By focusing on 1932–37, Susanne Hohler breaks new ground in English language studies by writing about emigres in Manchuria after the Japanese occupation. She is also the first scholar to argue that Russian fascism was an integral part of civil society. Drawing on recent challenges to the definition of civil society as inherently tolerant or democratic, she is interested in examining the function of movements in civil society and how they spread their influence. To achieve this she focuses on fascists’ activities in Russian clubs, Russian education, and in promoting antisemitism. She offers a new explanation for the spread of Russian fascism in the 1930s: she argues that it was their dense networks of associations that allowed the fascists to deeply penetrate émigré society.
Arguing that Russian fascism was not just a copy of Italian or German fascism, she illustrates how effective Russian fascists were at working with likeminded individuals and groups. Her most persuasive evidence is that of the Russian clubs that they established. Because they downplayed their association with these seemingly apolitical institutions, they were able to serendipitously promote their political agenda. Unlike John Stephen, Hohler also emphasizes how Russian fascism differed from its western European counterparts in promoting itself as a defender and advocate of religion, and how this helped increase its popularity. Yet while all émigré organizations focused, as do all diasporas, on preventing denationalization, and the fascists’ concept of the nation, like most Russian nationalists, included all of the nationalities of the Russian empire except the Jews, they were the only émigré group attempting to create new men and women, rather than simply return to the past.
Hohler emphasizes the dynamism of this era and that her study is the only study of Russian fascism that focuses exclusively on Manchuria. While she convincingly demonstrates how Japanese policies toward emigres changed over time, she does not discuss Japanese fascism once. She even writes that she is surprised that the Japanese decided to ally themselves with the Russian fascists (46). In turn, she never addresses what was specific to the Russian diaspora in Manchuria that would explain why the Russian fascist party originated there. For example, she explains that she is interested in how the fascists overshadowed Russian liberals without explaining that there were few liberals in Manchuria after 1917, just as there were few Russian liberals in other countries where Russian fascism flourished. Considering her focus on the growing influence of fascism, it is also surprising that she doesn't take into account the abrupt departure from Manchuria of approximately 20,000 Soviet citizens, most of whom were pro-communist, in 1935.
Because Hohler tracks changes over a brief period of time, she draws extensively, and much more so than Stephen, on the contemporary press. This approach is fruitful, although few complete runs have been preserved of émigré publications. But considering this methodology, her decision not to employ the BREM archive, now fully accessible to scholars in Khabarovsk, is puzzling. BREM, the semi-autonomous émigré organization created by the Japanese to rule Manchurian emigres, included many fascists in its leadership positions. Instead, like John Stephen, who more than fifty years prior was not allowed to use Soviet archives, she employs the archives of foreign governments. The BREM archive includes records that provide more insight into émigré’s daily life from 1935–45 than any other source, including personal files for almost all emigres filled with denunciations, petitions, records of political party membership, autobiographical narratives, and surveillance reports. BREM kept a closer watch over its population than the Soviet state ever did. Use of the BREM archive would have allowed her to definitively ascertain the relationship between the Russian Orthodox Church and the fascist party, and to gauge how many individuals belonged to the party and attended fascist demonstrations. In lieu of the BREM archive, she frequently cites fascist publications as her only source for her conclusions. Curiously, despite her vow to largely avoid narratives produced in hindsight, Hohler liberally cites the memoirs of, and interviews others have conducted with, Jewish emigres from Manchuria. She may view them as less biased because they are victims rather than perpetrators. She also laments (erroneously) the non-existence of narratives by Russian fascists. Several have been published in post-Soviet Russia, a few who survived the Gulag have been interviewed, and the post-Stalinist correspondence of some is in Russian and US archives. Stephen himself conducted interviews, and drew on Balakshin (whom Holher does not cite), who requisitioned several fascists to write their memoirs. These memoirs and his correspondence with them are now available in U.S. archives.
Russian diaspora studies is still in its infancy, and hence Hohler is in many ways a pioneer. Although she does not situate her work within the framework of diaspora studies, all diaspora organizations can be viewed as organs of civil society, and her interest in how civil society effects identity formation and acculturation is perfectly suited for diaspora studies. The criticisms voiced in this review are indicative of how rich and complicated this subject is, and should not dissuade readers from this welcome addition to the historiography.
