The Past in Question: Modern Macedonia and the Uncertainties of Nation available in Paperback, eBook
The Past in Question: Modern Macedonia and the Uncertainties of Nation
- ISBN-10:
- 0691099952
- ISBN-13:
- 9780691099958
- Pub. Date:
- 04/06/2003
- Publisher:
- Princeton University Press
- ISBN-10:
- 0691099952
- ISBN-13:
- 9780691099958
- Pub. Date:
- 04/06/2003
- Publisher:
- Princeton University Press
The Past in Question: Modern Macedonia and the Uncertainties of Nation
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Overview
Keith Brown examines how Krusevo's residents, refugees, and exiles have participated—along with scholars, journalists, artists, bureaucrats, and politicians—in a conversation about their vexed past. By tracing different approaches to understanding, commemorating, and narrating the events of 1903, he shows how in this small mountain town the "magic of nationalism" by which destiny is written into particular historical events has neither failed nor wholly succeeded. Stories of heroism, self-sacrifice, and unity still rub against tales of treachery, score settling, and disaster as people come to terms with the legacies of imperialism, socialism, and nationalism. The efforts of Krusevo's successive generations to transcend a past of intercommunal violence reveal how rival claims to knowledge and truth acquire vital significance during rapid social, economic, and political change.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780691099958 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Princeton University Press |
| Publication date: | 04/06/2003 |
| Edition description: | New Edition |
| Pages: | 320 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.25(h) x (d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Past in Question
Modern Macedonia and the Uncertainties of NationBy Keith Brown
Princeton University Press
Keith BrownAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0691099952
Chapter One
Introduction
THIS BOOK EXAMINES the relationship between national history, identity, and politics in the disputed territory of Macedonia. It focuses on events in a town in the modern Republic of Macedonia, and on the different ways in which, at different points of the twentieth century, different communities described or analyzed those events. The goal of this book is to uncover the processes whereby contrasting world views take shape and can be embraced or rejected, emplaced or overturned. The narratives woven around this particular town demonstrate in a variety of ways the importance of volition and contingency in the making of the present. At the same time, they rely upon idioms of the taken-for-granted-the things one cannot help-for explanatory efficacy. Benedict Anderson's bon mot regarding the magic of nationalism-that it turns chance into destiny (1991:12)-is thus a central concern of the book, which seeks to explain how that alchemy was wrought in a spatially circumscribed and culturally specific context.
The immediate setting for much of the book is the town of Krusevo, in the southwest of the Republic of Macedonia. For most of the year, Krusevo presents itself as a provincial backwater. High in the hills, away from themajor transit routes, and boasting no great industrial or agricultural resources, it has a population of around three thousand, including the Republic's largest concentration of Vlahs, a Romance-speaking minority. Yet every year since 1944, at the beginning of August, the town has shaken off its sleepy aura as political élites of the Macedonian government have journeyed to the town to deliver tributes and speeches. They have brought in their wake a host of ordinary citizens and the gaze of the Republic. Some have left more permanent traces on the town's landscape including new roads, public buildings, and monuments. Begun when the Republic of Macedonia was part of new Federal Yugoslavia, the annual national pilgrimage to Kru sevo continued after the country declared its sovereignty in 1991.
The yearly prominence of Krusevo stems from the enduring symbolic significance attached to events there at the beginning of the twentieth century, when Ottoman Turkish rule extended west to the Adriatic coast and north to the border of Montenegro. In the course of a widespread anti-Ottoman uprising on St. Elijah's Day, or Ilinden, on 2 August 1903, Krusevo was the largest urban center held by the revolutionary movement. After the creation of a federal Yugoslavia in 1944, Ilinden 1903 came to be established as a pivotal moment in Macedonian history, and celebrated as a holiday each year. Its enduring significance was affirmed through a broad variety of official commemorative practices, including pension schemes and the construction of memorials. The town of Krusevo came to be marked as the uprising's symbolic epicenter, and its residents took pride in national recognition of their town's distinctive heritage.
Krusevo's history thus constituted a key symbolic resource in the establishment of Macedonian national identity in the twentieth century. The salience of this one town's past was heightened by the doubts, debates, and disputes that swirled around so much else to do with Macedonian distinctiveness. Today's members of the Macedonian people, or narod, speak a Slavic language codified only after 1944 with fewer than 2 million native-speakers and a slender body of literature. Macedonians are, for the most part, members of an Orthodox Church whose authority was established by a socialist political régime in 1968. Their kin-terms, household structures, marriage practices, and vernacular culture all closely resemble those of neighboring groups. They are descended from people who were called, and at times called themselves, Serbs or Bulgarians. Those who challenge the authenticity of Macedonian national identity-and as this book will show, there are many-use these facts to assert that its components are all newly minted, forged, borrowed, or even stolen from the Republic's neighbors. In such a hostile climate, the idea of a local uprising in 1903 gave adherents of the new national cause a welcome sense of historical depth and popular unity.
Krusevo was additionally celebrated for the activities of its defenders during the Ilinden Uprising. After driving out the Turkish garrison, they set up a provisional government in which townspeople and village representatives were to participate, and distributed a written proclamation of their peaceful state-building intentions. This short period of self-government has come to be known as the Krusevo Republic and the document its leaders distributed as the Krusevo Manifesto. It has come to stand as a unique piece of constructive and indigenous political activism in modern Macedonian history, prior to 1944. Before that, the last period in which a régime had its capital within the borders of the modern republic was the eleventh century, when King Samuil reigned in the lakeside town of Ohrid.1 Krusevo's self-government, though, was short-lived: within two weeks, Ottoman forces converged on the town. A few determined rebels tried to stage a defense, most famously on a hill outside the town named Meckin Kamen (Bear's Rock), but they were quickly overwhelmed by superior numbers. Then came the reprisals against civilians. After an extended bombardment, regular and irregular troops sacked the town. Houses were burned and looted, women raped, and a number of townspeople arrested and later imprisoned for their alleged involvement.
These additional facets of Krusevo's role in the Ilinden Uprising of 1903 contribute further to a straightforward narrative, familiar from studies of modern nationalism. The town, which remained inhabited, stands as a vital link to a past time of collective liberation struggle, political vision, and self-sacrifice. It is a place where a glorious history is enshrined and where, now, the living descendants of those who fought, suffered, and died enjoy the redemption that is their legacy. It appears to constitute, then, a multi-faceted national "memory-space" of the generic type explored extensively in the volumes edited by Pierre Nora (Nora [ed.] 1997). For modern Macedonia, Krusevo 1903 combines something of the flavor of France's Bastille, England's Runnymede, and the United States' Alamo. Yet also important is the imperial reach of the enemy in the past, the image of glorious defeat still unavenged, and the continuing vulnerability of a small country in the present. In this regard, Macedonia's Krusevo, and especially the battle of Meckin Kamen, can perhaps be yoked more closely to Greece's Messolonghi, Serbia's Kosovo field, or even Israel's Masada in its emotive power.2
For scholars of "straight" nationalism, then, Ilinden 1903 and Krusevo appear easy to read. But what I aim to do in this book is illuminate the twists in the tale as it has been told and re-told in the course of one hundred years since the Uprising, and to explore the other meanings and messages that Krusevo 1903 has been made to carry. Some of these fall easily into the discourse of competing nationalisms: in Bulgaria and Greece, for example, in part as a result of political interests, Krusevo's history not only differs from, but is fundamentally incompatible with, the core, national narrative outlined above. In both cases the alternative vision owes much to the influence of refugees or exiles from Krusevo, driven out at various points during the twentieth century and denied return by subsequent régimes. Historical accounts produced by displaced residents of the town have been mobilized as part of wider political disputes in the region, especially over borders and the existence of minority populations. They feed a zero-sum mentality with respect to historical interpretation, in which the truth-status of any one account is predicated on the falsehood of its rivals.
Attention to other readings of Krusevo's past, and the traces they have left, yields evidence of more complex interactions between different visions. From 1944 until 1991, for example, when the Republic of Macedonia was part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), events of the past were not only commemorated for their national quality, they also represented steps in a process that led toward a socialist present and future. Historians, politicians, and artists re-cast the heroes of Ilinden as forebears of the pan-Yugoslav Partisan movement of 1941-44: the Krusevo Republic was thus celebrated as not only Macedonian, but as socialist and Yugoslav; and the egalitarian ideals of its leaders were highlighted. One product of this synthetic process was the memorial built in the town in 1974 and depicted in figure 1. Designed by a husband and wife team who considered themselves socialist and humanist in outlook, its futuristic style aspired to validate an idea of the Macedonian past and present as a part of the new and forward-looking Yugoslavia.
At the local level, the narrative of Macedonian national activism is further complicated by the unique demographic composition of Krusevo. As noted earlier, the town is home to a sizeable community of Vlahs, a group distinguished primarily by their Romance language, known as Vlah or Arumanian, which is akin to Romanian. Among minority groups in the Republic of Macedonia as a whole, those identifying themselves as Vlahs are outnumbered by Serbs, Roms, Turks, and Albanians. Krusevo is known, first and foremost, as a Vlah town, as it has been since the peak of its prosperity in the nineteenth century. Even after the upheavals of 1903, the Balkan Wars of 1912-13, and the First World War, which displaced populations and redrew frontiers, Krusevo's community retained its distinctiveness. Unlike their rural Albanian- and Slav-speaking neighbors, who were generally agriculturalists or manual laborers, Vlah townspeople mostly earned their livelihood from commerce, stock-keeping, and artisan trades. Until the mid-twentieth century, they mostly married within their own community; it was only with the state's collectivization project and the confiscation of property from wealthier townsfolk that these patterns changed.
Even in the 1990s some older residents preferred to speak Vlah rather than Macedonian: most had grown up in households where Vlah was the first language. They and many others recalled the linguistic virtuosity of fathers and grandfathers who had known Turkish, Albanian, Arabic, and Greek, and spoke with nostalgia of ways of life swept away by the Yugoslav revolution. Across the generations, people often emphasized their families' mercantile activities and business connections, in which all these languages came into play. They also insisted that Krusevo's former wealth had worked against the town after World War II, when they had suffered disproportionately from the requisitions made by Tito's partisans in the alleged interest of "brotherhood and unity," and when some of the town's old mansions were bulldozed and replaced by ugly, functionalist modern buildings.
In the Yugoslav era, then, some segments of the town community could be taken as opponents-if not by passionate conviction then at least in their everyday practices-of the socialist ideals that were so insistently declared as motivating those who founded the Republic of Krusevo and proclaimed the Krusevo Manifesto in 1903. The oral record poses its own challenge to the simple linkage of the town's history with the forward march of the Macedonian nation or the Yugoslav project. A more tangible measure of civic dissatisfaction with the state-sponsored mode of historical recall was a construction project undertaken by townspeople and completed in 1983. In response to the abstract 1974 monument, they commissioned their own figurative memorial to speak more directly to events of 1903. The alternative memory-space thus produced on the battlefield of Meckin Kamen has at its center a single bronze statue of a young man hurling a rock, depicted in figure 2.
These alternative tales of Krusevo's past might be labeled the "socialist" and the "localist" versions. They are of interest in themselves, but most compelling to me is the interaction that they have with one another, and with the nationalist narrative with which I began. Much of the literature on twentieth-century Macedonia emphasizes the adversarial mode in which its history is recounted, as Greek, Bulgarian, Serbian, and (more recently) Macedonian and Albanian perspectives on the Macedonian Question laid claim to exclusive authority. The disputes over the history of Macedonia in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries could be said to fit Deborah Tannen's model of an "argument culture," whereby it is taken for granted that attacking other points of view-often after first simplifying them almost beyond recognition-is the best way to pursue truth (Tannen 1998). The overriding impression is of a chaotic and cacophonous mix of aggressive voices, each seeking to shout down its rivals, in the hope of having the last word.
Around 1903 Krusevo, though, that image does not do justice to the ways in which the story of the past has been told. A more apt parallel might be an ongoing conversation of the type described by Kenneth Burke (1957:55-56), and re-employed to illustrate processual analysis by Renato Rosaldo (1993:104). Burke imagines a heated parlor conversation that has gone on longer than any of its individual participants. Newcomers try to grasp the general drift and then take up the debate: they might bring new insights, repeat points already familiar to some listeners, or revive arguments that appeared to have ended long ago. When they enter this conversation, perhaps, they may have strongly distinctive and individual voices, and insist on being heard at all times. Over time, though, participants may realize that there is greater texture and richness in reciprocal exchange than in dogged pursuit of individual agendas.
A Burkean conversation over events in Krusevo in 1903 has been going on for a century, with some additional features. In the weaving together of "nationalist," "socialist," and "localist" versions of the past exiles, residents, historians, ideologues, and creative artists have all played their part. They have not, though, entered the debate as equals. Some have worn badges of authority or brought with them intimidating entourages. Some have said their piece and left quickly, entertaining no reply; others have bided their time, waiting perhaps for a rival to leave before speaking. Some have listened intently to others, learning what is important to them and then using this knowledge to flatter, cajole, or persuade; others, so anxious not to forget their own points, or particularly struck by someone else's, have continuously repeated them under their breath, and thus missed much of the talk going on around them. Some have taken steps to make their contributions more enduring, by leaving behind texts or other objects, so that the room is now cluttered with them.
Continues...
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Table of Contents
| List of Tables and Figures | ix | |
| Preface | xi | |
| Notes on Transliteration and Pronunciation | xvii | |
| Chapter 1 | Introduction | 1 |
| Chapter 2 | A Double Legacy: Macedonia's Yugoslav and Balkan Histories | 22 |
| Chapter 3 | "Crowded Out by a Plethora of Facts": Distance and Experience in Western Narratives of Krusevo | 51 |
| Chapter 4 | Tipping Points: The Transformation of Identities in Krusevo | 79 |
| Chapter 5 | Between the Revolutions: Life in Krusevo 1903-1944 | 103 |
| Chapter 6 | Buying the Memories: Collectivization, the Past and National Identity | 126 |
| Chapter 7 | History Stated: The Making of a Monument | 153 |
| Chapter 8 | Local Truths: Rereading 1903 the Krusevo Way | 181 |
| Chapter 9 | On the Brink of a New, Old World: Recasting Solidarity After Yugoslavia | 211 |
| Chapter 10 | Conclusion | 234 |
| Glossary and Acronyms | 251 | |
| Notes | 255 | |
| Bibliography | 277 | |
| Index | 295 |
What People are Saying About This
Brown's book is well written, theoretically informed, and based on significant new archival and ethnographic research. As Clifford Geertz points out, good anthropology makes small facts speak to large issues. This is precisely what Brown does. Exploring how a variety of people, all citizens of the Republic of Macedonia, attempt to deal with 'the awkward details of the past,' he offers us an understanding of the contested nature of categories of collective identity.
— Loring Danforth, Bates College
"Brown's book is well written, theoretically informed, and based on significant new archival and ethnographic research. As Clifford Geertz points out, good anthropology makes small facts speak to large issues. This is precisely what Brown does. Exploring how a variety of people, all citizens of the Republic of Macedonia, attempt to deal with 'the awkward details of the past,' he offers us an understanding of the contested nature of categories of collective identity."—Loring Danforth, Bates College"Solidly anchored in both field and archival research in Macedonia, Keith Brown's book is an important and timely contribution to the comparative study of nationalism. One of its strengths is the careful and original documentation of the controversies that lie behind the conception and construction of national images and monuments, particularly as these concern the tensions between internationalist, nationalist and local visualizations of liberation. It provides the testimonies and analysis necessary to get beyond the truism that national identities are 'constructed,' as well as 'deeply felt,' to a real understanding of the interactions between local and supralocal forces at work in the realization of both individual and collective projects of identity-formation. The complex conjunction of local populations and state regimes in the Macedonian case effectively serves as a model for querying national identities more generally."—Laurie Kain Hart, Haverford College
Solidly anchored in both field and archival research in Macedonia, Keith Brown's book is an important and timely contribution to the comparative study of nationalism. One of its strengths is the careful and original documentation of the controversies that lie behind the conception and construction of national images and monuments, particularly as these concern the tensions between internationalist, nationalist and local visualizations of liberation. It provides the testimonies and analysis necessary to get beyond the truism that national identities are 'constructed,' as well as 'deeply felt,' to a real understanding of the interactions between local and supralocal forces at work in the realization of both individual and collective projects of identity-formation. The complex conjunction of local populations and state regimes in the Macedonian case effectively serves as a model for querying national identities more generally.
— Laurie Kain Hart, Haverford College