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The history-cultural Raoul Wallenberg

The final chapter summarizes the main findings of the study. A vital aspect of that study is that scholarship and popular culture are interrelated, as the Raoul Wallenberg example demonstrates. Another realization becomes apparent: while secret/silent diplomacy is in many respects directly opposed to public diplomacy, the two have become increasingly interdependent. How views on Wallenberg have changed in Sweden, Hungary, and the US is shown in a partly different light as comparative aspects are given increased attention. Finally, the chapter addresses the question of how the memory of Wallenberg’s achievements can and should be passed on to future generations.

The interest in Raoul Wallenberg is not just due to the story itself – what he did during his life in general, and in Budapest during 1944–1945 in particular, and how he ended his days. The extraordinary story of his life has resulted in a multitude of history products. Their design and the reactions to them show that issues of how history is communicated, perceived, and received are an indispensable part of the story of Raoul Wallenberg.

Viewed in this way, the discussions about the Wallenberg monuments reviewed in the preceding chapter are not, as that chapter observed, merely expressions of different cultural ideals. They relate just as much to similarities and divergences between the history cultures and heroic ideals of different countries. Modern research has emphasized a change in the perception of heroes over the course of the twentieth century. Before that, role models were said to have achieved their exalted positions owing to their courageous, vigorous, and dedicated actions, usually in a situation of crisis or war.1 ‘Times of heroism are generally times of terror’, wrote the nineteenth-century American essayist and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson.2 To him, the links between heroism and violence were therefore self-evident. Heroism was intimately associated with manliness, daring, a mind shaped by military experience, and readiness to fight. Moreover, being heroic was not a rational and intellectual trait; rather, it was based on the emotions: ‘heroism feels [but] never reasons’, Emerson concluded. Furthermore, he linked heroism directly to what was right and proper and to the character of the hero; a role model must convey a sense of gravitas and credibility.3

A first challenge to the combination of masculinity, war, and heroism can be traced back to the First World War. An even greater strain was felt after the end of the Second World War. Millions of dead soldiers and civilians, plus millions more victims of the Nazi genocide policies, forced people to come to terms with old and new manifestations of aggressive nationalism, antisemitism, and racism.4 One resulting question was whether the Second World War had had a sobering influence, or was there reason to fear a Hitler myth – that the ‘master of Belsen and Buchenwald’ would return as a revered hero? The implicit answer was that measures must be taken to prevent such a development.5 But it was not only the obvious effects of the war in the form of death and suffering that contributed to the fading of the hero cult. Drawing on Evelyn Waugh’s writings, literary scholar Richard York outlines a shift in perspective: in the rear-view mirror of the Second World War, acts of heroism were reduced to superficial and artificial phenomena constructed on the basis of prefabricated and manipulated ideals.6 As a consequence of the 1939–1945 war, the ideals of warlike honour and unconditional self-sacrifice found it increasingly difficult to assert themselves in the post-war period, at least in the democracies of Western Europe. The war-inspired heroic ideal, preferably focusing on great men, lost much of its value and previous functions. The question was whether traditional heroes, who have the capacity to change the course of history single-handed, were compatible with modern democracies with their watchwords of inclusiveness, diversity, and equality.7 In the West the answer has repeatedly been negative, with obvious consequences both for an increased interest in various kinds of everyday heroes and regarding a change in attitude as to which people or events should be honoured by monuments, as well as the aesthetic ideals that should characterize their design. It is obvious that Raoul Wallenberg has been one of the individuals who have fitted in well with this process of change.8 As we have seen, the difficulties in realizing Swedish monuments commemorating him were not related to any idea of his being unsuitable for immortalization.

This shift has been particularly obvious in Sweden, whose long peaceful history is well matched by a downplayed perception of heroism. ‘Being the first person to set foot on the moon is no more heroic than taking care of your old mother and patiently waiting for better times that never come’, is a statement along these lines.9 The Social Democratic politician and then Sweden’s Cabinet Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Pierre Schori, espoused this view in a television interview shortly after the premiere of Good Evening, Mr. Wallenberg. When asked if there were heroes today – that is, in 1990 – of the same kind as Raoul Wallenberg, he answered yes. However, Schori did not choose someone who had made self-sacrificing contributions in any of the world’s conflict zones as an example substantiating his claim. Instead, he singled out a hard-working kindergarten teacher and a worn-out factory worker who kept on struggling as best they could in tough working conditions.10

How, then, do we explain the great attention paid to Wallenberg, Schindler, and others who were involved in rescue operations? One explanation is that they have become the heirs of the soldier heroes of the Second World War. It cannot be overlooked that Wallenberg was inspired by traditional heroic ideals similar to those of the warriors, or at least by the values that had guided Leslie Howard’s suave heroes the Scarlet Pimpernel and Pimpernel Smith, who employed cunning and disguises rather than clenched fists and glistening weapons. When Wallenberg put on a uniform on various occasions, both he and others testified to a considerable enthusiasm for firearms training and other warlike pursuits.11 However, it was not for these actions that he became famous. Wallenberg and others who saved people from the ongoing genocide participated in the Second World War under different circumstances. Though caught up in the course of the war, they did nothing to reinforce it, instead striving to reduce its deleterious impacts. In a philosophical sense, it is not self-evident that courage as a virtue is associated with morality and goodness, but when the connection is made in the context of the Holocaust, the symbolic value becomes great.12 In a time of Nazi darkness Wallenberg brought light and hope for a better future, in accordance with a simplified but nonetheless common dichotomy.13 One consequence is that individuals who made heroic efforts to save people from the genocides of the Second World War have sometimes been equated with modern, vaguely defined everyday heroes, probably to indicate a distance from the heroic ideals of the past.14

New times, new ideals

These ideals, of course, do not remain the same over time. As we have seen, Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story and Good Evening, Mr. Wallenberg represent two different versions of the Swedish diplomat, the former linking to the hero worship of the past. The latter highlights the protagonist’s doubts but his moral character is unimpeachable. By contrast, this is not the case with Oskar Schindler, who undergoes an inner journey from being a profit-hungry Nazi sympathizer to experiencing a growing commitment to the survival of the Jews. The British historian Simon Sebag Montefiore argues that such a perspective of change embodies a greater potential. From a selection of a hundred heroes, it is hence not Wallenberg but Schindler who is Montefiore’s main role model associated with the Holocaust. The latter is implicitly more interesting because, unlike the Swede, he is a complex person with eccentric, opportunistic, and even villainous characteristics. The fact that Schindler chooses to abandon a profitable business and instead proves willing to sacrifice everything to save as many Jews as possible from the Holocaust makes him a fascinating character.15

Even so, the warrior still enjoys heroic status in many history cultures and has repeatedly been employed in order to serve democracies. It has become clear that even democratic forms of government need role models in order to gain legitimacy. While over time Wallenberg became an increasingly obvious diplomatic failure in Sweden, he fulfilled an important function as a vanished but simultaneously almost ever-present hero in Cold War America. His example showed what kind of adversary the Soviet Union was, as not even the fact that he had made great efforts to save Jews from the Holocaust – a factor which gained an ever-increasing existential significance in the historical narrative and public debate – had saved him.

Despite a decline in American attention paid to Wallenberg, it is apparent that he is still an individual that counts, as evidenced for example by President Joe Biden’s contributions to the celebration of his memory. That Biden supported making Wallenberg an honorary US citizen in 1981, and was a key figure behind the decision to posthumously award the Swede the Congressional Gold Medal in 2014, has repeatedly been cited to his credit. In the wake of the withdrawal of US forces from Afghanistan in 2021, though, a different note was sounded. The disappointed Middle East expert Michael Rubin used the retreat to draw a number of bold comparisons between the Holocaust in the past and US foreign policy in the present. The heroic deeds of the past were placed in opposition to today’s cynicism and incompetence. The role models Oskar Schindler and Raoul Wallenberg contrasted sharply with a President whom Rubin labelled an ‘anti-Wallenberg’.16

The controversial elements of Varga’s Wallenberg monument in Budapest, with its references to the ageing Wallenberg as a Gulag prisoner and to Pátzay’s removed statue, helped to fuel criticism of the Communist exclusion of Wallenberg from Hungarian history. The renewed interest in Wallenberg also influenced the cautious reassessment of the Jewish catastrophe in Hungary in 1944–1945 that took place in the 1990s and early 2000s. That Tom Lantos, the Holocaust survivor who was a driving American force in honouring Raoul Wallenberg, was given a monument inaugurated in 2018 on the street that had been named after him in 2016 could be taken as evidence that the memory of the Holocaust is still being kept alive in Hungary. This is only partly true, though. Since then the trend has been in the direction of historical revisionism. The revived desire to place sole responsibility for the Holocaust on the German occupiers, thereby exonerating the Hungarians, has been manifested not least in connection with the monument on Budapest’s Freedom Square that depicts a German eagle attacking the Angel Gabriel: a visualization of a blameless Christian Hungary. Erected in 2014, that monument has been controversial in both the Hungarian and the international press; in addition, the fence in front of it has regularly been covered by quotes and witness statements from the Hungarian Holocaust. Raoul Wallenberg has appeared in words and images as part of these protests against the rewriting of the Hungarian history of the Second World War.17

In Sweden, the situation was and remains different. Whereas coming to terms with Soviet Communism was not possible in Hungary until the glasnost of the 1980s, Raoul Wallenberg was a central feature of the Swedish Cold War debate. His disappearance in the Soviet Union and the Swedish government’s conduct towards the Soviet authorities constituted an urgent domestic political issue from shortly after the end of the war until the 1980s. Most of the evidence indicates that by the time of the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the transformation of Wallenberg was in full swing. In Sweden he went from being a divisive to a healing force that rose above political and ideological differences.

At the same time, debates were raging about Sweden’s historical guilt, voiced as accusations of a neutrality that lacked substance and a strong pro-German bias during the Second World War. However, these debates do not seem to have had any profound effect on Sweden’s self-image. The dark chapters were fairly unproblematically incorporated into the grand narrative. Historical realities have entailed a long period of peace in Swedish history. While the absence of war was by no means viewed as an unambiguously good thing in influential circles, at least until the First World War, peace and neutrality have been cherished concepts from the time of the Second World War onwards. Depictions of Swedish soldiers on guard and other images along the same lines have been very popular since the end of the war. By contrast, most of the warrior heroes of olden times who were at the heart of a historically orientated nationalism have been forgotten, or dismissed as embarrassing reminders of an era that people no longer want to acknowledge.18

As a result of this reorientation, the number of vertical and individualizing statues has decreased over the last 50 years or so. Swedish art historian Jessica Sjöholm Skrubbe has found an increasing number of horizontal artworks that convey messages of equality and collective exploits. In addition, an increasing number of modern monuments feature life-size individuals. These are not elevated on pedestals and plinths but are at the same level as the viewer, inviting us to see the depicted person as both a role model and an equal.19 Another changed approach to public art is international, or at least Western. Miwon Kwon has drawn attention to the challenge to the ‘art-in-public-places paradigm’ of the 1960s and 1970s. This art often proceeded from abstract, modernist sculptures, which were in many cases enlarged versions of works by male artists found in museums or galleries. A recurring dilemma was that the artwork was not always in harmony with the site where it was installed, while another problem was the general public’s indifference or hostility to public art. At best, the artworks functioned as a contrast to their surroundings; at worst they were symbols which appealed only to a knowledgeable and privileged few. As a reaction, more artists began to bridge the gap between art and utility, paying greater attention to the importance of specific sites to the design and size of their artworks and to the potential for interaction between public art and its audience. This should not be understood as a striving for harmony and conformity; in a number of cases, artists have very deliberately used their works to question the function and significance of public spaces, but they have also encouraged interaction between the creator of the work and people in the public space.20

It is in the light of such changes that the controversy surrounding Ortwed’s sphinxes is best understood. In connection with her monument, it became clear that everyone agreed that Wallenberg should be honoured with a memorial, but where supporters saw an exemplary work of art, opponents saw one that was unworthy of the man to whom it was supposed to pay tribute. Between the lines of the critics’ arguments, it was clear that they held fast to the idea that monuments should continue to fulfil their traditional function of being exempla virtutis, that is, portrayals of exemplary citizens whose deeds encourage emulation. The best way to present this in visual form was as heroic larger-than-life representations. After all, such monuments – mainly from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries – already stood at Nybroviken. The critics also argued that Ortwed’s monument suffered from a potential democratic deficit, because the general public did not have the tools to decode it. Ortwed’s defenders, on the other hand, maintained that the diversity of interpretation was a guarantee of democratic interaction, created in the encounter between monument and viewer. The sphinxes’ low position, which enabled the visitor not only to study them from the side but also to move among them, was a clear break from the raised statue-heroes of the past, that is, the ideal attributed to Carl Hamilton and others. In Ortwed’s words, it was about getting away from ‘the man on the horse’.21 That argument was in line with the jury citation, which included the statement that ‘Raoul Wallenberg’s own fate is too immense for the traditional forms of a monument’; therefore, the ‘fragments, attempts, and moulds’ in Ortwed’s artwork supposedly created an appropriate link to the missing Swede’s achievements.22

Raoul Wallenberg: a role model in and for our times?

Even if the era of equestrian statues is over in the realm of public art, role models such as Wallenberg still fulfil an important function. In such a context, the presumed major difference compared with a ‘typical’ American heroic ideal – a difference repeatedly asserted by Swedes in connection with Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story and Good Evening, Mr. Wallenberg – is less than substantial. Wallenberg may not have been accorded an old-style type of elevated position in Swedish monuments, but he still invites heroic representations as someone who simultaneously represents neutral and humanitarian Sweden. As in representations of Oskar Schindler, the good deeds performed by the real-life Swedish Scarlet Pimpernel have often been portrayed in accordance with an important concept in American history culture: the lone hero who takes up the fight despite the odds against him. The creation of such heroic images has been reinforced by the contrast between active, masculine heroes and passive Jewish victims. Certainly, Jewish heroism and rebellion do appear, mainly though not exclusively in Israeli history culture, but they are rare in the stories about heroes during the Holocaust, such as Schindler and Wallenberg. The rescue and liberation of Jews has been an important part of national identity formation in a number of Western countries, and in such contexts the focus has been on the role models, those men and women who rescued Jews and others from the ongoing mass murder. To put it cynically, those individuals who were saved become the means to an end: national pride, channelled via the morally superior few who dared to take action against the Nazi Holocaust machinery.23

Such a conclusion in no way diminishes Raoul Wallenberg’s historic achievement in Budapest in 1944–1945. We can all behave heroically, but a person like Wallenberg, who has achieved the status of a legend, embodies something more. Art historian John Lash notes that by always taking action to the best of his ability, thanks to which endeavour the role model constantly surpasses himself, the hero becomes an example for his group, for his nation, or even for all of humanity.24 By this definition, Wallenberg is in all respects a role model in and for our times. Like other legendary figures he exceeded his own expectations and those of others, but this was in itself no guarantee of his post-war heroic status. So far, Raoul Wallenberg has demonstrated a considerable ability to survive. It has been possible to adapt his story to different contexts in different times and different places. There is much to suggest that his heroic deeds and tragic fate will remain alive in both the historical and the practical past. He will presumably have a central place in historical scholarship as well as in the public sphere as long as rejection of the Holocaust and of dictatorial oppression is a key element in the maintenance of democratic values. Beyond this proud banner, however, challenges remain. Using the UK as an example, David Cesarani has emphasized that the nation’s history must be characterized by a sense of balance: it can and should highlight the British people’s tenacious resistance to Nazism at the cost of many lives; but it must also draw attention to restrictive refugee policies prior to the outbreak of the Second World War, as well as to expressions of antisemitism.25 Similarly, in a Swedish history of the Holocaust, Raoul Wallenberg’s role in saving human lives and his tragic end in the Soviet Union should be nuanced: the story of the legend and hero who saves his country’s honour through his deeds is well worth telling, but it should be accompanied by the less edifying aspects of Sweden and the Holocaust, as well as by the Swedish Foreign Office’s (Utrikesdepartementet, UD’s) few and clumsy attempts to discover his fate in the immediate post-war years.

A closely related and remaining challenge is the distinction that still exists between the historical and the practical past, which is highly evident with regard to the ways in which the Holocaust is interpreted. In line with analysts who have equated an Americanization with a trivialization of the Holocaust, David Cesarani’s Final Solution depicts two very different Holocausts: one characterized by new research findings that are rarely reflected in novels, textbooks, films, television series, or political speeches, and ‘another’ genocide which is conveyed by long-established narratives of good and evil, plus apparently simple links between the Holocaust of the past and the contemporary fight against antisemitism and xenophobia. There is no easy solution to this contradiction, but Hayden White’s plea for self-reflection and the questioning of ingrained historical beliefs is a good starting point. The twentieth century is filled with events that are ‘supposedly unimaginable, unthinkable, and unspeakable’, and this has created an awareness of the limitations of the ways in which these events can be represented. White concludes that this means that events such as the Holocaust cannot be fitted into traditional ways of interpreting and understanding history.26

One way forward would be to allow the two ways of relating to the past to be subject to constructive criticism so that steps can be taken to make them complementary rather than contradictory. This means that history producers outside academia need to develop a greater understanding of the conditions that prevail in historical scholarship and that professional historians in general should become better at understanding other ways of communicating history, an understanding which would, for example, entail improved skills in analysing the characteristics of various genres and visual media. Given such insights, one of the things that become clear is that as memories fade, expectations are created with regard to monuments. They should make history timeless by dramatizing exemplary individuals and pivotal events in bronze and granite, so that their historical significance lives on into the future. But while these monuments are made of enduring materials, the messages they convey are children of the time in which they were born. Ralph Waldo Emerson famously and laconically observed that ‘every hero becomes a bore at last’, meaning that sooner or later the exalted individual becomes overexploited and irrelevant. As the first President of the United States, George Washington, went from being an exemplary figure to being associated merely with a monument that was both literal and figurative, elevated and seemingly faultless, he became increasingly difficult to identify with in the process.27 Sooner or later, Raoul Wallenberg will face the same fate. From a history-cultural perspective, it is clear that monuments, as well as the heroes they depict, are doomed to oblivion if they do not provide answers to present-day questions. The history-cultural lesson, however, is that few role models last forever, any more than the monuments erected in their honour do. Ultimately, as Wallenberg’s half-sister Nina Lagergren once said, it is better to teach children the importance of taking responsibility and standing up for human dignity than it is to erect monuments.28

Tragedy, trauma, triumph

Many of the historical events discussed in this book have left such deep scars that they are best described as traumatic. There is good reason to distinguish between, on the one hand, individuals who suffer trauma as a result of a psychological and emotional reaction to an event or experience that they perceive as deeply disturbing and upsetting, and, on the other, collective constructions of trauma. In the latter case, historical events become a matter which may involve other people than those directly affected. This is, above all, true of the Holocaust, whose aftermath we are still grappling with. In the case of Raoul Wallenberg, the uncertainty about what happened to him meant that his immediate family had to live under severe psychological stress for many decades. The political battle over the Swedish government’s actions with regard to gaining reliable information about his fate, a battle which raged with varying degrees of intensity in Sweden for decades, contributed to the ceaseless reopening of a wound that could not be healed while the Cold War lasted. A circumstance related to the latter phenomenon is that there is often a generational factor to be taken into account: some collective traumas either emerge, and are reinforced, or fade once the people who actually experienced the shocking events have passed away.29

The German sociologist Bernhard Giesen completes the picture by demonstrating that triumph and trauma can coexist or follow each other. He has pointed out that in the Western tradition, triumphant tales of heroes such as Raoul Wallenberg coexist in parallel with tragic role models. He also notes that stories of popular uprisings against tyrants have increasingly been replaced by an interest in collective trauma, exemplified by slavery, displacement, persecution, terror, and genocide. In addition, post-war debates in Germany illustrate how a trauma can first be nationalized, whereupon it has the potential to be both mythologized and made universally relevant.30

The fact that Raoul Wallenberg did not return from his mission in Hungary, and that we still do not know how he ended his days, has helped to keep his story alive. We can walk in his footsteps on the streets of Budapest, where street names, monuments, and cafés remind us that his legacy is by no means forgotten. From time to time we can watch and listen to stories about him at operas, in theatres, on television, or at the cinema. However, there is no location linked to his passing. Whereas over the past hundred years unidentified soldiers have been laid to rest in the graves of unknown soldiers, there is no final resting place for Raoul Wallenberg, who has gone down in history as anything but unknown. Given this background, the many portrayals of him may be said to fill a deeply felt human need for many of those who wish to mourn, remember, and honour him.

1 Hook, The Hero in History, pp. 16, 157.
2 Emerson, Character and Heroism, p. 80.
3 Emerson, Character and Heroism, pp. 19, 56, 60–61, quotation p. 61.
4 Hook, The Hero in History, p. 148; Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, pp. 48–50.
5 Per Helin, ‘Vad är en hjälte?’, Idun, 1945:30, 8, 19. See also Corrado Alvaro, ‘Vår tids hjältedyrkan’, Samtid och Framtid, 1949:2, 98–99. One concrete step away from the traditional heroic ideal was that the subject of history, in which the praise of national role models and a warlike past was a central feature, was given a reduced significance in the Swedish school system in the wake of Nazism and the Second World War; see further in Zander, Fornstora dagar, moderna tider, pp. 327–340 and Östling, Sweden After Nazism, pp. 172–192. The shift towards a new heroic ideal was not appreciated by everyone, however; see e.g. Greta Renborg, ‘Vår tids hjälte’, Perspektiv 1960:9, 404–407.
6 York, ‘Evelyn Waugh’s Farewell to Heroism’, pp. 245–253.
7 Hook, The Hero in History, p. 158; Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, p. 49.
8 Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, passim.
9 Olav Wikström, ‘Hjältar, finns dom?’, Moderna tider, December/January 2000–2001, 62.
10 Per T. Ohlsson, ‘Att må illa framför TV-n’, Sydsvenskan, 9 October 1990. Around 1990, Wallenberg was presented as an anomaly in other contexts as well; see e.g. Micke Widell, ‘Raoul – en osvensk hjälte’, Sydsvenskan, 26 September 1990.
11 Letter from Raoul Wallenberg to Amalia Wallenberg, 29 July and 17 September 1930, in Nylander and Perlinge (eds), Raoul Wallenberg in Documents, 1927–1947, pp. 26, 30; Philipp, Raoul Wallenberg, pp. 33–34.
12 See Bauhn, The Value of Courage, pp. 38–39; Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, pp. 300–301.
13 See e.g. Judith Weintraub, ‘Amid Holocaust horrors, a bright light: To the protector of Budapest Jews, belated honor and remembrance’, The Washington Post, 6 September 1990; Paul Hendrickson and Laurie Goodstein, ‘What the death machine could not kill: When the world went dark, they provided light’, The Washington Post, 22 April 1993.
14 See Lundgren, I hjältens tid, pp. 7–21.
15 Montefiore stresses the similarities between Schindler and the protagonist in Charles Dickens’s novel A Tale of Two Cities (1859); see further in Montefiore, 101 World Heroes, pp. 281–282.
16 Michael Rubin, ‘Biden praised Wallenberg but now betrays his legacy’, www.aei.org/op-eds/biden-praised-wallenberg-but-now-betrays-his-legacy (accessed 7 January 2022).
17 Mark MacCinnon, ‘Statue in Budapest based on Second World War evokes dark history’, The Globe and Mail, 15 December 2014; Ingrid Carlberg, ‘Raoul Wallenberg skulle bli bedrövad av historieförfalskningen i Ungern’, Dagens Nyheter, 24 October 2021. For in-depth analyses of this development and the associated symbolism policies, see István Rév, ‘Liberty Square, Budapest’, pp. 607–623, and Pető, ‘The Illiberal Memory Politics of Hungary’, pp. 241–249.
18 Zander, Fornstora dagar, moderna tider, passim; Liljefors and Zander, ‘Det neutrala landet Ingenstans’, pp. 209–242.
19 Sjöholm Skrubbe, Skulptur i folkhemmet, pp. 130–175.
20 Kwon, One Place after Another, pp. 56–99.
21 Eva Pohl, ‘En anden frihed’, Berlingske Tidende, 10 May 2002. See also e.g. Clemens Poellinger, ‘Jaha, nu har det hänt: Wallenbergmonumentet är väck’, Svenska Dagbladet, 25 April 2003. See also Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, pp. 240–242.
22 Erik Lidén, ‘Namnteckningen ska minna om Wallenberg’, Svenska Dagbladet, 18 November 1998.
23 See Cole, Selling the Holocaust, pp. 82–83; Zander, ‘To Rescue or be Rescued’, pp. 370–374; Schult, A Hero’s Many Faces, p. 75; Holmila, Reporting the Holocaust in the British, Swedish and Finnish Press, 1945–50, pp. 46–49.
24 John Lash, The Hero, p. 5.
25 Cesarani, ‘Should Britain Have a National Holocaust Museum?’, pp. 19–21.
26 Hayden White, ‘Historical Emplotment and the Problem of Truth’, pp. 51–52.
27 See Fishwick, ‘Did Anyone Ever See Washington Nude?’, pp. 297–307.
28 Christian Brøndum, ‘Idealisme er ikke nok’, Berlingske Tidende, 3 May 2000.
29 Alexander, Trauma: A Social Theory and Alexander, Eyerman, Giesen, Smelser, and Sztompka, Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity, Berkeley, California: University of California Press 2004.
30 Giesen, Triumph and Trauma, passim.
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Raoul Wallenberg

Life and legacy

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