12
The spatiality of memoryscapes, public memory, and commemoration
Introduction
Memoryscapes and traumascapes have emerged in recent years as important issues of debate and research. A key focus of attention has been the embodied experiences of victims, their families, and members of traumatised communities. The political and social dynamics of memoryscapes have also been the subject of considerable research. Indeed the ‘politics of place’ and ‘contested sites of meaning’ are dominant themes in research on memoryscapes, public memory, and commemoration. In this chapter we concentrate on one aspect of these sites of memory and meaning – their spatial dimension (Foote & Azaryahu 2007; Foote et al. 2000). Our concern is how the location and positioning of monuments and memorials in public and private spaces affects their meaning and interpretation at the international, national, regional, and local scales.
In certain cases, for example, it is important when a memorial is placed on the exact site of a historical event while in other cases it is positioned off site. Memorials are sometimes located in close proximity one to another to draw symbolic parallels between the events and people being honoured. In other settings distance is maintained between memorials to emphasise their differences, perhaps to mark a political or historical disjuncture. Our point is that, just as the positions and movements of chess pieces on the game board are keys to strategy, the positions and movements of memorials are one aspect of understanding their meanings across a range of scales.
This idea of spatialising public memory is not new. Halbwachs, one of the earliest and most influential writers on collective memory, considered localisation to be an important dynamic for sustaining these cultural practices (Halbwachs 1992). This close mnemonic relationship between space and memory is an essential element of his La Topographie légendaire des Evangiles en Terre sainte (Halbwachs 1941) in which he details how the passion of Christ was spatialised by Christians within the Old City of Jerusalem. This same sensitivity to space, place, and location is apparent in a number of subsequent works on public memory. Lowenthal’s note that ‘features recalled with pride are apt to be safeguarded against erosion and vandalism; those that reflect shame may be ignored or expunged from the landscape’ (1975: 31) addresses one key relationship between memory and place discussed in more detail in some of his other writings (Lowenthal 1985). Many of the essays edited by Nora for Les lieux des mémoire (1984) argue for a close connection between space, place, and region in defining a wide range of French historical traditions. Bodnar (1992: 13) is more explicit in this connection, arguing that ‘The shaping of a past worthy of public commemoration in the present is contested and involves a struggle for supremacy between advocates of various political ideas and sentiments’ and that these contests often play out in the renaming of a city street, the dedication of a new memorial in local park, or the creation of a museum focusing on a event or era.
Although space, place, and location are not always foregrounded in the rapidly growing literature on public memory (Olick 2007), a number of researchers are sensitive to this relationship. Linenthal (1995), Hartman (1994), Young (1993), and Marcuse (2001) among others have focused on the spatiality of Holocaust memory. Farmer (1999), Tumarkin (2005), Doss (2012), and Kelman (2013) are further examples of the writers who have made additional contributions to this literature. In this short chapter, we provide a synopsis of some of ways space and place are interwoven with memoryscapes and plays roles in contemporary memorial practice.
Some examples from Hungary
In this chapter we use examples drawn primarily from our current research in Hungary. Our intent is not to downplay the growing body of work on public memory worldwide, but only to offer examples that illustrate the major points of our argument. In Hungary, as in other countries, questions of where are of great importance in understanding the creation of monuments and memorials as well as contestations over their symbolism and meaning. Our analysis is part of a growing literature on public memory and commemoration in Central and Eastern Europe (Andersen & Törnquist-Plewa 2016; Bernhard & Kubik 2014; Dobre & Ghita 2017; Krasnodębski et al. 2012; Lebow et al. 2006; Luthar 2012; Todorova et al. 2014; Törnquist-Plewa 2016) with some of these researchers focusing considerable attention on issues of space and place (Mark 2010; Mink & Neumayer 2013; Rampley 2012). Excellent studies on Hungary include, among many others, Apor (2014), Boros (1997), James (2005), Pótó (1989), Rév (2005), Wehner (1986), Seleny (2014) and Jakab (2012).
By way of a background, the Hungarian state traces its origins to the conquest of Europe’s Carpathian Basin by Magyar tribes arriving from Central Asia at the end of the ninth century. Ever since, Hungary has played an important role in Central European history sometimes as a buffer between the East and West. Yet Hungary’s experience of many pivotal events of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries has been far different from those of even its closest neighbours in Central Europe. The revolution and the War of Independence of 1848–1849 against the Habsburg monarchy, though unsuccessful, are still commemorated in Hungary. Commemoration of the losses of the First World War, so important in many nations, was used in Hungary to rally opposition to its territorial losses under the Trianon Treaty of 1920. Hungary was the only nation, apart from Russia, to have a communist government after the First World War. Suppressed in less than five months, this Council Republic (1919) was replaced by a conservative regime (1920–1944) that allied itself with Germany during the Second World War. This interwar and wartime government was, in turn, replaced by a still-Hungarian puppet government (1944–1945) that oversaw the deportation and killing of most of Hungary’s Jews during the spring and summer of 1944. After the war, Hungary’s devastating military losses were not acknowledged until after the fall of the communist government in 1989.
These numerous turnovers of government – among regimes of highly divergent ideologies – are not unique to Hungary. But such rapid changes of political culture do affect commemorative traditions and national narratives (Roudometof 2002). Each regime had its own vision of the significant moments in the Hungarian past and each regime attempted to inscribe its vision of the national past on the landscape, with social and religious divides also playing a role in debates. The result is that Hungary provides good examples of the roles of space and place in the development of commemorative traditions.
‘Here is the place’: locating memory on site
In many cases space is important in an absolute sense: the placement of a memorial at the actual geographical location of an event, the orientation of monuments one to another, as well as the distances and directions between can all impact their meaning. Memorials that have been erected on the sites of a particular battle, the outbreaks of revolution, or the death sites of national heroes. These places are often sacralised and serve as pilgrimage sites, either spontaneously or through grassroot efforts initiated by veterans, supporters, family, and local communities. Some of these may eventually be incorporated into a national canon of memory sites (Foote 2003: 265–292). These places are also important as loci of national and local holidays – memorial services and annual commemorations with speeches delivered by politicians, survivors, and other community members. These types of ‘non-representation’ embodiments of memory in ritual and ceremony are often anchored in ‘representational’ forms, such as memorial tablets and physical monuments. These places may also serve as sites of protest and resistance, when commemoration of an event or individual is banned. This was the case in Hungary with a major forced labour camp operated between 1950–1953 at a stone quarry near the village of Recsk in northern Hungary. Former prisoners organised to reclaim and mark this site after the fall of the communist government in 1989 (Figure 12.1).
Another example is Parcel 301 in the Rákoskeresztúr Cemetery on the outskirts of Budapest, where Prime Minister Imre Nagy and other martyrs were buried in secret after their executions in the aftermath of the 1956 uprising. Demands to honour the heroes of 1956 were critical in contributing to the downfall of the communist regime in 1989. The bodies were exhumed and reburied in the cemetery, with Parcel 301 becoming a national memorial site (György 2000, Rainer 2001). On the day of the reburial, a ceremony with six empty coffins was held in Budapest’s Heroes’ Square, a major spatial spectacle in which hundreds of thousands of people paid tribute to those killed for resisting communist rule.
Relative location and symbolism
The location and placement of memorials can also be important in a relative sense. The placement of memorials with respect to one another and in relation to significant civic buildings or public spaces can also be important: are they sited in a central square, adjacent to a town or county hall, or in a distant, hard-to-reach place? In these cases, the relative location of a memorial can take on allusive, figurative, and connotative meanings. For example, in many Hungarian cities and towns, memorials to the 1956 uprising have been placed close to those commemorating the 1848–1849 War of Independence. This positioning draws a symbolic parallel between these two events as representing Hungarian resistance to outside domination. Sometimes memorials for 1956 and 1848–1849 are also placed close to those for the losses of the First and Second World Wars. These are often gathered together in ‘remembrance’ or ‘martyrs’ squares emphasising the community’s losses in the service of the nation.
Relative location can even be important in terms of spaces that are public or private. In the aftermath of the Holocaust, surviving members of Hungary’s Jewish communities sometimes created memorials in private, protected places – inside of synagogues, on the grounds of synagogues, or in cemeteries. It was not until 1986 that a public memorial was raised to victims of the Holocaust. At the same time, this memorial to the ‘Hungarian Martyrs’ was sited at the northern edge of what had been the International Jewish Ghetto during the Second World War. This was a place of significant meaning, but is also quite distant from the government quarter of central Budapest and other major public spaces near Parliament and Castle Hill.
In recent years this memorialisation of the Holocaust – as an example – has gradually moved inward toward central Budapest, and from private to public spaces. Now an important Holocaust memorial, ‘Shoes on the Danube Bank’ is located along the riverfront side of the Parliament building. This is a memorial that marks the place where Jews were told to kick off their shoes before being shot, then pushed into the river in the winter of 1944–1945. In this central area of Budapest, roads along the banks of the Danube have also be renamed to honour ‘rescuers,’ people who helped save Jews from death during the Holocaust. Apart from these memorials, several public museums focusing on Holocaust remembrance have since been opened in Budapest and other cities.
Symbolic assemblages and the accretion of meaning across scales
Another spatial process is the accretion of multiple memorials in one place to draw symbolic parallels between events. These assemblages may be located on the site of a particular historical event or at a different, relative location such as those discussed in the previous section. This pattern can be seen in a number of Hungarian town centres and even more frequently in a wide range of small towns and villages. There are cases where the extent of these accretion is so large that entire memorial parks may develop through time.
Examples are the memorials in Pákozd, a village southwest of Budapest and the site of an important victory for the Hungarian army during the unsuccessful 1848–1849 War of Independence. The first memorial to the battle was erected in 1889 from public donation, a martial memorial honouring the troops that fought in the battle. In 1951, the communist government sought to celebrate the importance of its own Peoples’ Army and decided to create a major new memorial on the edge of Pákozd on a hill overlooking the battle site. By choosing this location, the government seemed to be trying to establish a symbolic connection between the struggles of 1848–1849 and the creation of the communist Peoples’ Republic a hundred years later, in 1948–1949. Since then, the area around the latter memorial has developed into a memorial honouring Hungary’s military losses in the First and the Second World War, the 1956 revolution, and during recent Hungarian peacekeeping missions with the United Nations. This park was one of the first places a memorial was created to honour the loss of the Second Hungarian Army during the Second World War in the retreat from Stalingrad.
When observing assemblages of memorials in close proximity, the Liberty Square (Szabadság tér) in Budapest offers another good example (Figure 12.2). The square implied a strong, homogenous irredentist historical narrative between 1921 and 1945, with the huge flowerbed depicting the map of prewar Hungary, with the territories it lost after the First World War represented metonymically in the form of human figures, and flanked by a flag-standard for flying the national banner. All these were removed during the communist period. Today the square presents multiple narratives of Hungarian collective memory embodied by the Soviet Liberation memorial (1945), the German occupational memorial (2014), a bust of Regent Miklós Horthy the interwar leader (2013), a statue of Ronald Reagan (2011) facing the Soviet memorial, and Imre Nagy’s memorial (1998–2018) placed at the edge of the square facing the Hungarian Parliament building. The first three express unresolved, competing memories and have generated heated public arguments. The most striking example of the public disagreement was the spontaneous protest against the state-sponsored German occupational memorial during its construction and the creation of a permanent counter-memorial which consists of documents and commentaries on the Hungarian Holocaust. The official memorial was completed in 2014, nevertheless it was never dedicated. Now it faces the private memorial right across, thus implying a counter-narrative in Hungarian collective memory (Erőss 2016).
Locality and scale
Location is also important in terms of what cities and communities are studied. Perhaps too often studies of public memory have focused on capital cities or other major cities and have tended to valorise the development of national memoryscapes rather than local variations in commemorative traditions. We do not deny the major cities provide excellent case studies, but we argue that it is just as important to look beyond the capital to consider how memoryscapes are created in smaller cities, towns, villages, and rural areas throughout particular countries and regions.
Such considerations are important for three reasons. Firstly, political, social, cultural, and economic values usually vary considerably across most states. It is risky to assume that political debates about memoryscapes in the capital or other major city are nowadays representative of trends at regional or local levels. Secondly, local communities have their own heroes, causes, and issues that may be more important than those debated at the national level. Finally, looking broadly at a commemoration across an entire nation and region can reveal the spatial patterning in how memoryscapes develop and change through time. Did the first memorials of a particular type emerge in rural or urban areas? Were they created first in a particular region of a country, or everywhere at once? Our point is that locality matters to meaning. Memoryscapes may vary across local, regional, national, and international settings.
Sometimes these differences appear around sensitive issues. For example, the devastating loss of the Hungarian Second Army (discussed in the next section) during the Nazi retreat from Stalingrad is still not widely commemorated. There was a large upwelling of commemoration of Hungary’s wartime losses after the fall of the communist government in 1989, since these had been banned from the late 1940s onward. But the scope of the losses in Russia have only gradually been incorporated in the memoryscapes of Hungary in cities such as Kaposvár (1993), Nagykanizsa (1993), Siófok (2003), Szeged (2009), and Balatonfenyves (2010), but not yet in Budapest. The legacy of political oppression during the Cold War period is now more widely acknowledged, particularly after the opening of the House of Terror in Budapest in 2002. This building in central Budapest served as the headquarters of the Nazi Gestapo during the Second World War then, in the post-war period, of Hungarian secret police. Yet apart from this major memorial, sites of political oppression between 1949–1989 are sparsely marked, with only a few other markers in somewhat out-of-the-way places in Budapest and elsewhere in Hungary, for example at the Recsk labor camp itself in northern Hungary and a memorial in Mórahalom (2003), or a relocation memorial in Budafok (2011).
Meanings across boundaries and barriers
From a spatial point of view, many issues of memory stretch across borders and barriers, resulting in complex negotiations over the creation and symbolism of memoryscapes. Paramount among these are episodes of violence from the First and the Second World Wars including not only events of warfare, but atrocities, expulsions, genocides, political purges, sieges, and other events that caused the death and suffering of millions of people. These have been commemorated in and outside of their home countries, however, often not without conflicts.
Countries that used to be enemies during the war have to cope with the memory of aggression and killings that is very hard to overcome even after decades. During the Second World War period, for example, Hungarians and Serbians committed brutal massacres against each other. The so-called Újvidék [Novi Sad] ‘raid’ in southern Bačka of January 1942, 3,000–4,000 civilians were killed as part of the military operation by the Hungarian Army in a number of locations over a period of weeks with the goal of stopping partisan attacks on Hungarian forces, but focusing especially on Jews. In 1944–1945, as Serbian forces pushed Axis forces northward, the partisans massacred ethnic Hungarians, Germans, and Croatians who had not supported them, killing as many as 60,000 civilians (A. Sajti 2004). Josip Tito’s partisans deported and exterminated almost the entire Hungarian population of this region.
This period from the Nazi/Hungarian invasion of Serbia in 1941 to the end of the Second World War long remained an issue of tension between Serbia and Hungary. For example, an on-site memorial to the killing of ethnic Hungarians was created in 2006, but has been vandalised many times since. Although such local conflicts over memory may continue for some time, some conflicts can be resolved at the diplomatic level. In this case, the Serbian and the Hungarian prime ministers dedicated a museum and a memorial together in 2013 to serve justice for both countries, thus expressing the common wish for reconciliation over the events of the Second World War.
Another important issue that involves every country that participated in the World Wars is the commemoration of their war dead. For Hungarians, the largest military cemeteries are in Russia, since Hungary supported the Nazi invasion of the USSR and suffered as the invasion was crushed. In 1943, the Hungarian Second Army ‘disappeared’ in the retreat from Stalingrad along what is sometimes called the ‘Don-Bend.’ This was the front stretching northwest from Stalingrad to Voronezh along which the Don River makes a sharp turn toward the Black Sea. The early efforts of commemoration started only in 1989, and finally the Rudkino cemetery was created for the 30,000 Hungarian victims. The project was sponsored by the Hungarian State in 2001.
Conclusion
We have used examples from Hungary in this chapter, but our argument about the spatiality of memoryscapes is applicable in many other contexts. Our point is that the spaces and places where commemoration takes place are closely tied to the meaning and symbolism of memoryscapes. It is important, however, to qualify our argument in at least four ways. Firstly, memoryscapes are not stable forms that come to be marked permanently on landscapes and cityscapes. They change and evolve through time. Memoryscapes may be anchored in assemblages of stone, bronze, and concrete, but even these durable forms change through time as do their meanings and symbolic connotations. Decades or generations may pass for these changes to occur, but they do happen. Some of these changes are quite dramatic in the aftermath of wars or revolutions, or in the wake of major political upheavals, such as the fall of Hungary’s communist government in 1989 and of the collapse of the Soviet Union two years later, but, at other times, changes can extend over much longer periods.
Secondly, memoryscapes are shaped by social, cultural, and national traditions that vary from place to place. We have used examples from Hungary where issues of public art, memoryscapes, and politics are subjects of much public discussion and where many traditions of public commemoration are deeply rooted in European precedents. Memoryscapes that develop in other settings are likely to be shaped by very different values and processes. These differences may involve the spatial dynamics of memoryscapes – where they are created – as well as the symbolism embodied in their forms.
Thirdly, as a corollary to the previous point, our analysis has not addressed a range of ways in which memoryscapes are gendered, racialised, and shaped in ways that privilege one perspective over another. The cases we have used in this chapter highlight the gendered representations of the past that are current in Hungary. Apart from a few queens, saints, and brave women heroes, the contributions of women to Hungarian history is underrepresented in the landscape. Though Hungary was once the part of Dual Monarchy, one of the largest multi-ethnic states to exist in Europe up to the First World War, few elements of contemporary memoryscapes credit the diverse peoples and populations that were long part of Hungarian life. This tendency slowly changes, a few memorials have appeared in recent years to honour ethnic groups (for example Armenians, Swabians) that suffered, were displaced, or expelled from Hungary after the Second World War. The losses of the Roma population of Hungary in the Holocaust is only faintly represented in the national commemorative landscape.
Finally, focusing the material and spatial is neither to dismiss the temporal aspects of memoryscapes nor to see them as the sole, or even primary means of conserving memory. Other chapters in this Handbook approach public memory, commemoration, and memoryscapes from very different perspectives including their expression in myth and ritual and their embodiment in day-to-day experience. Our point is that space, place, and location are often interwoven with these other ways of expressing and representing the past in contemporary life.
References
Andersen, T.S., and Törnquist-Plewa, B. (2016). Disputed memory: Emotions and memory politics in Central, Eastern and South-Eastern Europe. Berlin: De Gruyter.
Apor, P. (2014). Fabricating authenticity in Soviet Hungary: The afterlife of the first Hungarian Soviet Republic in the age of state socialism. London: Anthem Press.
Bernhard, M.H., and Kubik, J. eds. (2014). Twenty years after communism: The politics of memory and commemoration. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Bodnar, J. (1992). Remaking America: Public memory, commemoration and patriotism in the twentieth century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Boros, G. (1997). Emlékművek ’56-nak [Monuments to 1956]. Budapest: 1956-os Intézet.
Dobre, C., and Ghita, C. eds. (2017). Quest for a suitable past: Myths and memory in Central and Eastern Europe. Budapest: Central European University Press.
Doss, E. (2012). Memorial mania: Public feeling in America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Erőss, Á. (2016). “In memory of victims”: Monument and counter-monument in Liberty Square, Budapest. Hungarian Geographical Bulletin, 65 (3): 237–254.
Farmer, S. (1999). Martyred village: Commemorating the 1944 massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
Foote, K.E. (2003). Shadowed ground: America’s landscapes of violence and tragedy. Revised Edition. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Foote, K.E., and Azaryahu, M. (2007). Toward a geography of memory: Geographical dimensions of public memory and commemoration. Journal of Political and Military Sociology, 35 (1): 125–144.
Foote, K.E., Tóth, A., and Árvay, A. (2000). Hungary after 1989: Inscribing a new past on place. Geographical Review, 90 (3): 301–334.
György, P. (2000). Néma Hagyomány [Mute tradition]. Budapest: Magvető Kiadó.
Halbwachs, M. (1941). La topographie légendaire des Evangiles en Terre Sainte: Etude de mémoire collective [Legendary topography of the Gospels in the Holy Land: A study in collective memory]. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.
Halbwachs, M. (1992). On collective memory, trans. Lewis Coser. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hartman, G.H. (1994). Holocaust remembrance: The shapes of memory. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.
Jakab, A.Z. (2012). Emlékállítás és emlékezési gyakorlat. A kulturális emlékezet reprezentációi Kolozsváron [Memory construction and practice. representations of cultural memory in Cluj-Napoca]. Cluj-Napoca, Romania: Kriza János Néprajzi Társaság-Nemzeti Kisebbségkutató Intézet.
James, B. (2005). Imagining postcommunism: Visual narratives of Hungary’s 1956 revolution. College Station: Texas A&M University Press.
Kelman, A. (2013). A misplaced massacre: Struggling over the memory of Sand Creek. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Krasnodębski, Z, Garsztecki, S., and Ritter, R. eds. (2012). Politics, history and collective memory in East Central Europe. Hamburg: Krämer.
Lebow, R.N., Kansteiner, W., and Fogu, C. eds. (2006). The politics of memory in postwar Europe. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Linenthal, E.T. (1995). Preserving memory: The struggle to create America’s Holocaust Museum. New York: Viking.
Lowenthal, D. (1975). Past time, present place: Landscape and memory. Geographical Review, 65 (1): 1–36.
Lowenthal, D. (1985). The past is a foreign country. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Luthar, O. ed. (2012). The Great War and memory in Central and South-Eastern Europe. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill Academic Publishing.
Marcuse, H. (2001). Legacies of Dachau: The uses and abuses of a concentration camp, 1933–2001. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Mark, J. (2010). The unfinished revolution: Making sense of the past in Central-Eastern Europe. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Mink, G., and Neumayer, L. eds. (2013). History, memory and politics in Central and Eastern Europe: Memory Games. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Nora, P. (1984). Les lieux de memoire [Realms of memory], 2 vols. Paris: Gallimard.
Olick, J.K. (2007). The politics of regret: On collective memory and historical responsibility. New York: Routledge.
Pótó, J. (1989). Emlékművek, politika, közgondolkodás: Budapest köztéri emlékművei, 1945–1949 így épült a Sztálin-szobor, 1949–1953 [Monuments, politics, public opinion: Public art memorials of Budapest, 1945–1949 and the Stalin statue, 1949–1953]. Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia (MTA), Történettudományi Intézet.
Rainer, M.J. (2001). Nagy Imre újratemetése – a magyar demokratikus átalakulás szimbolikus aktusa [The reburial of Imre Nagy – the symbolic act of the Hungarian democratic transformation]. In: B. Király and L.W. Congdon, eds. A magyar forradalom eszméi. Eltiprásuk és győzelmük (1956–1999) [The ideas of the Hungarian revolution. Their treading out and victories (1956–1999)]. Budapest: Atlanti Kutató és Kiadó Társulat-Alapítvány, pp. 240–258.
Rampley, M. ed. (2012). Heritage, ideology, and identity in Central and Eastern Europe: Contested pasts, contested presents. Woodbridge: Boydell Press.
Rév, I. (2005 [2001]). Retroactive justice: Prehistory of post-communism. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Roudometof, V. (2002). Collective memory, national identity, and ethnic conflict. Westport: Praeger.
Sajti, E.A. (2004). Impériumváltások, revízió és kisebbség [Replacement of empires, revision and minority]. Budapest: Napvilág Kiadó.
Seleny, A. (2014). Revolutionary road: 1956 and the fracturing of Hungarian historical memory. In: M.H. Bernhard and J. Kubik, eds. Twenty years after communism: The politics of memory and commemoration. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 37–59.
Todorova, M., Dimou, A., and Troebst, S. eds. (2014). Remembering communism: Private and public recollections of lived experiences in Southeast Europe. Budapest: Central European University Press.
Törnquist-Plewa, B. (2016). Whose memory? Which future? Remembering ethnic cleansing and lost cultural diversity in Eastern, Central and Southeastern Europe. New York: Berghahn Books.
Tumarkin, M. (2005). Traumascapes: The power and fate of places transformed by tragedy. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press.
Wehner, T. (1986). Köztéri szobraink [Our public statues]. Budapest: Gondolat Kiadó.
Young, J. (1993). The texture of memory: Holocaust memorials and meaning. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.