirms in his study, warning about false information about Communist retaliation, spread by Chetnik propagada. More about the final battles in the WWII in Montenegro can be found in Milan Radanović's book "Kazna i zločin. Snage kolaboracije u Srbiji: odgovornost za ratne zločine (1941-1944) i vojni gubici (1944-1945)", Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung, Beograd, 2016. The elites Vukanović herewith makes reference to actually participated, directly or indirectly, in the collaborationist Chetnik movement. More on the Chetnik movement in Montenegro can also be found in Dr Radoje Pajović’s study "Kontrarevolucija u Crnoj Gori - Četnički i federalistički pokret 1941-1945", published in 1977. (Editors’ note.) [10] Jasenovac was a concentration and extermination camp established in Slavonia by the authorities of the Independent State of Croatia (NDH) during World War II. One of the ten largest concentration camps in Europe, it was established and operated by the governing Ustaše regime – the only quisling regime in occupied Europe to operate extermination camps on their own for Jews, Serbs, Roma, and other ethnic groups. (Editors’ note.) [11] This particular solution is, however, used in the Slovenian collection on Yugoslav history at the Museum of Contemporary History in Ljubljana. (Author's note.) [12] The historical capital of Montenegro until 1918, when it was replaced by Podgorica (renamed as Titograd in SFRY). (Editors’ note.) [13] The Yugoslav Cinematheque in Belgrade was in charge of preserving film heritage of the entire SFRY. (Editors’ note.) [14] In January 1919, a Montenegrin government-in-exile was formed; the main objective of the government was to internationalize the issue of Montenegro, appeal to the Great Powers during the 1919 Paris Peace Conference, maintain links between the government-in-exile and armed resistance groups in Montenegro and create an army-in-exile. But the course of events undermined their cause. During the Paris Peace Conference, which opened in January 1919, Montenegro was ‘the empty chair’, treated, according to Warren Whitney, akin to a ‘conquered nation instead of an ally that had entered the war at once and made every sacrifice for the common cause’ and its exiled rulers (the Montenegrin government-in-exile, based in Italy) observing developments from a distance. (Morrison 2018, 8). (Editors' note.) [15] 13 July is a symbolic date in Montenegrin history in two respects. It is celebrated as the anniversary of the 13 July 1941 uprising against Italian fascist forces organized by the Communist Party of Yugoslavia. Additionally, 13 July is Montenegrin Statehood Day, commemorating 13 July 1878 on which the Berlin Congress recognized the Kingdom of Montenegro as the twenty-seventh independent state in the world. (Editors’ note.) [16] The disputed law came into force January 8. According to its Article 62, religious communities in Montenegro need to prove property ownership before 1918, otherwise the property will belong to the state of Montenegro. The Serbian Orthodox Church must therefore prove ownership of all monasteries and churches built before December 1, 1918, when Montenegro became a part of Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. (Maksimović 2020) (Editors' note.)

Sanja Horvatinčić: “The story of Yugoslavia is used as a lesson on the acceptable version of socialism without its ‘negative sides’” Sanja Horvatincic Photo: Matija Kralj, 2019 Memory landscapes in (post)Yugoslavia Edited by Milica Popović, Sciences Po CERI and University of Ljubljana and Natalija Majsova, University of Ljubljana and Catholic University of Louvain. Yugoslavia as a state existed twice, once as a monarchy and once as a socialist republic. Different historical legacies, state regimes, cultural and religious heritage are woven into the region – there is a myriad of different political entities and also a plenitude of political and/or national/ethnic identities. The dissolution of the socialist republic, responsible for an advanced modernization of the country and an unprecedented development of the region, ensued during the crisis of the 1980s, and continued all the way into the violent wars of the 1990s. In January 1992, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia fell apart. The end of the Yugoslav state, however, did not feature the end of the Yugoslav idea or the end of Yugoslav memory. While all are marked by “political abuse of power and the deeply unjust privatization processes” (Dolenec 2013: 7), each of the seven republics of Yugoslavia: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Serbia, North Macedonia and Kosovo,[1] - reveals a particular memoryscape, abundant in internal battles, which sometimes converge and sometimes diverge, weaving a complex net of (post)Yugoslav memory. In line with Catherine Baker's observation that “nationalism was an instrument, not a cause” (Baker 2015: 129), (post)Yugoslav memory continues to evolve in dialogue across the borders of (post)Yugoslav states. Although our approach in this series of interviews remains “republic-centered”, this does not in any way imply that we do not believe that (post)Yugoslav memory works as “nœuds de mémoire” (Rothberg 2009), producing new solidarities and possibilities for thought and action. Before you is the fifth one in a series of seven interviews with seven leading scholars in memory studies, each discussing memory politics within one of the (post)Yugoslav republics. While the online edition of Historical Expertise will publish them one by one as they are ready, the printed edition of the journal will gather them all together and provide a well-rounded whole – a comprehensive, in-depth outlook on the memory landscapes in the (post)Yugoslav space today M.P. and N.M. 3.The case of Republic of Croatia Interview with Dr Sanja Horvatinčić, postdoctoral researcher, Institute of Art History, Zagreb, Croatia Questions and Introduction by Milica Popović Paris-Zagreb, 15.04.2020. Abstract: As the Republic of Croatia is considered today to be the stronghold of anti-Yugoslav sentiments among (post)Yugoslav states, we look into the complexities and nuances of memory politics in this newest EU member state. Mainstream narratives are embedded in the national reconciliation policies and anti-communism emanating from Franjo Tudjman’s politics in the 1990s and the Homeland war. Through historical revisionism of World War Two and the role of Ustasha movement, they profoundly influence Croatian approaches to socialist heritage. Dr Sanja Horvatinčić further elucidates the key mnemonic actors in Croatia and how the destruction and the dereliction of the monuments from the socialist Yugoslavia have been an important element in Croatian nation-building, encouraged by “anti-totalitarian” European memory activism. Key words: memory politics; monuments; heritage studies; (post)Yugoslav space In Croatia, the elections held in all of socialist Yugoslavia in 1990 brought the victory of the Croatian Democratic Union (HDZ), a right-wing and pro-independence party, which secured the support of 41,5% of the voters. Such election results did not necessarily mean a clear mandate for independence, and there was potential for the Yugoslav crisis to unravel in many different directions. Yet, entangled with the economic crisis and a sharp fall in living standards in the 1980s, the crisis led to dissolution and dissolution led to war. As Croatia declared independence on the 25th of June 1991, war started and officially ended only in 1995, with the Croatian army taking control over the UN-protected area in Western Slavonia and the Republic of Srpska Krajina, resulting in approximately 200.000 expelled Serbs (Calic 2013: 402). Full civilian control and peaceful reintegration of Eastern Slavonia into Croatia took place in 1998. In 1990, 51,66% respondents in Croatia thought that “Yugoslavia should organize as a confederation of autonomous republics, which could per need create common bodies and freely agree on common tasks” (Grdešić 1990: 199-200 in Jović 2017: 13). Only due to the war had it become possible to embrace mythology and shifting memory narratives in order to reinforce anti-Yugoslav sentiments of the populations. As the authoritarian regime led by President Franjo Tudjman came to an end in 2000, Croatia embarked upon what was at the time considered a more democratic development strategy, which culminated in the state’s accession to the European Union in 2013. While the neoliberal economic reforms and seemingly pluralist political society did lead Croatia into the EU, they also contributed to the strengthening of overwhelmingly nationalist tendencies. Since 2013, there has been a rise in violence and hate speech against ethnic minorities, notably Serbs (Jović 2017: 236). Following the principles of Tudjman’s reconciliation platform aimed to bring together national unity between supposedly divided Croats in WWII – the Ustasha and Partisans, in 2000 the Croatian Parliament adopted the “Declaration on the Homeland War” (Pavlaković in Pavlaković and Korov eds. 2016: 45) providing a unique “regime of truth” about Yugoslav history. Anti-fascism was “nationalized” (Djurašković 2016: 777; Djureinović 2018), and WWII memory narratives were revised. Parliamentary declarations followed, condemning “crimes committed during the totalitarian communist regime in Croatia from 1945 to 1990” in accordance with the Resolution 1841 of the Council of Europe (Banjeglav 2012: 113). Revisionism spilled over into the materiality of the (post)Yugoslav spaces – in Croatia, out of 937 memorials of the National Liberation Struggle only 310 were left by 2014 (Jović 2017: 192). In 2019, the Zagreb City Assembly decided to build a memorial to Holocaust victims without referring to any of the Ustasha atrocities (Milekić 2020); and revisionist politics are still largely painting the general mainstream discourses. Economic situation does not fulfill the promised future of abundance that was supposed to come with the independence. Memory politics remain the site of contentions and enable us to further understand political and social cleavages in Croatia today. In the following interview, Dr Sanja Horvatinčić offers her own perspective on the genesis and implications of the issues outlined above. Horvatinčić is Postdoctoral Researcher at the Institute of Art History in Zagreb, Croatia. She graduated Art History from the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Zagreb. In 2017, she completed her PhD thesis on WWII memorials and memory politics in socialist Croatia. Her research focuses on the cultural production of monuments and memory politics of socialist Yugoslavia, and the role of revolutionary and socialist legacy in the context of EU heritage politics. She was a Researcher on the digital art history project ARTNET (Croatian Science Foundation), and is currently affiliated with the Research Seminar “Gender Politics and the Art of European Socialist States” (Getty Foundation). Horvatinčić was an expert adviser for the exhibition “Toward a Concrete Utopia: Architecture in Yugoslavia, 1948–1980” (MoMA 2018), and is a co-editor of the edited volume on Yugoslav monuments (Archive Books & Igor Zabel Foundation 2020). She is the coordinator of the international interdisciplinary project Heritage from Below | Drežnica: Memories and Traces that explores material culture, memoryscapes, and multilayered narratives of Yugoslav Partisan struggle in the context of current political and social crises. Your main research interests are critical heritage studies and research on the monuments built in the socialist Yugoslavia, and one of the results of your doctoral thesis is a comprehensive typology and a mapping of the destruction of monuments dedicated to the people’s liberation struggle and revolution. What is the current state of affairs regarding the state’s memory politics towards World War II in Croatia and, notably, regarding the era of the Independent State of Croatia, a Nazi satellite? How is the memory on NDH juxtaposed to the memory politics towards the socialist Yugoslavia itself? Trained as an art historian, I approached the topic of monuments in socialist Yugoslavia through the prolific, diverse and vibrant artistic production, facilitated after the Second World War by intense social and political impulses. As my initial methodological focus on formal aspects of monuments soon proved to be insufficient for this object of study, and as my archival and fieldwork intensified, my interest expanded to the realm of the memorial and heritage superstructure of the socialist system, yet remained anchored in the material culture as the bedrock of further inquiry. Besides the importance of empirical research of this prodigious and unique corpus of memorial structures marking various aspects of Partisan warfare and revolutionary liberation struggle, I think the central question today is why and in which ways these sites still – or again – appear to be so intriguing, engaging, and mobilizing to various individuals and political communities, both locally and internationally. The changing official status and dire condition of these memorial sites and structures, once an important part of social memory and national heritage, is emblematic of post-socialist memory politics in Croatia. The dynamics and absurdity of the whole phenomenon is paradigmatic in the way it challenges or deconstructs the very notion of cultural heritage, disclosing it as “the medium of interpellation: an instrument to produce the subjects and subjectivities deemed appropriate to a post-violence regime of order, stability, and reconciliation”, to quote Andrew Herscher (Herscher 2011: 148). In many parts of Yugoslavia, institutionalized conservation science and public cultural heritage management were only constituted after the War, as part of the new paradigm based on Marxist philosophy, public property, and workers’ self-management. It is under such conditions that temporary structures, such as ruins of guerrilla Partisan hospitals hidden in deep forests, or illegal print houses in damp basements, could have been listed as national cultural heritage; on the institutional level, under a different category, their importance was equalled to gilded baroque altars or lavish bourgeois residences, most of which were, nota bene, for the first time properly documented and listed only within the socialist system. The changes of the ideological paradigm and commissioning procedures, as well as the class and gender profile of the involved actors, contributed to the fact that metal workers and illiterate peasant girls could, for the first time in history, become legitimate historical subjects of commemoration, cast in bronze and lifted on pedestals that were once reserved for emperors, priests or high-brow intellectuals. The importance of heritage was recognized by the new revolutionary government already during the War – first legal regulations on protection and conservation of cultural heritage in Yugoslavia were issued already in 1944. After the War, evaluation criteria and methodologies caught up with new international standards and cultural heritage charters were followed and applied systematically and consistently. Of course, these criteria were– and this was in no ways particularity of the Yugoslav socialist system – defined by heritage experts who were immersed in the cultural hegemony that defined the politics of heritage. The nomination and listing of what is locally referred to as “memorial heritage” is always exposed to the double – yet usually complementary and mutually enforcing – “burden” of memory politics and heritage politics. This becomes even more obvious if we pay attention to how this specific segment of cultural heritage came to be treated in the wake of political changes of the 1990s. Since then, in Croatia in particular, we have been witnessing a constant, more or less fierce and violent struggle over the political legacy inscribed in these sites and objects. I am therefore answering the question from this particular angle – how the change of heritage policy in Croatia reflected the official memory politics, or how it was used to support it, and how it is still being used to revision the past to fit the dominant political interests. Interestingly, it took almost two decades after the independence of Croatia, before monuments dedicated to the Peoples’ Liberation Struggle, Revolution and Workers’ Movement (a category widely referred to as spomenici NOB) were put under official expert revision. During that period monuments were in large numbers physically destroyed, damaged, amended or removed, and in most cases – despite media coverage and protest reactions from local communities and experts – no one was held accountable for the offences and crimes against legally protected cultural heritage and public property. This was but one, perhaps the least damaging, aspect of the 1990s that shows how the new state selectively complied with its own laws. But if those monuments were nothing but “typified odious artefacts with clearly stated regime function” (Jerković 2017), why did they remain listed as Croatian national heritage after 1991? The reasons were highly pragmatic: their formal protection was a legal guarantee of the new Constitution of the Republic of Croatia. The Constitution’s chapter on Historical Foundations states that the “state-building idea [is] grounded on the historical right of the Croatian nation to full sovereignty”, which had been manifested “during the course of the Second World War, as expressed in the decision of the Territorial Antifascist Council of the National Liberation of Croatia [ZAVNOH] (1943) in opposition to the proclamation of the Independent State of Croatia (1941), and then in the Constitution of the People’s Republic of Croatia (1947) and in all subsequent constitutions of the Socialist Republic of Croatia (1963-1990), at the historic turning point characterised by the rejection of the communist system and changes in the international order in Europe, in the first democratic elections (1990) (…)” (Narodne novine 56/90). While ZAVNOH was the main political body of the communist movement in Croatia and part of the wider Yugoslav communist antifascist resistance which is now supposed to be rejected, this inner contradiction was in fact quite instrumental: it prevented the official disavowal of the antifascist and communist legacy and its symbols, yet de facto legitimated their physical removal and destruction. Sooner or later, the Pandora box of historical revisionism was opened up in all former Yugoslav states, at different political moments, with varying reach and intensity, at various levels (from mainstream media to the legal system), and practiced by a variety of institutions and profiles (from national institutes to obscure “experts”). A new phase of historical revision(ism) in Croatia was attained with the EU accession: a number of non-binding declarations adopted by the European Commission since 1996, made it possible to condemn the communist antifascist legacy by simply labelling it as “totalitarian”. I will return to this specific issue a bit later in the interview. The said process of the inner expert revision of spomenici NOB has been going on for over a decade, and – to my knowledge – it still hasn’t been completed. The revision has been operated as if it were as classified state project, within disciplinary inadequate and narrow expert committee, and – most importantly – without the standard democratic procedure that would allow for an open public debate, especially given that memorial heritage is of immediate interest to a myriad of social stakeholders. Looking at the mainstream memory politics in Croatia, how do you analyze the demolition and the neglect of anti-fascist monuments in Croatia? What kind of dynamics do these interventions cause in the memory politics of the country? There have been recent local initiatives, like in Pisak, where local communities have self-organized to reconstruct demolished and neglected anti-fascist monuments. As mentioned above, a large proportion of memorial sites and structures were destroyed, damaged, amended or removed during and after the Homeland War (1991–1995), up until the present day. Unfortunately, we still lack methodologically grounded, systematic research of this phenomenon, which would include archival work and would analyze the mechanisms and dynamics of the destruction. The first comprehensive survey done by the Union of Antifascist Associations in Croatia in 2000 (Hrženjak 2002) showed that out of some 5500 monuments and memorial markers recorded and listed in the late 1980s, about 3500 (including plaques, busts and other types of memorial objects) were destroyed or damaged in the first ten years after the dissolution of Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (1990 –2000). Although the focus of my doctoral research, which I conducted from 2011 to 2017, were sculptural monuments and architectonic structures, and the process of creation, not destruction, of monuments and memorial landscapes, I also mapped and recorded, when it was possible, their current condition and compared it to the original projects. It should be noted that many monuments had already undergone several phases of construction or reconstruction during the socialist period, whether due to a lack of their maintenance or with the intention to uplift or modernize them, or to add or correct inscriptions on the plaques. Despite the fact that for methodological reasons my research included only free-standing structures and complexes, thus leaving aside memorial plaques and busts which were most frequently prone to removal, it showed that the overall statistics for Croatia are even worse. This tedious archival and fieldwork resulted in a map of more than 1700 monuments – mapping completely destroyed (30% of the analysed corpus), slightly damages (40%) and preserved more or less intact monuments (30%). 1. The map showing the damage degree of the monuments dedicated to the Peoples’ Liberation Struggle and Revolution in Croatia. HORVATINČIĆ, Memorials from the Socialist Era, 2017, p. 154 As the map demonstrates, the destruction of monuments greatly varied in different Croatian regions, and it is important to recognize that the intensity of war conflicts in the 1990s both directly and – after the end of war – indirectly conditioned the degree of the monuments’ destruction. Regions most devastated by the war often coincided with the greatest percentage of monuments’ destruction, and were often the most ethnically mixed regions that had severely suffered during the Second World War. After the 1990s, new monuments, dedicated to the Homeland War, are built on top of the old ones, with their epitaphs, names and symbols replaced, removed or overwritten. Such acts of obliteration of memory and attacks on protected heritage and public property have almost never been legally processed and very rarely covered in the mainstream media. The situation with media reports only started to change with the emergence of social networks and public pressure that it enables. 2. a, b. Monument at the site of the mass public hangings of antifascists and communists during the WWII in the Zagreb periphery Vrapče. In the early 1990s, the monument was destroyed and replaced by a cross, and the script on the memorial plaque changed to honor the “memory of all victims who died for the freedom and continuity of the Croatina people”. Photo: Goran Korov 2014 I have recently been closely collaborating with contemporary archaeologists; not to deal with excavations and mass graves, but with a somewhat different agenda. By examining material traces and memories, we are primarily focused on what has been happening on the verges or outside of the so-called authorised heritage discourse or beyond legal heritage frameworks. In other words, I am interested in how the legacy of antifascism and progressive social movements, a legacy that has been systematically contested and obliterated during the past three decades in this part of Europe, is being claimed “from below”, beyond or opposed to the official memory politics. I am thereby also interested in how certain formal aspects of monuments dedicated to such historical episodes and narratives have contributed to such efforts, i.e. how their material, structural, or conceptual features allow for them to be reclaimed as signifiers of current social and political crises, such as the rise of neo-fascism and the on-going migrant crisis in Europe. 3. A pop-up archaeological exhibition of objects found in a cave that served as a secret Partisan hospital during the WWII. Part of the international heritage project “Heritage from Below | Drežnica: Memories and Traces 1941-1945”, Drežnica, September 2019. Photo: Xurxo Ayán Vila The locally initiated renewal of the bronze Partisan figure and its return to the pedestal in the Dalmatian village of Pisak in 2015 is in fact a part of a growing trend of counterhegemonic, grass-root initiatives for reconstructing, maintaining or preserving memorials, and – more importantly – public affirmation of antagonized social memory of those communities. 4.The official ceremony of the unveiling of the restored Monument to the Fallen Partisans and Victims of Fascist Terror in the Dalmatian village of Pisak, 2015. Photo: http://hr.n1info.com/Vijesti/a51420/Partizan-ribar-vracen-gdje-mu-je-mjesto.html The fieldwork methodology I have insisted on brought me to full understating of the importance of these widespread yet silenced practices of care. 5.a, b, c. Tatjana Vlačić Vujičić during the self-initiated renovation of the Monument to the Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Fascism, Bandino Selo, September 2019. Photo: Jadranka Radatović You have also been critically assessing the so-called Western gaze towards the anti-fascist monuments of Yugoslavia, “spomeniks”. At the same time, the New York Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) held the exhibition “Toward a Concrete Utopia: Architecture in Yugoslavia 1948-1990” which was largely assessed as successful in terms of representing the ambiguities and critically deliberating different views on the socialist Yugoslav times. How do these foreign gazes engage in dialogue with one another, outside and inside of the (post)Yugoslav space? I don’t see the widespread popularity of Yugoslav monuments and the exhibition at MoMA as necessarily opposed phenomena, but as different manifestations – taking place at different levels, through different agents and media – of a new wave of fascination with Socialist Yugoslavia as a political and cultural concept. I say “new” because admiration and idealization of self-managed socialism of the post-1948 Yugoslavia existed within the international left circles already in the 1960. The temporal framework of the exhibition (1948-1980) was clearly a historical-political one, although it can also be justified with merely formal criteria, i.e. the manifestation of modernism in architecture, design and urban planning. The story of post-Stalinist and pre-crisis Yugoslavia is used as a lesson on the possibility to go beyond the “extremes” of the bipolar Cold War division, the acceptable version of socialism without its “negative sides”. In a way, the emphasis on modernism as a universal western concept in such an in-between place is a way of “taming” and “humanizing” the negative image of the Balkans, perceived as a conflict multi-ethnic area on the borders of Europe, as a place of possible progress and successful implementation of the “Western values”. At the same time, the emphasis on the ruined modernist landscape once again shows the “real face” of the Balkans, while expressing concern over the loss or under-appreciation of these same values. This aspect is rather telling when it comes to issues imposed by the “Western gaze”. Such representation is also paternalistic or infantilizing insofar as it focuses on the absence and does not aim to affirm new forms of agency in the “desert of post-socialism” (Štiks and Horvat 2015). Sometimes, I get the eerie feeling that the images or ruined architectural masterpieces are just waiting for someone in the West to “fix them”. However, an implicit, perhaps unintentional critique of the new political and economic order established after the fall of the Wall is also present, countering the triumphal image of the “reunited Europe”. No wonder that exhibition held at such an important global institution as MoMA was largely ignored by the political establishment in Croatia. Although I was implicated as curatorial advisory expert for this exhibition, I dare to claim that – under the given circumstances – the curators and the team involved made a respectable effort to showcase the most representative, canonical material on socialist architecture, design and urban planning that supports or at least does not aim to revise the already established “grand narrative” of Yugoslavia under Tito’s rule. Providing the type of imagery and narratives that would feed the imagination of the virtual hipster culture audience who indulge in ruinophilic and brutalist aesthetics was avoided, as much as it was possible considering the popularity and commercial character of the Museum. Furthermore, by putting an emphasis on the pinnacles of the architectural production and not on the political and social history, the exhibition managed to avoid the necessary balancing strategy that would involve exposing the “long kept secrets” about the “dark side of socialism”, so typical for Central and Eastern European exhibitions on this period. Yet the question remains: why did the MoMA want to display the positive legacy of socialism at that particular historical moment? Was it to raise the value of the real estate for future investment into the attractive modernist hotels at the Adriatic coast, as some have speculated? Or to refresh the successful post-Cold War exhibition trend, now peeking not behind but in between the curtains? Was it because diligent scholars and experts managed to cast a new light on Yugoslavia, having “proved” that it is worth studying, or that today’s societies can even “learn” or “borrow” something from it to solve the current global economic and social crises? Apart from internationally affirming knowledge about and the “value” of Yugoslav modernist architecture and urban planning, and legitimizing the discourse on Yugoslav cultural space and Yugoslav studies, the heart-warming critical response of the exhibition in the US media has not yet been fruitful or productive for the local communities and immediate stakeholders of this heritage. A big portion of monuments and memorial complexes presented at the exhibition, are still in ruins, and some further deteriorated, privatized or rented as attractive backgrounds for TV series and commercials. Under the current circumstances, the grass-root initiatives that aim to reclaim these sites beyond official political and commercial interests are thus all the more important and worth studying. 2. How do you understand the revisionist memory politics in Croatia in the light of European memory politics which aims to equate communism and Nazism through a number of adopted declarations and statements? An important consequence of the EU legal framework is the Croatian “Law on the Research, Arrangement and Maintenance of Military Cemeteries, Victim Cemeteries of the World War II and the post-war period” (2012). In practice, it has almost exclusively been applied to the sites of post-war “communist crimes”, mainly individual or mass graves of Croatian (Ustashe and Domobrani) and German (Wehrmacht and SS) soldiers. The media reports on exhumations and commemorations at these sites are highly pronounced, while the sites related to the war crimes of those military units or the graves and ossuaries of the Peoples’ Liberation Army soldiers who fought against them, which have been demolished or desecrated since the 1990s, have been marginalized or in most cases fully ignored. Despite the fact that Partisan monuments had been built in large number, many sites of atrocities were never adequately researched or properly documented, and their maintenance is fully in hands of national minorities, NGOs or activists. For example, at the site of the first and most brutal Ustasha camps on the island Pag, which preceded the formation of Jasenovac concentration camp, the built camps structures and pits with possible human remains have never been researched. The plaque – the only memorial marker at the site of most brutal forced labour, human torture and mass murder – has been repeatedly destroyed since 1990. The Serbian National Council renovated the plaque twice, but currently the site is unmarked. Unaware of it eerie past, the tourists are using the memorial site for enjoyment and sunbathing. The most obvious example of the intention to literally equalize “war and post-war victims” – which is in fact an effort to equalize fascist and anti-fascist military forces, or victims of fascist ideology with victims of war and post-war retaliations – are new practices of monument making and commemorating the victims. During the last 10 years, there were two public competitions for a typified memorial to “the victims of the Second World War and the post-war period”, one organized in 2013 and a second one in 2019. While the first one resulted in a memorial that was built exclusively on locations of the “post-war period”, the latter competition ended up in scandal as the winner project proved to be a copy of the already exiting public sculpture in New York City. Thus the public discourse about the Second World War victims became almost completely confused with the “post-war period” or the so called “victims of communist terror”. Forgotten and devoid of any official heritage status, these sites of counter-memory in socialist Yugoslavia were usually places of gathering of the extreme right wing. Over time, however, they came to be normalized as official sites of the newly independent Croatian state commemorations. More recently, the European Day of Remembrance for Victims of Totalitarian Regimes has been enthusiastically embraced by the centre and right-wing political parties in Croatia to publicly declare either their compliance with the anti-communist EU memory politics, or to push their right wing agenda even further by rehabilitating the fascist regime of the Independent State of Croatia. The new geo-political constellations and ideological uses of the past on the territory of former socialist countries have imposed new political frameworks for the interpretation and management of the memorial heritage from the socialist period. The term “totalitarian” has become commonly used to define and reframe tangible and intangible heritage of former socialist countries in Europe. By retracing the use of this term since the 1920s, its changing meanings and interpretations throughout the 20th century, and the reasons behind its introduction to various types of official discourse (political, legal, and socio-cultural), it becomes clear that the function of the term “totalitarian” – as it has been used in the EU heritage policy papers and cultural programmes (such as “Cultural Routes” of the Council of Europe, the “Europe for Citizens” programme, etc.) – has a clear political agenda with potentially negative effects on the perception of the targeted cultural heritage by its current stakeholders. The term itself became widely used in the political discourse in the mid-1990s, when lobbying circles within the Council of Europe and the European Parliament started imposing a “totalitarian interpretation of Communism in the European assemblies, which directly shaped the EU’s remembrance policy”, as Laure Neumayer claims in her 2018 book The Criminalisation of Communism in the European Political Space after the Cold War. This was done through a series of legal documents that have called for “dismantling” or “condemning” of all totalitarian regimes. Those are the following three documents: the Council of Europe Resolution no. 1096 (1996): “Measures to dismantle the heritage of former communist totalitarian systems” and Resolution 1481 (2006): “Need for international condemnation of crimes of totalitarian communist regimes”, and the European Parliament “Resolution on European conscience and totalitarianism” (2009). Among the “measures” suggested by the first one, I usually outline the following: “This process must include a transformation of mentalities (a transformation of hearts and minds) whose main goal should be to eliminate the fear of responsibility, and to eliminate as well the disrespect for diversity, extreme nationalism, intolerance, racism and xenophobia, which are part of the heritage of the old regimes” (Resolution 1096/1996). The term “totalitarian” is used to banalize and revise 20th-century political history by creating a simple binary pair – democratic vs. non-democratic – with the intention of equalising opposed ideological systems – Fascism and Communism. The political discourse based on this binary scheme serves both the aims of absolving the hegemonic ideology – Neoliberal Capitalism – of any links to Fascism, and of criminalising Communism and Marxism. The introduction of the “anti-totalitarian” discourse into official EU heritage policy is a precedent in that it aims to reinforce the citizens’ identification with the EU’s political system by using oppositional discourse and creating a new type of common “anti-heritage”. I argue that the thus defined “shared” characteristics of the targeted heritage can be found neither on the level of formal and aesthetic analysis, nor on the functional level of these structures. The term “totalitarian heritage” itself functions as an example par excellence of the use of heritage as a metacultural practice, while the on-going programmes that have been certified by the Council of Europe, such as the ATRIUM European Cultural Route – Architecture of Totalitarian Regimes, perpetuate the use of non-scientific, unsustainable and contradictory terminology with potentially damaging effects not only regarding the re-semantisation, heritisation, and the social use of targeted architectural and sculptural built heritage, but on bolstering the existing cultural and economic divisions and prejudices between the European East and West. Other EU funded programmes include the recent Regional Cooperation Council’s “Culture and Adventure Tourism Development and Promotion” call, prepared a specialised project package called “Balkan Monumental Trail” (BMT), described as “a new joint regional route, a niche product that focuses on the attractiveness of the art and design, architectural value and in particular in situ design of the WWII monuments and buildings as a unique heritage of this specific period”. Directly referring to the “attractiveness for the international markets (…) best reflected through the Toward a Concrete Utopia exhibition at MoMA (…) the objective of the BMT is to create a pathway which highlights and explores the often forgotten and marginalised heritage of the abstract and modernist WWII monuments of the WB6 economies of Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo, Montenegro, Republic of North Macedonia and Serbia.” Almost paradoxically, Yugoslav monuments are thus no longer “shared” among (all) former republics, but are distributed according to current geo-political power relations and economic interests. 6. The flashy opening of the reconstructed Partisan cemetery in Mostar in 2018. Photo: http://ba.n1info.com/Foto/a259496/Nocni-sjaj-Partizanskog-groblja.html Needless to say, this means further alienation of Yugoslav memorial heritage from its original political and cultural context, and its ideological misuse for current political aims. Nevertheless, the common experience of the Yugoslav antifascist resistance warfare did indeed form a genuine concept of “shared sites” of Yugoslav memory, still actively attracting visitors and stakeholders from all parts of the former state. Today’s cultural and commemorative practices that take place under – or despite – the changed political circumstances, still form a shared cultural and linguistic space, thus making a strong argument for heritage management models that would bind together and create cultural and memorial routes based on the territory of former Yugoslavia, or, alternatively, on the shared international experience of the resistance and collective struggles during the Second World War across the Mediterranean, European or even global territory. Such models, however, oppose or even subvert the hegemonic political agendas, be it neo-liberal/anti-communist on the EU level, or nationalist on the level of local politics in the former Yugoslav region. At the same time, visible tendencies of the tourism-oriented management of Yugoslav monuments and memorial sites – especially those aimed at an international audience  – are often based either on the “ruinophilic” appeal of some sites, or on the aforementioned trend of the exoticisation of the “former East”. Although the concept of “memorial tourism” was developed within the self-managed socialist system in Yugoslavia as early as in the late 1960s, it was, at the time, based on comprehensive demographic/economic assessments and detailed physical planning of protected memorial zones. The idea was to implement novel heritage protection regimes over memorial and natural landscapes and artefacts with recreational and educational purposes to benefit local self-managed communities. The economic profit for the local communities was an important outcome, but not the guiding principle for such a model of heritage management. Under the changed political circumstances and economic principles, the absence of any kind of professional involvement and dialogue with local communities, the commodification of recent heritage by branding them as ‘difficult’ or ‘dark’, could lead to the scenario in which (hi-)stories of fascism and anti-fascism can freely compete on the “open market”. 3. What would you define as specifics of memory politics in Croatia in relation to the rest of (post)Yugoslav space? Is there a specific role of the Catholic Church in the creation of the mainstream memory narratives? Unfortunately, the Catholic Church has been an important ally of revisionist, anti-communist politics in Croatia, but I am not sure that this makes Croatia an exception, maybe just a more extreme case among other Yugoslav states. The Church officials have not spoken up or stood up for the need to commemorate victims, and to restore hundreds of devastated monuments and sites commemorating civilian victims, or graveyards and mass graves of the Partisans, even when they are ethnic Croats. At the same time, they have been prominent figures at commemorations organized at the sites of the co-called “victims of communist terror", where by referring to “Croatian soldiers”, they in fact honour the Ustasha or SS soldiers inaugurating them into national martyrs and normalizing the fascist regime. The affluent Catholic Church, supported by one of the highest percentages of state funding in Europe, and relying on its powerful and widespread propaganda infrastructure, is indeed one of the main agents of the creation or mediation of the official memory narratives in Croatia. Their official representatives rarely if ever use the opportunity to condemn the chauvinistic discourse of the far right. On the contrary, the Church has offered substantial support to some of the most notorious historical negationists by giving them voice through interviews, publications and broadcast channels. It must be pointed out, however, that this has also been the case with some public media services and State institutions, like archives and public libraries. 4. Are there different WWII interpretations in Croatia between media, political elites and academic communities or does the anti-revisionist politics remain at the margins? Would you consider the academic community, in the light of the recent surge in Yugoslav studies, as being at the more subversive end of memory dialogues in Croatia? In the early 2010s, when I started my research, there were but a few scholars, mostly sociologists, philosophers and historians, who were touching upon the issue of socialist Yugoslav monuments. There were almost no art historians dealing specifically with that topic, while public commemorative sculpture and architecture were at best analysed as a specific, usually marginal or problematic segment of individual artists’ oeuvres, or recognized as an important yet under-researched part of the socialist cultural production. I’m glad that ten years later the research proliferated across a myriad of different disciplines and beyond, often by scholars who are not privileged to work in the academia. Paradoxically, the acceptance of this topic in the academia – although usually ignored in the mainstream art history curricula – was partially made easier exactly due to the afore discussed “Western gaze”, which has come in handy as a “legitimization” tool for the younger generation of scholars to pursue research of this demanding and socially highly relevant topic, which remains renounced or frowned upon in many local academic contexts. At the same time, numerous scholars abroad have successfully inaugurated Yugoslav studies as a separate area of study on the international level. But despite the fact that research results often question, challenge and directly oppose and criticise the dominant political rhetoric, including memory politics, I wouldn’t call them subversive, simply because, in most cases, scholars are unable or unwilling to intervene in the field of politics. However engaged and dedicated academic and cultural/artistic work is limited, both methodologically and structurally, as part of highly competitive academic and cultural labour market. What I consider subversive within the academic field is to challenge and disrupt these limitations, and for scholars to engage in social and political struggles, including their own workers’ rights, in a more active and direct way. Subversive scholars are those fighting for a diverse and equal academia, for free access to education, gender equality, and against academia as a place of class privilege and reproduction of cultural hegemony. 5. You have researched the monuments to labour that were built in Yugoslav times. To me it seems you were the only one in recent scholarship who has touched upon the topic. What has been the place of such monuments in official state policies – in the times of socialist Yugoslavia and in the memory battles of today? This is another topic that allows us to justly inquire whose heritage is recognized and authorized, and how criteria for its valorisation are composed and revised in different political systems. The socialist period obviously affirmed and in different ways promoted narratives that spoke about the emancipatory struggle of the working class. In many cases, workers’ collectives were actively included in the decision-making processes, and many monuments that were built in or around factories functioned as symbolic places which created the sense of political community gathered around the positive tradition of their own past struggles. In Croatia, such memorials have been almost completely removed or destroyed along with the privatisation and physical removal of factories from the cities. Today, this red thread of working class memory culture is almost completely and systematically cut off, along with the workers’ shattered class consciousness. Even famous proto-socialist narratives, like the 1573 Peasant Revolt in northern Croatia and Slovenia, which was too popular to be erased, have been resemanticized – Matija Gubec, the heroic leader of the class struggle is no longer the symbol of repressed peasants who fought against the social injustice of the oppressive feudal system, but the whole commemorative event has been gradually transformed into a romanticized, depoliticized, touristic medieval festival, or into a national symbol of “Croatian peasantry” (or in Slovenia, Slovenian). Here, I would like to emphasize the gender aspect of the social memory of the working class. Since the early 1990s, we have witnessed a systematic removal of both male and female busts as part of the political project of ideological “cleansing”. However, due to their smaller total number, monuments dedicated to women and women's history as such have been the greatest “victims“ of revisionism in the public space. In Zagreb, more than half of the 432 memorials (monuments, memorial plaques, and busts) erected in 1945-1990 have been demolished or removed, in addition to the renaming of 125 public institutions (87,57%) and 238 streets, squares, and other public areas (70,62%), which served as the utilitarian bearers of public memory in the socialist regime (Šimunković and Delač 2013). Today, Zagreb is a city with only seven historical monuments dedicated to women, which is only one of the numerous symptoms of re-traditionalisation of both the public and the private sphere, a process that has gone hand in hand with the restoration of capitalism in Croatia along with the defamation of the socialist regime. Textile factories, like “Nada Dimić” in Zagreb and “Neda Knifić” in Senj, were often named after female Partisans and working-class heroes. Monuments, usually portrait busts, were regularly placed in front of or around factory complexes. Today what remains is a photo of an impressive, forgotten monument in the shape of an augmented, stylized industrial needle that once stood at the entrance to the “Pobjeda” textile factory in Zagreb. It’s background stonewall niche was supplemented by memorial plaques with the name of the factory workers who died as antifascists and victims of fascism during the Second World War. This factory, along with the original site of the monument currently awaits the next phase of gentrification in that part of Zagreb. Apart from the photos, archives or scarce material traces of such objects, there are also memories of those who worked there, or whose families inherited these marginalized and silenced (his)stories. This is the potential for developing a “heritage from below” approach. a, b, c, d More than 55 % of monuments and memorials dedicated to the WWII in Zagreb have been destroyed or removed from public space since the early 1990s, including sculptural busts of antifascist heroines, lists of names of workers that were killed in concentration camps or died in battles as partisans, and a number of memorial plaques in the interiors of the city’s public institutions, which commemorated their former employees, students or inmates. Photos: Alliance of Anti-Fascist Fighters and Anti-Fascists of Croatia (SABA) 6. Would you estimate that the national minorities in Croatia, notably the Serbian community, have developed their own counter-memory strategies inherent to their minority position and different reading of the past? Yes, I agree. This is one of the aspects where the constitutional rights of national minorities in Croatia are used in a very productive way. We can even claim that they are making up for the breaches of the Constitution I mentioned earlier, and the lack of institutional acknowledgement and care over the antifascist legacy on behalf of the responsible state bodies. If we take a look at the initiatives happening on the institutional level, we will observe that they have almost exclusively been produced by the cultural organizations of national minorities, and by NGOs, including the former Partisan veterans’ organizations, and (groups of) individual activists. Here, I am mainly referring to the initiatives for the renewal of monuments, or for the commission of new public and art interventions that speak up on those issues using contemporary means. There is a general lament on behalf of the experts, art historians in particular, over the degraded aesthetic quality of monuments built in the recent decades. However, the interest of contemporary artists in various aspects of cultural memory is far from low. On the contrary, the work of some of the most internationally recognized and acclaimed Croatian artists, like Sanja Iveković, Igor Grubić, Siniša Labrović, Fokus Grupa, Kristina Leko – to name just a few – has systematically addressed exactly those issues. Unwilling or simply unable (if we look at the official propositions of the memorial proposals and the way they define the very task) to contribute to or support the official politics of memory, they have indeed created a respectable body of work that can be considered counter-memorial in itself, as you suggested in your question. Moreover, I think that in the future, this very kind of artistic production will be evaluated as the monuments of this era – this is, for examples, Labrović’s gesture of healing the wounds of the mined Partisan monument in Sinj, or Grubić’s public intervention that involved equipping Partisan Heroes’ busts with red bandanas. The inability or unwillingness of the mainstream cultural elites and experts to recognize these as contemporary monuments, is primarily telling of their own limited or biased understanding of contemporary art and artistic agency. This is another moment where we can clearly see that monument-making, and cultural production as a whole is never “artistically autonomous” or “politically innocent”. This kind of engagement in memorial practices requires political literacy and alertness, and it holds a great deal of ethical responsibility on behalf of the artists, architects and all others engaged as cultural workers in this process. 7. Given that the interview will be published in a Russian journal, another question remains relevant. What is the public discourse towards the Russian Federation, on one hand, and USSR on the other hand, today? Are there key Russian figures being prominent in Croatian memory narratives, such as Stalin and maybe some others? Due to the specific history of political relations between Yugoslavia and the USSR, and the fact that in Croatia, the graves of Soviet Red Army soldiers were not as present as, for example, in Serbia, we can say that the central site of memory is still the monument to the battle in Batina,[2] located on the Croatian side of the banks of the Danube, on the border with Serbia. There were several other smaller monuments to Soviet soldiers in Slavonia and most of them are taken care of by the Russian Federation today. Although the monument in Batina, the capital memorial project by the sculptor Antun Augustinčić and architect Drago Galić, was infamously unveiled right before the Informburo affair in 1948, it nevertheless preserved its iconic status in the Pantheon of Yugoslav monuments. A valuable record of the enormous, early post-war endeavour is an impressive propaganda film made in 1947-1948,[3] documenting all phases of the process of the construction of the monument, intended as a gift from Yugoslavia to the USSR, honouring 1297 Red Army Soviets soldiers killed in the battle and celebrating the joint struggle of Soviet and Yugoslav Partisans. The film was, however, never publicly screened because of the unexpected political circumstances. Unfortunately, if it hadn’t been for renovation on behalf of the Russian Federation, which is paradoxically one of the rare complete renovations of WWII monuments in Croatia, I am doubtful that the monument would have ever been restored and preserved. The monument to the battle in Batina. Photo: https://www.gov.kz/memleket/entities/mfa-zagreb/press/news/details/v-horvatii-pochtili-pamyat-voinov-pavshih-v-boyah-s-fashizmom?lang=ru To my knowledge, Stalin didn’t have a monument before 1948, but neither did Lenin, Marx or Engels, although there were several plans and federal public competitions for large-scale monuments. One of the project proposals for the 1968 public call for the monument that was supposed to stand in front of the building of the Central Committee of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia in Belgrade was a vertical mobile sculpture, inspired by Russian Constructivism and authored by Zagreb-based architect Andrija Mutnjaković and visual artist Aleksandar Srnec. Their proposal, along with numerous others, was found inadequate, and the monument was never built. To my knowledge, the only full figure of Lenin in Croatia stood in the socialist Sisak steel factory workers’ residential neighbourhood, but it disappeared in the 1990s. The same happened to the busts that were placed in the interiors of some official public venues. This insistence on local heroes and the fact that the protagonists of the international communist movement were never monumentalized is one of the specificities of Yugoslavia, often perceived as one of its “political advantages”. This is a problematic claim, based on a revisionist or romanticized idea that disregards the pragmatic political reasons and long-term consequences of Yugoslav geo-political positioning towards the capitalist west. Literature Banjeglav, Tamara in Darko Karačić, Tamara Banjeglav, Nataša Govedarica (eds.). 2012. Re:vizija prošlosti. Politike sjećanja u Bosni i Hercegovini, Hrvatskoj i Srbiji od 1990. godine. Sarajevo: Asocijacija Alumni Centra za interdisciplinarne postdiplomske studije – Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung. Baker, Catherine. 2015. The Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Buden, Boris. 2012. Zona prelaska – o kraju postkomunizma. Belgrade: Fabrika knjiga. Čalić. Marie-Janine. 2013. Istorija Jugoslavije u 20. veku. Belgrade: Clio. Constitution of the Republic of Croatia. Narodne novine 56/90, 135/97, 8/98, 113/00, 124/00, 28/01, 41/01 i 55/01. Council of Europe Parliamentary Assembly. Resolution 1096 (1996): Measures to dismantle the heritage of former communist totalitarian systems, http://assembly.coe.int/nw/xml/XRef/Xref-XML2HTML-en.asp?fileid=16507 (last accessed June 25th 2020). Dolenec, Danijela. 2013. Democratic Institutions and Authoritarian Rule in South East Europe. ECPR Press. Djureinović, Jelena. 2018. „Law as an Instrument and as a Mirror of Official Memory Politics: The Mechanism for Rehabilitating Victims of Communism in Serbia“ in Review of Central and East European Law. 43 (2). pp. 232-251. Djurešković, Stevo. 2016. „National identity building and the „Ustaša nostalgia“ in Croatia: the past that will not pass“ in Nationalities Papers. 44 (5). pp. 772-788. Herscher, Andrew. 2011. “Points of No Return: Cultural Heritage and Counter-Memory in Post-Yugoslavia” in Erica Lehrer, Cynthia E. Milton and Monica Eileen Patterson (eds.) Curating Difficult Knowledge, Violent Pasts in Public Places. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Horvatinčić, Sanja. 2017. PhD thesis. Memorials from the Socialist Era: Typology Model. Zadar: University of Zadar. Hrženjak, Juraj (ed.). 2002. Rušenje antifašističkih spomenika u Hrvatskoj 1990-2000. Zagreb: Savez antifašističkih boraca Hrvatske. Jerković, Darko. 2017. “Hrvatska u sjeni zlokobnih simbola totalitarizma (I.): Baština za muzeje ili skladišta otpada”. Glas Slavonije. http://www.glas-slavonije.hr/341403/11/Bastina-za-muzeje-ili-skladista-otpada (last accessed 23 June 2020). Jović, Dejan. 2017. Rat i mit: politika identiteta u suvremenoj Hrvatskoj. Zaprešić: Fraktura. Neumayer, Laure. 2018. The Criminalisation of Communism in the European Political Space after the Cold War. London: Routledge. Milekić, Sven. 2020. „„Of Course We Don't Deny the Holocaust“: Holocaust Distortion in Contemporary Croatia“ in Prism: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Holocaust Educators. New York: Yeshiva University. Pavlaković, Vjeran and Goran Korov (eds.). 2016. Strategije simbolične izgradnje nacije u državama Jugoistočne Evrope. Zagreb: Srednja Europa. Rothberg, Michael. 2009. Multidirectional memory: remembering the holocaust in the age of decolonization. Standford University Press. Šimunković, Mario and Domagoj Delač. 2013. Sjećanje je borba: spomen obilježja Narodnooslobodilačke borbe i revolucionarnog pokreta na području grada Zagreba Zagreb: Savez antifašističkih boraca i antifašista Republike Hrvatske. Štiks, Igor and Srećko Horvat. 2015. Welcome to the Desert of Post-Socialism: Radical Politics After Yugoslavia. London: Verso. [1] All references to Kosovo, whether to the territory, institutions or population, in this text shall be understood in full compliance with United Nations Security Council Resolution 1244 and without prejudice to the status of Kosovo. It is important to note that in the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, Kosovo had the status of an autonomous province, while the other six states had a status of a republic. [2] The Battle of Batina or Batina Operation took place from 11 to 29 November 1944 at the Croatian village of Batina in Baranja, on the right bank of the Danube River, between the units of the Red Army and the People's Liberation Army against the Wehrmacht and their allies. According to some estimates, the Battle of Batina is the biggest battle by the number of participants, the intensity of fighting, and the strategic importance that occurred during the World War II in Yugoslavia. These actions created favorable conditions for the subsequent Red Army's offensive towards Vienna and Budapest, while the whole German front on the Syrmian Front was weakened. [3] “Spomenik zahvalnosti Crvenoj armiji” (Monument to the Red Army), screenplay and director: Milan Katić, Jadran film, 1948.

Stef Craps is a professor of English literature at Ghent University in Belgium, where he directs the Cultural Memory Studies Initiative, a research group that brings together scholars from across the humanities who work on issues of memory and trauma as mediated through culture. His research interests lie in twentieth-century and contemporary literature and culture, memory and trauma studies, postcolonial theory, and ecocriticism and the environmental humanities. He is the founding coordinator of the Mnemonics network, an international collaborative initiative to provide research training in memory studies for doctoral students, and a co-chair of the “Transformation of the Environment” working group of the Slow Memory COST Action. E-mail: stef.craps@ugent.be Authored books: Bond, Lucy, and Stef Craps. Trauma. New Critical Idiom. Abingdon: Routledge, 2020. Craps, Stef. Postcolonial Witnessing: Trauma Out of Bounds. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Craps, Stef. Trauma and Ethics in the Novels of Graham Swift: No Short-Cuts to Salvation. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 2005. 1) Jan Assmann argues that the usual span of communicative (family) memory of modern people includes three generations (80-100 years). How deep is your family memory? That’s always sounded eminently plausible to me. It’s three generations for me too, in any case. I remember talking with my grandparents as a child about when they were young, but that’s as far back as my family memory goes. I know quite a few memory scholars who have a truly fascinating family history shaped by momentous historical events, which is often what led them to develop an interest in memory studies in the first place, but for better or worse, that’s not the case for me. As soon as you go a couple of generations back in my family history, you find Flemish peasants, and it’s Flemish peasants all the way down, so to speak—as far as I’m aware anyway. That’s to say that I don’t know of any earlier ancestors of mine whose lives were so profoundly disrupted by major historical developments that their memories have been passed down the generations. 2) The Second World War is the most significant trauma of the twentieth century, and it is still very sensitive in the “region of memory” along the former Nazi-Soviet front from Finland to Greece. How is the situation in Western Europe? Is the memory of the Second World War still alive in your family and across Belgium? Yes, very much so, I would say, along with the First World War, as Belgium also saw some of the worst fighting on the Western front during that war. In Flanders Fields about a million soldiers from all over the world were wounded, missing, or killed in action between 1914 and 1918, many of them in the particularly bloody Battle of Passchendaele. Armistice Day on 11 November, which commemorates the end of the First World War, is a public holiday in Belgium, whereas 8 May—the day of the Allied victory over Nazi Germany in 1945—is not, or at least not yet: there have been some proposals to remedy this situation in recent years. The amount of commemorative activity that marked the centenary of the First World War in Flanders was truly astonishing. The most high-profile memorial museums and sites of conscience in the country commemorate the First or Second World Wars: the war cemeteries dotting the province of West Flanders, the In Flanders Fields Museum and the Menin Gate in Ieper, the former Nazi prison camp Fort Breendonk, and Kazerne Dossin in Mechelen, which served as a transit camp from which Belgian Jews and Romani were deported to Auschwitz. The world wars also have pride of place in school history curricula, and the conversations about the past with my grandparents that I most vividly remember are those in which they recounted their wartime experiences. While it is understandable, of course, that both of these wars occupy a prominent place in Belgian memory culture, I have often been struck by the contrast with the relative silence surrounding the country’s colonial past, which is hardly publicly remembered—the American journalist Adam Hochschild, author of King Leopold’s Ghost, has called this “the great forgetting” of the Congo atrocities. In fact, I have come to suspect that what we have here is a good example of a Freudian screen memory, where remembrance of the world wars effectively serves to detract attention from Belgium’s shameful colonial history in Central Africa. 3) Why did you become involved in memory studies? Was it influenced by your family memory, or there were other reasons? I got into memory studies via my interest in the ways in which literature bears witness to traumatic events and experiences. I don’t actually think my (plain vanilla) family history played much of a role in determining my research interests, though, as I said, that is indeed often the case with people who are active in this field. I wrote my MA thesis a the University of Leuven on Salman Rushdie’s Shame, a novel that is a textbook example of what Linda Hutcheon has called “historiographic metafiction.” These are postmodern novels that engage with history but do so in a very self-conscious manner: they construct versions of the past but make the reader aware of the construction process and critically interrogate inclusions, exclusions, interpretations, etc. My PhD also started out as a study of historiographic metafiction, in the work of the contemporary British author Graham Swift, whose novel Waterland is one of the best-known examples of the genre. However, as I was writing my PhD thesis, in the late 1990s, the focus shifted to trauma and ethics in Swift’s novels. My PhD supervisor at the University of Leuven, Ortwin de Graef, had drawn my attention to the then-recent work on trauma by literary scholars such as Cathy Caruth, Shoshana Felman, and Geoffrey Hartman. It is no coincidence that Ortwin took an interest in this emerging body of scholarship, as just like these scholars he had a background in deconstruction and poststructuralism. Moreover, also just like them, he had been deeply shaken by the Paul de Man affair—in fact, it was Ortwin who had discovered de Man’s wartime writings while working on his own PhD. He saw trauma theory as an attempt by a beleaguered critical paradigm—textualism, say—to reassert and redeem itself by reinventing itself in an ethical guise. So I effectively inherited my interest in issues of trauma and memory from my PhD supervisor. 4) You are among the critics of the optimists, who prematurely ushered in the third “transnational” stage of memory studies and memory practices. You argue that an attempt to establish the memory of the Holocaust as the pattern of global memory has failed because it is limited by the Western context and non-Western people portray it as an imposition of the neo-colonial hegemony. Your opponents could argue that the “locatedness” of the Holocaust is less important than the pattern of unprecedented empathy towards the former paradigm “strangers,” because for many centuries most Christians believed that Jews, who allegedly “crucified Jesus,” are their “natural enemies.” From that perspective memory of the Holocaust is the engine of empathy towards all victims of world history, including victims of slavery, colonial exploitation, genocides, and so on. What in your opinion is wrong with that argumentation? I have tried to help effect a shift from what I consider to be an overly celebratory or even euphoric moment in transnational or transcultural memory studies to a more critical and reflexive one. I argue for caution in the face of the sense of optimism that pervades the work of scholars such as Daniel Levy and Natan Sznaider, Jeffrey Alexander, Alison Landsberg, and Cathy Caruth, which ushered in what Astrid Erll’s calls the “third phase” of memory studies. In my book Postcolonial Witnessing: Trauma Out of Bounds, I show that claims about the universality of the Holocaust, in particular, don’t always promote transcultural understanding or lead to an increase in democracy, tolerance, and human rights. I identify a tendency to underestimate the negative, harmful uses to which Holocaust comparisons can be and have been put, and to overestimate the globalization of Holocaust memory. After all, there are many parts of the world outside the West where the Holocaust is not a common reference. Hence, to assume that the Holocaust is a unique source of moral lessons that cannot be learnt any other way is to effectively relegate billions of people, predominantly in the global South, to a state of moral immaturity. This reflects a colonial perspective that seems to me to be in tension with the establishment of a universal human-rights culture to which scholars such as Alexander and Levy and Sznaider pay lip service. 5) How do you think it is possible to establish a viable global memory using another pattern (or maybe set of patterns) instead of the Holocaust, or global memory is an unrealistic project, because it is an eternal utopia? Leaving aside the question of whether it is theoretically possible (opinion is divided on this point), I’m not sure “global memory” is something to aspire to, to be honest. I’m wary, in any case, of the likely implications. Maybe there are other ways to go about this, but it seems to me that globalizing one particular memory and holding it up as a universal moral standard risks trampling or blocking out other memories. I struggle to see the imposition of one collective memory (of the Holocaust, say) on communities preoccupied with other historical traumas that they themselves have suffered (e.g. Western imperialism) as anything other than a colonizing move that is unlikely to do those on the receiving end much good. I am all for transcultural and multidirectional mnemonic travel, and I recognize that this can generate social solidarity by enabling the transmission across society of empathy for the historical experience of others, but that’s a different thing, in my view, than seeking to establish a “global memory.” The sense of mutuality, equal footing, and two-way traffic that characterizes the former is absent in the latter, I fear. Colour me suspicious, but advocacy for the elevation of a particular memory as universal and hence morally more significant, presumably, than other memories strikes me as a ploy to extend Western hegemony in the realm of collective memory. 6) The growing trend of far-right nationalism in many European countries is a challenge, which requires an adequate reaction from memory studies. Many of our colleagues believe that the agonistic approach of Chantal Mouffe is a remedy against anti-democratic forces. Do you believe that agonism could be effective enough to oppose supporters of antagonism, or are there other effective instruments to challenge the far-right threat? That’s a difficult question, to which I really wish I knew the answer! I remember reading an interesting 2016 article by Anna Cento Bull and Hans Lauge Hansen titled “On Agonistic Memory.” Drawing on research undertaken as part of the EU-funded UNREST project and the work of Chantal Mouffe, they proposed agonistic memory—a reflexive, dialogic mode of remembrance that embraces political conflict—as a third way that could break what they saw as the deadlock between top-down cosmopolitan EU memory and bottom-up, antagonistic right-wing memory. Regardless of the theoretical merits of this appealing new model, though, I wonder whether, six years on, that ship has not sailed, given the extent of global democratic decline that we’ve witnessed in the meantime. While the far right was merely on the rise back in 2016, by now it is in power or very close to getting (back) into power in many countries—just think of Brexit, Trump, and Bolsonaro, along with other autocratic leaders such as Orbán, Modi, Erdoğan, and, of course, Putin, who were already around in 2016 but have consolidated their hold on power and become emboldened since then. Moreover, the (social) media landscape has become even more toxic and polarized, further shrinking the space for agonistic debate. Given this rather depressing context, I’m afraid I’m not terribly optimistic about the chances of successfully implementing an agonistic mode of remembering across society anytime soon. One thing memory scholars could and, in my opinion, should definitely start doing more of, though, is engage with far-right memory culture, which is transnational but obviously not cosmopolitan—yet another reason, incidentally, why memory studies should refrain from uncritically embracing transnational dynamics. A better understanding of the reactionary memory politics of “the other side” may help the field develop more effective modes of resistant remembrance, which we are clearly in urgent need of. Such research is still rare, but Neil Levi and Michael Rothberg’s 2018 article “Memory Studies in a Moment of Danger: Fascism, Postfascism, and the Contemporary Political Imaginary” provides an inspiring example. Another promising avenue for relevant future memory research would be to critically examine whether and, if so, to what extent and how the hegemonic post-Cold War memory culture, with its commitment to tolerance and the protection of minorities, may be complicit in if not responsible for the contemporaneous resurgence of the far right. Some serious soul-searching would appear to be in order—as Valentina Pisanty argues in her thought-provoking 2021 book The Guardians of Memory, for which Rothberg wrote a preface. 7) What are your academic plans? My latest research is at the intersection of memory studies and the environmental humanities. It focuses on how contemporary literature and culture more generally grapple with the aesthetic, ethical, and existential challenges associated with climate change and the Anthropocene, the proposed new geological epoch defined by human impact of which global warming is the most salient manifestation. While climate change is often discussed in strictly scientific, economic, or technical terms, it also raises profound questions of meaning, value, and justice, as it unsettles conventional ways of seeing and inhabiting the world. Climate change challenges the imagination, shakes the very idea of what it means to be human, and forces us to re-frame our relationship to the planet and to each other. I examine the human imaginative engagement with climate change via literary texts and other artistic works telling innovative stories that seek to facilitate the perspective shifts and the new ways of thinking and feeling that the Anthropocene imperatively demands. I have recently written a few essays and given some talks on ecological mourning, the process of coming to terms with environmental loss, and I suspect that these may coalesce into a book on the topic someday. In any case, I expect to do further research along these lines in the years ahead. The idea is to get a better grasp of how environmental loss is experienced, expressed, and managed by studying different creative practices of ecological mourning enacted by a range of writers, artists, activists, and institutions. I’m not alone, of course, in turning my attention to the climate and ecological crisis in my work. There has recently been a surge of interest in environmental issues among memory scholars, which is unsurprising, perhaps, as our dire environmental predicament continues to deteriorate and hence is becoming harder and harder to ignore. However, for a long time that is exactly what happened, or so it seems to me. While I’ve been working on environmental memory since the mid-2010s, along with a handful of colleagues (including Rick Crownshaw, Lucy Bond, Jessica Rapson, and Rosanne Kennedy), I’ve often wondered at the paucity of panels and papers on environmental topics at memory studies conferences I’ve attended in recent years. In my introduction to a roundtable on memory studies and the Anthropocene that was published in Memory Studies in 2018, I announced the advent of a new, fourth phase of memory studies, one in which the field would start to think ecologically instead of merely socially. I’m pleased to see that more work of this nature is indeed beginning to appear, though it remains hard for the field to break with its persistent anthropocentrism and take account of the vast spatio-temporal scales of the Anthropocene. Such work is being actively fostered by a new COST Action on “slow memory,” led by Jenny Wüstenberg, which aims to study the memory not of sudden, violent events but of various forms of slow-moving, more dispersed change, such as deindustrialization, neoliberal restructuring, and, indeed, environmental degradation. In fact, I’m excited to co-chair the Action’s “Transformation of the Environment” working group, along with Rick Crownshaw. I very much look forward to working with the members of our group in the years to come, in which I believe we will see the field make significant strides in its engagement with the planetary crisis. Thank you for the interview!

Ludmila Isurin: “My entire book prepared the reader for the fact that sooner or later the escalating situation and ideological hysteria in both Russia and the United States should lead to open conflict” Ludmila Isurin, is Professor in the Department of Slavic and East European Languages and Cultures, and Chair of Undergraduate Studies in the Ohio University. E-mail: isurin.1@osu.edu The main publications: Reenacting the Enemy : Collective Memory Construction in Russian and US Media, by Ludmila Isurin (Oxford University Press, 2022) Collective Remembering: Memory in the World and in the Mind, by Ludmila Isurin (Cambridge University Press, 2017) Integration, Identity and Language Maintenance in Young Immigrants: Russian Germans or German Russians, co-edited by Ludmila Isurin and Claudia Maria Riehl (John Benjamins Publishing, 2017) Memory, Language, and Bilingualism: Theoretical and Applied Approaches, co-edited by Jeanette Altarriba and Ludmila Isurin (Cambridge University Press, 2012) Russian Diaspora: Culture, Identity, and Language Change, by Ludmila Isurin (De Gruyter, 2011) Multidisciplinary Approaches to Code Switching (Studies in Bilingualism), edited by Ludmila Isurin, Donald Winford, and Kees de Bot (John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2009) Dear Prof. Isurin, Oxford University Press just released your book “Reenacting the Enemy: Collective Memory Construction in Russian and U.S. Media”. You selected seven crucial events between 2014 and 2018: the takeover of Crimea; the conflict in Eastern Ukraine; the downing of Flight MH17; the conflict in Syria; the 2016 US Presidential Election; the 2014 Sochi Olympics; the Skripals’ case. In accordance with your theoretical framework mass media play the role of a ‘shuttle’ which connects collective memory and individual minds. You use two samples of sources: 1) more than three hundred publications in American and Russian leading media and 2) a survey of more than two hundred American and Russian respondents. The first sample shows how media reenact the image of “other” using schemata of memory and biased approaches distorting information. The data of the survey show the extent to which media impact minds and create public opinion. I believe your approach is very fruitful because it is applicable to other research studying complex relations in the “Bermuda Triangle” of memory, media and mind. I would like to ask a few questions related to some topics discussed in your book, but first let me ask about the subjects related to your personal background. 1. The main subject of our journal is memory studies. Therefore, we traditionally put the same question to our respondents. Jan Assmann believes that the span of communicative (family) memory is about 80-100 years, that is three generations. How deep is your family memory? Could you tell about your ancestors and parents? One of the courses that I teach at the university is on academic writing within a theme of immigration and the very first assignment in that class is a memoir on family history. I ask my students to sit down with their family and ask as many questions as they can about their ancestry. I always add: Do for your children what I wish my parents did for me. Students love this assignment and always comment on how much they have learned about their roots through this essay. Those roots often would go a few centuries down the history, to the first American settlers. I am afraid, during the Soviet times the continuity in the family memory often was disrupted or such an essay would not always fly easily, which would be my case. I come from two drastically different heritage lineages: Russian peasantry at the border with Latvia, on my mother’s side, and Russian aristocracy in St. Petersburg, on my father’s side. While growing up and spending my summers at a village where my grandparents lived, I knew that side of the peasant and illiterate – in case of my grandparents – family pretty well. However, I was drawn to a more mysterious and “forbidden” side – those nobles whose pictures I saw in our family album. My great grandfather was a member of the Nicholas II government, they owned lands and houses in the Vasilievsky island where, ironically, I was born in a communal apartment. In the photo, Ludmila Isurin's great-grandfather Pavel Petrovich Maslennikov, his brother (Georgy?) and her great-grandmother Paulina Ferdinandovna. My father would tell me some stories and take me on a skiing trip to the Smolensky cemetery where all those ancestors were buried. On Russian Orthodox Christmas we would go to my great uncle, the only living relative from that generation whom I knew. As a child, I was mesmerized by seeing this old man whose picture of a young Russian officer in the uniform (was it before the revolution or was he one of the White officers – I do not know) we had in our album. He was playing piano with the candle lit icons above it. In the photo, Georgy, Ludmila Isurin's great uncle My world was so different outside of that apartment, and I knew that I cannot mention this holiday or icons to anyone outside of my family. Unfortunately, my father tragically died at the early age when I was only 10 years old and it left me with so many unanswered questions and so many old pictures: a young nursing mother (mat’-kormilitza) with a fancy peasant head piece on (kokoshnik) holding a baby, my great grandmother who I know was German with a “pince-nez” in her hand, or a postcard from Paris in the 1930s from yet another great grandfather who immigrated during the revolution. In the photo, a nursing mother with one of Ludmila Isurin's ancestors I managed to smuggle a few of those old family pictures when we were emigrating in early 1990 (we were not allowed to take any of those back then). Two years ago, I decided to do a genetic test and it placed most of my heritage in Latvia where those tall blond ancestors lived. But I always wanted to learn more about the other side of my family, the one from St. Petersburg… 2. Memory studies are pretty new and hence not fully an institutionalized discipline. Therefore it “enrolls” academics from different fields. Why were you involved in memory studies? Did your family and personal memory have any impact on your choice? No, my travel into the field of memory was not ignited by any interest in the family memory. However, it was caused by my observation of how my Russian language skills were gradually deteriorating in immigration. Starting with my dissertation on memory and forgetting of first language and later doing more than ten years of research on cognitive aspects of memory as they apply to bilingualism and first language forgetting, I was sure that I had established myself in that specific area of memory studies. I also was interested in autobiographical memory and I collected personal immigration histories from Russian immigrants in Israel, Germany, and the US for my first monograph (Russian Diaspora, 2011). However, it was not until my colleague and I were publishing our book on Memory and Bilingualism with Cambridge University Press in 2011, and one of the reviewers mentioned a book published by the press two years earlier (Memory in the Mind and Culture, Eds. P. Boyer & J. Wertsch) that I got fascinated with the field of collective memory. In 2017 my first book on collective memory came out. In that project, I looked into nine political events of the recent Russian past. I studied them through both media, encyclopedia, and history textbooks texts and later tapped into the minds of Russians in Russia and Russian immigrants in the US. I wanted to see to what extent the memory of those events was different between the two groups and how it was reconstructed over time. When I was finishing that book, the takeover of Crimea happened. I added that event to the survey and it was the only event in the book that triggered absolutely opposite reactions from Russians in Russia and Russians in the US. This is when I thought I would turn to Crimea later and write an article. But the subsequent events started piling up and there was no way to incorporate all of them in the size of a journal article. Hence, a new book… 3. You are a Russian émigré. After Putin's invasion into Ukraine a lot of Russian academics left the country and many of their colleagues are going to follow them. So our readers would be grateful if you share your personal memory regarding immigration and integration into American academia. Maybe you could also provide some recommendations to our colleagues? I know quite a few Russian immigrants in the American academia. I am sure everyone would have a different story and a different path of entering the US universities and succeeding in American academy. My path was not as straightforward. I am a two-time immigrant. My husband is half Jewish (on the “right,” mother’s side), which allowed us to apply for immigration in late 1989 after years of waiting for the official invitation (“vyzov”). By the time we received the permission to leave, the United States, our destination country, closed its doors for immigration to anyone who did not have a direct family in the US. With the Soviet citizenship revoked and having all bridges burned, we had no choice but to leave for the only country that was open for us – Israel. We were telling all our friends that we were leaving for the US via Israel. We did not know that “via” would translate into six years of very hard immigration, of settling down, adapting to a new and somewhat alien culture, finding professional jobs, and finally being viewed as successful by many Russian immigrants, which raised a question: Why would you like to emigrate again? I had a teaching job at an Israeli University, my husband had a job as an engineer. But being gentile and having a little child whose mother was not Jewish made me think of a way to finally get to the “port of call,” even if it did not happen the first time around. We were no longer viewed as refugees coming from Israel and becoming an illegal immigrant in America was out of question. I always wanted to get an advanced degree and the path of immigrating to America for education was the only acceptable one for me. I got accepted into Louisiana State University and in 1999 I graduated with my PhD degree in psycholinguistics. It took me another eight years of hard work as a part-time lecturer for two departments at the Ohio State University and then as the Director of Language Programs to get into a tenure track Professorial job. Ten years later, in 2018, I reached the highest rank in the US academia: Full Professor. It may sound easy and effortless as I write this. In reality, the US academic market is very tight and highly competitive. Very often the US/Western degree, experience of teaching in North America, and a list of publications in leading English-language journals are a must. From years of travelling to international conferences, I have to admit that rarely do I meet Russian colleagues at those venues or come across publications by Russia-based scholars in Western journals. I often feel that the intellectual thought in Russian academia goes in parallel with that in the West. At the present time, the situation is even more difficult for Russians to attend such conferences or visit the US. But it does not mean that such academic opportunities do not exist. As an example, this year my department is opening a new professorial position in a very wide range of Siberian Studies. Clearly, candidates would be coming from Russia. As to my advice to Russian colleagues, hard work, perseverance, and bright mind serve as predictors of success in this country. From the three countries that I studied in my research and from similar findings by sociologists – Germany, Israel, and the United States – the US has the lowest level of professional downgrading. Just as a side example, my husband, who is very intelligent and very successful engineer, got his first job offers with the promise of the official work permit in the US and the “green card” without speaking any English. The companies were paying me, as his personal interpreter, to fly with him for his job interviews. Now he is the author of 15 US patents. The United States does give immigrants a chance to succeed, including a chance to make it all the way up in academia! 4. I am very impressed by the idea of your book that media news are the “drafts of memory” and memories created by the media strongly influence not only public opinion but historiography as well. You write: “Journalism is on the front line of recording history and constructing new memories.” I guess historians should be a bit upset with that, because most of them believe that the media should base their references to the past on the expertise of historic corporation. Could you clarify your concept and provide some examples? I would not take credit for the idea that media create the first drafts of history. This is a repetitive reference in literature connecting the scholarship on collective memory and journalism. Although scholars acknowledge that “historians are very clearly invested in the claim that they are not journalists, and journalists are at least somewhat careful about this distinction and usually recognize what it entails” (Olick, 2014, p. 21), they also state that collective memories often have their origins in news events. “If the media have not chosen to remember – indeed, have not told the story in the first place – the official memory is also erased” (Birds, 2011). I can illustrate this on two specific examples from my previous work on Russian collective memory (2017): the Cuban missile crisis or the Caribbean crisis, as it is known in Russia, and the launch of Gagarin into space. While working on that project, I had access to the digital archives of Pravda, going back to 1915. I could read every single issue published over the span of a century. Soviet media provided very limited, if any, information about the Cuban missile crisis as it was unfolding and never mentioned it after it was resolved. On the contrary, the story of Gagarin occupied the front pages of Pravda for days surrounding this major event. Not surprisingly, all Russians surveyed in my project had a clear, almost photographic memory of this major event, and often the same memory was transmitted intergenerationally; whereas the majority of Russians admitted they have no memory of the Cuban missile crisis. Ironically, when I just came to the United States, my American friend asked me how my parents felt during that crisis and my honest response was: What crisis? 5. During the Soviet era we knew that newspaper Pravda is the lying media and meantime we believed that the Voice of America broadcasts the pure truth. It sounds surprising, but a lot of Russian liberals still believe that unlike the Putin’s propaganda the leading Western media are not biased. Your book destroys their sincere faith. You even argue that the Russian journalists are not so unanimous in sharing the government agenda as their American colleagues are: “it is interesting to see how bias featured in the news reports produced by the two countries. Here, we could clearly identify a similarity in how Russian state-controlled media and the majority of the U.S. outlets presented and supported the stance taken by their respective governments on any political event. Yet, if we take a separate look at Russian media, we can see a clear difference in some coverage of news by the independent press. … Journalists in those agencies do not hesitate to criticize their own government and its actions in some political affairs.” Could you tell how American media distorted reality providing the coverage of events, which are the topics of your book? Before I turn to specific examples of how American media distorted information related to the events that I investigated, I have to say that the majority of respondents in my pool happened to be on the liberal side of the political spectrum: They did not vote for Trump in 2016 (US) and they did not vote for Putin in 2018 (Russia). And both groups agreed that their media are not trustworthy in the coverage of world affairs; the distrust, however, was bigger among Russians (79%) than among Americans (52%). Regardless their skeptical attitude towards their respective media, the memories of the events from 2014-2018 were constructed along the ideological lines promoted by their media. I would also like to cite the words of James Wertsch who wrote a review for my book and his words resonated with how I feel about this work: “Her conclusions may be uncomfortable for both American and Russian readers, but that is the point and one the book’s great contributions.” In other words, while answering your specific question, how American media distorted reality, I wanted to remind you that I was equally critical of both the US and Russian state media in their ideologically biased coverage of those events. Now, to the question of distortion on the American side. My definition of distortion in this book was to see how the events initially were reported and how the narrative was changed later by omitting or misrepresenting the originally reported facts. In this light, distortion can be exemplified by how Crimea-related reports in the U.S. media first acknowledged the referendum and the fact that 97% of people voted to join Russia, then labeled it as sham, and later totally omitted any mention of the “free will of the people” in Crimea. Moreover, the information that Crimea was transferred from the Russian Federation to Ukraine by the “voluntarist” decision of Khrushchev and that the majority of the population of Crimea are ethnic Russians was not mentioned. Next, the U.S. reference to a Russia that “seized Crimea by force” contradicts all the immediate American reports where no military force or violence was mentioned and where the takeover was described as a bizarre “low-key invasion” with some friendly and polite military personnel in unmarked uniforms present on the ground. The somewhat overt involvement of the U.S. government in the orchestration of the power change in Ukraine reluctantly was admitted by a few U.S. media outlets only after some evidence was presented by Russians. However, it was quickly dropped from any further discussion and Russia was blamed for another low in posting such compromising documents. Also, when reporting on the Sochi Olympics, the U.S. media deliberately downplayed any big success that Russians had at the Games – that was before the doping scandal that stripped many Russian athletes of their medals. Moreover, there was much distortion of the information in the U.S. media related to the MH17 investigation and the Skripals’ poisoning. Since the Dutch-led investigation could not identify who fired the missile that downed MH17 or from where it was fired, as some American journalists rightly acknowledged, others proceeded with making false, though definitive-sounding, claims that it was fired by Russian separatists or even by the Russian military. In the case of the Skripals, only the nature of the nerve agent used in the attempted assassination was established by reputable international organizations; however, most American reporters quickly stated that the origin of the agent was found and that it was manufactured by the Russian government. One of the things that I looked at in my analysis was the use of the language in reference to the discussed events that also illustrated distortion. To provide just a few examples, the deliberate reference to Russian-speaking separatists who are Ukrainian citizens as Russian separatists or simply referring to the civil war in Ukraine as a war between Russia and Ukraine appeared in most U.S. reports related to events that happened in 2014-2018. Defining the takeover of Crimea not simply as annexation but as a Russian invasion, intervention, or occupation, and later overusing derivatives of the word “terrorist” to label the Ukrainian separatists and Russia as a whole were common for most of the U.S. media. The bizarre adherence to the word “invade” led to an awkwardly written piece where the author described a pro-Russian demonstration in Eastern Ukraine as people holding signs calling for Russia to invade their land (the original photo of the sign saying “Putin vvedi voiska” is included in my book). Also, when describing the protests in Eastern Ukraine, pro-Russian demonstrators were labeled as a “crowd” or “militia,” whereas the neutral term “pro-Kiev demonstrators” was used to depict the opposite camp. Furthermore, to project the clear superiority of the American reader to the Russian reader who supposedly is ideologically brainwashed, a ridiculous statement that American people instinctively know the truth made me question where such healthy instincts in Americans come from, if not from their press that is equally ideologically biased. 6. One of the main subjects of your book is analysis of schemata of memory, which Russian and American media “refresh” in the minds providing news. Could you present the main schemata of both countries? If we start chronologically with the Sochi Olympics, the major scripts on both sides referred to some relatively distant events, such as the Iron Curtain, the KGB background of Vladimir Putin, a despotic leader like Stalin or a defeat of the Soviet hockey team by Americans back in 1980, known as “Miracle on Ice” in American collective memory (in American media) and to the patriotic events in the Russian past, such as the victory in WWII, the launch of the first man in space, as well as the fact that Russia is surrounded by haters (in Russian media). However, things have drastically changed after the takeover of Crimea in 2014. Besides portraying Putin as a villain and drawing sympathy toward Ukraine, the early U.S. reports, prior to the takeover and immediately following it, were in an apparent search for the right script to contextualize what happened as a surprisingly quick and bloodless act of redrawing international borders by Putin. Although initially American reporters acknowledged Russia’s claims of NATO’s expansion to its borders and the accusation of less than stellar U.S. acts in toppling Libya’s government as well as its war in Kosovo, such claims soon were dropped from U.S. media coverage. Instead, the takeover has established a new storyline and a new script, that later was referred to as Russian annexation, intervention, invasion, and occupation. All subsequent events would be framed within what happened in 2014, reminding American readers about the hostile nature of the re-emerging old enemy. Russia, alternatively, has created its own discourse on Crimea where the free will of the Crimean people to join Russia, the ultra-right nationalist groups that brought the turnover of power in Kiev and threatened ethnic Russians in Crimea, the illegitimacy of the new Ukrainian government as well as the legality of the reunification process were emphasized. Having justified the takeover of Crimea in such terms – the narrative that would be repeated all over again when discussing other political events in those years – Russian media have established a portrait of the U.S. as the notorious other that orchestrated the overturning of the Ukrainian government. Stressing the obvious burden of unjust economic sanctions imposed on Russia as the result of the takeover, Russian media created a new script within which the West and the U.S., in particular, were discussed. The image of Russia as a heroic savior of the Crimean people from the danger of ultra-right/ “fascist” militant forces, and the image of the U.S. as a puppet master behind the coup in Kiev, have entered a new script, deviations from which did not happen in the next few years. Moreover, while the US media would outright blame Russia for subsequent events, even before the evidence was available (the crash of MH17, the chemical attacks in Syria, and the poisoning of the Skripals) by reminding their readers that Russia forcefully occupied Crimea, Russian media would remind their audience about the US role in Kosovo or the infamous test tube that allegedly contained the “hard evidence” that Saddam Hussein had chemical weapons, which justified the beginning of the recent US-led coalition war in Iraq. Such reminders, interwoven into a new scrip, served to discredit any accusations made by America. What is interesting is that the reference to the referendum in Crimea has recently resurfaced in the US media in light of the preparation for similar referenda in the Russian controlled Kherson and Mariupol during the ongoing conflict in Ukraine. A CNN reporter aggressively claimed that those will be sham referenda, all the results will be falsified, all will be a lie and Americans should not believe a word coming from the Russian side. Sadly, this is an example of how a script based on recent events is used to interpret future events that yet have to happen. 7. You not only analyze discourses of media but you also made a survey, which allows you to represent the impact of media on individual minds. Let me reproduce the table from your book: “How Well Americans Remembered the Events” It is obvious that the American audience is not very involved in discussions around the crucial subjects of foreign affairs. Your respondents remember better the downing of flight MH17 (I guess because it concerns the Western people) and they are almost “amnesiac” regarding the long term conflict in Donbass region of Ukraine. How do you explain that unusual, from the Russian perspective, picture? Maybe the American media did not pay a lot of attention to the coverage of the seven events from your sample? You are right, there was almost no coverage of the conflict in Dondass after 2014 in the US media. Similarly, high emphasis in all US media outlets on the current “special operation” in Ukraine has gradually subsided and there are hardly any headlines as days go by… My interest was in how people who vaguely remember the events would respond to the survey questions. Those mostly fell back on the stereotypes established in their memory and, as a result, reporting totally false memories. 8. There is a joke: “Russia is a country with an unpredictable past,” which implies the rewriting of history under the ideological pressure of undemocratic regimes. But there is another reason why honest historians should revise their conclusions: the new crucial events inevitably change our perspective on the entire plot of history. I believe that Putin’s invasion into Ukraine is a critical incident, which impacts on our understanding of the takeover of Crimea and other events analyzed in your book. It was finalized and sent for the publisher’s editing at the end of 2020 but it was released a few months after the 24 of February 2022. Did you make any changes in the text on the eve of its release? Whatever, either you did or did not do any changes, could you comment on your decision? This is a good question When I sent my finished manuscript to Oxford in summer of 2020, I thought that my book would be quite timely. When it came out in April 2022, two months after Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, I sadly admitted that it was already outdated. Unfortunately, Western presses have very strict rules on how much the author can change the content once the manuscript is sent for typesetting. The last time I could make any small changes or add some information was in August 2021. After that only spelling or grammar corrections could be made. In other words, after November 2021 I could not change a thing about this book. Moreover, I urged the press to speed up the publication process in light of the intensified tensions between Russia in the US, and my request was not granted. As we say, welcome to the publishing world… If I had the opportunity to add something after February 24, I would say that my entire book prepared the reader for the fact that sooner or later the escalating situation and ideological hysteria in both Russia and the United States should lead to open conflict. And I don't think it wasn't provoked in part by the country where I live. And maybe I'd change the title of the book from "Reenacting the Enemy" to "The Enemy Reenacted." 9. What are your academic plans? I am very grateful to be part of a small group of international researchers working on collective memory. It is led by leading scholars in the field of collective memory, James Wertsch and Roddy Roediger. Last November I received a grant through that initiative to conduct my new study, tentatively titled, Memory of Defeat in Shaping the Future Collective Thought. This project focuses on the collective memory of defeat and how it may or may not shape the collective future thought. The original design had three defeats under investigation: The Vietnam War, The Soviet War in Afghanistan, and the US-led Coalition War in Afghanistan. The goal of the study is to analyze how the memory of each defeat was constructed by media both in Russia and the US and how it was reconstructed over time, both in media and school history textbook (in case of the Vietnam war and the Soviet war in Afghanistan). The second part of the project is supposed to involve a large-scale survey both in the US and Russia (this is where most of the grant money would have to go). I got into contact with Levada Center in Moscow and I was really excited about an opportunity to get the data from human participants through them. But all my plans were halted, if not destroyed, by the current political situation. As you understand, all cooperation and business ties with Russia are severed and we are not allowed to conduct any research in Russia. To be honest, I do not know how to proceed with this project past the analysis of media. Massive data collection is under way and I decided to include the current crisis in Ukraine, even if it is too early to see the outcome or know how to define defeat in this situation. I keep thinking why American politicians interfere with our academic plans. Don’t they want to know more about the mind of the now “reenacted enemy” through our research?... Works cited: Bird, E. (2011). Reclaiming Asaba: Old media, new media, and the construction of memory. In M. Neiger, O. Meyers, & E. Zandberg (Eds.), On Media memory: Collective memory in a new media age (pp. 88-103). Hampshire, UK: Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies. Boyer, P., & Wertsch, J. (Eds.). (2009). Memory in mind and culture. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Olick, J. (2014). Reflections on the underdeveloped relations between journalism and memory studies. In B. Zelizer & K. Tenenboim-Weinblatt (Eds.), Journalism and memory (pp. 17-31). Basingstoke, U.K.: Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies.

31.01.2023 Valentina Pisanty teaches Semiotics at the University of Bergamo. She has published articles and essays on Holocaust denial, racism, political discourse analysis, narratology, humour, interpretive semiotics, the rhetoric of memory-making and the semiotics of testimony. Her books include: Guardiani della memoria e il ritorno delle destre xenofobe (Bompiani, 2020; English translation The Guardians of Memory and the Return of the Xenophobic Right, Primo Levi Editions, 2021); Abusi di memoria: negare, banalizzare, sacralizzare la Shoah (Bruno Mondadori, 2012); La Difesa della Razza: antologia 1938-1942 (Bompiani, 2006); L'irritante questione delle camere a gas: logica del negazionismo (Bompiani 1998, new edition 2014). Dear Prof. Pisanty, the first question is traditional because the specialization of our journal is memory studies. Jan Assmann points out that family memory of modern people extends up to three generations or 80 to 100 years. It fits well to the Soviet Union where people were afraid to talk about their nobility, priesthood, bourgeoisie ancestry and about relatives, who were repressed during the decades of Stalin’s terror. From the Soviet mnemonic perspective Italy looks like another planet of unbroken succession, where a lot of people still live in old houses rooted in medieval entourage. Is Assmann’s hypothesis applicable to Italy? How deep is your family memory? It might be that your vision of Italy as a planet of unbroken succession needs to be reconsidered in more realistic terms: Italy, too, has had its fair share of discontinuities along the lines of genealogy. There has been a great deal of outward migration since the Nineteenth century, not to speak of the constant movement (mostly from South to North) between different parts of a country that was only unified in 1861. Having said this, I find Jan Assmann’s hypothesis particularly convincing, regardless of the geographic, cultural and historical setting it is applied to. If by family memory we mean the repertoire of stories, anecdotes, foundation myths, etc. that are handed over from one generation to the next, it is reasonable to suppose that such narratives only survive the living memory of those who have informed us of them. We have a vague recollection of some of the stories that our grandparents told us about their childhood, and possibly their parents’ lives, but I doubt that our grandchildren would remember enough of our second-hand accounts of such stories to be able to hand them down to their own offspring, and so on. It is possible that we only hang on to the recounted memories of the people we have interacted with, while most of what came before them tends to fade into oblivion, or is deposited in what Jurij Lotman would have called the “semiosphere”, in the form of old photographs, video and audio footage, letters, diaries, and so on. Unless, of course, one belongs to a prestigious (or notorious) family whose deeds have left important marks in history. If my surname were Borgia or Garibaldi my family memory would probably cover a lengthier arch of time: but then it would have turned into a cultural (as opposed to communicative, in Jan Assmann’s terms) memory, potentially accessible to all members of the global community. The Soviet propaganda informed us about the huge Italian Communist Resistance during the Second World War. We loved the partisan's song Bella Ciao. Therefore, I was surprised during my visit to Verona that I found only one monument dedicated to antifascist partisans, one modest memorial to victims of Holocaust and about ten monuments glorifying “our” tank-men, pilots, seamen, military cars drivers and so on with indirect but obvious references to the Mussolini era. Two of them are very outspoken: 1) There is an inscription on the 1971 monument to sappers (IX Battaglione Pontieri) enumerating among their glorious deeds crossing the Dnieper and Don 2) On the medieval wall of Verona is installed a memorial plaque in honor of the city “multiple children immolated in the desert war, the fallen at the epic battle of El-Alamein (23/X – 6/XI 1942) provide to new generations an example of heroic dedication and fidelity to the duty.” Is that hidden glorification of the fascist past specific to Verona or is it a common Italian lieu de mémoire? Could you tell how the Second World War is reflected in your family memory? Verona is a city that leans towards the right: the ideological epicenter of the Repubblica di Salò (whose guidelines were written and announced by the Republican Fascist Party in Verona in November 1943) and a haven of today’s Lega Nord, just to mention the most obvious symptoms of its dominant political inclinations. I am therefore not surprised about its dearth of monuments dedicated to left-wing antifascist partisans, though – even in the examples you bring – it is not so much a question of openly singing the praises of Fascism, as of diluting Fascist memory in a more generic nationalistic (and colonialist) sentiment. Other Italian cities and regions – such as Piemonte, Liguria, Emilia-Romagna and Toscana, for example – are more predisposed towards the celebration of their partisan memory. A memory which, by the way, is not exclusively linked to the Italian Communist party (though most partisans were indeed Communists, there were other political components in the Resistance movement) and, as a historical phenomenon, was possibly less huge than it was depicted both in Soviet propaganda and in Italian public discourse from the 1960s onwards, until it was sidelined by Holocaust memory culture around the 1980s and 1990s. Albeit marginal in terms of numeric participation (most Italian’s didn’t join the Resistance), the heroic deeds of the partigiani are undoubtedly a fundamental chapter of Italy’s contemporary history. Of course, the Resistance alone couldn’t have defeated Nazi-fascism, but it did keep several German divisions busy during the last part of the war, while in the aftermath it provided an honourable counter-narrative to the moral and political bankruptcy in which Italy had sunk under the Fascist regime. After the war, the Resistance became the cornerstone of Italian democracy: the Constitution itself is overtly anti-Fascist. But not all Italians identified full-heartedly with those values. Apart from Fascist nostalgics who resented the Resistance in the name of political beliefs they had never relinquished, the silent majority preferred to forget about their previous compliance with the regime. For them, it was not so much a matter of glorifying the country’s Fascist past. Rather, it was a question of not coming to terms with that past. The common expression “Italiani brava gente” (Italians, good folk) sums up the self-absolutory stereotype that Italians applied for decades to shrug off their historical responsibilities, thus denying all implication in Fascist colonial and anti-Semitic crimes. Until the 1990s there was very little knowledge, outside the field of historical studies, about the role of fascism in paving the way for the Nazi deportations in 1943. In fact, very little was known about the Race Laws of 1938, or about the role of fascist propaganda (and, before that, of Catholic propaganda) in the dissemination of violently antisemitic rhetoric that persisted – albeit in more latent forms – in the Italian cultural landscape after the war. No studies had been published on the Difesa della razza, the fascist journal issued between 1938 and 1943 with the specific purpose of elaborating and disseminating a “scientific” doctrine of the race that justified colonial policies and state anti-Semitism. The first Italian exhibition dedicated to fascist racism dates back to 1994, and though it contained a harrowing gallery of home-made anti-Semitic and viciously racist stereotypes, it did not significantly alter the general perception most Italians had of themselves as a fundamentally benevolent community that had never harbored hostile feelings towards its minorities. The 1990s were also the years in which a drift towards a bland form of historical revisionism was part and parcel of mainstream liberal culture, as Ernst Nolte’s popularity on the Corriere della Sera (long after the end of the Historikerstreit) amply demonstrates. The idea was to adopt an allegedly post-ideological stance (after the fall of the Soviet empire) and, by (almost) equating Nazism and Communism, proclaim the advent the Golden Age of Liberal Democracies. An age in which all totalitarianisms were equally condemned and left behind as the monstruous legacy of the Twentieth Century. In this context I remember taking part in a TV debate on the third national channel (in 1998) in which the hostess tried (unsuccessfully) to end the show with a public embrace between the daughter of an SS guard (Helga Schneider) and a former deportee (Liliana Segre), as if to say that all wounds were healed and that, now that the matter was symbolically settled, we could all move forwards together towards a better future free of racism and discrimination. This was precisely the superficial attitude that parliamentary deputy Furio Colombo tried to challenge when he began his crusade in the mid 1990s to introduce a national Remembrance Day that was meant to promote an attitude of critical self-awareness about the active role of Fascism during the persecution of Italian and European Jews. Far from conceiving this as an opportunity to heal the wounds, the bill pursued the opposite objective of sinking a finger deep in the wound itself, and keeping it there at least until the Italian culture had begun to deal seriously with its own racist and anti-Semitic past. “What, in our house?” is the question that for the first time was formulated in an official way. The Shoah was not, as Italians had long told themselves, an unfortunate historical accident, the result of unconscious carelessness rather than of a real and widespread murderous intention – as if there were no intermediate nuances – but a specifically Italian crime that Italians had swept under the carpet for decades. The date that was initially proposed was not January 27. Colombo suggested the 16th of October, to commemorate the roundup of the ghetto of Rome in 1943, thus underlying the Italian complicity in the Nazi deportations. But Tullia Zevi (eminent figure in the Jewish Community) convinced him to opt for the 27th January, in a view to insert Italian remembrance of the Shoah in a more general European frame (cfr. the 1995 European Parliament Resolution). This decision was to generate many grave misunderstandings about the sense of that law. By turning the liberation of Auschwitz into the symbol of the whole history of the Shoah, some of the most deeply rooted Italian misconceptions were actually reinforced. Namely: 1) The idea that the Shoah was not a specifically Italian crime, and that since the extermination took place elsewhere, it meant that Italians were not really responsible for it. 2) The idea that the day of remembrance was a day of celebration (celebration of the end of a nightmare, of the identity of post-war Europe built on the ruins of the XX century, or perhaps of Jewish identity), rather than an opportunity to critically come to terms with the darkest chapters of our national history. Apart from that, the law strengthened some right-wing claims of ultra-nationalistic parties longing to rehabilitate the “good side” of Italian fascism. The first polemics concerned the alleged need to extend the category of the Victims, to encompass “all victims” of the second war, including those (mostly fascists or fascist supporters) massacred by Yugoslav partisans in Istria and Dalmatia. I won’t go into the details of the very thorny historical issue of the Istrian Foibe, but will limit myself to underlying how it has become a pièce de resistance of extreme-right rhetoric, as if to counterbalance one crime against the other. Another way in which right-wing parties exploited the memory rhetoric and politics that was catalyzed by the Italian law on Remembrance was (and is) far subtler. The possibility of paying homage to memory (by complying with the standardized rituals of Holocaust commemoration) allowed a vast range of unsavory political subjects to undergo a sort of purificatory cleansing, indispensable if they were to attain positions of political responsibility. Finally, over the years xenophobic right-wing parties learned to empty dominant forms of Holocaust commemoration of their historical content to surreptitiously take them over and, by so doing, play the part of the persecuted victims. This is not just an Italian phenomenon, but is – in my opinion – the most disturbing side-effect of three decades of Cosmopolitan Memory Culture throughout the Global North. The last part of your question is about my family memory of World War II. My father was a non-observant Jew born in Milan from a Bulgarian family, and during the war, as a seven-year-old, he and his parents managed to escape to Switzerland by a whiff (other members of the extended family were not so lucky). I met and was very fond of my paternal grandfather who was not willing to talk about his experience of the first (as a soldier) and second world war. Strangely enough, my father had wonderful memories of his time in Switzerland, especially when he and his parents were reunited after months in different refugee camps, and he liked to reminisce about his childhood in Neuchatel. My mother on the other hand is Catholic-born and, like many Italians during Mussolini’s years, her father was a fascist (though apparently not an anti-Semite: I never met him, so I have to rely on family sources), while her mother was apolitical and mainly concerned about feeding, sheltering and educating her children in times of trouble. During the war they went through the usual hardships, including close escapes from Allied bombings during the liberation of Milan, but such anecdotes always steered clear from any political analysis. As a result of this graft of mismatched family memories, my brother and I were relatively unaware of the history of the Second World War until our parents decided we were old enough to be informed, mainly through official cultural channels, such as the famous Holocaust miniseries (1978), and a visit to Dachau that I still remember in nightmarish terms. On the evening of our visit to Dachau – I must have been nine or ten – we dined at the Munich Hofbräuhaus, where I learned the details of the 1923 Putsch and, to boot, we were approached by a weepy Bavarian drunk to whom I lent the identity of an old guilt-ridden Nazi. That night I had a fever that presumably was already on its way but that I attributed to the impressions of the previous day. According to the categories formulated by today’s Trauma Studies, I had become a secondary witness, a witness of witnesses, through whom the trauma could propagate and pass on to future generations. Some specialists are involved in memory studies under the impact of their family memory. Why were you involved in that field of research? There is no direct link though, in hindsight, perhaps the lack of an explicit family memory regarding the Holocaust (where there could have been one) fuelled my interest in this field of study. I started studying these topics back in the mid-1990s, during my PhD years at the University of Bologna. My dissertation was in Semiotics and my supervisor was Umberto Eco. As an undergraduate student, I was specifically interested in the interpretation of narrative texts. How a same story may be read in totally different ways, according to the interpreters’ purposes and different styles of thinking. I was especially attracted towards paranoid styles of sense-making (my degree thesis was about the esoteric interpretations of Little Red Riding Hood!). It was Umberto Eco who suggested to apply the same methods to the analysis of Holocaust Denial (he didn’t even know I was half-Jewish). His main instruction was not to bother arguing that Holocaust Deniers are disgusting liars. We already know that. It was a matter of understanding how they think. The question had to be: Is there method in their madness? So I tried to understand how it was possible for negationists to read the same documents from which historians draw their information about the Jewish genocide (the diaries of Anne Frank, the written testimonies of Rudolf Höss, Kurt Gerstein etc.), and yet use them as evidence about the fact that – according to them – the Holocaust never took place, that it was a hoax invented by Zionist propaganda, etc. How did they make sense of those documents? How did they connect the dots? What kind of inferences did they make? How did they deal with their own contradictions? What counter-narratives did they suggest, to justify the fact that so many independent sources all confirm that the genocide did indeed occur? The method I used was text-centred: I drew my conclusions from a close-reading of the deniers’ texts to understand the mechanisms of their paranoid logic, which I cross-examined with the historians’ interpretations of those same texts (while I avoided direct contact with the deniers: no interviews or participant observation). My dissertation was published in 1998 and since then I got personally involved in the rituals and practices of Memory culture, especially around Holocaust Remembrance Days. Those were the years in which the politics memory were beginning to peak, through Yad Vashem, a proliferation of Holocaust movies, Spielberg and Benigni, the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, the European project of building a post-1989 inclusive European identity on the narrative of victim-centered Holocaust memory… This got me thinking about a paradox. The more Memory Culture grew, and the more institutionalized it became, the more the deniers (and other anti-Semites and right-wing racists) gained visibility. This was indeed their primary purpose: not so much convince people that the Holocaust never happened, but make them think that there was an ongoing debate between two different schools of thought about its existence (or non-existence). In those years, the European deniers sought for cultural recognition. Holocaust deniers had existed since the 1940s, but nobody paid attention to them at least until 1978, when the Faurisson affair exploded in France, and then Europe and the United States. What had changed in 1978? 1978 is when the mini-series Holocaust was launched in the States (and then Europe). Its impact was huge, but so were the controversies that it triggered (see Peter Novick, The Holocaust in American Life). In the midst of all the commotion, French newspapers decided it was time to publish Faurisson’s provocative letters (where he suggested that Nazi gas chambers had never existed), which in turn triggered a huge dispute regarding the limits of freedom of expression (whether it was more scandalous to say that the Holocaust never happened or to prevent someone from expressing this view, no matter how false and repulsive), which in turn triggered a growing interest in Holocaust debates, which in turn triggered a heart-felt discussion about who had the right to tell the story (and speak on behalf of the victims), which in turn triggered etc… In 2012 I wrote a book (Abusi di memoria, Abuses of Memory) in which I focused on the ways in which denial, trivialization and sacralization of Holocaust memory (and possibly of all traumatic memories) work as cogs of the same complex machinery. Each rhetorical device sparks off the other two, albeit involuntarily. Deniers and trivializers prompt the defensive reactions of those who call themselves the Guardians of Memory, and who sometimes claim a monopoly over the legitimate uses of memory. The deniers accuse the Guardians of sacralised memory of twisting it to their own purposes (which is sometimes the case), and they exploit the simplifications of the trivializers to question the truth of the events that are being remembered in simplistic forms. The trivializers in turn benefit from such controversies, whose visibility allows them to produce and sell their mass memory products. And so on. Your provocative and seminal recent book The Guardians of Memory and the Return of the Xenophobic Right raises a sensitive question of the memory of Holocaust. In the Preface to your book Michael Rothberg formulates your subject as follows: “Has a much-vaunted cosmopolitan Holocaust memory — with its linked slogans of ‘Never forget!’ and ‘Never again!’ — simply failed to prevent the rise of the right or, more darkly, might it even be implicated in that political turn?” (p. 7). I believe could be three speculative reasons why the “guardians of memory” of Holocaust were not able to establish it as a base of cosmopolitan (global) memory and identity: 1) The concept of global memory and identity is a pure utopia, because the nation-state is forever the largest form of a well-functioning community; 2) Not the Holocaust but another historical event (events) should be the starting point of construction of global memory and identity; 3) The managers of Holocaust memory made unforgivable mistakes during the process of promoting it on the global scale. Which one of three speculative reasons do you think is real or maybe the fourth one exists? The first one, though the other two follow. I don’t know whether the nation-state is the largest form of a well-functioning community. But I do think that the 1990s top-down project of “breaking the container” of national memories to devise and gather Europe around a sole antitotalitarian, victim-centred memory was, in the best of cases, highly unrealistic. First because Memory (as opposed to History) is by definition subjective, unilateral and biased. Those who bring representations of the past exclusively onto the level of memory disavow to some extent the public nature of history. Whether they are aware of this or not, they reintroduce a proprietorial principle to the management of rememorative conflicts. The problem is not so much a question of establishing how things really went, nor even of determining in how many different ways the same events lend themselves to being recounted, as of claiming the rights, the priority of one’s own point of view, in relation to those events. One perspective automatically overrides the others. The heritage to be conserved is the inalienable memory of an experience that no historical reconstruction can ever empty of its subjective content. Thus, the inheritance to be transmitted is the unilateral narration of that experience, acceptance of which confers the right to self-designate as “we”: co-owners of the memory and members of the group delegated to manage it. And this, as can be guessed, raises some important questions, all linked to the vagueness of the pronoun “we.” Who has the right to establish the “right” commemorative formats, to the detriment of other possible representations? What happens to memories that cannot be translated into the terms of the dominant paradigm (such as the memories of the supporters of the Republic of Salò in the years in which the memory of the Resistance became hegemonic), and how do they re-emerge in periods of political instability, when power relations between dominant memories, the adversaries’ counter-memories, and the silent majorities are being reorganized? As Maurice Halbwachs explained, memory serves the interests, sensibilities, and projects of those who manage it, while the cultural filters that select the episodes held to be memorable depend on the dominant concerns and thoughts of the society they refer to. Precisely because it is based on a proprietary concept of history, memory can only generate conflicts among diverse appropriations of the past, as is demonstrated by the frequent diatribes that, for decades, have flared up around the management of commemorative resources (not only in reference to the Shoah): disputes so frequent as to make one think that the struggle for control of memory is not an aberrant phenomenon, but the power source of its own mechanism. Add to this the fact that narratives of Victimhood, of which Holocaust Memory is the undisputable paradigm, tend to enhance the passive role of its protagonists, which makes such narratives particularly unsuitable to serve any progressive political agenda (see Daniele Giglioli’s eye-opening Critica della vittima, 2014). Let’s not forget that the stated purpose of Memory Culture is the advancement of ethical thinking. If Never Again means anything at all, it implies the empowerment to produce change. Whenever faced with the early signs of discrimination of any minority (not necessarily one’s own), people who embrace the solemn pledge ought to feel compelled to boost their agency: to analyze the systemic causes of the conflicts that lead to those injustices, to understand their underlying mechanisms, to recognize a range of alternative scenarios, and to implement the collective actions through which such scenarios could be made real. Yet victims are those who, by definition, are deprived of the power to choose anything at all. How can total identification with the victims of the greatest historic traumas promote a collective assumption of responsibility towards past and present violence? So, to answer your question (point 2), the promotion of a responsible citizenship – whether local, national or global – cannot be entirely based on the Holocaust narrative. Unless we are prepared to engage seriously with the mechanisms of implication (in Michael Rothberg’s sense of the word), including the whole range of macro- and micro-decisions, made for a host of different reasons, that led to that and other historical catastrophes, there is no point in proclaiming “Never Again!”. But this would mean giving up the perspective of the victims (who are blameless by definition) and identifying with what Primo Levi defined as “the grey zone”, which is where most of us operate most of the time. Finally (point 3), the mistakes made by the Guardians of Holocaust memory were many, though it is perhaps far too easy to point them out with the benefit of hindsight. In general, I think that the biggest mistake was to turn memory into a value in itself, and not as a means of orienting ourselves in the present to focus on future objectives. In my opinion you made a real discovery pointing out a contradiction between the global frame and attempts to establish in the public opinion the concept of “uniquely unique” (A. Roy Eckhardt) nature of the Holocaust “qualitatively different than all the other massacres in history” (p. 97). Supporting that concept, The US Holocaust Memorial Museum released in 2019 a Statement Regarding the Museum’s Position on Holocaust Analogies, which “unequivocally rejects efforts to create analogies between the Holocaust and other events, whether historical or contemporary” (https://www.jewishexponent.com/2019/07/10/academics-holocaust-museum-statement/). I believe that the narrow nationalistic concept of “incomparability” is the main reason why the project of global identity based on the memory of the Holocaust has failed. What is your opinion? Rejecting efforts to create analogies is tantamount to rejecting efforts to think. To understand the complex dynamics of any event, you have to compare it with other events, and recognize their similarities and differences; which obviously does not mean equating those events, as if they were perfectly identical or equally condemnable. By stressing the “uniquely unique” argument, the advocates of the incomparability of the Holocaust show that they are not really interested in analyzing the historical facts further, or understanding them better so as to prevent something similar from happening again, as they relentlessly repeat in the standardized language of contemporary Holocaust rhetoric. They seem to be more interested in claiming a monopoly over the legitimate interpretations of the Jewish genocide. By sacralizing the Holocaust, they curtail further research and public debate, while accusing whoever questions those historical facts from different points of view (for example by considering the possible continuities between anti-Semitic and colonial crimes) of playing into the hands of anti-Semites. This has nothing to do with the understanding of the Shoah, and the conditions that made it possible, but rather with the legitimate political uses that may be made of its memory. All the more so if you consider that the judgment of incomparability coexists with the emergence of the memory of the Holocaust as a paradigm for all other collective memories. In contemporary public discourse, the Holocaust is both the exception and the rule, a paradoxical prototype that allows no other occurrences but itself. But how can the Holocaust be both a universal paradigm and a “uniquely unique” event? This is the crux of the problem. All the aporias of “cosmopolitan memory” lurk in the contrast between the presumed universality of the core narrative and the inevitable specificity of the uses made of it. Suited to a vast range of historical contexts, the “universalized” Holocaust narrative has shaped the political imagination of the last thirty years, reducing every conflict to the frame persecuted versus persecutor. Hence, the competition between the victims and accusations of offences against memory hurled at rival groups. The Guardians of Memory – including the spokespeople of the US Holocaust Memorial Museum – manage these disputes to establish who, among the litigants, has more right to express their claims in the vocabulary of the Holocaust. Whenever they find a particular comparison unsavory, they bring forth the argument of incomparability. If, on the other hand, they endorse a certain comparison, then the universalistic claim regains legitimacy. You write that tremendous popularity of the series The Sopranos, Dexter, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, Peaky Blinders and so on reflects “a tendency to social Darwinism” (p. 217), an egoistic turn of public opinion. I believe this profound insight shows that in the situation of current global challenges people inadequately react using as patterns of their behaviour the archaic narratives of fairy tales, where characters pursue the aim to get booty not for entire humankind, not for their nation, but exclusively for the sake of their families or gangs. Could you elaborate about that dangerous ethic turn of our epoch? While working on The Guardians of Memory between 2015-2020, I spent an exorbitant number of hours watching TV series produced in the 2010s. With all their differences, they all put on stage hypercompetitive environments in which the social contract is suspended and the surest way to succumb is by following conventional moral norms. In these dystopian worlds marked by Social Darwinism, which could be defined as metaphors for neoliberalism, there are no good and evil, but only winners and losers. The characters we are invited to identify with are ruthless and amoral (anti)heroes, high-functioning sociopaths gifted with exceptional survival skills, opportunism, single-mindedness, and the ability to lie and manipulate others: incidentally, all important values in the business world. Judging from the success these series garnered among viewers of very different ideological orientation, one can infer that the way in which they recodify reality mirrors to some extent the way in which many people perceive their own real lives. From there, I started reflecting on the figure of the Survivor as hero of our times. Perhaps due to the Americanisation of memory, in Europe, too the figure of the witness has changed dramatically in the last few decades, with the “Victim” being superseded by the “Survivor”. How did this shift happen? In the immediate post-war period, camp survivors had to deal with the shame of having been victims and the prejudice of those who suspected them of having committed deplorable deeds to survive. From the 1960s onwards, with the reappraisal of the figure of the victim, the question survivors were asked was “what did they do to you?”, the message being that it was everyone’s responsibility to reintegrate traumatised survivors within society. More recently, my impression is that the key question has moved from “what did they do to you?” to “how did you do it?” How did you manage to survive? How did you find the resilience and the strength to escape the hell of the camps? Hence the inclination to see survival itself as a merit rather than an accident of fate, and to look at former deportees as models to imitate to better cope with today’s “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”. Consider the succession of watchwords in American and European public discourse in the last few decades, from empathy (in the 1990s) to meritocracy (in the years 2000) to resilience (2010s). You can almost link them together to form a continuous narrative arch that reflects the claims – and failures – of Liberal-Democratic policies. From de-politicization (empathy as the negation of social and economic conflict) to the legitimization of cuts in public spending and welfare (in the name of meritocracy) to outright Social Darwinism (resilience), i.e. the idea that each individual, family or clan may only count on its own strength and resourcefulness to survive at the expense of others, “whatever it takes”. Sometimes these words merge to justify dubious political amalgams, such as George W. Bush’s “compassionate conservatism” (empathy + meritocracy), or the more recent invocations of Chinese-style emergency politics (meritocracy + resilience) to justify the suspension of democratic procedures in the name of a never-ending global crisis. What are your academic plans for the future? In the last year or so I have been working on various related topics, including the analysis of Fascist humour. Who were its Victims and who were its Accomplices? And, above all, what were the specific traits of that kind of vicious and (for our standards) extremely gratuitous laughter? What are the continuities (if any) between the way Fascists laughed in the twenties and thirties, and some forms of contemporary right-wing humour? Fascist laughter is usually identified with the guffaw that inspired punitive expeditions against the socialist enemies at the time of Mussolini’s seizure of power. Or with the unequivocally racist cartoons that were already present in mainstream Italian journalism of the twenties and thirties, and were made even more outrageous after the promulgation of the 1938 racial laws. But these are only the most evident manifestations of a more widespread complicity which, for the entire twenty years of Mussolini’s regime, and perhaps well beyond that date, forged a national identity in need of enemies to build, punish and tear down without the interference of uncomfortable qualms or concerns. The exact opposite of the subversive impulse with which the most advanced forms of humor make fun of social rules to upset their logic, disrupt alliances and produce laughter that is both inclusive and exclusive. None of this in fascist laughter: the comic explosion was supposed to close ranks, restore order, confirm stereotypes, produce certainties, and advise against any deviation from the socially accepted standard. My aim is to understand what that intimate complicity was based on, what sentiments it fed upon, what contradictions inspired it, in a bid to analyze the various (not only repressive) shades of Fascist consensus. Perhaps this line of research could turn into my next long-term project. But who knows. “Plans for the future” are usually the name we give in retrospect to the things we have already done. Bibliography Assmann, Jan, “Collective Memory and Cultural Memory,” New German Critique, 65, Cultural History / Cultural Studies, 1995. Focardi, Filippo, Il cattivo tedesco e il bravo italiano. La rimozione delle colpe della seconda guerra mondiale, Laterza, 2013. Giglioli, Daniele, Critica della vittima, Nottetempo, 2014. Halbwachs, Maurice, Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire, Félix Alcan, 1925. Halbwachs, Maurice,   La mémoire collective, PUF, 1950. Levi, Primo, I sommersi e i salvati, Einaudi, 1986 (English translation by Raymond Rosenthal, The Drowned and the Saved, Simon & Schuster, 1988). Novick, Peter, The Holocaust in American Life, Houghton-Mifflin, 1999. Rothberg, Michael, The Implicated Subject: Beyond Victims and Perpetrators, Stanford University Press, 2019.

James V. Wertsch, David R. Francis Distinguished Professor, Department of Anthropology Director Emeritus, McDonnell International Scholars Academy, Washington University. Among his books are: Vygotsky and the Social Formation of Mind. Harvard University Press, 1985. Voices of the Mind: Sociocultural Approach to Mediated Action. Harvard University Press, 1991. Mind as Action. Oxford University Press, 1998. Voices of Collective Remembering. Cambridge University Press, 2002. How Nations Remember. A Narrative Approach. New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. This interview is an introduction to the discussion regarding the new book of Prof. Wertsch How Nations Remember. A Narrative Approach (New York: Oxford University Press, 2021). There are three reasons why especially this book should be interesting for Russian academics: The author is well-disposed towards our country. He remembers, when he was ten years old in 1957, the launch of Sputnik, which impressed him that much so he decided to study Russian language at University of Illinois and the University of Chicago (https://istorex.ru/verch_d_uchet_osobennostey_natsionalnikh_narrativov_dolzhen_pomoch_politikam_luchshe_ponyat_svoikh_sobesednikov_po_peregovoram ). He visited Moscow many times starting in 1967, and from 1975 collaborated with our researchers including the famous psychologist A.R. Luria. One of the aims of Wertsch’s academic activity is facilitating the mutual understanding between Russian and American people; Russian national memory is the main part of the empirical basis of Wertsch’s theoretical research. His perspective helps Russians to see those aspects of our national memory which we may not be able to perceive easily, because we take them for granted and therefore they are “transparent” for us; Finally, for Wertsch Russia is not only the “store” of empirical data, he points out that one of the main intellectual sources of his concept of collective memory are the works of M.M. Bakhtin and L.S. Vygotsky. Professor Wertsch contributed a lot towards Vygotsky’s heritage especially in the West. He translated works of Vygotsky and wrote the book Vygotsky and the social formation of mind (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985). Wertsch’s efforts triggered international interest in the ideas of the Russian genius, who now is one of the most cited “stars” of worldwide academia. The Wertsch’s approach to memory includes two crucial insights: — The first one is the mediational function of narrative in the process of shaping consistent mnemonic communities out of separate individual experiences. This is important because some scholars are still skeptical towards the Halbwachsian concept of “collective memory”. Their criticism is partly justified, because the reference of Halbwachs to “the perspective of the group” as a “carrier” of collective memory is somewhat vague and we need more ideas about mediational tool that function between individual and collective memory. Wertsch made the decisive step in pointing out consistent mediational tools of two kinds. The heritage of Ernst Cassirer and Lev Vygotsky regarding the mediational role of language, allowed him to argue that narrative is a mediational tool of collective and individual memory: individuals string “the meat” of personal experiences on the “skewer” of collective narrative; at the same time, publicly shared individual experience, which is structured by the collective narrative, changes the narrative itself. It is crucial to specify that the interaction of collective and individual memory is possible only through the mediation of narratives. Wertsch writes that voices of individual experience are “co-authored” by the narrative tools provided by a community. Therefore narratives are the core of memory. One can argue that there is “nothing new under the sun” in this and many researchers have applied this concept to memory studies before Wertsch. Obviously, it is difficult to discuss memory without mentioning narratives, although the founder of our discipline Maurice Halbwachs did manage to do that in his fundamental research “Les Cadres sociaux de la mémoire.” In my opinion Wertsch made the breakthrough investment in memory studies presenting narrative as a mediation tool of collective and individual memory, thus he found the principle shaping not only national but any mnemonic community; — The second insight is an idea of schematic narrative template which serves as an underlying code (schema) of specific narratives. Wertsch applies this concept to national memory and his approach is different from other researchers. It analyzes not obvious types of memory schemata as “progress”, “decline”, and so on (see for example Zerubavel E. Time Maps. Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past. Chicago; London: The University of Chicago Press, 2003), but the hidden narrative templates such as “Expulsion of Alien Enemies” of Russian national memory unforeseen even for the Russian academics. After reading Wertsch research I was very surprised why I did not notice earlier that narrative template of our memory. Narrative template “Expulsion of Alien Enemies” explains to a large extent the Russian perception of our foreign politics not only of the past but of the recent conflicts with Georgia and Ukraine as well. In the final chapter of his book Wertsch discusses idea of Astrid Erll (Memory in culture. New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2011) on two phases in the development of memory studies: the first phase was inaugurated in 1920th – 1930th by Maurice Halbwachs, Aby Warburg and Frederic Bartlett, who established the subject of collective memory; and the second phase was proclaimed in 1980th by Pierre Nora and other researchers delving ‘national remembrance and traumatic events’. Erll raises a question regarding the essence of the future, which from her perspective will involve a third phase of memory studies. I think this phase has been started in 2002, when the Wertsch’s monograph Voices of collective remembering (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) was published, but momentum of our discipline did not allow to notice that. I believe that the subjects of structure of narrative core of memory and mediating function of narrative tools should become the focus of current memory studies. The new book of Prof. Wertsch presents the development of his fruitful concepts. It is a comprehensive theory of national memory, which contains a number of controversial points, and it therefore is in need of constructive criticism from colleagues. I think it would be nice to have a debate in order to make a progress in our discipline. Serguey Ehrlich How your concept of mediation tool of memory was changed from your previous research? Over the years, I have tried to find ways to draw various psychological constructs into the discussion. This was always part of the approach, but recently I have relied more heavily on notions about schemata, and in my most recent writings, I have turned to the notion of habit. These ideas, of course, have been around for a century (Frederic Bartlett in 1932 on schemata in Remembering, and William James on habit in 1890 in Principles of Psychology), but they are continuously taken up and developed further in cognitive psychology, cognitive science, and neuroscience. Crucial to the whole enterprise is finding a way to deal with issues like national memory in ways that can communicate across disciplines. In my early years I tended to rely more heavily on linguistic and discourse analysis when trying to explicate Vygotsky, and I still rely on those disciplines, but recently I have tried to expand my horizons in two crucial ways. First, I have come to appreciate the power of narratives as cultural tools or mediational means; and second, I have become more interested in habit as a crucial psychological construct. Hence, I now see topics such as narrative habits as a crucial meeting point for findings from linguistics, narrative analysis, and psychology. Further motivation for my increasing interest in habit comes from a practical concern. I spent a dozen years as the founding director of the McDonnell International Scholars Academy at Washington University, and this experience involved a lot of interaction with students and colleagues from many societies, especially in Asia. In the process, I found myself constantly being struck by the tenacity of different views of the world reflecting different societies, and in some cases these surfaced in the form of bitter conflict. I was often struck by how an individual from one society could look across the table at someone from a different society and simply not be able to believe that the other really believed that what they said was true. In many instances, the real problem was that the second person was looking back with the same sort of disbelief about another’s beliefs. For me, this was further exposure to the sort of “mnemonic standoff” I describe in chapter one that I had with “Vitya,” and it reinforced the idea that something unconscious and quite deep was involved. To date, the best way I have for describing this is habit, and as a result, habit has become a bigger part of my ideas as I seek to try to understand and manage sharp conflict over the past. 2. Your previous classification of narratives of national memory had two items: specific narrative and schematic narrative template. Now you extended it to a four-item list adding privileged event narrativeand national narrative project. Would you tell how they differ from each other? A privileged event narrative combines the strengths of specific narratives and narrative templates, and I introduced the notion after spending a lot of time hearing Chinese colleagues bring up the Opium Wars of the 19th century in particular and the Century of Humiliation more generally. As an outside observer, I found myself constantly wondering why my Chinese colleagues always seemed to want to bring this up when discussing topics that I saw as not being connected to it, and that led me to see parallels with the way the Great Patriotic War functions for many people in Russia. This has more to do with a rhetorical strategy for speakers from a national community and with the emotional power that a specific narrative contributes to their argument—something that goes beyond what a narrative template is capable of doing. A national narrative project is an idea that builds primarily on the writings of the moral philosopher Alisdair MacIntyre, and it has to do with a “narrative quest” that moves thinking into the future, specifically as a general telos. As such, it is not about the sort of schemata of past events that is the focus of a narrative template deals with. Past events have an ending, which is crucial to defining the meaning of those events, whereas a narrative project is about a life course or biography of an individual or nation that takes them into the future, where there is no concrete ending that can be known, but there is nonetheless a notion of where we are headed. I had known of MacIntyre’s writings for some time, but his insights into a narrative quest opened up new possibilities for me as I started to harness this idea. I anticipate going further into this issue in the future. 3. Privileged event narrative is one of specific narratives. Would you clarify how national narrative project (NNP) and schematic narrative template (SNT) relate to each other? Is NNP one of SNT or is NNP the underlying schemata of SNT? A national narrative project is a sort of single organizing story arc that extends into the future and provides a framing device for schematic narrative templates and other national narrative forms. An NNP is not a template because a template has multiple instantiations, which make it a template in the first place. And unlike an SNT, an NNP does not have a concrete ending, the sort of “sense of an ending” that locks in the meaning of events leading up to it. Instead, it has a telos, something like what is sometimes discussed under the heading of a national idea in Russia. It is more like an assumed mission defining where a nation or individual is going than a clear end to the story. In the Russian case, that’s why I think the Expulsion of Alien Enemies is a schematic template that is used to make sense of multiple discrete events from the past and present, whereas Moscow as a Third Rome or some other mission or national idea is a narrative about the whole history or “biography” of the nation and where it is assumed to be headed. To be sure, an NNP needs to be compatible with SNTs that are part of the mnemonic community, but the two sorts of narrative serve different purposes and cannot be reduced to one another. 4. Describing the Russian national memory you write that the main role among its specific narratives play stories of different invasions by Germany, France, Sweden and so on and all of them have the same underlying code, that is the schematic narrative template “Expulsion of Alien Enemies”. Current privileged event narrative is The Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945, which is not simply the brightest embodiment of the narrative template “Expulsion of Alien Enemies” but also a lens for comprehending of the current foreign politics. I fully agree with such interpretation of those three concepts of your theory. The question arises regarding the concept of national narrative project. In the Russian case it is “the Russian Idea” with its “familiar to virtually every Russian” manifestation “Moscow as the Third Rome” (p. 191). You write that it is a symbol of eternal life of the nation, which has no ending (“And there will be no fourth [Rome]”) and therefore it differs from the Russian narrative template with its final expulsion of alien enemies (p. 190). You notice that “endlessness” is a common feature of any national narrative project. Meanwhile the American narrative template “City on the hill” has no ending, so from that perspective it is similar to “Moscow as the Third Rome.” There is another similarity between two above mentioned narratives, both are directly related to spiritual values. Would you say if the “City on a hill” is not only the narrative template, but the American national narrative project as well? You have provided a good summary of crucial points here, and I am still working through how the idea of a City on a Hill fits into the analysis. Is it a narrative template or a narrative project? I am more inclined to see the notion of a more perfect union based on democracy as an NNP now, but I am still working on this. No matter how difficult it is for others to believe Americans’ ideas about our mission being one of a quest for freedom or democracy, and no matter how cynically this idea is sometimes used in American political discourse, I still see it as a basic narrative habit of sorts. Donald Trump was an outlier in this regard, but recent statements by Joe Biden sound a lot like Barack Obama and earlier presidents, which I take to be a reflection of a deeper set of narrative habits than the wave of resentful populism that Trump encouraged. 5. In the case of Russia you described all four items of your narrative classification. But there are missing elements in your view of American (privileged event narrative) and Chinese (schematic narrative template) memories. Why did not you mention them? Again, you are right here. I think what you reveal in your close reading is that these are still works in progress on my part. I would also note that it is often the case that someone outside a national community might have better insights than those inside it. The Frenchman Alexis de Tocqueville is often cited as one of the most brilliant observes of American habits and ideas, so it might be time for us in America to listen to others—like Russian colleagues—as they give us insight into who we really are. From Bakhtin’s perspective, this sort of dialogic encounter would seem to be what should be prescribed as standard analytic procedure, but of course Americans can become pretty upset at having others tell us who we are, so it is more complex than just a cognitive exercise. Indeed, we are currently have heated debates within the U.S. between different groups and their ideas of what the basic national narrative of America is. Is it one that starts with 1619 and the “original sin” of slaver, or is it one that starts with 1776 and some sort of quest for freedom? 6. Your four-item classification of memory narratives is created on the basis of American, Russian and Chinese national memories. Do you think it is applicable to other countries? Could you provide some examples? I do indeed think the notions and classifications I outline in How Nations Remember are applicable to other national communities, but I may have already ventured too far into speculation about the Russian, Chinese, and American cases, so I hesitate to start in with other nations. If there is one other set of cases that I see as potentially promising, these cases would involve small nations. As my Estonian friend and colleague Peeter Tulviste once told me, there is something unique about national memory and narratives for small nations. Among other things, I think there is some sort of narrative about how small nations may have been invaded, annexed, taken over, and so forth, but nonetheless continue to exist. I think of cases like Armenians and Jews in this respect. It strikes me that there is something fundamentally different about such nations’ mission or narrative quest in such cases than in cases like Russia, China, and America. This, however, is venturing pretty far into speculation, so more concrete research needs to be done before we can be very concrete about the claim. 7. And the final question, what are your academic plans? Roddy Roediger and I have a grant to support the formation of collective memory as a topic of study, and we have convened a group of scholars, many of them junior and in need of particular support, to start that discussion. This has more to do with the formation of a field or tradition of inquiry than a particular intellectual agenda, and much of it concerns the battles over memory that have emerged lately in the U.S. As I mentioned above, my hunch is that I will be trying to understand Nation Narrative Projects as a particular research topic. More concretely, I also anticipate that Roddy and I will conduct additional empirical studies based on survey data and perhaps try to collect and analyze more detailed narrative accounts as part of this.

Abstract: O’Hanlon argues that NATO expansion has gone far enough. While not creating a military threat to Russia, NATO’s growth has predictably been seen quite differently, and more negatively, among Russians. In the West, history taught that nations in central Europe that had suffered too long through world wars and Cold War finally deserved their freedom. For Russians, by contrast, history taught of a long series of aggressions against them emanating from western Europe, and bred fear about the possibility that could happen again. Russian pride also was wounded, given that Russia’s strength in the 1990s and early 2000s was not what it had once been. In many Russian eyes, existing NATO countries then took advantage of that temporary Russian weakness in choosing to expand an alliance that arguably was no longer even needed. For all these reasons, we need a new security architecture for eastern Europe, and especially the former Soviet republics that are not now in NATO, that would not expand NATO further. This concept should not be offered as a “concession” or admission of guilt or apology to Moscow, however, and it should require Russia to protect the sovereignty of countries like Ukraine and Georgia as part and parcel of the overall new architecture.” Keywords: NATO, Kennan, Gorbachev, Perry, alliances, Article V, Article X Michael O'Hanlon is Senior Fellow, The Brookings Institution, and author of The Art of War in an Age of Peace: U.S. Grand Strategy and Resolute Restraint. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2021. James Wertsch, in his excellent study How Nations Remember, explains to us what we often already sense to be true yet rarely act upon—countries develop their own views of history, their own narratives, even their own myths. These are used not only to understand the past but to guide behavior in the present and shape the future. As the great American novelist William Faulkner said, writing in the Deep South of the United States but making comments of worldwide applicability, the past is never forgotten—in fact, it’s not even past. I think of these comments often in regard to NATO expansion. For the United States and many of its allies, bringing former members of the Warsaw Pact and even former republics of the Soviet Union into the North Atlantic Treaty Organization—an innately defensive group of like-minded nation states—is a way to spread democracy and ensure that these countries do not have a future that resembles their past, when freedom and safety were denied them. For most Russians I know, however, NATO is a Cold-War anachronism that is psychologically insulting even if not militarily threatening, and that symbolizes the worldwide scope of American strategic ambition. My own view is that the Russian view is widespread enough that it should inform our future policy in a major way. Specifically, I do not favor bringing Ukraine or Georgia into NATO; indeed, I would rather not enlarge NATO any further at all, but instead seek a new security order for eastern Europe. In the 1990s and early 2000s, when Russia was weak, NATO enlargement was motivated by different considerations than had driven it been before. It took on a role of promoting democracy, and more generally a common European space and European identity, that was to extend to former Warsaw Pact nations and even former Soviet republics. I questioned these decisions at the time, and I still do now. That said, there was nothing about this enlargement process that was sinister, imperialistic, or aggressive. Russia should not have reacted the way it did. I will come back to this point at the end. Yet Russia’s reaction was predictable, and predicted—by the likes of George Kennan, Mikhail Gorbachev, and Bill Perry. Moreover, NATO’s concept of enlargement was not strategically consistent with the original purpose of the alliance, which was to fortify strategically crucial areas of the world (three of George Kennan’s original five centers of strategic/industrial/military capability) against a potentially hostile threat—a clear and present danger. NATO was not then seen as a tool of democracy promotion; nor was it seen as an instrument that should extend to cover or include every possibly worthy American partner in the region (for example, Switzerland, Austria, Sweden, and Finland). But the overconfidence of the 1990s and early 2000s changed this logic, in my view, and made the enlargement process too much about soft power, when NATO’s core purpose should and must ultimately still revolve around Article V and the mutual-defense pledge. Some say that Article X is relevant here too—with its “open door” policy—and that European states are all entitled to choose their own future alliance preferences. Yes, but the United States is entitled a major say in which countries in faraway Eurasia it would promise the lives of its sons and daughters to help defend. There is no purpose or need to relitigate these past decisions—or to somehow give Russian colleagues succor in believing their angry reactions to previous NATO expansion have been justified. They have not been justified. And we should not dismantle NATO or weaken its security pledges to any existing member. However, as Thucydides taught us, nations go to war over greed, fear, and/or honor. Wounded Russian honor and wounded Russian pride is therefore a sentiment he would have recognized. So should we. Whatever its past merits, any further NATO expansion will have serious costs that are foreseeable. It will almost certainly produce a worsening of U.S.-Russia and NATO-Russia relations, a more tense European security theater, a more uncertain state of deterrence—and on balance a greater risk of war, the costs of which would be incalculable and fundamentally unacceptable. There are better paths to future European security integration and cooperation than any further growth in a NATO alliance that, with its 30 members today, is already nearly double its 1989-size. But in closing, while I may be making a policy argument that many Russians may like—or at least prefer relative to existing NATO plans to someday bring Ukraine and Georgia into the alliance (a plan dating back to the 2008 Bucharest NATO summit)—I would appeal as well to Russian friends to reconsider whether their own view of history should be challenged. Americans need more strategic empathy—we need to work harder to see how NATO expansion could appear in Russian eyes. But Russians should also rethink their historical narrative to understand why it was not wrong of Brussels, Washington, and other western capitals to want to help the likes of Poland, Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and yes even the Baltic states ensure they would not have to relive their history and again be subjected to domination by larger neighbors. If we all make such efforts, perhaps we can achieve the twin goals of not expanding NATO any further, while reducing the friction in U.S.-Russia relations that has resulted in the aftermath of its expansions to date.