When Albert Einstein Championed the Creation of a One World Government (1945)

Image by Fer­di­nand Schmutzer, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The con­cept of one-world gov­ern­ment has long been a sta­ple of vio­lent apoc­a­lyp­tic prophe­cy and con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries involv­ing var­i­ous popes, the UN, FEMA, the Illu­mi­nati, and lizard peo­ple. In the real world, one-world gov­ern­ment has been a goal of the glob­al Com­intern and many of the cor­po­rate oli­garchs who tri­umphed over the Sovi­ets in the Cold War. For good rea­son, perhaps—with the excep­tion of sci-fi utopias like Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek—we gen­er­al­ly tend to think of glob­al gov­ern­ment as a threat­en­ing idea. But that has not always been the case, or least it wasn’t for Albert Ein­stein who pro­posed glob­al gov­er­nance after the drop­ping of atom­ic bombs on Hiroshi­ma and Nagasa­ki.

Einstein’s role in the devel­op­ment of those weapons may have been min­i­mal, accord­ing to the physi­cist him­self (the truth is a lit­tle more com­pli­cat­ed). But he lat­er expressed regret, or at least a total rethink­ing of the issue, in his many inter­views, let­ters, and speech­es. In 1952, for exam­ple, Ein­stein wrote a short essay called “On My Par­tic­i­pa­tion in the Atom Bomb Project” in which he rec­om­mend­ed that all nations “abol­ish war by com­mon action” and referred to the paci­fist exam­ple of Gand­hi, “the great­est polit­i­cal genius of our time.”

Five years ear­li­er, we find Ein­stein in a less than hope­ful mood. In a 1947 open let­ter to the Gen­er­al Assem­bly of the Unit­ed Nations, he laments that “since the vic­to­ry over the Axis pow­ers… no appre­cia­ble progress has been made either toward the pre­ven­tion of war or toward agree­ment in spe­cif­ic fields such as con­trol of atom­ic ener­gy and eco­nom­ic coop­er­a­tion.” The solu­tion as he saw it required a “mod­i­fi­ca­tion of the tra­di­tion­al con­cept of nation­al sov­er­eign­ty.” It’s a clause that might have launched a thou­sand mili­tia man­i­festoes. Ein­stein elab­o­rates:

For as long as atom­ic ener­gy and arma­ments are con­sid­ered a vital part of nation­al secu­ri­ty no nation will give more than lip ser­vice to inter­na­tion­al treaties. Secu­ri­ty is indi­vis­i­ble. It can be reached only when nec­es­sary guar­an­tees of law and enforce­ment obtain every­where, so that mil­i­tary secu­ri­ty is no longer the prob­lem of any sin­gle state. There is no com­pro­mise pos­si­ble between prepa­ra­tion for war, on the one hand, and prepa­ra­tion of a world soci­ety based on law and order on the oth­er.

So far this sounds not sim­ply like a one-world gov­ern­ment but like a one-world police state. But Einstein’s pro­pos­al gets a much more com­pre­hen­sive treat­ment in an ear­li­er Atlantic Month­ly edi­to­r­i­al pub­lished in 1945. Here, he admits that many of his ideas are “abstrac­tions” and lays out a scheme to osten­si­bly pro­tect against glob­al total­i­tar­i­an­ism.

Mem­ber­ship in a supra­na­tion­al secu­ri­ty sys­tem should not, in my opin­ion, be based on any arbi­trary demo­c­ra­t­ic stan­dards. The one require­ment from all should be that the rep­re­sen­ta­tives to supra­na­tion­al organization—assembly and council—must be elect­ed by the peo­ple in each mem­ber coun­try through a secret bal­lot. These rep­re­sen­ta­tives must rep­re­sent the peo­ple rather than any government—which would enhance the pacif­ic nature of the orga­ni­za­tion.

The great­est obsta­cle to a glob­al gov­ern­ment was not, Ein­stein thought, U.S. mis­trust, but Russ­ian unwill­ing­ness. After mak­ing every effort to induce the Sovi­ets to join, he writes in his UN let­ter, oth­er nations should band togeth­er to form a “par­tial world Gov­ern­ment… com­pris­ing at least two-thirds of the major indus­tri­al and eco­nom­ic areas of the world.” This body “should make it clear from the begin­ning that its doors remain wide open to any non-mem­ber.”

Ein­stein cor­re­spond­ed with many peo­ple on the issue of one-world gov­ern­ment, rec­om­mend­ing in one let­ter that a “per­ma­nent world court” be estab­lished to “con­strain the exec­u­tive branch of world gov­ern­ment from over­step­ping its man­date which, in the begin­ning, should be lim­it­ed to the pre­ven­tion of war and war-pro­vok­ing devel­op­ments.” He does not fore­see the prob­lem of an exec­u­tive who seizes pow­er through nefar­i­ous means and ignores insti­tu­tion­al checks on pow­er and priv­i­lege. As for the not-insignif­i­cant mat­ter of the econ­o­my, he writes that “the free­dom of each coun­try to devel­op eco­nom­ic, polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al insti­tu­tions of its own choice must be guar­an­teed at the out­set.”

Ide­o­log­i­cal con­flicts over eco­nom­ics seemed to him “quite irra­tional,” as he wrote in his Atlantic edi­to­r­i­al. “Whether the eco­nom­ic life of Amer­i­ca should be dom­i­nat­ed by rel­a­tive­ly few indi­vid­u­als, as it is, or these indi­vid­u­als should be con­trolled by the state, may be impor­tant, but it is not impor­tant enough to jus­ti­fy all the feel­ings that are stirred up over it.” Like any hon­est intel­lec­tu­al, Ein­stein reserved the right to change his mind. By 1949 he had come to see social­ism as a nec­es­sary anti­dote to the “grave evils of cap­i­tal­ism”—the gravest of which, he wrote, is “an oli­garchy of pri­vate cap­i­tal the enor­mous pow­er of which can­not be effec­tive­ly checked even by a demo­c­ra­t­i­cal­ly orga­nized polit­i­cal society”—even one, pre­sum­ably, with glob­al leg­isla­tive reach.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Ein­stein Writes the 1949 Essay “Why Social­ism?” and Attempts to Find a Solu­tion to the “Grave Evils of Cap­i­tal­ism”

Albert Ein­stein Express­es His Admi­ra­tion for Mahat­ma Gand­hi, in Let­ter and Audio

Albert Ein­stein Explains How Slav­ery Has Crip­pled Everyone’s Abil­i­ty (Even Aristotle’s) to Think Clear­ly About Racism

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Learn the Untold History of the Chinese Community in the Mississippi Delta

The word “nativist” always sounds odd to me giv­en that most of those to whom it applies descend from peo­ple who arrived in North Amer­i­ca one or two hun­dred years ago to find peo­ple who had been on the con­ti­nent for many thou­sands of years. But if we were, in defi­ance of his­to­ry, to con­fer native sta­tus upon the many waves of Euro­pean immi­grants who pop­u­lat­ed the coun­try before and after the Civ­il War, then we must also grant such sta­tus to the many Chi­nese immi­grants who did so, build­ing rail­roads and busi­ness­es all over the U.S., includ­ing on the west­ern fron­tier in Mis­sis­sip­pi.

Chi­nese immi­grants first arrived in the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta after the end of slav­ery, respond­ing to cot­ton planters’ need for a new­ly exploitable work­force. Chi­nese labor­ers, says the nar­ra­tor in the Al Jazeera video above, “were cheap, dis­pos­able, and polit­i­cal­ly voice­less.” But they were, at least, paid for their work, and free to leave it, as most of them did when they could, to build their own eco­nom­ic means—largely busi­ness­es “serv­ing the black com­mu­ni­ty when the white com­mu­ni­ty wouldn’t.” In an NPR pro­file of the Delta Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ty, Melis­sa Block inter­viewed Ray­mond Wong, whose fam­i­ly arrived some­what lat­er, in the 1930s. “We were in-between,” he tells her, “We’re not black, we’re not white. So that by itself gives you some iso­la­tion.”

Pho­to by Mar­i­on Post Wolcott/Library of Con­gress

That in-between-ness also grants a good deal of invis­i­bil­i­ty to com­mu­ni­ties that don’t fit into the bina­ry pat­terns of think­ing in South­ern cul­ture and his­to­ry or the over­sim­pli­fi­ca­tions of U.S. demo­graph­ic his­to­ry in gen­er­al. As his­to­ri­an David Reimers demon­strates in his book Oth­er Immi­grants, in addi­tion to native Amerindi­ans, Euro­peans, and enslaved African peo­ple, the coun­try has been inhab­it­ed by free Black, Caribbean, Asian, and Latin Amer­i­can com­mu­ni­ties since the 16th cen­tu­ry and up to, and after, the harsh exclu­sion acts of the 19th cen­tu­ry. The U.S. would not be rec­og­niz­able with­out such com­mu­ni­ties. As far back as the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry, he writes, “Penn­syl­va­nia and New York City, with their eth­ni­cal­ly diverse pop­u­la­tions, became mod­els for the Amer­i­can future, a plu­ral­ist soci­ety.”

In the South, non-Euro­pean immi­grant com­mu­ni­ties have been small­er minori­ties, like the Delta Chi­nese. Nonethe­less, as Mis­sis­sip­pi res­i­dent Frie­da Quon recalls of grow­ing up in seg­re­gat­ed Mis­sis­sip­pi, the Chi­nese immi­grants who set­tled from Mem­phis to Vicks­burg “real­ly filled a par­tic­u­lar need”—first for labor then for services—“because nobody else want­ed to do it.” Even after the com­mu­ni­ty endured many years of big­otry and legal dis­crim­i­na­tion dur­ing the exclu­sion acts, sev­er­al men dis­tin­guished them­selves among the 13,000 Chi­nese Amer­i­cans who served in the U.S. armed forces dur­ing World War II.

The 10-minute trail­er above for Hon­or and Duty, a three part doc­u­men­tary series about the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ty, begins with a brief pro­file of the almost two hun­dred Chi­nese Amer­i­can sol­diers, marines, sailors, and air­men from the region. Direc­tor E. Saman­tha Cheng made the film as part of her larg­er mis­sion to tell Asian-Amer­i­can his­to­ry, which few Amer­i­cans of any descent know very much about. In fact, she took on her mis­sion after recov­er­ing from the shock of learn­ing as an adult about the U.S.‘s Japan­ese intern­ment camps dur­ing the war, some­thing she had nev­er been taught in New York City pub­lic schools.

Cheng was sur­prised dur­ing her film­ing to meet so many Chi­nese-Amer­i­cans with molasses-thick South­ern accents. “Even their Chi­nese accent has a South­ern twang to it,” she tells NBC. That’s because, though accent alone does not a “native” make, the Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ties in the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta are, as much as any­one else in the region, South­ern­ers.

The AJ video is part of a series on 150 years of Chi­nese cul­ture and cui­sine in the U.S. See Part One, on San Fran­cis­co, here, and the Part Two, cov­ers Los Ange­les, here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michio Kaku on Why Immi­grants Are America’s Secret Weapon: They Com­pen­sate for Our Mediocre STEM Edu­ca­tion & Keep Pros­per­i­ty Going

Albert Ein­stein Gives a Speech Prais­ing Diver­si­ty & Immi­grants’ Con­tri­bu­tions to Amer­i­ca (1939)

Ian McK­ellen Reads a Pas­sion­ate Speech by William Shake­speare, Writ­ten in Defense of Immi­grants

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Roman Roads of Britain Visualized as a Subway Map

Walk around Lon­don with some­one who knows its deep his­to­ry — not hard to arrange, giv­en the way Lon­don enthu­si­asts treat his­tor­i­cal knowl­edge as a hyper­com­pet­i­tive sport — and you’ll have more than a few paths of “Roman roads” point­ed out to you. Even in the city of Big Ben and Buck­ing­ham Palace, the Shard and the Gherkin, chick­en shops and cur­ry hous­es, there remain frag­ments and traces of the 2,000 miles of roads the Roman Army built between British towns and cities between 43 and 410 AD, Britain’s cen­turies as a province of the Roman Empire.

Though some of Britain’s Roman Roads have become mod­ern motor­ways, most no longer exist in any form but those bits and pieces his­to­ry buffs like to spot. This makes it dif­fi­cult to get a sense of how they all ran and where — or at least it did until Sasha Tru­bet­skoy made a Roman Roads of Britain Net­work Map in the graph­ic-design style of the sub­way maps you’ll find in Lon­don or any oth­er major city today. Tru­bet­skoy, an under­grad­u­ate sta­tis­tics major at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go, first found car­to­graph­i­cal fame a few months ago with his “sub­way map” of roads across the entire Roman Empire cir­ca 125 AD.

“Pop­u­lar request,” he writes, demand­ed a Britain-spe­cif­ic fol­low up, a project he describes as “far more com­pli­cat­ed than I had ini­tial­ly antic­i­pat­ed.” The chal­lenges includ­ed not just the sheer num­ber of Roman Roads in Britain but a lack of clar­i­ty about their exact loca­tion and extents. As in his pre­vi­ous map, Tru­bet­skoy admits, “I had to do some sim­pli­fy­ing and make some tough choic­es on which cities to include.” While this clos­er-up view demand­ed a more geo­graph­i­cal faith­ful­ness, he nev­er­the­less “had to get rather cre­ative with the his­tor­i­cal evi­dence” in places, to the point of using such “not exact­ly Latin-sound­ing” names as “Watling Street” and “Ermin Way.”

Still, bar­ring a rev­o­lu­tion­ary dis­cov­ery in Roman his­to­ry, you’re unlike­ly to find a more rig­or­ous exam­ple of sub­way-mapped Roman Roads in Britain than this one. And for $9 USD you can have it as a “crisp PDF” suit­able for print­ing as a poster and giv­ing to any­one pas­sion­ate about the his­to­ry of Britain — or the his­to­ry of Rome, or graph­ic design, or maps that aren’t what they might seem at first glance.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ancient Rome’s Sys­tem of Roads Visu­al­ized in the Style of Mod­ern Sub­way Maps

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Rome, Cir­ca 320 C.E.

How Did the Romans Make Con­crete That Lasts Longer Than Mod­ern Con­crete? The Mys­tery Final­ly Solved

The Rise & Fall of the Romans: Every Year Shown in a Time­lapse Map Ani­ma­tion (753 BC ‑1479 AD)

A Won­der­ful Archive of His­toric Tran­sit Maps: Expres­sive Art Meets Pre­cise Graph­ic Design

“The Won­der­ground Map of Lon­don Town,” the Icon­ic 1914 Map That Saved the World’s First Sub­way Sys­tem

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Gonzo Illustrator Ralph Steadman Draws the American Presidents, from Nixon to Trump

In a 2012 inter­view with Nation­al Pub­lic Radio, car­toon­ist Ralph Stead­man, best known for his col­lab­o­ra­tions with Gonzo jour­nal­ist Hunter S. Thomp­son, lament­ed the qual­i­ty of the can­di­dates in that year’s Pres­i­den­tial race:

The prob­lem is there are no Nixons around at the moment. That’s what we need — we need a real good Nixon to give some­thing for oth­er peo­ple to get their teeth into, to real­ly … loathe him, to become them­selves more effec­tive as oppo­si­tion lead­ers.

Alas, his prayers have been answered.

Stead­man, who has brought his inky sen­si­bil­i­ties to bear on such works as Ani­mal Farm and Alice in Won­der­land, has a new Amer­i­can pres­i­dent to add to the col­lec­tion he dis­cussed sev­er­al years ago, in the video above.

Steadman’s pen was the sword that ren­dered Ger­ald Ford as a scare­crow, Ronald Rea­gan as a vam­pire, and George W. Bush as a mon­key in a cage of his own mak­ing.

Barack Oba­ma, one of the can­di­dates in that com­par­a­tive­ly bland 2012 elec­tion, is depict­ed as a tena­cious, slen­der vine, strain­ing ever upward.

Jim­my Carter, some­what less benign­ly, is a pup­py eager­ly fetch­ing a stick with which to par­don Nixon, the Welsh cartoonist’s dark muse, first encoun­tered when he accom­pa­nied Thomp­son on the road trip that yield­ed Fear and Loathing: On the Cam­paign Trail ’72.

And now…

Don­ald Trump has giv­en Stead­man rea­son to come out fight­ing. With luck, he’ll stay out as long as his ser­vices are required. The above por­trait, titled “Porky Pie,” was sent, unso­licit­ed, to Ger­ry Brakus, an edi­tor of the New States­man, who pub­lished it on Decem­ber 17, 2015.

At the time, Stead­man had no rea­son to believe the man he’d anthro­po­mor­phized as a human pig hybrid, squeezed into bloody flag-print under­pants, would become the 45th pres­i­dent:

Trump is unthink­able. A thug and a moles­ter. Who wants him?

The por­trait’s hideous­ness speaks vol­umes, but it’s also worth look­ing beyond the obvi­ous-seem­ing inspi­ra­tion for the title to a ref­er­ence few Amer­i­cans would get. “Pork pie”—or porky—is Cock­ney rhyming slang for “a lie.”

See a gallery of Steadman’s por­traits of Amer­i­can pres­i­dents on his web­site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ralph Steadman’s Sur­re­al­ist Illus­tra­tions of George Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm (1995)

How Hunter S. Thomp­son — and Psilo­cy­bin — Influ­enced the Art of Ralph Stead­man, Cre­at­ing the “Gonzo” Style

Break­ing Bad Illus­trat­ed by Gonzo Artist Ralph Stead­man

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Web Site “Centuries of Sound” is Making a Mixtape for Every Year of Recorded Sound from 1860 to Present

The vibra­tions of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Ele­vat­ed Rail­road in Man­hat­tan, a recita­tion of “Mary Had a Lit­tle Lamb,” the announce­ments issu­ing forth from an inven­tor’s attempt at a talk­ing clock — hard­ly a mix with which to get the par­ty start­ed, but one that pro­vides the clos­est expe­ri­ence we can get to trav­el­ing in a son­ic time machine. With Cen­turies of Sound, James Erring­ton has assem­bled those record­ings and a few oth­ers into its 1878–1885 mix, an ear­ly chap­ter in his project of cre­at­ing one lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence for each year in the his­to­ry of record­ed sound.

“Things get a lit­tle more lis­ten­able in 1887 with a record­ing of ‘Twin­kle Twin­kle Lit­tle Star,’ ” writes The A.V. Club’s Matt Ger­ar­di. “It’s also with this third mix that we start to get a sense for Cen­turies Of Sound’s edit­ing style, as speech­es start to be lay­ered over musi­cal per­for­mances, cre­at­ing a lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence that’s as plea­sur­able as it is edu­ca­tion­al.”

In so doing, “Erring­ton calls atten­tion to the issue of rep­re­sen­ta­tion, as one of his pri­ma­ry goals is to paint a glob­al, mul­ti-cul­tur­al pic­ture of record­ing his­to­ry,” dig­ging past all the “march­ing bands, sen­ti­men­tal bal­lads, nov­el­ty instru­men­tals and noth­ing much else” in the his­tor­i­cal archives while putting out the call for expert help sourc­ing and eval­u­at­ing “Rem­beti­ka, ear­ly micro­ton­al record­ings, French polit­i­cal speech­es, Tagore songs or any­thing else.”

Putting up anoth­er year’s mix each month, Cen­turies of Sound has so far made it up to 1893, the year of the World’s Columbian Expo­si­tion in Chica­go which “set the tone for the next twen­ty-five years of archi­tec­ture, arts, cul­ture and the elec­tri­fi­ca­tion of the world,” and also the first age of “ ‘hits’ – music pro­duced with an eye to sell­ing, even if only as a sou­venir or a fun nov­el­ty.” With a decade remain­ing until Cen­turies of Sound catch­es up with the present moment, Erring­ton has put togeth­er a taste of what its son­ic dose of the almost-present will sound like with a 2016 pre­view mix fea­tur­ing the likes of the final album by A Tribe Called Quest and Lazarus, the musi­cal by David Bowie, both of whom took their final bows last year. We’re def­i­nite­ly a long way from the time of “Mary Had a Lit­tle Lamb.” But how will it all sound to the ears of 2027?

via The A.V. Club

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

Cor­nell Launch­es Archive of 150,000 Bird Calls and Ani­mal Sounds, with Record­ings Going Back to 1929

Great New Archive Lets You Hear the Sounds of New York City Dur­ing the Roar­ing 20s

Map­ping the Sounds of Greek Byzan­tine Church­es: How Researchers Are Cre­at­ing “Muse­ums of Lost Sound”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Long Before Photoshop, the Soviets Mastered the Art of Erasing People from Photographs — and History Too

Adobe Pho­to­shop, the world’s best-known piece of image-edit­ing soft­ware, has long since tran­si­tioned from noun to verb: “to Pho­to­shop” has come to mean some­thing like “to alter a pho­to­graph, often with intent to mis­lead or deceive.” But in that usage, Pho­to­shop­ping did­n’t begin with Pho­to­shop, and indeed the ear­ly mas­ters of Pho­to­shop­ping did it well before any­one had even dreamed of the per­son­al com­put­er, let alone a means to manip­u­late images on one. In Amer­i­ca, the best of them worked for the movies; in Sovi­et Rus­sia they worked for a dif­fer­ent kind of pro­pa­gan­da machine known as the State, not just pro­duc­ing offi­cial pho­tos but going back to pre­vi­ous offi­cial pho­tos and chang­ing them to reflect the regime’s ever-shift­ing set of pre­ferred alter­na­tive facts.

“Like their coun­ter­parts in Hol­ly­wood, pho­to­graph­ic retouch­ers in Sovi­et Rus­sia spent long hours smooth­ing out the blem­ish­es of imper­fect com­plex­ions, help­ing the cam­era to fal­si­fy real­i­ty,” writes David King in the intro­duc­tion to his book The Com­mis­sar Van­ish­es: The Fal­si­fi­ca­tion of Pho­tographs and Art in Stal­in’s Rus­sia. “Stal­in’s pock­marked face, in par­tic­u­lar, demand­ed excep­tion­al skills with the air­brush. But it was dur­ing the Great Purges, which raged in the late 1930s, that a new form of fal­si­fi­ca­tion emerged. The phys­i­cal erad­i­ca­tion of Stal­in’s polit­i­cal oppo­nents at the hands of the secret police was swift­ly fol­lowed by their oblit­er­a­tion from all forms of pic­to­r­i­al exis­tence.”

Using tools that now seem impos­si­bly prim­i­tive, Sovi­et pro­to-Pho­to­shop­pers made “once-famous per­son­al­i­ties van­ish” and craft­ed pho­tographs rep­re­sent­ing Stal­in “as the only true friend, com­rade, and suc­ces­sor to Lenin, the leader of the Bol­she­vik Rev­o­lu­tion and founder of the USSR.”

This qua­si-arti­sanal work, “one of the more enjoy­able tasks for the art depart­ment of pub­lish­ing hous­es dur­ing those times,” demand­ed seri­ous dex­ter­i­ty with the scalpel, glue, paint, and air­brush. (Some exam­ples, as you can see in this five-page gallery of images from The Com­mis­sar Van­ish­es, evi­denced more dex­ter­i­ty than oth­ers.) In this man­ner, Stal­in could order writ­ten out of his­to­ry such com­rades he ulti­mate­ly deemed dis­loy­al (and who usu­al­ly wound up exe­cut­ed as) as Naval Com­mis­sar Niko­lai Yezhov, infa­mous­ly made to dis­ap­pear from Stal­in’s side on a pho­to tak­en along­side the Moscow Canal, or Peo­ple’s Com­mis­sar for Posts and Telegraphs Niko­lai Antipov, com­man­der of the Leningrad par­ty Sergei Kirov, and Chair­man of the Pre­sid­i­um of the Supreme Sovi­et Niko­lai Shvernik — pic­tured, and removed one by one, just above.

This prac­tice even extend­ed to the mate­ri­als of the Sovi­et space pro­gram, writes Wired’s James Oberg. Cos­mo­nauts tem­porar­i­ly erased from his­to­ry include Valentin Bon­darenko, who died in a fire dur­ing a train­ing exer­cise, and the espe­cial­ly promis­ing Grig­oriy Nelyubov (pic­tured, and then not pic­tured, at the top of the post), who “had been expelled from the pro­gram for mis­be­hav­ior and lat­er killed him­self.” Yuri Gagarin, the cos­mo­naut who made his­to­ry as the first human in out­er space, did not, of course, get erased by the proud author­i­ties, but even his pho­tos, like the one just above where he shakes hands with the Sovi­et space pro­gram’s top-secret leader Sergey Koroly­ov, went under the knife for cos­met­ic rea­sons, here the removal of the evi­dent­ly dis­tract­ing work­man in the back­ground — hard­ly a major his­tor­i­cal fig­ure, let alone a con­tro­ver­sial one, but still a real and maybe even liv­ing reminder that while the cam­era may lie, it can’t hold its tongue for­ev­er.

h/t @JackFeerick

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Joseph Stal­in, a Life­long Edi­tor, Wield­ed a Big, Blue, Dan­ger­ous Pen­cil

Leon Trot­sky: Love, Death and Exile in Mex­i­co

Watch the Sur­re­al­ist Glass Har­mon­i­ca, the Only Ani­mat­ed Film Ever Banned by Sovi­et Cen­sors (1968)

Sovi­et Union Cre­ates a List of 38 Dan­ger­ous Rock Bands: Kiss, Pink Floyd, Talk­ing Heads, Vil­lage Peo­ple & More (1985)

Russ­ian His­to­ry & Lit­er­a­ture Come to Life in Won­der­ful­ly Col­orized Por­traits: See Pho­tos of Tol­stoy, Chekhov, the Romanovs & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

India on Film, 1899–1947: An Archive of 90 Historic Films Now Online

India, the largest democ­ra­cy in the world, is a ris­ing eco­nom­ic pow­er­house, and a major play­er in the fields of media, enter­tain­ment, and telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions.

But for many arm­chair trav­el­ers, sub­con­ti­nen­tal moder­ni­ty takes a back­seat to post­card visions of ele­phants, teem­ing rus­tic streets, and snake charm­ers.

Fans of Rud­yard Kipling and E.M. Forster will thrill to the vin­tage footage in a just released British Film Insti­tute online archive, India on Film (see a trail­er above).

1914’s The Won­der­ful Fruit of the Trop­ics, a sten­cil-coloured French-pro­duced primer on the edi­ble flo­ra of India offers just the right blend of exoti­cism and reas­sur­ance (“the fruit of a man­go is excel­lent as a food”) for a new­ly arrived British house­wife.

A Native Street in India (1906) speaks to the pop­u­lous­ness that con­tin­ues to define a coun­try sched­uled to out­pace China’s num­bers with­in the next 10 years.

An East­ern Mar­ket fol­lows a Pun­jabi farmer’s trek to town, to buy and sell and take in the big city sights.

The archive’s biggest celeb is sure­ly activist Mahat­ma Gand­hi, whose great nephew, Kanu, enjoyed unlim­it­ed film­ing access on the assur­ance that he would nev­er ask his uncle to pose.

The Raj makes itself known in 1925’s King Emper­or’s Cup Race, a Han­d­ley Page biplane arriv­ing in Cal­cut­ta in 1917, and sev­er­al films doc­u­ment­ing Edward Prince of Wales’ 1922 tour

Explore the full BFI’s full India on Film: 1899–1947 playlist here. It fea­tures 90 films in total, with maybe more to come.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Par­vati Saves the World: Watch a Remix of Bol­ly­wood Films That Com­bats Rape in India

Google’s Mov­ing Ad About 1947 Par­ti­tion of India & Pak­istan Tops 10 Mil­lion Views

1,150 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc. 

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Last Surviving Witness of the Lincoln Assassination Appears on the TV Game Show “I’ve Got a Secret” (1956)


Let’s rewind the video­tape to 1956, to Samuel James Sey­mour’s appear­ance on the CBS tele­vi­sion show, “I’ve Got a Secret.” At 96 years of age, Sey­mour was the last sur­viv­ing per­son present at Ford’s The­ater the night Abra­ham Lin­coln was assas­si­nat­ed by John Wilkes Booth (April 14, 1865).

Only five years old at the time, Mr. Sey­mour trav­eled with his father to Wash­ing­ton D.C. on a busi­ness trip, where they attend­ed a per­for­mance of Our Amer­i­can Cousin. The young­ster caught a quick glimpse of the pres­i­dent, the play began, and the rest is, well, his­to­ry.

A quick foot­note: Samuel Sey­mour died two months after his TV appear­ance. His longevi­ty had some­thing to do, I imag­ine, with declin­ing those Win­stons over the years.

Find cours­es on the Civ­il War in our list of Free His­to­ry Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Note: This post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in August, 2011.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Errol Mor­ris Med­i­tates on the Mean­ing and His­to­ry of Abra­ham Lincoln’s Last Pho­to­graph

The Poet­ry of Abra­ham Lin­coln

Visu­al­iz­ing Slav­ery: The Map Abra­ham Lin­coln Spent Hours Study­ing Dur­ing the Civ­il War

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