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Cold War

A Sunny Day on Freedom Square, Budapest

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Evoking the potential plot of a dystopian political thriller, there is an actual place where former US presidents Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush, Axis-allied Hungarian leader Miklós Horthy, the Soviet Red Army, as well as 21st century right-wing populist historical revisionism come together. Szabadság ter (Freedom Square) in the heart of Budapest bulges with competing narratives whose silent screams merge into the cacophonous political realities of current-day Central Europe. Having pushed a pram in endless circles across this square during the first year of my son’s life, I never ceased to be struck by the historical hysteria of the commemoration circus adorning the space around me. 

Public spaces are contested spaces. Recent years have seen heated debates fuelled by the lingering presence of monuments and statues that offer an unproblematised national narrative at best, or even serve to flat-out glorify past atrocities. These discussions have mostly been waged in the west. In the US scrutiny befalls Civil War-era ‘heroes’ whose supposed heroism was forged on the broken and bloody backs of slaves. In Europe swords are crossed over monuments related to colonial legacies: the statues of slave-trader Edward Colston in Bristol and of Winston Churchill in London’s Parliament Square. Most Dutch cities have streets named after various ‘Zeehelden’ (‘sea heroes’), such as Dutch East India Company officer Jan Pieterszoon Coen, responsible for large-scale violence against the local population on the Banda Islands to secure access to nutmeg and clove in the 17th century. (Coen’s statue in his hometown Hoorn also led to modest protests last year.)

What seems to be at stake is not just the conflicting messages undergirding different lieux de mémoire (‘sites of memory’, to self-consciously refer to Pierre Nora’s much-quoted concept). Rather, it is the tension between a hegemonic narrative based on outdated sets of morality connected to ‘national glory’, and the lived realities of the descendants of the victims of this ‘glory’. The latter are themselves often subjected to structural racism prevalent in 21st century societies. 

In Central and Eastern Europe the use of public spaces for memory-formation has a different yet equally convoluted history. After 1989, most post-Communist governments quickly undid themselves of physical references to their countries’ immediate pasts. Socialist monuments—statues of Lenin, Stalin, local communist leaders and heroes, idealised images of working men and women—were mostly destroyed. In Hungary’s capital Budapest various statues were instead collected on a desolate stretch outside of the city. A remarkable tribute to a much-detested past, Memento Park is still a must-see for any historically interested visitor. (I recommend a slightly overcast and chilly winter’s day for the most atmospheric and—dare I say it—authentic experience.)

However, one would be mistaken to assume that post-1989 Budapest is free of politically charged monuments. On the contrary, the politicisation of history has only intensified since Viktor Orbán’s ‘illiberal’ (Orbán’s own term) populist Fidesz party came to power in 2010. 

This is nowhere more poignantly visible than on Szabadság ter. The execution site of Prime Minister Lájos Batthyány after the failed Hungarian Revolution of 1848/1849, the square obtained its current layout at the end of the 19th century. In 1946, at the very beginning of socialist rule in Hungary, the centrally placed monument to the Soviet liberators of the city was erected. After 1989, this epic structure lost much of its revered status and in the early 2000s there was some talk of demolishing the whole thing. Instead, a fence and guards were installed to prevent vandals from attacking the site, as Russia threatened economic sanctions if anything were to happen to the monument. 

The Monument to the Soviet Liberators. Photo credit: Laura Almagor

Hungarian authorities did allow for the appearance of two symbolic ‘challengers of communism’. Life-like statues of former US Presidents Reagan and Bush Sr. were placed on either side of the Soviet memorial column, in 2011 and 2020 respectively. While open for other interpretations as well, one thing these statues signal is that despite political ties with Russia communism does fervently belong to the past. 

Statue of Ronald Reagan with the Hungarian Parliament in the background. Photo credit: Laura Almagor
Statue of George Bush Sr. in front of the US Embassy. Photo credit: Laura Almagor

Certainly not in the past is Hungarian irredentism manifested in lingering nostalgia for pre-World War I Greater Hungary, which was brought to an end by the Treaty of Trianon (1920). Second World War leader Horthy initially backed Adolf Hitler in the hope of regaining some of Hungary’s lost territories. In 2013, members of the ultra-right-wing section of the Hungarian Reformed Church believed that these efforts warranted a bust of Horthy, which now stands at their church’s entrance on the square’s edge. Even though technically on private property, the statue’s visibility led to discontent amongst liberal Hungarians (one of whom attacked the bust with a red paint bomb last year). 

If the presence of a stern-looking Horthy, partially held responsible for the mass-murder of Hungarian Jews and Gypsies during the Holocaust, was not yet enough of an affront to Jewish and Romani minorities, the following year saw the erection of what is now the most eye-catching structure on the square: an archaic-looking memorial for ‘the victims of the Second World War’. A German eagle attacks the Archangel Gabriel—a stand-in for an undifferentiatedly victimised Hungary. Absent is any reference to the Hungarian complicity in the deportation to Auschwitz of half a million Hungarian Jews in the spring and summer of 1944 alone. The monument was erected covertly overnight on 21 July 2014 and aroused large-scale controversy lasting until this day.

The Hungarian Memorial for Victims of the German Occupation (close-up). Visible are various sheets attached to the fence containing expressions of disapproval of the monument’s historical distortion.
Photo credit: Laura Almagor

But it is not just the monuments that render Szabadság ter historically charged. Looking at the 21st century, one could also mention the storming of the now vacated Television Building by mostly right-wing groups in 2006, as part of the protests against Prime Minister Ferenc Gyurcsány’s socialist government. Briefly leaving the square, around the corner we find the now mostly deserted campus of the Central European University. Since this year, the CEU has started operating from Vienna after having been effectively ousted from Hungary by a cynically formulated new law. Hiding behind legal semantics, Orbán still does not admit to having pushed the university out of the country. It is clear, however, that he considered the CEU a political Trojan horse for the university’s founder and the Prime Minister’s chosen arch-enemy George Soros. 

On most days, history is silent on the square. Instead, one hears children playing and dogs barking as they chase fat pigeons across the central field. Szabadság ter is also home to a sizable colony of hooded crows. On a cold winter’s night, their cawing adds to the Poe-like eeriness of this marvellous place. Do visit, if you ever have the chance.

Note: Szabadság ter’s monument medley was also eloquently analysed by Cara Eckholm in 2014.

Laura Almagor is a lecturer in the University of Sheffield’s History Department and the editor of History Matters. She specialises in modern Jewish history with a special focus on Jewish political movements and ideologies. She also has a keen research interest in memory cultures. Laura divides her time between Sheffield and Budapest.

Cover image: The Hungarian Memorial for Victims of the German Occupation on Szabadság ter. Photo credit: Laura Almagor

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‘Fear or Fetish? The Fetishisation of Lesbians in Cold War America

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In the 1950s, American society saw a huge rise in anxieties regarding gender norms and sexuality. Homosexuals were demonized through the Lavender Scare – a moral panic focused on gay and lesbian US government employees – and ideas of the nuclear family were promoted in the fight against Communism. Yet, throughout this period, there was also an influx of highly erotic lesbian fiction and magazines aimed at heterosexual men with overtly sexualised lesbian themes. This sexualisation remains prevalent today and continues to have detrimental impacts upon the lives of lesbian woman,[1] and yet its origins have received little attention in historical debate.

When constructions of homosexuality have been looked at during this period, historians have tended to focus on the political sphere. David Johnson, for example, focuses much of his attention on how anxieties regarding sexuality permeated political culture and the lives of elites.[2] Therefore, little attention is given to popular culture and perceptions of the ‘ordinary’ American citizen. Focusing primarily on political culture also means that Johnson’s narrative mainly looks at how the Lavender Scare impacted wider cultural perceptions of homosexual men.

Consequently, the sexualisation of lesbians by heterosexual men and how this came to the fore with such force during this period has not received necessary attention.

At the end of the war and throughout the 1950s, American society took a conservative turn, with ideas of gender and ‘family’ becoming all the more important as a way to distinguish America from the Communist East. Women were particularly impacted by this growing interest in conformity. As Elaine Tyler May points out, the full-time housewife became synonymous with ideas of American freedom.[3] Anything that deviated from this ideal was therefore seen as a threat.

At the same time, ideas of homosexuality were changing and ‘the lesbian’ was fashioned as an immediate danger. Lesbianism began to be framed as a sickness, but crucially it was a sickness that could be cured – if only a man could show them a “good time”.

Simultaneously, we see the crisis of masculinity. At numerous occasions during this period, historian and social critic Arthur Schlesinger wrote on the issue, arguing that World War II had ushered in an uneasy sense of vulnerability and a loss of a clear sense of self for many men that continued throughout the 1950s. This sense of a decline in manhood’s mastery over others, combined with ideas that lesbians could be ‘regained’ by patriarchal concepts of heterosexuality, meant that ‘the lesbian’ was constructed as an opportunity for men to prove themselves. The post-war into the Cold War period therefore set up the perfect conditions within which the sexualisation of lesbians could flourish.

This resulted in an influx of pulp fiction and men’s magazines, through which these themes were reflected. Stories of lesbian orgies, threesomes and lesbian nymphomaniacs were extremely popular amongst heterosexual men during this period. Within these novels, lesbians are presented as deviants, yet deviants who are often regained by heterosexual, familial norms after experiencing life changing heterosexual sex.

Cover of The Third Sex by Artemis Smith (1963 Edition).

The message is therefore clear. If men show lesbians a good time by reasserting their masculinity, these women will once against fit within the Cold War ideals of conformity – everyone’s a winner.

Men’s magazines took a similar approach. Stories and images of two women looking for a man were extremely popular. What we can learn from 1950s and 1960s America is that sex sells, but lesbian sex sells better.

This had very real life consequences for lesbians, as men encroached on their space in the search of sexual encounters. Analysis of interviews and testimonies show that this repressive context led to a thriving underground lesbian movement and a vast number of lesbian bars being established. Heterosexual men often took advantage of these lesbian spaces, going there in search of lesbian women to have sex with –further demonstrating how they were constructed as an opportunity in the eyes of men.

Ultimately, the period between 1947 up until the stonewall riots of 1969 provided the ideal conditions within which the sexualisation of lesbians could and indeed did flourish. Sexualisation of lesbians is still widespread within our society today and lesbians continue to face challenges of not only being seen as a sexual fantasy but also having their sexuality presented as merely performative and something that can be “regained” by heterosexual masculinity

In numerous recent insight reports, PornHub revealed that ‘Lesbian’ was the most searched for and most viewed category across numerous American states, with 75 percent of the American audience being male. These statistics demonstrate that lesbianism continues to be framed within the male gaze. Sexualisation is not the same as acceptance and therefore it is important that we continue to address its roots in order to hold both society and ourselves accountable today.

Jamie Jenkins is a PhD student at Radboud University working on the Voices of the People  project. Her research investigates how the media constructed popular expectations of democracy in Great Britain between the end of the Second World War and the 1980s. She tweets @jenkinsleejamie


Cover image: Cover of Lesbian Love by Marlene Longman (1960).

[1] See Ofcom’s ‘Representation and Portrayal on BBC TV 2018’ report regarding the representation of lesbian women on television. https://www.ofcom.org.uk/tv-radio-and-on-demand/information-for-industry/bbc-operating-framework/representation-portrayal-bbc-tv/research-hub/lesbian-women

[2] David K. Johnson, The Lavender Scare: The Cold War Persecution of Gays and Lesbians in Federal Government (Chicago, 2004).

[3] Elaine Tyler May, Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era (New York, 1988).

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British Imperial Revival in the Early Cold War: The Malayan ‘Emergency’ 1948-60

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As we gain perspective on a summer of global protest, it is clear that the traditional narrative of British colonial history is being questioned by the public at large. The toppling of Edward Colston’s statue in July represents a direct challenge to conventional histories of the beginnings of the British empire in the seventeenth century. But what of the end of empire?

Following the Second World War Britain declined as a world power, dwarfed by the bi-polar superpower colossi of the United States and the USSR and hamstrung by the inexorable disappearance of her imperial possessions. The sun of Empire, we are told, set across the world.[1]

From this perspective, British power and influence declined in relative terms. However, as recent research based on the ever-increasing release of official records has shown, this interpretation misses crucial discontinuities in the historical record. Recent scholarship by John Newsinger argues that Clement Attlee’s Labour government was as much a resurgent colonial warfare state as a domestic welfare state in the immediate postwar years.[2] Anne Deighton argues that Britain’s role in ideological battlegrounds of the nascent Cold War is demonstrably greater than traditional interpretations have suggested.[3] 

One concrete example of postwar Britain as a colonial Cold Warrior state is the Malayan Emergency of 1948-60. The conflict has been described by Malaysian-born anthropologist Yao Souchou as ‘a small, distant war’ not for its inconsequentiality in global affairs, but for its relegation to the side-lines of the historiography of the Cold War.[4] Bringing the conflict to the forefront of our attention, I believe, challenges the broad narrative of postwar ‘decline’ and demonstrates the continued international influence of the British state in the post-war period.

The ‘Emergency’ was the longest conflict fought by British forces in the twentieth century. With the aim of achieving national independence, the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) fought a bitter campaign of insurgency against the British colonial government of Malaya and its local and Commonwealth allies. Despite their determined (and British-supported) resistance to wartime Japanese occupation, the MCP were ultimately defeated. More than just a decisive victory for the British empire, the campaign in Malaya was in fact the only conclusive military success by the Western powers in the entirety of the Cold War period.[5]

THE BRITISH ARMY IN MALAYA, 1957 (HU 51581) Men of the 48th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, in action against a terrorist hide-out near Segri Sembilan, Malaya. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum, © IWM. Used on an IWM non-commercial licence. http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205216100 [Accessed 22 November 2020]

Because of its abundant tin and rubber resources, Malaya, according to the British Colonial Sectary, was ‘by far the most important source of dollars in the Colonial Empire’.[6] With the British economy profoundly weakened by the loss of the former Indian territories, further capitulation in Asia was simply not acceptable. Although Marshall Plan aid chiefly funded Britain’s extensive (and expensive) programmes of urban revival and welfare reforms, a direct consequence of the economic recovery of ‘the West’ was the continuation of European colonialism for another two decades.[7]

The release of classified Foreign Office files has expanded our understanding of Britain’s propaganda machine in the early Cold War period. The intent of the Information Research Department (IRD) to promote Britain as a socialist ‘Third Force’ in world politics via its attacks on the Soviet Union and Communism is only now being adequately explored.[8] These offensive tactics were mirrored by a defensive approach to events in Malaya. Repeating the rhetoric used to describe the Jewish Irgun and Lehi in Palestine, British state propaganda relied on the dual euphemism of the ‘banditry’ of Malayan Communist rebels and the ‘emergency’ of their anti-colonial independence war in international representations of the conflict.[9]

The conflict was presented as arising from an international communist movement. It was done so with nuance: too strong a line could further align the Malayan Chinese ethnic group with the MCP; the opposite could have given the impression that the British were crushing a true nationalist movement. After the proclamation of American anti-colonial policy in the 1947 Truman Doctrine, the chief aim of British propaganda was to ‘manipulate the American colossus’ into thinking that political and economic support of an archaic colonial regime was ‘the corollary of [Communist] containment’.[10] To this, end, as the war continued, international British propaganda utilised the carefully chosen term ‘Communist terrorists’ in their representations of the MCP.[11]

In terms of national propaganda, a great deal of scholarly attention is often given to the figure of Sir Gerald Templer. Serving as Director of Operations and High Commissioner of Malaya from 1951 to 1954, his view that ‘the answer [to defeating the insurgency] lies not in pouring more troops into the jungle but in the hearts and minds of the [Malayan] people’ has dominated conventional historical analysis of the conflict.[12] A defining component of contemporary ‘cultural Cold War’ strategies, we must remain wary of attributing the ‘hearts and minds’ metaphor too much importance in Britain’s victory over the MCP. Indeed, the position of Templer as a semi-mythic figure in the historiography of the conflict simultaneously empowers the actions of the Western elite and obscures the reality of the counter-insurgency tactics the British utilised throughout the conflict.

THE MALAYAN EMERGENCY 1948-1960 (D 87947) Men of 22 Special Air Service Regiment practice carrying a casualty to a waiting helicopter during a training exercise in a jungle clearing at Ulu Langat, near Kuala Lumpur. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum, © IWM. Used on an IWM non-commercial licence. http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205212427 [Accessed 20 November 2020]

Based on racially motivated colonial attitudes exemplified by events of the 1948 Batang Kali massacre, Bennett argues that mass arrests, deportation and destruction of property corresponded to a deliberate British campaign of ‘counter-terror’.[13] The forced re-settlement of over 500,000 Malayans in ‘New Villages’ with the ostensible aim of removing Communist influence were in fact little more than concentration camps built to keep the rural Chinese population under strict surveillance and control.[14] The tactics employed by the British state against the MCP demonstrated a resolve to maintain dominance of the colonial periphery by often brutal means.

A colonial attitude of imperial retrenchment, implemented through and influencing a nascent Cold War framework, saw Malaya as a continued source of colonial power for the British state. Britain successfully re-imposed colonial order by armed intervention, protecting its markets and control of natural resources essential to economic recovery. An extensive and influential network of regional intelligence informed international and national propaganda strategies to manipulate public opinion with the objective of the furtherance of British colonial Cold War objectives. Brutal and systematic detention, deportation and violence facilitated the crushing of the MCP revolt.

The summer of 2020 has shown the power of challenging traditionally idolised historical figures from the beginnings of the British empire. Similarly, a revisionist interpretation of the Malayan Emergency makes it clear that in postwar South-East Asia, there was no gracefully setting sun.

Liam Raine is an MA Modern History student at the University of Sheffield, currently researching the metaphorical structures of the Cold War. This blog piece is based on an essay written in submission for the module HST674 ‘International Relations and the Early Cold War in Britain’. For those interested in the longer research project, please contact Liam at liamandrewraine@gmail.com.


Cover image: A Malayan guide passes tracking information to the British sergeant of an infantry patrol during the Malayan Emergency. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum, © IWM. Used on an IWM non-commercial licence. https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205212424 [Accessed 22 November 2020].

[1] L. James, ‘Part Five: The Setting Sun’ in The Rise and Fall of the British Empire (New York, 2006), pp. 523-622.

[2] J. Newsinger, ‘War, Empire and the Attlee government 1945-51’, Race & Class, 60.1 (2018), pp. 61-67.

[3] A. Deighton, ‘Britain and the Cold War’ in M. Leffler and O. A. Westad (eds), The Cambridge History of the Cold War, Volume 1: Origins (New York, 2010), pp. 112-32.

[4] S. Yao, The Malayan Emergency: Essays on a small, distant war (Copenhagen, 2016).

[5] B. Z. Keo, ‘A small, distant war?’, History Compass 17.3 (2019), pp. 1-2.

[6] Memo, by Colonial Secretary, 1 July 1948, C.P. (48) 171, CAB 129/25.

[7] W. I. Hitchcock, ‘The Marshall Plan and the creation of the West’ in M. Leffler and O. A. Westad (eds), The Cambridge History of the Cold War, Volume 1: Origins (New York, 2010), p. 162; O. A. Westad, The Cold War: A World History (New York, 2017), p. 265.

[8] H. Wilford, ‘The Information Research Department: Britain’s secret Cold War weapon revealed’, Review of International Studies 24.3 (1998), pp. 353-69.

[9] S. L. Carruthers, Winning Hearts and Minds (Leicester, 1995).

[10] J. Darwin, ‘Diplomacy and decolonization’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 28.3 (2000), p. 16.

[11] P. Deery, ‘The terminology of terrorism: Malaya, 1948-1952’, Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 34.2 (2003), pp. 241-47.

[12] R. Clutterbuck, The long, long war (London, 1967), p. 3; R. Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency (London, 1966).

[13] H. Bennett, ‘“A very salutary effect”’, Journal of Strategic Studies 32.3 (2009), pp. 415-44.

[14] T.-P. Tan, ‘Like a concentration camp, lah’: Chinese grassroots experience of the Emergency and New Villages in British Colonial Malaya’, Chinese Southern Diaspora Studies 3 (2009), pp.216-28.

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A ‘Mirror’ up to Society: The Daily Mirror and British Public Opinion of the H-bomb, 1954-1958

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The rise of populism and subsequent ‘crisis of democracy’ in recent years has led to discussions regarding the detrimental effects of fake news and media-friendly politics. Within this narrative, ordinary citizens are portrayed as passive bystanders manipulated by a highly mediatized political culture.

However, this need not always be the case. Indeed, from the late 1950s, newspapers became increasingly preoccupied with providing a platform through which ‘ordinary’ citizens’ perceptions of democracy could be articulated. These ‘voices’ were then utilised by newspapers in their construction of new forms of political reporting, consequently redefining public opinion as a less elitist category that was accessible to a broader demographic.

The Daily Mirror provides a particularly good example. Initiated by its change of ownership in the 1930s, in order to appeal to their new, working-class readership, the Mirror became increasingly focused on providing an outlet through which their constructions of the ‘voice of the people’ could be articulated. This was particularly the case with the hydrogen bomb (H-bomb).

In April 1954, the Mirror published a double-page spread on the new H-bomb. Alongside the Mirror’sfirst depiction of ‘The Monster’, the public were invited to respond to two questions regarding their opinion on H-bomb testing.[1] The H-bomb enquiry revealed that 92% of participants were in favour of a suspension of the test explosions.[2] The Mirror then used the results from the public polls to inform its own discourse.[3]

William Connor (Cassandra), a columnist at the Mirror known for his anti-establishment rhetoric, was commissioned to write an article reflecting public distaste for the bomb.He used graphic and emotive language to present the H-bomb as an apocalyptic threat. Children dear, I’m afraid it’s those grown-ups again’, Cassandra wrote before going on to explain the bomb in a patronising manner, as if talking to a child.[4]

As a newspaper’s intention is not to alienate its readership, we can assume that this article was written as an ‘in-joke’ between the Mirror and its readers as, at least from what the public poll had revealed, both shared the same opinion of the bomb.

On the 2nd March 1955, the Mirror published an article revealing that Britain had ‘started to make the H-Bomb.[5] In contrast to the apocalyptic account of horror depicted in 1954, by March 1955, the H-bomb became a part of daily life. We see the normalisation of the H-bomb not only in the Mirror’s reporting style, but also within the ‘voice of the people’ constructed in their Live Letters newspaper segment.

‘I read some time ago that if an atom bomb were dropped in the polar regions, the ice barrier would be broken and that this would allow a warm current to flow round Britain and so give us a tropical climate. If this is so, why do we not have the atomic tests there instead of in Australia and this reap the benefit in climate?’[6]

Instead of a sense of horror, we see a blasé approach to the H-bomb – the implication being that the public accepted the necessity of the H-bomb and desired to make the best of a bad situation.

By 1957, the Mirror’s coverage of the H-Bomb changed again. Whereas previously the H-bomb was presented as either apocalyptic or everyday, by 1957 the apocalyptic had become the everyday.[7] This was also echoed in the nature of public opinion the newspaper published.

‘After constantly reading about the horrible hydrogen bomb, I wish that someone would invent another bomb – the H for Happiness bomb’ wrote one reader.[8]

 The following week, another member of the public wrote a response:

‘I suggest that everybody in this world today could, if he wished, explode his own miniature bomb… In this day and age, however, I have found that any act of kindness… is taken for a sign of weakness’.[9]

These sentiments were echoed in another letter entitled ‘If Angels Weep’:

‘I have my own theory about the rainy weather we’ve been having… Could it be that the angels are weeping now – not from laughter, but with bitter tears for us poor so-and-so’s who could be so happy but are being led on to the brink of misery and destruction by the big ‘eads?’[10]

On top of a clear sense of sadness and an acknowledgement that it was a part of everyday life, there is also a sense of disappointment in their political leaders and an acceptance of the inevitability that the H-bomb would bring destruction and misery to Britain – a far cry from seeing the H-bomb as an opportunity to improve the British climate.

Through analysis of the Mirror’s shifting communicative practices and constructions of the ‘voice of the people’, it is reasonable to suggest that the way people related to the H-bomb changed over time. Tracing shifts such as these will allow us to enrich current study of popular opinion conveyed through mass media by historically contextualising the current, presentist narrative of a ‘crisis in democracy’.

By accessing the mediated perceptions of ‘ordinary’ people through analysis of the outlets that constructed their voices in the public sphere, we can move away from the top-down approach that dominates the study of postwar political culture whilst critically reflecting on the role new media plays in shaping our current political climate.

These concerns will be explored in the ‘Voice of the People’ project, which aims to put the voices of the ordinary citizen centre stage in the discussion of postwar political culture, by deconstructing the ways in which journalists brought the ‘voice of the people’ into the public sphere. From this, we will be able to provide insight into the changing notions of public opinion, whilst tracing the impact that has upon both journalistic and political culture.

Jamie Jenkins is a PhD student at Radboud University working on the Voices of the People project. Her research investigates how the media constructed popular expectations of democracy in Great Britain between the end of the Second World War and the 1980s. She tweets @jenkinsleejamie


Cover image: Photo of ‘Ivy Mike’ (yield 10.4 mt) – an atmospheric nuclear test conducted by the U.S. at Enewetak Atoll on 1 November 1952. It was the world’s first successful hydrogen bomb.

[1] ‘The Monster’, Daily Mirror, April 2nd 1954, p.1.

[2] ‘The People’s Verdict – Churchill Must Act’, Daily Mirror, 5th April 1954, p. 1

[3] M. Conboy, ‘How The War Made the Mirror’, Media History: Newspapers, War and Society 23.3-4 (2017), p. 455.

[4] Cassandra, ‘A child’s guide to the bomb’, Daily Mirror, 6th April 1954, p. 9

[5] ‘Churchill: Another ‘Farewell’ Performance’, Daily Mirror, Wednesday 2nd March 1955 pp.1-3.

[6] ‘Live Letters’, Daily Mirror, 15th November 1956, p. 18.

[7] This personalisation of the H-bomb was a common theme within Mirror articles at the time. This was reiterated by their frequent use of a map of the UK depicting the scale of the potential destruction. The public were able to visualise the impact of the H-bomb on a national level, whilst also placing themselves as individuals on the map. Therefore, by 1957 the public was no longer relating to the bomb as a potential threat, but rather as an actuality.

[8] ‘Live Letters’, Daily Mirror, 24th February 1958, p. 14.

[9] ‘Live Letters’, Daily Mirror, 6th March 1958, p. 18

[10] ‘Live Letters’ Daily Mirror, 10th October, p. 18.

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