Virtual Library

«Cette femme aux pieds nus qui donne le titre à mon livre, c'est ma mère, Stefania. Lorsque nous étions enfants, au Rwanda, mes sœurs et moi, maman nous répétait souvent : "Quand je mourrai, surtout recouvrez mon corps avec mon pagne, personne ne doit voir le corps d'une mère." Ma mère a été assassinée, comme tous les Tutsi de Nyamata, en avril 1994 ; je n'ai pu recouvrir son corps, ses restes ont disparu. Ce livre est le linceul dont je n'ai pu parer ma mère. C'est aussi le bonheur déchirant de la faire revivre, elle qui, jusqu'au bout traquée, voulut nous sauver en déjouant pour nous la sanglante terreur du quotidien. C'est, au seuil de l'horrible génocide, son histoire, c'est notre histoire.»

As far back as we know, there have been individuals incapacitated by memories that have filled them with sadness and remorse, fright and horror, or a sense of irreparable loss. Only recently, however, have people tormented with such recollections been diagnosed as suffering from “post-traumatic stress disorder.” Here Allan Young traces this malady, particularly as it is suffered by Vietnam veterans, to its beginnings in the emergence of ideas about the unconscious mind and to earlier manifestations of traumatic memory like shell shock or traumatic hysteria. In Young’s view, PTSD is not a timeless or universal phenomenon newly discovered. Rather, it is a “harmony of illusions,” a cultural product gradually put together by the practices, technologies, and narratives with which it is diagnosed, studied, and treated and by the various interests, institutions, and moral arguments mobilizing these efforts.

This book is part history and part ethnography, and it includes a detailed account of everyday life in the treatment of Vietnam veterans with PTSD. To illustrate his points, Young presents a number of fascinating transcripts of the group therapy and diagnostic sessions that he observed firsthand over a period of two years. Through his comments and the transcripts themselves, the reader becomes familiar with the individual hospital personnel and clients and their struggle to make sense of life after a tragic war. One observes that everyone on the unit is heavily invested in the PTSD diagnosis: boundaries between therapist and patient are as unclear as were the distinctions between victim and victimizer in the jungles of Southeast Asia.

Quatre jours de plus, et Mouloud Feraoun aurait connu l'Algérie indépendante. Il a été assassiné par l'OAS le 15 mars 1962. Son Journal, écrit durant la guerre, rend compte de ses espoirs, de sa tristesse et de ses doutes quotidiens. De l'insurrection des fellaghas à l'oppression du peuple algérien, l'écrivain se fait un devoir de témoigner des événements de son pays. Né en 1913 à Tizi Hibel, Mouloud Feraoun a été instituteur et directeur d'école en Algérie avant de devenir inspecteur des Centres sociaux. Il est notamment l'auteur de Le Fils du pauvre et LaTerre et le Sang (Prix populiste 1953). Mouloud Feraoun est mort assassiné en 1962 à Alger.

“This honest man, this good man, this man who never did wrong to anyone, who devoted his life to the public good, and who was one of the greatest writers in Algeria, has been murdered. . . . Not by accident, not by mistake, but called by his name and killed with preference.” So wrote Germaine Tillion in Le Monde shortly after Mouloud Feraoun’s assassination by a right wing French terrorist group, the Organisation Armée Secrète, just three days before the official cease-fire ended Algeria’s eight-year battle for independence from France. However, not even the gunmen of the OAS could prevent Feraoun’s journal from being published. Journal, 1955–1962 appeared posthumously in French in 1962 and remains the single most important account of everyday life in Algeria during decolonization. Feraoun was one of Algeria’s leading writers. He was a friend of Albert Camus, Emmanuel Roblès, Pierre Bourdieu, and other French and North African intellectuals. A committed teacher, he had dedicated his life to preparing Algeria’s youth for a better future. As a Muslim and Kabyle writer, his reflections on the war in Algeria afford penetrating insights into the nuances of Algerian nationalism, as well as into complex aspects of intellectual, colonial, and national identity. Feraoun’s Journal captures the heartbreak of a writer profoundly aware of the social and political turmoil of the time. This classic account, now available in English, should be read by anyone interested in the history of European colonialism and the tragedies of contemporary Algeria.

During the Second World War, an unprecedented number of families were torn apart. As the Nazi empire crumbled, millions roamed the continent in search of their loved ones. The Lost Children tells the story of these families, and of the struggle to determine their fate. We see how the reconstruction of families quickly became synonymous with the survival of European civilization itself.

Even as Allied officials and humanitarian organizations proclaimed a new era of individualist and internationalist values, Tara Zahra demonstrates that they defined the "best interests" of children in nationalist terms. Sovereign nations and families were seen as the key to the psychological rehabilitation of traumatized individuals and the peace and stability of Europe.

Based on original research in German, French, Czech, Polish, and American archives, The Lost Children is a heartbreaking and mesmerizing story. It brings together the histories of eastern and western Europe, and traces the efforts of everyone--from Jewish Holocaust survivors to German refugees, from Communist officials to American social workers--to rebuild the lives of displaced children. It reveals that many seemingly timeless ideals of the family were actually conceived in the concentration camps, orphanages, and refugee camps of the Second World War, and shows how the process of reconstruction shaped Cold War ideologies and ideas about childhood and national identity. This riveting tale of families destroyed by war reverberates in the lost children of today's wars and in the compelling issues of international adoption, human rights and humanitarianism, and refugee policies.

The theory of cultural trauma focuses on the relationship between shared suffering and collective identity: Events become traumatic when they threaten a group’s foundational self-understanding. As it stands, the theory has illuminated profound parallels in societal suffering across space and time. Yet focusing on identity alone cannot explain the considerable differences that scholars document in the outcomes of the trauma process. Namely, while some traumas become the basis for moral universalism, generating a capacity to forge connections between an in-group’s suffering and that of out-groups, others have the opposite effect, leading to particularism and closure. Returning to the interdisciplinary literature on trauma, I argue for incorporating temporality as a twin pillar of the trauma process, distinguishing between acting out (reexperiencing a past event as the present) and working through (situating a painful event within historical context). A comparison of three U.S. sites of memory dealing with terrorism illustrates the distinction.

The growth of the human rights regime in the Palestinian occupied territories during the last two decades and the spread of visual media have had an extreme effect on the nature of Palestinian politics and society. They have transformed the way Palestinians represent themselves to each other and to the international community, whereby appeals to human rights help to constitute a human subject with certain kinds of rights that are seen to arise not from a political status but from the state of (human) nature. In this article, I explore the "politics of immediation" at work during the second Palestinian intifada, which began in 2000, to explain why social actors mobilize representations of people in states of acute physical and emotional distress as part of their political projects.

The Military Enlightenment brings to light a radically new narrative both on the Enlightenment and the French armed forces from Louis XIV to Napoleon. Christy Pichichero makes a striking discovery: the Geneva Conventions, post-traumatic stress disorder, the military "band of brothers," and soldierly heroism all found their antecedents in the eighteenth-century French armed forces.

Readers of The Military Enlightenment will be startled to learn of the many ways in which French military officers, administrators, and medical personnel advanced ideas of human and political rights, military psychology, and social justice.

Born in Sighet, Transylvania, Elie Wiesel was a teenager when he and his family were taken from their home in 1944 and deported to the Auschwitz concentration camp, and then to Buchenwald. Night is the terrifying record of Elie Wiesel's memories of the death of his family, the death of his own innocence, and his despair as a deeply observant Jew confronting the absolute evil of man. 

In popular, scholarly, and legal discourse, psychological trauma is an experience that belongs to victims. While we expect victims of crimes to suffer trauma, we never ask whether perpetrators likewise experience those same crimes as trauma. Indeed, if we consider trauma in the perpetration of a crime at all, it is usually to inquire whether a terrible experience earlier in life drove a person toward wrongdoing. We are loath to acknowledge that the commission of the crime itself may cause some perpetrators to experience their own psychological injury and scarring.

This article aims to fill this gap in our understanding of crime and trauma by initiating a long-overdue conversation about perpetrator trauma. Specifically, this article argues that perpetrator trauma exists and merits attention. In doing so, it traces a cultural evolution in the concept of trauma from a psychological category to a moral one, and in response, it proposes a counternarrative of trauma—one that recognizes trauma as a neutral, human trait, divorced from morality, and not incompatible with choice and agency.

Finally, this article argues that we ignore this counternarrative of trauma at our peril. Acknowledging the reality of perpetrator trauma can improve reconciliation efforts in the aftermath of mass atrocity by exposing the need to rehabilitate perpetrators. As importantly, recognizing perpetrator trauma erodes the all-too-common perception of perpetrators as cartoonish monsters by exposing their ordinariness and humanity. The point is not to generate sympathy for a génocidaire. But recognizing him as a person who chose to kill, and who now suffers because of it, can illuminate both the roots of his crimes and the real horror undergirding them—that perpetrators are merely people, and that any other person could do the same. In exposing these overlooked aspects of crime, this article unsettles understandings of suffering and violence, challenges the categories of perpetrator and victim, and makes clear that the question of how to respond to mass atrocity is even more complex than we know.

De 1954 à 1962, plus d’un million et demi de jeunes Français sont partis faire leur service militaire en Algérie. Mais ils ont été plongés dans une guerre qui ne disait pas son nom. Depuis lors, les anciens d’Algérie sont réputés n’avoir pas parlé de leur expérience au sein de leur famille. Le silence continuerait à hanter ces hommes et leurs proches. En historienne, Raphaëlle Branche a voulu mettre cette vision à l’épreuve des décennies écoulées depuis le conflit. Fondé sur une vaste collecte de témoignages et sur des sources inédites, ce livre remonte d’abord à la guerre elle-même : ces jeunes ont-ils pu dire à leur famille ce qu’ils vivaient en Algérie ? Ce qui s’est noué alors, montre Raphaëlle Branche, conditionne largement ce qui sera transmis plus tard. Son enquête suit ensuite les métamorphoses des silences et des récits jusqu’à nos jours. Elle pointe l’importance des bouleversements qu’a connus la société française et leurs effets sur ce qui pouvait être dit, entendu et demandé dans les familles à propos de la guerre d’Algérie. Elle éclaire en particulier pourquoi, six décennies après la fin du conflit, beaucoup d’enfants ont toujours la conviction qu’existe chez leur père une zone sensible à ne pas toucher. Grâce à cette enquête, c’est plus largement la place de la guerre d’Algérie dans la société française qui se trouve éclairée : si des silences sont avérés, leurs causes sont moins personnelles que familiales, sociales et, ultimement, liées aux contextes historiques des dernières décennies. Avec le temps, elles se sont modifiées et de nouveaux récits sont devenus possibles.