Department of History and Arthistory

Since its earliest days in the early 1950s European integration has been driven by a dynamic set free by a complex interplay between clashing grand designs, contingency and a somewhat contradictory inherent urge for both ‘deepening’ and ‘widening’ of communitarian integration. How did this interplay work? It is the aim of this article to try to find an answer to that question regarding the period 1958–63. At the center of the article is a detailed description of the striking story of a close behind-the-scenes cooperation in European affairs between the president of France's Fifth Republic, Charles de Gaulle, and the godfather of communitarian integration, Jean Monnet, the typical adversaries in the existing historiography of European integration, respectively embodying the purest images of continental intergovernmental cooperation and of trans-Atlantic embedded supranational integration. This unknown story of the cooperation between de Gaulle and Monnet sheds new light on the integration process during the years 1958–63, a crucial episode in European integration history. The analysis in this article is based on fresh multi-archival research.

engaged and politically adept activists when they excluded communists, who were genuinely committed to social justice and at least as consistent opponents of racism as the CCF. It's instructive that although unions were the most effective vehicle for advancing human rights, Kirkconnell, as Patrias observes, was as vehemently anti-union as he was anti-communist. The importance of Patrias's central argument, that minority groups were critical to the development of human rights, is most clearly evident in the chapter on labour and the left. Although the book emphasizes the grassroots mobilizations of community-based minority groups, with the exception of the Jewish Labour Committee, most of these groups were relatively ineffective, lacking the resources and sheer numbers to exert any real influence on the legislators who framed employment policy. Minority groups were most likely to get concrete results when they pursued their demands within a union. Patrias observes that principled egalitarianism became part of union culture, and unions fought hard for equal treatment for their immigrant and minority group members, in the community as well as the workplace, publishing literature in a diversity of languages, offering special language-specific meetings, and welcoming Japanese Canadians while protesting their treatment by the state. In this, her argument concurs with Clément's, who argues that organizing in collaboration with the Jewish Labour Committee helped make labour a powerful force in the movement for human rights. Although minority group organizing itself had relatively little impact on federal employment policies or the discriminatory practices of employers, the participation of racialized minorities in human-rights-seeking organizations was, Patrias concludes, critical to their ability to identify racism in practice and respond to it effectively. The labour movement became a powerful force against racism because so many union members were the victims of discrimination, and unions relied on their active minority members to define their anti-racist struggles. Similarly, the CCF, with a relatively large number of Jewish members, took the lead on anti-discrimination legislation, introducing a long-awaited Bill of Rights three years after they were elected in Saskatchewan. The federal government, by contrast, which failed to include members of minority groups in its policy development process, continued to collaborate with racist employers and was slow to produce meaningful policy change on discriminatory practices. This is an important observation, and Patrias's book, by recuperating the contributions of minority groups to the slow and often tortuous process of human rights activism, makes a valuable contribution to the field.

class who, nevertheless, act in its interests. While Nystrom exposes this group's attitudes toward subordinate classes through an analysis of the films it makes, what goes unexplored is the PMC's relations with capital. In Hollywood the practice of hyphenation-producerdirector and producer-screenwriter-allows the possibility of a far closer bond between classes than Hard Hats suggests. To answer this question properly requires a level of documentation that historians do not possess. We do not have a ready-made alternative to the correspondence files of the Production Code Administration which helps map internal disputes about scripts and film production during the studio era. Whether sensitive communications between executives and directors will become available, or if anyone has bothered to save e-mail traffic, remains to be seen. Hard Hats has done us a great service by exposing the cultural anxieties of Hollywood's PMC. Nevertheless, readers of this journal will want to ask further questions that lie beyond the scope of this book and which deal with the precise relations between Hollywood's PMC and wider US society: how does Hollywood's PMC, as a social formation, fit within the broader pattern of class relations, and to what extent does Hollywood's PMC speak for the whole of the PMC on cultural matters, or are there competing voices? Whether we fully endorse Hard Hats' social configurations, or recognize the significance of the 1970s, above all, what Nystrom demonstrates is just how fruitful the fusion of class analysis and film studies is to sparking intellectual controversy and advancing debates among social and cultural historians.

song that will hopefully spark a polemic and necessary discussion of the critical process of cultural and literary analysis. As is well-known, songs have throughout history played an often overlooked, and very important part in contentious mobilizations of all sorts. This book represents not only an important contribution that helps understand, in a profound way, the historical and artistic value of the militant song in Latin America; it also suggests a series of important conceptual angles in the study of these, not least by introducing the very notion of ''militant song'' into the debate.

Helmut Kohl (1930-2017) was of course the Chancellor who in 1990 united Germany. But he was also the embodiment of power politics in postwar Germany. The scandal with illegal party donations that tainted his reputation when it was uncovered late 1999, opened our eyes to the foundations of Kohl's power. His strong network of dependents within the Christian Democratic party, his folksy homebase in the state of Rhineland-Pfalz and his kitchen cabinet style of leadership as Chancellor. I reflected upon those in this article (in Dutch) for Groningen University history magazine Groniek in 2005, just after Merkel was first elected Chancellor.

Duits leiderschap in Europa: er wordt alom over gedebatteerd, maar is het huidige Duitsland er werkelijk aan toe om in de EU het voortouw te nemen? Is het Duitse zelfvertrouwen daarvoor groot genoeg en vertrouwden de buurlanden het land voldoende? Tijd voor een nuchtere bestandsopname.
[German leadership in Europe: a topic much discussed, but is modern Germany really prepared to take the lead in the EU? Is German self-confidence sufficient and is their enough trust in neighboring countries? High time for a sober analysis.]

One of the most remarkable twentieth-century legal confrontations between state and terrorists took place at the trial against the leaders of the Rote Armee Fraktion (raf, Red Army Faction) at Stammheim, Germany, from 21 May 1975 until 28 April 1977. This trial stands out because of its extraordinary length and the ferocity of the altercations between those present in the courtroom, in particular between the presiding judge and the accused and their defence team. Daily proceedings over the 192 trial days lasted between ten minutes and ten hours, a total of about 1,000 hours. After the trial, 14,000 pages of protocol were typed up, and in early October 1977, the Stammheim judges presented a written verdict of 319 pages.1 We begin our analysis of this trial with a brief history of the raf. This is followed by a review of research on German left-wing terrorism in the late twentieth century, and an outline of our analytical perspective.

Most terrorist research is focused on the actual terrorists or on counter-terrorist policies. Still, terrorists need a ‘societal surround’ of sympathisers and immediate supporters to function successfully. These form the first audience in the struggle between state and terrorists in which they both try to convince the rest of society of the validity of their contrasting concepts of democracy. This chapter focuses on the debates in what is here termed the terrorist constituency to provide an understanding of the dilemmas that arise in societies faced with fundamental opposition. It does so by analysing the reactions within this constituency in Ireland and Germany to a number of trials and subsequent hunger strikes of IRA and RAF prisoners in the 1970s. http://dspace.library.uu.nl/handle/1874/392128

As the paradigm of Germanic sacral kingship has lost its appeal, historians have begun to rethink the concept of Merovingian kingship. Most of the arguments once used in support of its alleged Germanic and pagan character have now been refuted. However, the meaning of their long hair has thus far proven difficult to explain. This article will argue that the Merovingian hairstyle took up Christian meaning shortly after their conversion, presenting them in the image of the biblical Samson. Consequently, their use of biblical analogies to legitimize royal power further challenges the once-held dichotomy between Merovingian and Carolingian kingship.

The following paper was presented at the IMC in Leeds 2014, session 728-b. It does not present any firm results or conclusions concerning the project, Charlemagne’s Backyard? Rural Society in the Netherlands in the Carolingian Age, which began in 2013. Rather, it introduces this project and offers a critical reflection on the theme of the session, ‘Charters and Databases: Three Projects – Three Solutions’.

Summary
Within the broader scope of the research project Charlemagne’s Backyard. Rural society in the Netherlands in the Carolingian Age, my own research focusses on strategies of (monastic) property accumulation and management in the Carolingian Low Countries (c. 750-950). Knowledge of this strategic region, located on the fringes of the Carolingian World, is greatly impeded by a lack of ‘administrative sources’. What little has been preserved presents us with a one-sidedly elitist and ecclesiastical perspective. Moreover, most of the extant documents come down to us in younger collections, having been manipulated in order to adapt to a new context, wholly alien from the one in which they were originally produced. In short, before these witnesses can speak to the character of monastic property accumulation in the Carolingian period, they first need to be deconstructed.
The focus in this paper is on the monastery of Lorsch and the property it once claimed in the Carolingian Low Countries. With the monastery’s original archive lost, our only source of information regarding the monastery’s once vast landed wealth is a late twelfth-century property book known as the Codex Laureshamensis diplomaticus.  This volume contains c. 3.800 records of (mostly) property donations, of which 34 pertain to property in the Low Countries. As claimed by its preface, the collection was created on the basis of the monastery’s original archive. However, the compiler also admits to having employed various processes of selection and manipulation that effected both the documents’ form and their content. After the Codex’ was completed, maintenance of the original archive is believed to have been neglected to the point that it was lost.
Evidence that Lorsch had claims to property in the Carolingian Low Countries can be found throughout the Codex Laureshamensis. Particularly intriguing, however, is a subset of twenty-two charter notices that seems oddly misplaced within the broader structure of the Codex. This subset, moreover, carries the title ‘On Gendt’ (De Gannita), referring to a settlement close to Nijmegen and known as the place where the bibliothecarius palatii Gerward settled after his retirement from Louis’s court. Karl Glöckner, the editor of the Codex, has suggested that this sub-collection probably pre-dates the twelfth-century compilation: the compiler simply encountered it in the monastery’s archive and decided to reuse it.
It is from this plausible supposition that my paper will depart. I will begin by explaining the function of the ‘Gendt-dossier’, as it currently exists, in the broader context of the Codex Laureshamensis. Next, I will use this twelfth-century version of the Gendt-dossier to ‘reverse-engineer’ the collection’s older versions and functions in an attempt to recover as much as possible of the dossier’s original Carolingian context.


Résumé
Dans le cadre plus large du projet «Charlemagne’s backyard. Rural society in the Netherlands in the Carolingian Age», mon domaine de recherche se concentre sur les stratégies d’accumulation et de gestion du patrimoine (monastique) aux Pays-Bas carolingiens (c. 750-950). L’absence de “sources administratives” a été longtemps considérée comme un obstacle insurmontable à une connaissance satisfaisante de cette région stratégique, qui se trouvait à la périphérie du monde carolingien. Les documents peu nombreux qui ont été préservés nous offrent une représentation biaisée, élitiste et ecclésiastique. De plus, la large majorité des sources conservées nous est parvenue dans des collections plus récentes, dans lesquelles ces documents furent réorganisés dans un contexte entièrement différent par rapport à celui dans lequel ils avaient été produits. En somme, pour que ces sources puissent nous informer sur l’accumulation du patrimoine ecclésiastique à l’époque carolingienne, il faut d’abord les déconstruire.
Cette communication se concentre sur le monastère de Lorsch et, plus particulièrement, sur les propriétés qu’il revendiquait aux Pays-Bas carolingiens. Les anciennes archives du monastère étant perdues, notre seule source d’informations sur le riche patrimoine monastique pendant la période du haut Moyen Âge est un cartulaire du XIIe siècle connu sous le nom de Codex Laureshamensis Diplomaticus. Le cartulaire contient environ 3.800 documents qui enregistrent, pour la plupart, des donations de propriétés, dont 34 concernent des terres aux Pays-Bas. D’après la préface, cette collection aurait été créée à partir des archives originales du monastère. Toutefois, le compilateur déclare aussi avoir procédé via des opérations de sélection et de manipulation, ce qui affecta la forme et les contenus des documents. Suite à l’achèvement du Codex, la conservation des archives originales fut si négligée qu’elles n’ont pas survécu.
Le Codex Laureshamensis nous offre de nombreux témoignages de propriétés revendiquées par le monastère de Lorsch aux Pays-Bas carolingiens. Un groupe de vingt-deux notices de transactions patrimoniales se révèle particulièrement intéressant puisqu’il est étrangement mal placé dans la structure générale du Codex. De plus, ce groupe est identifié par le titre “de Gendt” (De Gannita) qui renvoie à un village près de Nimègue connu pour avoir été choisi par le bibliothecarius palatii Gerward comme lieu de retraite après son long service à la cour de Louis le Pieux. Karl Glöckner, l’éditeur du Codex, avait jadis suggéré que cette sous-collection aurait pu être créée bien avant le XIIe siècle: l’ayant simplement trouvée dans les archives monastiques, le compilateur aurait décidé de la remployer à l’intérieur de sa propre collection.
Ma communication prend le relais de cette hypothèse. Je présenterai d’abord la fonction du “dossier de Gendt”, tel qu’il existe aujourd’hui, dans le contexte plus large du Codex Laureshamensis. Ensuite, j’essayerai d’utiliser cette version du dossier qui date du XIIe siècle pour reconstruire les versions plus anciennes et les fonctions de cette collection originelle dans le but de reconstituer, autant que possible, le contexte carolingien au sein duquel ce dossier fut compilé.