The swastika is widely recognized as the emblem of Nazism and the Second World War. Yet today it also appears in parks, cemeteries, on walls, and in other public spaces, where it often carries meanings that extend beyond its historical association.
Drawing on field research conducted in Central Europe, Michal Korhel examines how the swastika functions as a dynamic symbol whose significance is continually redefined in changing social and political contexts. While its connection to Nazism remains central, the symbol is increasingly employed to express anger, hostility, protest, or moral condemnation in contemporary public discourse.
Rather than treating the swastika as a symbol with a single, fixed meaning, the blog post demonstrates how its interpretation is shaped by the contexts in which it appears, the spaces it occupies, and the ways it is understood within collective memory.
[ENG, Slovak version below] The swastika is widely known as the symbol of Nazism and the violence of the Second World War. Today, however, it also appears in parks, cemeteries, walls, and other public places, where it is often used in ways that go beyond its original historical meaning. Based on field research conducted in Central Europe, this article argues that the swastika has become a symbol whose meaning is continuously updated in new social and political contexts. While its historical connection to Nazism remains important, the symbol is increasingly used to express anger, hostility, protest, or moral condemnation in contemporary conflicts. The article suggests that the meaning of historical symbols is not fixed but shaped by the places where they appear and by the ways people interpret them. Rather than treating the swastika as a fixed historical symbol, the article explores how its meaning is continuously reshaped through new political contexts, public spaces, and collective memory.
Z učebníc dejepisu poznáme svastiku ako symbol nacistickej ideológie a genocídneho násilia 20. storočia. Zároveň patrí medzi najľahšie rozpoznateľné a najjednoduchšie reprodukovateľné symboly vôbec. Práve preto sa neobjavuje len v knihách či historických dokumentoch, ale aj vo verejnom priestore: na múroch, v parkoch, na cintorínoch alebo nenápadne vyrytá do kameňa, okolo ktorého ľudia denne prechádzajú. Ako historik, ktorý sa dlhodobo venuje nemeckému dedičstvu v strednej Európe, som si začal tento znak všímať predovšetkým v rámci môjho terénneho výskumu. Skoro počas každého pobytu v Česku, Poľsku alebo na Slovensku som na nejakú natrafil. Miesta, ktorými som prechádzal, sa pre mňa postupne stali priestorom, v ktorom som svastiky prestal vnímať ako ojedinelé prejavy vandalizmu a začal ich chápať ako súčasť širšieho fenoménu. Nevyhnutne to neznamená, že sa v regiónoch s nemeckou históriou objavujú častejšie než inde. Vnímam ich tam však citlivejšie, pretože ich čítam v kontexte krajiny, ktorej dejinám sa dlhodobo venujem. V tomto texte svastika nie je predmetom záujmu preto, že ide o nacistický symbol, ale preto, že ukazuje, ako spoločnosť pracuje s historickou pamäťou.
Svastiky na tehlách starého domu na Slovensku, foto: Michal Korhel
Svastiky, s ktorými sa dnes stretávame vo verejnom priestore, nemajú spoločný pôvod. Niektoré sú autentickými pozostatkami obdobia nacizmu, ktoré po vojne neboli odstránené, pretože sa nachádzali na nenápadných alebo čiastočne skrytých miestach. Patria k nim napríklad svastiky v podobe pečiatok na tehlách viditeľných na boku staršieho domu v jednej slovenskej dedine či svastika na zvyšku bývalého pomníka ukrytá v parku menšieho poľského mesta. V týchto prípadoch ide o historické artefakty, ktorých prítomnosť vypovedá o minulosti daného miesta.
Popri nich však existujú aj svastiky, ktoré vznikli len nedávno. Tie zvykneme automaticky pripisovať „extrémistom“ alebo ich odbaviť ako izolované prejavy vandalizmu. Takéto vysvetlenie je však často príliš zjednodušujúce. Nevysvetľuje totiž, prečo sa tento symbol objavuje práve na konkrétnych miestach, aké významy mu jeho autori pripisujú ani ako ho čítajú ľudia, ktorí okolo neho denne prechádzajú. Práve tieto otázky robia zo svastiky nielen historický symbol, ale aj súčasný spoločenský fenomén.
Svastika na zvyšku pomníka v Poľsku, foto: Michal Korhel
Počas môjho terénneho výskumu naprieč strednou Európou som sa opakovane stretával s oboma prípadmi. Svastiky vyryté na zemi v parkoch, na náhrobných kameňoch alebo namaľované na podstavcoch sôch sú často výpovednejšie než tie monumentálne z učebníc dejepisu. Naznačujú totiž, že svastika už nefunguje výlučne ako historický symbol nacizmu. V mnohých prípadoch sa z nej stala univerzálna skratka radikálneho odmietnutia – znak, ktorým možno bez vysvetlenia označiť protivníka, spor či jav ako nelegitímny. Vizuálna forma tu nahrádza argument a historický kontext ustupuje bezprostrednej emócii.
Svastika na zemi v parku v Liberci, foto: Michal Korhel
Keď som v jednom z parkov v Liberci hľadal stopy po cintoríne, na ktorého mieste park vznikol, narazil som na svastiku vyrytú do zeme. Nachádzala sa neďaleko pomníka venovanému nemeckým obyvateľom mesta, ktorí boli odtiaľ po vojne vyhnaní alebo nútene vysídlení. Na základe jej polohy som predpokladal, že ide o reakciu na nemeckú minulosť mesta. Na moje prekvapenie ju však miestni obyvatelia, s ktorými som sa o nej rozprával, interpretovali ináč. Podľa nich s regionálnou nemeckou minulosťou prakticky nesúvisela. Vnímali ju skôr ako reakciu na vtedy dominujúce mediálne témy, najmä vojnu na Ukrajine či izraelsko-palestínsky konflikt, v ktorých verejná diskusia často pracovala s obvineniami z fašizmu či nacizmu. Samozrejme, z týchto výpovedí nemožno vyvodzovať úmysel autora. Aj keby bola svastika vytvorená ako odkaz na miestnu históriu, je pozoruhodné, že obyvatelia ju čítali predovšetkým cez prizmu aktuálnych politických udalostí. V ich interpretáciách sa tak do popredia dostávali súčasné politické konflikty, zatiaľ čo historické ukotvenie symbolu ustupovalo do úzadia. Prípad z Liberca zároveň naznačuje, že význam svastiky nevzniká iba v okamihu jej vytvorenia, ale je priebežne utváraný aj prostredníctvom interpretácií jej recipientov.
Tento posun ukazuje, ako sa historický symbol priebežne aktualizuje v nových spoločenských a politických kontextoch. Čím častejšie je svastika používaná mimo svojho pôvodného historického kontextu, tým častejšie nadobúda nové významové vrstvy. Popri odkaze na nacizmus a holokaust sa stáva aj všeobecným znakom nepriateľa, násilia, agresie či morálneho odsúdenia. Neznamená to, že jej historický význam zaniká. Skôr prestáva byť jediným interpretačným rámcom, prostredníctvom ktorého je symbol čítaný. Dochádza tak k paradoxu. Symbol, ktorý by mal byť zdiskreditovaný vlastnou minulosťou, čerpá svoju účinnosť práve z nej. Aj keď je dnes často používaný na komentovanie udalostí, ktoré s nacizmom historicky nesúvisia, jeho sila spočíva v tom, že dokáže protivníka okamžite zaradiť do morálneho registra absolútneho zla. Nepotrebuje zložitý výklad ani argumentáciu. Ak je rozpoznaný, spravidla vyvoláva silnú emocionálnu reakciu.
Osobitnú pozornosť si však zasluhujú svastiky, ktoré zjavne neboli určené širokej verejnosti. Vyryté na zadnej strane náhrobku alebo na inom skrytom mieste nepôsobia predovšetkým ako verejná provokácia. Skôr predstavujú zásah do pamäťového priestoru, v ktorom sa stretávajú rozličné vrstvy minulosti a ich súčasné interpretácie. Cintoríny pritom nie sú iba miestami posledného odpočinku. Sú zároveň priestorom, v ktorom sa materializuje kolektívna pamäť: v podobe náhrobkov, pamätníkov či nápisov, ale aj prostredníctvom rozhodnutí o tom, koho si pripomíname a akým spôsobom interpretujeme minulosť. Najmä v regiónoch poznačených vojnou, zmenami hraníc či vysídľovaním obyvateľstva sa cintoríny stávajú miestami, kde sa stretávajú rozdielne predstavy o minulosti a identite. Práve preto môže mať aj nenápadne umiestnená svastika význam, ktorý presahuje samotný akt vandalizmu. Takýto prípad som zaznamenal na židovskom cintoríne v Nitrianskom Pravne. V tomto meste, ktoré bolo pred druhou svetovou vojnou prevažne nemecké, zanikla židovská komunita už v roku 1939. Významným svedectvom jej prítomnosti zostáva židovský cintorín na okraji mesta. To, že bola svastika vyrytá na zadnej strane náhrobku, naznačuje, že jej autor neusiloval o okamžitú verejnú pozornosť. Skôr išlo o zásah do jedného z posledných hmotných nositeľov pamäti zaniknutej židovskej komunity.
Svastika vyrytá na náhrobný kameň na židovskom cintoríne v Nitrianskom Pravne, foto: Michal Korhel
Podobne ambivalentný charakter mala aj svastika, ktorú som si všimol na podstavci stĺpa so sochou sv. Václava v Postoloprtoch na severozápade Čiech. Mesto je dodnes spojené s povojnovým masakrom nemeckého civilného obyvateľstva, pričom interpretácia tejto udalosti zostáva predmetom sporov. Popri snahách o jej verejné pripomínanie sa stále objavujú postoje, ktoré masaker popierajú, ospravedlňujú ako dôsledok nacistickej okupácie alebo ho považujú za uzavretú kapitolu dejín, ku ktorej sa netreba vracať. Verejný priestor tak zostáva miestom, kde sa stretávajú odlišné interpretácie minulosti. V tomto kontexte by sa dalo očakávať, že svastika bude odkazovať predovšetkým na miestnu nemeckú minulosť alebo na udalosti roku 1945. Jej súčasťou je však aj výrazne namaľovaný symbol Z, spájaný s ruskou inváziou na Ukrajinu. Táto kombinácia naznačuje, že historické významy sa v danom priestore opakovane prepisujú a prepájajú so súčasnými politickými konfliktmi. Takéto prípady otvárajú otázku, či sa svastika nestáva akýmsi symbolom, ktorého význam sa neustále aktualizuje v nových politických kontextoch a prostredníctvom ktorého možno vyjadriť veľmi odlišné politické postoje. Neznamená to, že jej historický význam zaniká. Skôr sa ukazuje, že sa vrství o nové významy, ktoré presahujú historický kontext nacizmu, no zároveň čerpajú z jeho silného symbolického a emocionálneho potenciálu.
Svastika namaľovaná na podstavec stĺpu so sochou sv. Václava v Postoloprtoch, foto: Michal Korhel
Určite má zmysel pýtať sa, kto tieto svastiky kreslí a prečo. Rovnako dôležité je však sledovať, ako ich spoločnosť interpretuje a aké významy im pripisuje. Práve v tomto procese sa ukazuje, že svastika dnes často funguje ako všeobecný znak absolútneho zla, násilia či nepriateľa, ktorý možno použiť v najrozličnejších politických a spoločenských konfliktoch. Neznamená to, že jej historický význam zaniká. Skôr prestáva byť jediným rámcom, prostredníctvom ktorého je symbol čítaný. Svastika tak zostáva mimoriadne účinným symbolom, no jej účinnosť čoraz častejšie spočíva v schopnosti aktualizovať sa v nových spoločenských a politických kontextoch. Prípad svastiky zároveň ukazuje, že historické symboly nie sú nemennými nositeľmi významu. Ich význam sa mení a aktualizuje v závislosti od kontextov, v ktorých sú používané. Spôsob, akým s nimi pracujeme dnes, preto veľa vypovedá nielen o minulosti, ale aj o našom súčasnom vzťahu k dejinám a kolektívnej pamäti.
From 26 June to 1 July, Magdalena participated in the international summer school “Recording & Transformation,” organized by the Anthropos Doctoral School and the Tadeusz Manteuffel Institute of History of Polish Academy of Sciences in collaboration with the University of Liverpool, Leipzig University, and the Leibniz Institute for the History and Culture of Eastern Europe (GWZO). The summer school took place in the picturesque village of Pozorty in the Masuria region, right by a lake. After intensive days filled with lectures and workshops, participants enjoyed relaxing by the water – especially as the exceptionally hot weather made the lakeside setting particularly welcome.
The program featured lectures, workshops, and practical sessions led by distinguished scholars from various academic institutions: Prof. Harald Braun (Liverpool), Prof. Megan Maruschke (Leipzig), Dr. Nuala Caomhanach (Graduate Institute, Geneva), Dr. Izabela Mrzygłód (DHI, IH PAN) & Dr. Zachary Mazur (POLIN, IH PAN). Together with an international group of doctoral researchers, participants discussed contemporary archival studies, transformations of archives, and the role of archives during periods of social and political change.
Magdalena was part of the group that prepared a presentation and discussion on Michelle Caswell and Marika Cifor’s article From Human Rights to Feminist Ethics: Radical Empathy in the Archives (2016). The discussion focused on the concept of radical empathy in archival and research practice. Magdalena sees this approach as highly relevant to her own doctoral research, as her project explores the relationships between the researcher, archives, archivists, and interviewees, who not only contribute source material but also actively participate in the creation of historical narratives. Another important component of the program consisted of workshops designed to develop participants’ presentation skills, including Elevator Pitches and Public Speaking & Job Talks. For Magdalena, the summer school was not only an opportunity to acquire new skills but also to refine and further develop the key arguments of her doctoral dissertation.
The organizers also included a field excursion in the program. Participants took a boat trip along the Elbląg Canal, where they learned about one of Europe’s most remarkable achievements in hydraulic engineering. Particular attention was devoted to the canal’s unique inclined-plane system, which allows boats to travel over land on specially designed rail-mounted carriages. Invented in the nineteenth century by Prussian Georg Jacob Steenke, this engineering solution also serves as a reminder of the region’s multicultural past, when much of Masuria was inhabited by German-speaking communities. In this way, the summer school successfully combined theoretical reflection on archives and memory with the direct experience of a landscape that itself bears witness to historical transformations.
exercises during Summer School, photo: Magdalena Bubík boat trip during Summer School, photo: Magdalena Bubík (and boat captain)group photo by Magdalena SobolskaMagdalena during the discussion with other students, photo: Magdalena Sobolska
A new chapter titled “Historia poruszających się przedmiotów. O pojęciu poniemieckości” by Karolina Ćwiek-Rogalska has been published in a collective volume “Ziemie Odzyskane. Przestrzeń, przyroda, rzeczy”, edited by Małgorzata Praczyk and Emilia Kledzik, and issued by the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań.
In her chapter, Karolina addresses the problem of the category of being formerly German, which was incorporated into Polish law as early as 1946, and examines its consequences. To do so, she analyzes a specific case involving two clockmakers in the town of Koszalin, formerly the German city of Köslin, in Central Pomerania. She demonstrates that former Germanness (Polish poniemieckość) can be understood as a pragmatic category and that it was not necessarily preceded by an object’s having been German property. In this way, she contributes to one of the main objectives of our research.
The migration crisis of 2021 has largely disappeared from public attention but it continues to affect the lives of local people and those trying to cross the border. Based on his experience of the border walk in the Białowieża Forest, Michal explores the experience of ordinary visitors and that of migrants, for whom the same landscape means different things. While people usually talk about migration using statistics, national security, and politics, Michal points to the fact that when we do this, it is easy to forget about the real people involved. In the end, his article asks readers to stop looking at migrants as just a political group, and to start seeing them as human beings.
In mid-June, we were delighted to co-organize the 33rd seminar of the Badacze i Badaczki na Granicy [Researchers on the Border] group, dedicated to examining bordering practices across a variety of border contexts. We were particularly interested in how state borders are shaped in relation to one another, as well as in the boundaries that emerge between different communities and social groups. To explore these questions, we gathered in Gruszki, a small hamlet in Podlasie, where we discussed papers presented by scholars from Poland and abroad.
The first part of the meeting was devoted to research plans and works in progress. We heard and discussed excerpts from the work of Natalia Judzińska from the Institute of Slavic Studies, Polish Academy of Sciences, who is researching the Polish–Belarusian border. Our own Magdalena also presented a section of her PhD thesis, focusing on bordering practices among contemporary religious communities in two post-displacement regions. Jakub Bieniasz from Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań discussed his plans for conducting research in Podlasie. We then moved to the Polish–Ukrainian–Slovak borderlands from both contemporary and historical perspectives. Tomasz Kosiek from the University of Rzeszów spoke about his documentation project along the Uzh River. Karolina Panz from the Institute of Slavic Studies, Polish Academy of Sciences, took us back in time to discuss the challenges of reconstructing the history of smuggling along the border. Finally, our team member Michal presented his research on the forests of Hauerland and reflected on the extent to which their haunted character can serve as a source for studying effect.
An important part of the seminar was the border walk, during which members of Badacze i Badaczki na Granicy showed us not only contemporary bordering practices relating to the infrastructure but also traces of both the distant and more recent past, particularly those connected to the humanitarian crisis at the border. Participants also had the opportunity to visit an exhibition by Iraqi artist Mustafa Fouad, who illustrated his experiences of crossing the border.
On the second day, we met with Joanna Zielińska-Öktem from the Contact Zone Association to discuss her films on borders in Bosnia and Herzegovina, particularly in the post-1995 period. The seminar concluded with a presentation by our team member Karina, who shared her ethnographic research along the former German railway line that once connected areas that today form part of the Polish–Czech borderlands.
The remainder of the day was devoted to a workshop that we led using the ethnographic postcard method. We discussed in depth how we employ this method and how it shapes our practice as hauntologists. Participants were then invited to create their own postcards and discuss them with the rest of the group. This was the second workshop of this type, following smaller workshops we conducted in pairs or individually.
We are pleased that the final year of our project began in this way: by sharing the milestones we have achieved so far, participating in discussions that broadened our horizons, and gaining insights into a variety of other post-displacement regions. We hope that the methods we presented will find their way into the work of other researchers as well.
Białowieża National Park, photo: Michal Korhelduring border walk, photo: Michal Korhelpostcard workshop – discussion on our postcards, photo: Michal KorhelMagdalena Bubík’s presentation, photo: Michal Korhelparticipants during the process of creating postcards, photo: Michal Korhel
participants postcards from the workshop, photo: Michal Korhel
On Monday, 15 June, Karolina was invited to participate in a conference promoting knowledge about the history and post-1945 development of the formerly German territories incorporated into Poland. The conference, organized by Tygodnik Powszechny, one of Poland’s leading magazines, took place in the Polish Sejm, the seat of Parliament. The venue underscored the event’s character as a discussion about Poland’s past and present, viewed through a regional lens.
Karolina took part in the first panel alongside Eryk Krasucki from the University of Szczecin. Their discussion explored various trajectories of development, focusing on individual experiences and the ways local communities negotiated centrally imposed propaganda while attempting to settle and feel at home amid the remnants of German material culture. She illustrated her statements with examples drawn also from the research conducted within our project.
The subsequent panels examined contemporary sociological research on how these territories are perceived both by their inhabitants and by people elsewhere in Poland. They also addressed the extent to which artistic practices shape perceptions of life in the formerly German regions, as opposed to reflecting lived realities.
The heated debate continued until late afternoon, demonstrating that this remains a highly relevant and engaging topic. We are now looking forward to July, when the results of the sociological study conducted by the Instytut Zachodni in Poznań will be published. These findings will provide an excellent point of comparison for our own site-specific and qualitative research.
A new article titled “Departing from Krickerhau and Arriving in Handlová: Childhood Memories of Migration among German Expellees and Slovak Settlers” by Michal Korhel has been published in Forum Historiae.
Handlová (German Krickerhau) was one of the main centres of Hauerland, a region in central Slovakia inhabited predominantly by a German-speaking population until the end of the Second World War. As a consequence of wartime events and post-war population transfers, German, and later Czechoslovak, authorities forced Slovak Germans to leave their homes. After 1945, Slovak settlers from neighbouring regions as well as from Hungary, France, Belgium, Romania, and Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia arrived in Handlová to take the place of the ousted German population. Drawing on oral history interviews, this article examines the childhood experiences of both the original German inhabitants of Handlová and the Slovak settlers who were relocated there after the Second World War. For both groups, German expellees and Slovak newcomers, childhood was profoundly shaped by (forced) migration. Yet while the Germans departed for a devastated Germany leaving most of their possessions behind, the Slovak settlers often arrived in what they perceived as their “home country,” bringing with them not only material belongings, but also distinct expectations and identities. By comparing the two sets of childhood recollections, the article explores how displacement was experienced and remembered across ethnic and national divides, revealing the shared emotional and sensory dimensions of migration and also the contrasting interpretative frameworks through which loss and new beginnings were understood. Ultimately, the study contributes to a more nuanced understanding of how memory, identity, and belonging were formed through post-war migration in Central Europe.
A new article titled “Sympathy for the Unfamiliar Ghosts: Why did Polish Settlers Care for Tombs of Ancestors of Expelled Germans?” by Karolina Ćwiek-Rogalska has been published in Memory Studies Review.
Although the scholarship to date has assumed that after the Second World War in central Europe, in regions where forced displacement took place, the new, mostly Slavic settlers neglected and destroyed German cemeteries left behind by the expellees, Karolina argues that this process did not start in the first years after the war because of the relationships that the settlers established with chosen German dead. She explains why this particular deceased individual was chosen, focusing on how the care of their tomb temporarily established a form of spectral kinship. To do so, she focuses on ethnographic materials, including interviews gathered in central Pomerania, contemporary Poland, to see how these stories have been conveyed after 1989 and what impact post-socialist conditions had on them.
In her latest blog post, Karina Hoření reports on the 2026 March of Reconciliation, an annual event commemorating the postwar expulsion of ethnic Germans from Brno. This year’s march coincided with a controversial meeting of the Sudeten German Association in the Czech Republic, sparking renewed debate. Karina examines the competing historical narratives: one focused on reconciliation and the memory of the expelled population, and the other highlighting the broader context of the Nazi occupation and the role of certain Sudeten Germans in the dissolution of Czechoslovakia.
