The collection of the prose memoir “Všecky krásy světa” (All Beauties of the World) originated from the initiative of the photographer Ondřej Rakovec, who asked Seifert to accompany his poetic pictures of Prague in the winter with words. Seifert’s memoirs were commissioned by the publishing house Albatros at the beginning of 1970s, but the manuscript was removed from the publishing schedule on request of Ministry of Culture in February 1972. Even after the rejection of his manuscript, Seifert continued writing his memoirs and offered them to publishing house Odeon in 1976. In the same year, his memoir’s texts were recited by the actress Vlasta Chramostová in front of three dozen guests in her flat. Extracts of Vlasta Chramostová’s recitation with Jaroslav Seifert’s introduction were later released in Stockholm on gramophone records by the Charter 77 Foundation with support of the publishing house Šafrán in Uppsala. “Všecky krásy světa” was also printed in exile, in 1981, to mark Seifert’s eightieth birthday. The book was published by Index in Cologne and by Sixty-Eight Publishers in Toronto. In the same year, the memoirs were also published in samizdat edition Kvart. “Všecky krásy světa” was later officially published also in Czechoslovakia, in years 1983 and 1985 by the Československý spisovatel (Czechoslovak Writer) publishing house. This “official” version was, however, censored – some chapters or names of “undesirable” people were left out. When Jaroslav Seifert was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1984, the manuscript of “Všecky krásy světa” was, with both exiled and official Czechoslovak editions as well as a list of the censored erasures, put on display in the hall of the Royal National Library in Stockholm. The third official Czechoslovak edition was published in 1992 and was based on the uncensored exile version of the memoirs. The book was later published several times in the Czech Republic, as well as translated into many other languages.

The manuscript of “Všechny krásy světa”, written between 1970 and 1975, is currently in the Literary Archive of the Museum of Czech Literature; the manuscript was officially bought by the Museum from the antiquarian bookshop on Wenceslas Square 41 in Prague in 1978.

The book Tragedija hrvatske histoirografije (The Tragedy of Croatian Historiography) (Zagreb: self-published, 1970) provoked one of the most controversial debates in Croatian historiography. Kulundžić criticised institutional historiography which, in his opinion, functioned at the behest of the authorities. He thought that Croatian historians were methodologically conservative and that they avoided elaborating certain important themes from Croatian national history (such as the first printing press on Croatian soil, the date of establishment of the University of Zagreb, the Croatian identity of Dubrovnik), or even falsified it. He said that the tragedy of Croatian historiography is that "it was administered by those who served the former regimes subconsciously," having in mind historians who worked and published textbooks during the time of the Ustasha regime in the Independent State of Croatia, but also under socialism (p. 7). He argued that these intellectuals "due to their feelings of guilt, transposed their sins over the nation and thus developed what we call a sense of the entire nation’s guilt." He criticised academic historians in the most prestigious institutions (Yugoslav Academy of Arts and Science, Faculty of Philosophy in Zagreb) as professionally self-satisfied, methodologically conservative, faulting them for failing to respect the criteria for the advancement of professors and scholarly, etc.

As a beginning for healing in cultural life, he called for "the introduction of the principle of responsibility for everyone's public work" and a critical approach toward “the forgers of national history” (p. 385). At the end of the book, he emphasised that "our official historiography believes that it is her duty to negate and minimize everything we have done and achieved over our long and bloody, but unusually glorious and honourable history. (...) This is one of the essential aspects of the tragedy of Croatian historiography - about which I want to initiate debate"(p. 407).

In defending the dignity of their profession and the status of university professors, the representatives of academic historians did not emphasise the quality of their works but criticised Kulundžić because he did not have a degree in history, and they labelled his writing as trivial. Academic historians saw in his publicist writing a dangerous rival in the struggle for social recognition and affirmation. Kulundžić was the most prominent representative of the non-academic historians, because his works quickly reached a broad audience. The first edition of the book immediately sold out (within a week), so he published another expanded edition in the same year. He quickly gained readers because he communicated directly with them - they were mostly subscribers to his self-published editions, and he encouraged them to communicate with him by inviting them to send their remarks, assessments and suggestions.

Renata Jambrešić Kirin (2003, p. 18) asserts  that Kulundžić was characterised by ideological inconsistency, scandalous tendentiousness, destructive social criticism and the ability to provoke the lethargic cultural and scholarly public. She believes that Kulundžić's critique of academic institutions was motivated by the disavowal of his hypothesis on Kosinj as the site of the first Croatian printer, and was partly under the influence of the wider intellectual revolt in Croatia in the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Although indelicate, this book opened certain taboo topics such as the question of the relationship between academics and the political authorities by articulating the assumption of loyalty and conformism by members of the academic community. The book is one of the best examples of dissent against the dominant historiographic practices.

Iryna Kalynets’ volume Oranta is another featured item of the Prison on Lonskogo St. It was published in Lviv in 1970 and dedicated to her friend Oleg Mink, an artist from Makeevka, in the Donetsk region. Clearly made by hand, the illustrations were done by the artist Roman Petruk, who used watercolour, gouache and other techniques.

This book was confiscated in a search of Kalynets’ apartment following her arrest in 1972. The KGB file on her case indicates that two publishers refused to print this collected volume of poetry, partly due to the “questionable behaviour” of the author and partly because of the fact that Stasiv-Kalynets “did not once mention successes of socialism, the values of collectivism, or praise the wisdom of the Soviet leadership.” The volume along with several others penned by Stasiv-Kalynets underwent linguistic and stylistic analyses by Soviet forensic experts working for the courts, who concluded her body of work “painted socialist realities as undesirable, while also guiding the reader instead toward mysticism.” Quite a few poems were designated as clearly nationalistic, expressing disdain for Soviet rule, “profaning ‘foreigners,’ while also awaiting the moment when they would be struck by 'thunderous revenge.’” As Iryna Yezerska notes in her piece about the book Oranta, it drew on biblical themes of suffering and resurrection, calling for a beleaguered Ukraine to rise from slumber. The KGB concluded, these messages “were particularly toxic for young people, whose worldview had not sufficiently matured.”

The courts handed down a severe sentence of 6 years hard labour and another three in exile, despite the many letters written by family and friends on her behalf, who questioned the wisdom of meting out such punishment for poetry. Her husband Ihor was arrested several months later. The courts found particularly problematic the publication of a volume of his poetry abroad, which he had dedicated to Valentyn Moroz, a historian who had been arrested in 1970, as well as his contacts with ““unreasonable” people and foreigners.” He received the same sentence as his wife Iryna, which left their daughter Dzvinka without her parents for 9 years.

On 16 October 1970, a history student Mati Mandel gave a presentation about the beginning of the Estonian student movement in the 19th century. His presentation focused on the Estonian Students' Society, the first Estonian student organisation, which was prohibited after the Soviet annexation of Estonia. The subject was definitely not approved of by the authorities, but these subjects could be dealt with at Circle of History Students events. Also, it was not the only time that student life before the annexation was discussed. One comment from the audience is notable. It was said that the anniversary of the Estonian Students' Society was marked by émigré Estonians, which was an allusion to the fact that in Soviet Estonia it would not have been possible. This presentation draft shows notes that were probably written by someone in the audience, not by Mati Mandel himself, since it belongs to the minutes of a regular meeting. Today, it is possible that students who use the archive also read these meeting minutes.

Following the official decision to disband Noroc in September 1970, the members of this group found a temporary job at the Tambov Philharmonic Orchestra in Central Russia. This provoked a swift reaction on the part of the Moldavian Party establishment. Three months later, in December 1970, the leader of the Moldavian Komsomol (and future high Party dignitary and later president of the Republic of Moldova in 1997–2001), Petru Lucinschi, sent an official letter to his superiors in the Central Committee complaining about Noroc’s continued existence and frequent tours organised in various Soviet cities, despite its harmful ideological impact on “Soviet youth.” It is rather doubtful that this initiative came from Lucinschi himself. It was probably a move orchestrated by the Party leadership in order to legitimise its further actions and claim that it had support from below, i.e., from the representatives of the republic’s youth. In his letter, Lucinschi uses the customary Soviet jargon, claiming that Noroc “deviated more and more from the generally accepted norms of behaviour” expected from a Soviet musical group. The band is directly accused of ignoring the officially approved “programme, which suffered significant changes, especially in those cases when Noroc had tours beyond the republic’s borders.” Lucinschi does not fail to mention the “discontent” regarding Noroc’s “repertoire and behaviour” expressed in various letters sent to the Komsomol and local newspapers, invoking the public’s reaction as a legitimising strategy. The main grievance against Noroc and its musical style, in the Komsomol leader’s interpretation, concerns “the ethics of behaviour during the concerts and the quality of the repertoire.” In a revealing phrase deciphering these cryptic remarks, Lucinschi openly states that the band’s condemnation by the authorities derives from its “performances of musical pieces mainly authored by various English, French, Italian, and American Beatles” (sic!). This letter is also interesting due to Lucinschi’s parallel between Noroc and a similar Soviet musical group – the Leningrad-based band Poiushchie gitary (Singing Guitars), which also featured Western beat and rock music in its repertoire, coupled with modern arrangements of traditional Russian songs. Referring to a recent concert by the Poiushchie gitary held in Chișinău, Lucinschi hints at the danger represented by such musical trends, qualifying the Leningrad band’s music as “even more condemnable” that Noroc’s. This is due, on the one hand, to the “agitation among a certain part of our youth” (note the striking similarity to the language used by the letter from the Odessa party leadership). On the other hand, almost half of the songs performed during their concert “were borrowed from a different, foreign repertoire, completely alien to Soviet youth.” The real purpose of this letter becomes obvious from the seemingly innocuous conclusion, which states: “the republic’s youth is perplexed by the fact that this disbanded musical group was hired… by the Tambov Philharmonic orchestra and continues to tour the country… under its old name, Noroc.” The effect of this letter was immediate and radical: the members of Noroc were fired from the Tambov Orchestra and had to seek new employment in a small Ukrainian city. Lucinschi’s role in the whole affair was somewhat ambiguous: while playing the role of an ideological vigilante in December 1970, he was instrumental in assisting Noroc’s leader, Mihai Dolgan, to recreate the group under a new guise and name, Contemporanul (The Contemporary), in 1974. However, it is clear that Noroc’s deviation from the official ideological norms and its openness towards (and propagation of) Western musical trends were the real cause of the band’s demise. In an ironic twist, Lucinschi himself admitted, in a later interview, that the Noroc phenomenon became so popular due to its resonance with the wider youth subculture: “However hard the system tried, it could not control and curtail fashion, music, dances… i.e., the most elementary and necessary attributes of the young generation. Despite all the efforts made by the authorities, these things could not be stopped, because one simply could not stop the air we breathed. Two parallel worlds already existed in our society.” (Poiată 2013: 184).

The photo collection on graffiti in Poland has been gathered by Tomasz Sikorski since about 1970. The great part of the approximately 1 500 photos was made in years 1970-1990. Sikorski has been up-to-date documenting the paintings occurring on the walls of Polish cities, both artistic and dominated by the political message, created by professionals as well as people without artistic background. On his photographies, one can see works by, among others, Włodzimierz Fruczek, Faustyn Chełmecki, „Major” Waldemar Fydrych”, Jacek „Ponton” Jankowski, Alexander Sikora, Krzysztof Skarbek and Sikorski himself.

The Mihnea Berindei Collection stored at the library of the A.D. Xenopol Institute of History of the Romanian Academy in Iași comprises the founder’s personal library. It consists of two major parts. First, it includes almost two thousand books, of which over a hundred are directly relevant for the history of the communist regimes in Romania and the neighbouring countries. These publications also reflect Berindei’s interest in human rights issues in communist Eastern Europe and the USSR. Second, it features a substantial sample of periodicals (magazines and journals), mostly published in exile and dealing with Eastern and Central Europe during the communist era. Mihnea Berindei donated his library to the A.D. Xenopol Institute of History in Iași shortly before his death, in 2016. This collection is significant due to its focus on the publications and activities of the Romanian exile community in the West. It also emphasises its founder’s abiding interest in the history and political trajectories of the East European communist regimes.

The collection reflects the activity of the Romanian-German writer and journalist William Totok, persecuted by the communist authorities for the criticism towards Ceaușescu’s political regime expressed in his literary texts. The William Totok private collection comprises mainly books, literary manuscripts, drafts of academic papers, audio and video documents, and correspondence.

The central medium of this ‘performance’ however, is not the film itself, but the artists’ bodies, which become their own media/medium. In this case, it is a naked male body (Božidar is completely naked throughout the movie), which was seen by the dominant culture as excessive and scandalous. Among the taboos of Yugoslav culture was the question of homosexuality, which was directly addressed by this generation of artists. In the movie Maniac 7001 the above mentioned is additionally explored at the level of language. The statement ‘DICK IS NOT A MEDIA’ is shown to the spectator in the form of a political slogan. In the end it could be said that Maniac 7001 is to a large extent a synthesis of differing experiences and strategies, otherwise characteristic of the Novi Sad conceptual circle of the time, as a reaction of young artists to the different kinds of aesthetic and bureaucratic pressures to which they were exposed.” (Milenković, 2015, p. 25, 27) The action was not public and hence there was no public reaction to it. The film was only screened years later.

The museum has several samizdat collections by Vasyl Stus, a poet, dissident, human rights activist and figurehead of the sixtiers movement. Two collected volumes of his poetry were given as gifts to Iryna Stasiv-Kalynets and her husband Ihor Kalynets, and later donated by Stasiv-Kalynets to the museum-memorial on Lonskogo St.

The first book Winter Trees (Zymovi Dereva) was published in 1969, and given to the couple on January 9, 1972. The volume included an inscription and in-text modifications written by Stus, which, in addition to providing insights into his creative process, also marked an important turning point in the story of these Ukrainian dissidents. Within a matter of days, Stus, Stasiv-Kalynets and many others were arrested in a sweep that took place on January 12-14, 1972. The catalyst was a “vertep,” or portable puppet theatre of the nativity scene accompanied by Ukrainian Christmas carols, organized by Lviv dissidents to draw attention to the plight of compatriots who had been arrested unjustly, like Valentyn Moroz in 1970, and to raise funds to support the families they left behind. Participants walked from house to house, dressed in colorful costumes and traditional Ukrainian clothing, carrying large festive stars and other adornments.

The carolers raised 250 karbovantsi (rubles) but 19 of the 45 participants were arrested and tried for anti-Soviet activities. Among them were Stasiv-Kalynets, sentenced to 6 years of hard labor and 3 years of exile, Stefania Shabatura, sentenced to 5 years of hard labor and 3 years of exile, and Vasyl Stus, sentenced to 5 years hard labor and two years of exile in Magadan. Stus was arrested again for anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda shortly after his release in 1979 and sentenced to another 10 years of hard labor. He died in Perm in 1985 after declaring a hunger strike to protest harsh conditions and his maltreatment at the hands of camp guards. Mykhailo Horyn’ was sentenced to 14 years of hard labor and exile, while Marian Hatala, an engineer charged with disseminating samizdat and other unsanctioned literature, took his own life.

The second volume, pictured above, The Merry Cemetery (Veselyi Tsvyntar), is also significant. As with the other book, we see Stus’ signature handwritten modifications. In the bottom left corner, there is also a stamp from the institute conducting forensic analysis for the courts. This stamp indicates that this volume was used as evidence of “anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda.” Along with a collected volume by Mykola Kholodnyj titled Cry from the Grave (Kryk z Mohyly), this volume by Stus was confiscated in many apartment searches in 1972 and were used in multiple court cases against Ukrainian dissidents arrested that year, in particular, the artist Stefaniya Shabatura and samizdat publisher Ivan Hel’. These confiscated materials were returned to their original owners, Stasiv-Kalynets and Shabatura, after independence. Though their case files remain in the SBU archives, the material evidence taken from their apartments was returned.

The Alenka Bizjak Environmental Collection is based on Alenka Bizjak's professional work as a lawyer and activism in the period from the late 1970s to the beginning of the 2000s. Bizjak was an active member of the environmental movement in Slovenia since the 1970s. The movement sought to warn the Slovenian and Yugoslav public of the harmfulness of large industrial facilities and hydroelectric plants on the Rivers Soča, Idrija, Mura and Sava and Lake Cerknica and prevent their construction. The collection is interesting because it attests to the culture of dissent in Yugoslavia in the form of a civil society campaign and its struggle for the affirmation of environmental issues that directly obstructed governmental plans for the construction of power facilities.

The Architecture students’ Club A was a unique club in Communist Romania, a club in which it was possible to organise non-conformist concerts, shows, and debates that would immediately have been forbidden in communist Romania if the public had been allowed unrestricted access. Events organised at Club A were only open, however, to members of the club and their invited guests, only one per member, and membership was restricted to Architecture students. Consequently the Club A membership booklet had a value in itself. At the same time, the exclusivism of the club had a direct influence on the quality of the events organised there, as they became an alternative scale of recognition of the value and professionalism of the protagonists. The Mirel Leventer private collection contains a number of small objects indicating his membership of the Club A community in Bucharest, which respected with great care the criteria for inclusion in this exclusivist club. Among these insignia is his membership booklet, made like all such documents in the time of communism from pressed fabric; the date of issue is 1970. The cover of the booklet is light blue, and inside are presented all the privileges enjoyed by a member of Club A, together with the duties: free access to the club; the right to invite someone else once a week; participation in establishing the programme and at intervals in keeping order. These few rules made Club A a little exclusivist island, in which only a few could enjoy freedom. At the same time, these rules enabled the continuous functioning of the club until the fall of communism. It would immediately have been shut down if by accepting those who were not Architecture students its membership had grown rapidly and turned this exclusivist cultural experiment into a mass phenomenon. Finally, the collection also includes a Club A emblem made in ceramic and a number of badges: three from before 1989 and another three from after 1989. “What did it mean to be part of this world of Club A? It was something extraordinary in terms of social status. We were, if I may say so, in the student aristocracy. We were envied, very much envied. There were several attempts to close Club A; we were lucky, but we also had support, there, somewhere, higher up. Mac Popescu, he especially, managed to protect this institution where freedom was often exercised,” says Mirel Leventer.

The collection contains the latest issue of the literary journal Host do domu (1970, No. 10) in a form of page proofs, which has never been published.  The issue includes language and stylistic proofreading as well as censorship. A significant example of this practice is an article on Max Weber and George Lukács, which exemplifies a sentence: "Indeed, for our abnormal situation, it is significant that in the 1960s, revisionist elements were sought in this book and is now considered as dogmatic." It documents a transformation of contemporary interpretations in the breaking time of starting normalization. This issue includes, among others, texts of later important figures of the cultural opposition - Jaroslav Škvorecký, Václav Havel, Milan Kundera etc. This is an exceptional example of larger material with specific censorship practices.    

The starting point of the work is the fluxus idea merging art and life: everybody is an artist.

A radicalized version of this idea appears on the tableau consisting of thirty-six panels: some of the photos present workers as representatives of different art forms (a working postman is identified as a mail artist, a turner is called a sculptor, a road-builder is called a land artist, a compositor is called a writer, a person sitting on the tram in dungarees an actor etc.).

The panels of this photo series are combined with press photos (identical in size) referring to new, often dramatic artistic roles (prisoner artist, fear artist, radical artist, hunger artist, despair artist etc.). The tableau is accompanied by a diagram, indicating that by 2150 everybody will be a police employee, and in 2240 everybody will be an artist.

A letter from Milan Uhde to the Host Publishing House in October 1970 shows him rejecting the report of his dismissal from work, the editorial office Host do domu. Uhde protested against the whole process, and rejected the term "agreement" in connection with the dismissal, then refused to sign a document on the termination of employment. Uhde also wrote about the non-existent opportunities to find other reasonable employment. The short letter documents practices of persecution towards important cultural figures criticising the post–August development in Czechoslovakia, as well as a concrete example of defiance towards them.

This manuscript entitled Istina o Jugoslaviji. Proživio sam dvadeset godina u komunističkoj Jugoslaviji. I. redakcija (The truth about Yugoslavia. I survived twenty years in communist Yugoslavia) was written in Padua in 1970, but printed in 1977 as a book in Croatian under the title Iza bodljikave žice: sudbina Hrvatske u srbokomunističkoj Jugoslaviji (Behind Barbed Wire: the Fate of Croatia in Serb-Communist Yugoslavia). In it, Čolak described his life before going into exile. He explained his life trajectory from the communist prison until the attempt to establish the first free review in Yugoslavia. 

The Vincas Kisarauskas collection shows documents relating to the creative work and life of the famous Lithuanian painter Vincas Kisarauskas. He is a well-known proponent of the Lithuanian school of ex-libris, and the collection contains originals of his works.