The relocation or destruction of the monuments of Soviet heroes in our times is in fact a process of replacement of one myth by the other. The commemoration of historical events has become the subject of struggle and manipulation of political power. The Soviet era is today the subject of divergent interpretations, ranging from nostalgia to denial, depending on the cultural, ethnic and socio-economic context in which these memories take place. In this article the processes are analysed, in which Lithuanians and Georgians change the meaning of symbols of their past in the attempt to redefine history and determine the fate of their fallen heroes.

In this article, we try to answer the question of how and why the stories of the victims of attacks by the guerrilla movements in the 1970s in Argentina are currently silenced in the public sphere. We analyse how this collective denial is negotiated in human rights discourse. In particular, we show how strategic and essentialist silences as well as denial (literal, interpretative, implicatory) feature in political debates about human rights and political violence.

After catastrophic events, memorialisation is part of coming to terms with the past and rebuilding the future. It is also part of the social construction of the past – a struggle between conflicting representations of past events by different groups in society, with different memories, interests and degrees of power to influence which version of history is eventually recognized as correct and which is denied. In Western Europe, we tend to study such processes in parts of the world far removed from our own, forgetting that the major genocide of the 20th century, took place in our own cities, and that a process of memorialisation was ongoing there for many years after the war. The Jewish quarter in the centre of Amsterdam has many monuments, buildings and museums connected to the history of the Jews of Amsterdam, the majority of whom died in the death camps of the Shoa. The memory landscape of the Jewish quarter is dynamic, a reflection of a culture of remembrance and denial concerning the Second World War, in which events and people are remembered, but others forgotten. What can the urban landscape of Amsterdam tell us about this culture and its relationship to social and political events during and after the war? What/who are remembered and what/who forgotten, by whom, and why? How has that changed over time?

In the introductory article of this special issue on the language of denial, some relevant concepts in relation to denial, speech act and discourse theory are explored. Stanley Cohen’s distinction between literal, interpretative and implicatory denial is illuminated, as well as the contribution of various scholars on the performative function of language. At the end of the article the relevance of these concepts for (cultural) criminology is explained.

This article explores the relation between death, the fear and denial of it, and the appeal of mortuary rites attempting to transcend senses of mortality. It aims to show how our Own death, as a shamefull and solitary characteristic of modernity, has become a taboo and how it simultaneously continues to spur our imagination of the way Others die. Building on research in Suriname, it argues that both colonial compulsion and anthropological gazing have contributed to distorted and ambiguious attitudes toward death cross-culturally. As such, the article seeks to advance discussions on death and taboo as a perpetuum mobile of dread and everlasting enchantment.

Journalists are accustomed to investigate and interpret current forms of violent conflicts and massacres. Psychologists and social scientists lag behind and seem to focus more on ‘remote’ forms of evil, often focusing on forms of authoritarian behaviour and obedience, especially related to the Holocaust. It is striking that reflections on collective violence are often ignored by criminologists. How can this ‘distance’ be explained? Why is there little incentive to study ‘evil’? In this introduction we first discuss the difficult issue of how to define ‘evil’ and we clarify its various meanings. Then we focus on the Holocaust, an oppressive theme that still instigates much debate. In particular, the thesis of the ‘banality of evil’ is controversial. This interest in appalling forms of mass destruction – by theologians, ethicists and historians – raises once again the question why criminological reflection and research of barbarity remains underdeveloped.