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History Today: How the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand at Sarajevo sparked World War I
History Today: How the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand at Sarajevo sparked World War I

First Post

time9 hours ago

  • Politics
  • First Post

History Today: How the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand at Sarajevo sparked World War I

On June 28, 1914, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo triggered a chain reaction that lead to World War I. This pivotal moment shattered European stability and ushered in a global conflict that reshaped the 20th Century read more The first page of the edition of the Domenica del Corriere, an Italian paper, with a drawing by Achille Beltrame depicting Gavrilo Princip killing Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo. As part of Firstpost's History Today series, June 28 stands out as a day that dramatically shaped global history across centuries. On this date in 1914, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo ignited a chain of events that led to World War I. Five years later, on June 28, 1919, the Treaty of Versailles was signed, formally ending the conflict. Decades later, the day also saw the eruption of the Stonewall Riots in 1969 — catalysing the modern LGBTQ rights movement. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD And in 1997, the infamous moment when Mike Tyson bit Evander Holyfield's ear during a boxing match. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand On June 28, 1914, a seemingly small, yet pivotal act of violence in Sarajevo sparked a chain reaction across Europe, ultimately igniting the conflagration known as World War I. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife, Sophie, Duchess of Hohenberg, were assassinated in an event that has since been studied as the flashpoint of modern history. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, born in 1863, served as Inspector General of the Austro-Hungarian armed forces. While conservative and militaristic by temperament, he was an advocate for systemic reforms aimed at modernising the empire and granting greater autonomy to Slavic minorities. He and Sophie's marriage had endured the scrutiny of imperial aristocracy. Sophie, not from a reigning noble family, was often marginalised at court despite the couple's devotion . The date chosen for their visit — June 28, 1914, coinciding with St Vitus's Day (Vidovdan) — was loaded with symbolism. It commemorated the 1389 Serbian defeat in Kosovo, connecting present-day Serb nationalist sentiment with historical grievance. The visit was intended to bolster imperial authority in Bosnia, formally annexed in 1908, on the anniversary of Bosnia's 1878 occupation — another symbolic affront to Serbian nationalists. At the time, Sarajevo was simmering with discontent. Bosnian Serbs and Yugoslav nationalists sought liberation from Austro-Hungarian rule and unification with Serbia. Influential nationalist and paramilitary groups like the Black Hand (Ujedinjenje ili Smrt) fostered militant sentiment and trained operatives for political violence. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD Gavrilo Princip, a 19-year-old Bosnian Serb, joined Young Bosnia, a youth movement advocating Slavic unity. Princip and his five co-conspirators, equipped with bombs and pistols, trained and prepared for the assassination in discrete training camps, some allegedly sponsored by Serbian military factions. The royal procession began with high optimism. At approximately 10:15 am, Nedeljko Čabrinović seized the first opportunity, hurling a grenade at the Archduke's vehicle. Misjudging the motorcade's speed and configuration, the grenade bounced off the fold-down hood, exploding under the next car — injuring bystanders and driver but missing Franz Ferdinand. Despite the attack, Franz Ferdinand continued to the Town Hall for an impromptu reception, demonstrating both his bravery and obliviousness to the day's threats. Afterward, a fatal navigation error — possibly due to miscommunication in translation — led the motorcade to make a sudden right turn, pausing directly in front of Gavrilo Princip. Seizing the moment, Princip fired two shots at point-blank range: one fatally striking Franz Ferdinand in the jugular, the other hitting Sophie in the abdomen. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD The couple collapsed instantly. The world had changed irreversibly. Princip was detained immediately, still near the scene. He later confessed freely at his trial, citing patriotism and intention to liberate South Slavs from oppression. Younger than 20, he avoided the death penalty and received 20 years — ultimately dying of tuberculosis in prison in 1918. The Austro-Hungarian response was swift and severe. General Oskar Potiorek, local governor, authorised anti-Serb pogroms in Sarajevo, resulting in widespread destruction of property, detentions and fatalities. Austria-Hungary, backed by Germany, issued a rigid ultimatum to Serbia on July 23, 1914, loaded with demands designed to be impossible to fulfill . Although Serbia conceded on most points, it refused to accept all terms — especially foreign judicial oversight — and Russia began partial mobilisation to protect its Slavic ally. Germany, interpreting this as hostility toward Austria-Hungary, declared war on Russia on August 1, 1914. France and Britain, bound by alliances and strategic considerations, followed suit. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD By August 4, Europe was at war — not over Sarajevo but over a tangled web of alliances, militarism, imperial ambition and nationalism. World War I became the first truly industrialised global war. It introduced trench warfare, machine guns, chemical agents, tanks, naval blockades, aerial combat and battlefield medicine — all emerging during the war. Over 16 million perished — nearly 10 million military and close to 7 million civilians — along with the downfall of empires: Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman, Russian and German . Culturally, the war produced a devastating rupture — seen in literature and art such as All Quiet on the Western Front and Dadaist movements. It fuelled revolutions, including in Russia, and laid ideological groundwork for fascism, communism and Nazism. Historiography continues to debate Princip's legacy. In Serbia, he is often hailed as a hero of national liberation; in Bosnia and Croatia, views remain critical, seeing him as extremist. A 2015 monument in Belgrade sparked controversy, highlighting divergent regional narratives. Historians also question fatal flaws in Austria-Hungary's diplomacy and the rigidity of alliances — like clockwork mobilisations turning minor crises into world war . STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD Today, Sarajevo memorialises the assassination site with plaques and museums. A Sarajevo museum stands in the building where Franz Ferdinand was mortally wounded, and a statue of Princip in Istočno Sarajevo incites contested memory. Mike Tyson bites off part of Evander Holyfield's ear On June 28, 1997, aka The Bite Fight, Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield squared off in Las Vegas during their WBA Heavyweight rematch. In the third round, a frustrated Tyson sank his teeth into Holyfield's right ear, tearing off a piece before biting again. Referee Mills Lane halted the match, disqualifying Tyson. The incident was a career-defining scandal — Tyson had his license revoked and paid a $3 million fine. Holyfield's ear was surgically reattached. Tyson later justified his actions, claiming frustration over Holyfield's alleged headbutts. The bizarre moment remains one of boxing's most infamous highlights. Stonewall Riots begin In the early hours of June 28, 1969, NYPD raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village, New York. Patrons — tired of continual harassment — fought back, triggering violent clashes that lasted nearly a week. Though not the first LGBTQ protest, Stonewall is heralded as the flashpoint for the modern gay rights movement. The spontaneous resistance inspired pride marches, advocacy groups and landmark legal battles. Its legacy endures: June is recognised as Pride Month, and the event is commemorated through global rallies and educational efforts . STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD Treaty of Versailles signed On June 28, 1919, exactly five years after Franz Ferdinand's assassination, Allied and Associated powers signed the Treaty of Versailles in the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles. The treaty imposed several punitive measures on Germany: the notorious War Guilt Clause (Article 231), substantial reparations, restrictions on military capabilities and loss of territory and overseas colonies Though hailed by Allied leaders as necessary to secure peace, it sowed deep resentment in Germany and contributed to the rise of Adolf Hitler and WWII. Despite its intentions to prevent future wars, the treaty is widely regarded as overly punitive. While the US Senate declined to ratify it, others adhered. The treaty took effect on January 10, 1920, shaping the interwar world. With inputs from agencies

Stalled car sends the world to war
Stalled car sends the world to war

9 News

time16 hours ago

  • 9 News

Stalled car sends the world to war

2 of 11 Attribution: The Picture Desk The royal couple were assassinated by Bosnian Serb student Gavrilo Princip, who was part of a group of nationalists hoping to overthrow Austro-Hungarian rule in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Ferdinand had already survived one bomb attack by one of Princip's co-conspirators earlier that day. Princip was waiting outside a delicatessen when the royal motorcade passed, and the local governor, who was sharing the royal couple's car, called out to the driver he had taken a wrong turn. The driver stalled the car as he tried to reverse, allowing Princip to step up and fatally shoot Franz and Sophie.

Fathers Don't Just Protect—They Prepare
Fathers Don't Just Protect—They Prepare

Atlantic

time15-06-2025

  • Politics
  • Atlantic

Fathers Don't Just Protect—They Prepare

My grandfather was born in 1882 in the small Ukrainian town of Zawale, which was part of the vast, multiethnic Austro-Hungarian empire. In 1914, this mega-state, like so many European nations, threw itself into a world war with frenzied enthusiasm. My grandfather later told my father how puzzled he had been to watch thousands of happy young men—really still just boys—boarding trains in Vienna, cheering as they went off to what was almost certainly their death. He did not volunteer, he avoided conscription, and he survived. His son, my father, was born in Vienna in 1927. He was 6 years old when Adolf Hitler became the chancellor of Germany. Austria still had a few years of freedom left, and my grandfather used them well: Because an archive had burned down, several of his family documents had to be reissued. Through skillful manipulation, he managed to turn himself from a Jew into what the Nazis would later classify as a 'half Jew.' And as Germany's annexation of Austria became inevitable, he came up with an especially daring idea: In a court proceeding, he had his wife, my grandmother, declared the illegitimate daughter of the janitor in her parents' building. He bribed witnesses who testified that her mother had had an affair with that janitor. It worked: My grandmother was officially declared the daughter of an Aryan. And as a result, my family survived. This Father's Day, I find myself reflecting not only on paternal love but on paternal foresight—the clarity and focus it takes to see what others might not, to act before the danger has a name. Raising children is always a challenge, but never more so than in times of deep insecurity about what the future will look like. To meet that challenge, it can help to look at the generations that came before. Anne Applebaum: This is what Trump does when his revolution sputters Despite my grandfather's efforts, life for my father quickly changed under the Nazis. In swimming school, two boys nearly drowned him while the lifeguard looked on, grinning. When my father finally emerged, gasping for breath, the lifeguard laughed and said, 'Can't swim, Jew?' Around the same time, the man who lived in the neighboring house began watching my father and his sister with dark, brooding looks. But only after Hitler's army had entered Austria did he begin shouting, each and every time they passed: 'Jewwws!' My father would recount these events with amused detachment. He had already learned as a teenager to recognize the profound absurdity of Nazism—the deep, grotesque nonsense of what Charlie Chaplin and Ernst Lubitsch were turning into dark political comedies at the same time in Hollywood. A few months later, two men came to my grandparents and ordered them to leave their house with their children. They moved into a small apartment, and their home was 'bought'—at a tiny, symbolic price—by the 'Jewww'-shouting neighbor. Corruption is the most corrosive force in a democracy, but in a dictatorship it can save you. Once a month, a Gestapo officer would appear at my grandparents' apartment and take something valuable—a piece of furniture, a porcelain plate, a painting. In return, the file on my grandparents would sink a little lower in the stack on his desk. At my father's school, the boys had to line up, and all those tall enough were asked—in fact, ordered—to volunteer for the SS. My father raised his hand and said, 'Requesting permission to report—I'm one-quarter Jewish!' To which the SS man shouted in disgust, 'Step back!' And so my father was spared from becoming a war criminal in Hitler's service. In almost every situation, having Jewish ancestry was a mortal danger. But in this one instance, it became his salvation. In the final months of the war, my father was arrested after all and spent three months in a concentration camp close to Vienna, constantly at risk of death. But after the war had ended, there was still a striking atmosphere of leniency toward the perpetrators. When he went to the local police station to give a statement about his time in the camp, he was met with scornful dismissiveness. 'It wasn't really that bad, was it?' the officer asked. 'Aren't we exaggerating a little?' It was then that my father decided to move from Austria to Germany, paradoxically—because there, under pressure from the occupying powers, some reckoning with the past was taking place. Austria, meanwhile, had successfully cast itself as the war's first victim. Timothy W. Ryback: Hitler used a bogus crisis of 'public order' to make himself dictator I tell my son, who never met his grandfather (as I never met mine), that my father was obsessed throughout his life with the idea that what had happened once could happen again—not just to Jews, but to anyone. Of course, my son, raised in a seemingly stable world, feels profoundly safe. And that's a good thing. But we are currently living in the United States, a country that for my grandfather was a refuge impossible to reach, but that is currently in the throes of what some serious scholars now describe as an authoritarian power grab. And even in Germany, where we could easily return, a right-wing extremist party is now so strong that it might come in first in the next election. So I think about the responsibility of raising a child in a time when the future is impossible to predict. I think, more and more, of my grandfather, who in 1914 watched people plunge into war hysteria and decided to resist their excitement, and who would later take very unconventional steps—steps that would, after history took a turn for the worse, ensure his family's survival. My grandfather understood the psychology of fanaticism very early; my father understood the stupidity and mediocrity of the people whom the dictatorship empowered, without mistaking them for harmless clowns. Now, as we watch society once again take a dangerous turn—as books are banned, people are sent to foreign prisons without even a court order, and soldiers are deployed against protesters—I wonder what stories my future grandchildren will one day need to remember. Memory is not a picture book; it's a tool. And fatherhood, especially in times like these, is not just about protection. It is about preparation.

The Dutch queen unveils a bell made from Russian weapons to show solidarity with Ukraine

time05-06-2025

  • Politics

The Dutch queen unveils a bell made from Russian weapons to show solidarity with Ukraine

PRAGUE -- Queen Maxima of the Netherlands handed over a bell made partly from Russian weapons to a church in the Czech Republic on Thursday in a sign of solidarity with Ukraine. Known as the Bell of Freedom, it was manufactured by the Dutch Royal Eijsbouts bell foundry that used fragments of artillery shells and other weapons fired by Russia against Ukraine. 'This bell has a lot of symbolism in it and it's a very special project for us,' the owner of the bell foundry, Joost Eijsbouts, told the Czech public radio. 'To use material designed for violence and turn it into something peaceful is a good idea.' The bell will be installed in the tower of the Church of the Holy Saviour in Prague, in place of one of the original bells that were seized by the Austro-Hungarian army and turned into weapons during World War I. The Czech Republic and the Netherlands support Ukraine in its fight against Russian troops. The ceremony at the church, attended by Czech President Petr Pavel and his wife Eva, was meant to be one of the highlights of the Dutch royal couple's stay in Prague. But King Willem-Alexander had to cut short the trip and returned home late Wednesday due to the collapse of the Dutch government.

The Dutch queen unveils a bell made from Russian weapons to show solidarity with Ukraine
The Dutch queen unveils a bell made from Russian weapons to show solidarity with Ukraine

Hamilton Spectator

time05-06-2025

  • Politics
  • Hamilton Spectator

The Dutch queen unveils a bell made from Russian weapons to show solidarity with Ukraine

PRAGUE (AP) — Queen Maxima of the Netherlands handed over a bell made partly from Russian weapons to a church in the Czech Republic on Thursday in a sign of solidarity with Ukraine. Known as the Bell of Freedom, it was manufactured by the Dutch Royal Eijsbouts bell foundry that used fragments of artillery shells and other weapons fired by Russia against Ukraine . 'This bell has a lot of symbolism in it and it's a very special project for us,' the owner of the bell foundry, Joost Eijsbouts, told the Czech public radio. 'To use material designed for violence and turn it into something peaceful is a good idea.' The bell will be installed in the tower of the Church of the Holy Saviour in Prague, in place of one of the original bells that were seized by the Austro-Hungarian army and turned into weapons during World War I. The Czech Republic and the Netherlands support Ukraine in its fight against Russian troops. The ceremony at the church, attended by Czech President Petr Pavel and his wife Eva, was meant to be one of the highlights of the Dutch royal couple's stay in Prague. But King Willem-Alexander had to cut short the trip and returned home late Wednesday due to the collapse of the Dutch government . Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .

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