Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin

Bloodlands explores the complex nature of memory, victimhood, and historical narrative. Snyder argues that the memory of the atrocities committed in the Bloodlands is often contested, manipulated, or obscured by nationalistic or ideological agendas. The theme of memory and victimhood is important for understanding not just the events themselves but also their legacy. Snyder shows how the numbers of victims have been inflated or deflated for political purposes, how certain groups have been erased from the memory of these tragedies, and how the narratives of victimhood can be weaponized.

This theme is critical for grappling with the ethics of remembering and the responsibilities of historians. Snyder suggests that remembering the victims as individuals, rather than as abstract numbers or symbols of national suffering, is vital to honoring their memory and learning from the past. But this can be challenging when dealing with deaths in the tens of millions: “Each of the dead became a number,” Synder writes in the book’s Conclusion. “Between them, the Nazi and Stalinist regimes murdered more than fourteen million people in the bloodlands” (400). Snyder counters the tendency for readers to see humans as mere data points. This is what he does with the story of a Ukrainian boy whose narrative begins the book on the very first line of the preface:

‘Now we will live!’ This is what the hungry boy liked to say, as he walked along the quiet roadside, or through the empty fields. But the food that he saw was only in his imagination. The wheat had all been taken away, in a heartless campaign of requisitions that began Europe’s era of mass killing (8).

Snyder “remembers” these victims by putting names to their stories at the end of the book, in the first paragraph of the book’s Conclusion: “Each of the living bore a name. The boy who imagined he saw wheat in the fields was Jözef Sobolewski. He starved to death, along with his mother and of his brothers and Sisters, in 1933 in a famished Ukraine” (400).

The theme raises important questions about how societies can remember atrocities in a way that is both truthful and respectful to the victims and how these memories can inform contemporary understandings of justice and human rights.

This theme further explores the tension between universal and individual narratives of suffering, questioning how global history can accommodate the multitude of individual experiences without diminishing their uniqueness. Snyder’s analysis suggests that the act of remembering is inherently political, shaping national identities and influencing contemporary geopolitical narratives. This added layer of complexity underscores the ethical challenges in crafting a historical narrative that honors the truth of individual experiences while fostering a collective understanding of past atrocities. It invites a contemplation on the role of historians, educators, and policymakers in navigating the delicate balance between commemorating the past and advocating for a future where such tragedies are neither forgotten nor repeated.