Balkanologie Revue d'études pluridisciplinaires

Vol. V, n° 1-2 | 2001 Volume V Numéro 1-2

Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/balkanologie/667 DOI : 10.4000/balkanologie.667 ISSN : 1965-0582

Éditeur Association française d'études sur les (Afebalk)

Édition imprimée Date de publication : 31 décembre 2001 ISSN : 1279-7952

Référence électronique Balkanologie, Vol. V, n° 1-2 | 2001, « Volume V Numéro 1-2 » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 30 avril 2008, consulté le 17 décembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/balkanologie/667 ; DOI : https:// doi.org/10.4000/balkanologie.667

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SOMMAIRE

Croatian Imagines the Nation Glas koncila and the Croatian National Question, 1985 - 1990 Maja Brkljačić

Fear of becoming minority as a motivator of conflict in the former Dejan Jović

Paradigm Lost :Yugoslav Self-Management and the Economics of Disaster P. H. Liotta

Bosnies

Introduction Xavier Bougarel

Sarajevo, capitale incertaine Amaël Cattaruzza

La Ligne-Frontière inter-entités : nouvelle frontière, nouveau pays ? Emmanuelle Chaveneau-Le Brun

Brčko, un microcosme de la Bosnie ? Laurence Robin-Hunter

L’économie du nettoyage ethnique à Prnjavor Nikola Guljevatej

Atmosphère d'après-guerre dans un village d’Herzégovine Arnaud Appriou

Homelands in question : Paradoxes of memory and exil in South-Eastern Europe

Homelands in question : Paradoxes of memory and exil in South-Eastern Europe :Introduction au dossier Keith S. Brown

The Legacy of Forced Migrations in Modern Turkish Society : Remembrance of the Things Past ? Nergis Canefe

De l’historicité à l’ethnicité : Les Egéens ou ces autres Macédoniens Miladina Monova

Understated, Overexposed Turks in - Immigrants in Turkey Petar Krasztev

Memories of Anatolia : generating Greek refugee identity Alice James

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Reconstructing “home” among the “enemy”: the Greeks of Gökseada (Imvros) after Lausanne Giorghos Tsimouris

Where local trumps national : Christian orthodox and Muslim refugees since Lausanne Barbaros Tanc

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Croatian Catholic Church Imagines the Nation Glas koncila and the Croatian National Question, 1985 - 1990

Maja Brkljačić

1 On May 30, 1990, the first Croatian post-communist multi-party Parliament was constituted, after the free election which took place only a few days earlier and which brought a clear victory to the Croatian Democratic Union (CDU) and its head, Franjo Tudjman. On that day, the Croatian parliament proclaimed Tudjman the president of the Republic of which was still at that time one of the constitutive republics of the Yugoslav federation. After the first multi-party session of the Parliament, a grand popular festivity was organised on the main city-square in , the Square of Banus Josip Jelačić. The leading -organ of the Croatian Catholic Church, Glas Koncila, brought the following reportage from the event. Once the session of the Parliament was over, « Franjo Tudjman walked the way to the Jelačić square ». On the way, he passed through Kamenita vrata, where « he kneeled before the altar of the Holy Mother », « lit a grand, richly decorated celebratory candle », « put his hands together and whispered a prayer, looking at the statue of the Holy Mother ». Then he continued his walk to the Jelačić square, where he climbed the pre-arranged stage. From the other side, there came to the square the Cardinal and the archbishop of Zagreb, Franjo Kuharić, and joined Tudjman on the stage. The stage was already surrounded by a turbulent and cheering crowd. There was quite a number of people on the stage. The foreground was occupied by the two leaders, the secular and the spiritual. Franjo Tudjman and Franjo Kuharić faced each other, and between them, in the centre of the picture, there was a baby-cradle1. The scene was, indeed, memorable: the modern Croatian pater patriae, his partner Ecclesia Croatica, and the imagined infant in the cradle. Thousands of spectators came to bow before them.

Pre-history of a Relationship

2 Much has been written on the troubled relationship between church and state under communism, as well as on the communist politics and policies towards religion in

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general. This is certainly true for the Yugoslav case which was an interesting research problem due to the fact that the federalization of the religious policy apparatus and the legal structure produced a federalization of religious policy2, which meant that the eight constituent federal units could preserve different religious policies towards their respective churches. Overall, the attitude towards religious institutions in the communist Yugoslavia could be described as fairly liberal (for communist circumstances, of course), even though far from ideal. In the case of the Croatian Catholic Church, this meant that, like in Czechoslovakia, Poland, Hungary and Romania, the Communist party (unsuccessfully) tried to persuade it to break off its ties with the Vatican and institutionalise itself as a national church. The highest church official in Croatia, Cardinal Alojzije Stepinac, was imprisoned 1946 and died in the house-arrest 1960. Most of the property of the Church was nationalised, and some catholic priests were harassed and arrested. It happened from time to time that church newsletters and periodicals were banned. When in January 1983, Dominican Frano Prčela vehemently criticised in a Sunday sermon in Split a student newspaper article that portrayed the Virgin Mary as taking birth control pills and Christ as a hashish addict, he was arrested by the security forces for violating freedom of the press3. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the so-called liberal sixties definitively paved the way for a more or less peaceful coexistence of the Church and the state. The dialogue with the Church was opened on the level of Marxist sociologists and philosophers. The official party discourse changed from the dogmatic approach which stated that « religious institutions and organizations endeavor to hold people in subjection »4 to assertions such as « Religious conviction is not an absolute obstacle to participation in the building of socialism »5, or « in the political emancipation of man from religion, the socialist state does not seek the abolition of religion »6.

3 Clearly, what was at stake in the battle between the state and the church were people’s loyalties : both institutions were hunting for human souls. In Croatia, the Church enjoyed a considerable advantage, as the links connecting it to the population were strong and old. In 1972, 93,4 percent of the population of the Zagreb region declared themselves to be members of the Roman Catholic Church ; ranks of the Communist Party were never that crowded. In the same year, only 5,7 percent said they were atheists. The survey showed that 58,8 percent of the women and 43,6 percent of the men were practicing believers7. Another survey from 1979 revealed that almost a 100 percent of rural children in Croatia attended regularly religious instruction, while the percentage in the cities shifted between 40 and 508.

4 These high numbers testify to the fact that the allegiance to the Croatian Catholic Church was strong and its influence important. This makes studying the attitudes and position of the Church under communism an even more interesting task. The purpose of this essay is to try to contribute to this area of research. More specifically, the paper will address one principal issue : writing of the most influential and widely-spread press-organ of the Croatian Catholic Church, Glas Koncila, in the last five years of communism.9 Since the collapse of communism was in Yugoslavia overshadowed by the Serbo-Croatian war, the essay will concentrate chiefly on the relation and attitude of the Church towards the Croatian and Serbian nations as presented by Glas Koncila. In other words, I will point to some possible explanations to the troubling dilemma : why was the highest representative of the Croatian catholic clergy joining hands in public in 1990 with the Croatian secular leader, Franjo Tudjman, and how did the Croatian

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Catholic Church help in bringing to the world the imagined infant in the cradle that Cardinal Kuharić was standing next to. In order to answer this question, I will follow changes in writing of Glas Koncila from 1985 until 1990, focusing on the analysis of discourse, modes of representation, and topics discussed10.

Merging the Church and the Nation

5 The first feature one notices when reading issues of Glas Koncila published in 1985 is that its relation to the Croatian nation is rather shy, or, even better, entirely indirect. The expression « Croat » as a noun or « Croatian » as an adjective appears only very rarely, and even when we do find it, it is almost always firmly connected to a very specific context. The noun « Croat » (or, its plural form, « ») surfaces principally on two occasions : firstly, in articles discussing historical topics. For example, in January 1985 Glas Koncila started a series of articles entitled « Beginnings of art-music among Croats »11, and from September of the same year we read again a series of contributions about « Croats at the University of Paris in »12. Second type of articles providing a context for the noun « Croat » relates to commentaries about life of the Croatian diaspora – Croats living outside of Croatia and Yugoslavia. Again, in an issue from January 1985 there is a report about Marijana Koznjak, a Croat who was chosen for miss Australia13, and not even a month later we read about a deceased Croat, priest from Burgendland14. The term « Croatian » as an adjective is hardly ever used. It can be located again in a contribution about a historical topic : a reportage from in , a place where « » has always been spoken15. Once the temporal plane changes from the past into the present, we notice a difference in discourse. In an article about the influx of migrants to the suburbs of Zagreb, only regional designations are to be found : not Croats are mentioned, but Ličani (people from the region of in Croatia), Bošniaks and people from Herzegovina16.

6 This did not mean that Glas Koncila left in 1985 any doubt as to the audience it was addressing, even though the crucial adjective describing belonging was missing. Hence, even though the noun « homeland » in Glas Koncila always lacks the signifier determining whose homeland (i.e. Yugoslavia or Croatia), connotative analysis showed that homeland for Glas Koncila meant only Croatia 17. Equally, authors in Glas Koncila preferred talking simply about « mother tongue » without specifying exactly which one they had in mind. In Yugoslavia in the eighties this was far from clear : the official language was called « Serbo-Croatian », « Croato-Serbian », « Serbian or Croatian », « Croatian or Serbian », and the difference in the signifier meant the real difference in the signified. For Glas Koncila, however, « mother tongue », even though not clearly determined, was only Croatian language18.

7 The importance of the Croatian Catholic Church for the Croatian nation was in 1985 a topic that was discussed in Glas Koncila only by Leserbriefe. It took three years for this topic to be transferred into the official discourse of the highest Church officials. In 1985 only readers of Glas Koncila were those who maintained that « Catholic priests were crucial for the linguistical preservation of our national being »19. The continuation of this debate can be followed in 1988, when Cardinal Kuharić asserted that « the Croatian Catholic Church was rooted into the consciousness of the Croatian Volk for over thirteen centuries »20. In 1985 such open statements could have been made only in the context of the stories about the Croatian diaspora. Only for them it was possible to

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maintain that « to be Croat and to be Catholic goes together »21. Three years later, Glas Koncila strengthened its efforts at fortifying historical connections between the Croatian Catholic Church (and Catholicism in general) and the Croatian national consciousness. Apart from the mentioned Cardinal’s declaration, we read in 1988 about bishops who, like Ivan Antunović, worked in the last century on the national revival among Croats22, or about Juraj Haulik, first Croatian archbishop and Cardinal, who was also « protector of Croatian national rights »23. Quite appropriately, in May 1988, Glas Koncila starts a series of articles entitled « Catholic Church and Croatian language » which aimed to demonstrate the struggle of the Croatian Catholic Church to preserve the Croatian language24.

8 Another track of the same process can be observed in attempts by Glas Koncila to conjoin important figures from the Croatian national pantheon with Catholicism. Two Croatian noblemen from the seventeenth century who were decapitated by the Habsburgs, Nikola Zrinski and Fran Krsto Frankopan, are turned into « martyrs who grow out of the Christian roots »25. Equally, the most important Croatian hero from the twentieth century, Stjepan Radić, who was killed by Puniša Račić, a militant Serbian nationalist, in 1928, is portrayed by Glas Koncila as a serious and devoted Catholic26. The real issue at stake behind all these undertakings was revealed in an interview with Franc Perko, archbishop of Belgrade, who in February 1988 held that « Croatian Catholic Church is not enough national » and that « Church should not be so supranational that it disrespects its belonging to the nation »27. Such statements could not be in the same year officially made by someone who sat in Croatia, whereas Perko from Belgrade could be more open and direct28. It took another two years for Glas Koncila to complete the relationship between the Church and the nation : in a text with a subtitle « where all that was Croatian has for centuries been suffocated and persecuted, the most diverse artistic and cultural valuables were created », we read that in , « as in other Croatian areas, the preserved cultural national treasure is associated with the Catholic Church »29. The relationship is underlined by a story about the Catholic Church in , according to which the Church prevented Croats to rebel against the imposed Cyrillic alphabet by giving Croatian children an opportunity to learn the Latin alphabet in classes of the Catholic religious instruction30.

9 We could describe this process as renationalisation of the Croatian Catholic Church. It developed in two directions : Croatisation of the Church and Catholisation of the nation. In the earlier periods, before 1985, dominant themes discussed by Glas Koncila were human rights, struggle against atheism, anti-abortion legislature. The process of renationalisation was at the beginning slow and very careful. One possible answer why this was difficult and complex could perhaps be found in the case of Alojzije Stepinac, Cardinal and Archbishop of Zagreb, who was prosecuted by the Communist authorities in the aftermath of the Second World War for collaboration with the fascist Ustasha authorities. The reports in Glas Koncila from his annual concelebrations, by which the Church celebrated the anniversary of his death, show transparently that Stepinac was an open wound of the Croatian Catholic Church. Changes in his public image were directly related to the renationalisation of the whole institution. The purification of Stepinac’s figure had several stages. In 1985, he was celebrated by Glas Koncila as « protector of the poor and oppressed » and as « the bravest bishop in Europe » in his time. In order to prove this point, Cardinal Kuharić quoted during the concelebration a witness account of an anonymous Serbian intellectual from Zagreb31, for this source offered a double legitimisation : Serb and intellectual defending Stepinac. At that

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moment, there was not a word spoken about Stepinac in connection with the Croatian nation. As an article, quoted from a contemporary youth magazine, testified, Stepinac was declared to be persecuted « because he protected the freedom of the Church »32. Next to Stepinac’s name, we find no mentioning of Croats. Three years later, Cardinal Kuharić briefly alluded for the same anniversary that Stepinac very much liked the inscription beneath the statue of the Holy Mother in Remete (close to Zagreb) which read « Advocata Croatiae – Fidelissima Mater »33. Finally, in 1990 we read Stepinac’s own testimony from the trial, in which he stated that « the Croatian people chose the Croatian state by plebiscite, and I would have been unworthy, had I not felt the pulse of the Croatian nation that was a slave in the former Yugoslavia ». The testimony was published in Glas Koncila under the title : « For my conviction, I am ready to die »34. With this, a long path has been walked from Stepinac who was defended by a Serbian intellectual, to Stepinac who dies for his conviction that the Croatian nation was a slave in the Yugoslav Kingdom, and who therefore does not any longer need any as an apology and explanation.

World War Two Reappraised

10 It should also be mentioned that the relation of Glas Koncila towards the troubling heritage of the Second World War is problematic and at times ambivalent. It is evident that Glas Koncila strove to detach the Croatian Catholic Church from the Ustashas. However, in spite of the condemnation of the war crimes, there is no awareness about the historical responsibility for the crimes. This becomes increasingly problematic in the context in which the continuity of the nation is insisted upon. Nation is, perhaps, a continuity, but, as we read in Glas Koncila in October 1988, children are not responsible for sins of their fathers because to sin is human, and « human is personal »35.

11 And yet, even though children are not responsible for what their fathers did, it was important for Glas Koncila to work to improve the image of the Croatian nation for the period of the Second World War. In May 1988, it is claimed that, statistically speaking, Croats are the only nation in Yugoslavia which was reduced in number in the course of World War Two. War casualties decreased the expected growth of other Yugoslav nations, whereas they reduced Croats in their existing numbers. The comparison of data for 1931 and 1948 shows that the number of Croats in that period declined for 9,2 percent, while the number of Serbs grew for 0,6 percent, for 0,9 percent, etc.

12 The numbers were supposed to show that « Croatian Catholics are not the way they are presented today »36.

13 Simultaneously, Glas Koncila worked to prove that the war record of the Croatian Catholic Church is no worse than the record of the . By making these parallels, Glas Koncila tried to normalise or relativise the difficult historical experience of the Second World War. While it was not possible to deny that there were forced conversions from Orthodoxy into Catholicism in WWII in Croatia, Glas Koncila immediately adds that there were « even more numerous forced conversions of Catholics into Orthodoxy in Ukraine, Romania, Bulgaria and after the war ». And it continues that the Catholic Church condemned and distanced itself from such practices, while one yet has to hope that « Orthodox consciousness matures and publicly declares its position »37. Such paradigmatic reasoning « we-they »,

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in which the other side is blamed for what was otherwise considered to be « the Croatian sin », can be traced throughout 1990, too. In March, a series of articles was started about the attitude and behaviour of the Serbian Orthodox Church in the Second World War which began with an essay « Declarations of loyalty to occupational authorities » allegedly issued by the Serbian Orthodox Church38. Further sequels aimed to prove that the highest representatives of the Serbian Orthodox Church not only failed to resist the German forces but even helped them to maintain the discipline on the occupied territory. Later that year, another series of articles was launched under the title « “Jewish question” in World War Two in ». It contained articles about the persecution of the Jews in Serbia, their killings and the confiscation of their properties39. As a consequence of these efforts, we find in Glas Koncila a letter by an anonymous reader holding that « Croats were declared in Yugoslavia to be genocidal for political reasons -- in order to enable Serbian expansion -- and for economic reasons -- in order to enforce on Croats paying of the war retribution -- even though Croats were a nation which suffered most during the war and after it »40.

« The urge to be Croats … »

14 Gradual but with time more open discussion of issues concerning the Croatian nation paved the way for a following, symptomatic letter by a reader of Glas Koncila, printed shortly before the first multi-party elections in Croatia, when the political situation already became rather sensitive. The letter was written by a pupil, seventeen years old, who was assigned by her school-teacher to write an essay entitled « We are first of all humans, and only after that Croats, Serbs ... ». The pupil wrote to Glas Koncila that was very unhappy and dissatisfied with the designated title of the essay, for « belonging to the species is insufficient. (.....) I want my identity. (.....) In my name and my origins I carry the heritage of centuries. We are Croats. I belong to the Croatian nation »41.

15 The results of the election and the victory of Tudjman’s party were then for Glas Koncila no surprise at all. A report commenting the passed election appears under the title « Didn’t it have to be this way ? », because « Croats felt before the voting boxes the urge to be first of all Croats, and only after that to think about nuances differentiating political programmes »42. In the same article, discourse representing Croats as an endangered species in Yugoslavia became officially and openly institutionalised43 : « under the successful leadership of the Croatian Democratic Union (CDU), it will be necessary to quit the one-party onemindedness and the unbearable feeling of being endangered under which the Croatian nation suffers »44. This feeling, according to Glas Koncila, was not of a recent origin. In August 1990, we read about « the craving of the [Croatian] nation whose name and every sign have been deleted, so it could be defaced and erased from the face of the Earth and buried in history, as a scapegoat, with someone else’s sins »45.

16 Lessons from history had for Glas Koncila a special value. When during the pre-election campaign an individual named Boško Čubrilović threatened Tudjman with a gun at a gathering in , Glas Koncila commented that the event took place « in the tradition of Puniša Račić from 1928 »46. The invocation of the mythical past time continued. In another article about the alleged Serbian provocation, Glas Koncila asserted that « it is necessary to make evident that this is the same scenario which was

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at work when Stjepan Radić was murdered, when Catholics and Muslims were exterminated by the Chetniks, and in all post-WWII attempts to blame and persecute the Croatian Catholic Church and the Croatian nation, both of which were declared genocidal »47.

17 For Glas Koncila, the past has never ended ; instead it was transferred into the present, where it was living through its only logical and natural sequels. But this was not the whole pre-history evoked by Glas Koncila. In October 1990, an interview with « the most famous poet of the Croatian diaspora », Vinko Nikolić, was published under the title « Return from the legend ». In the interview, Glas Koncila forgot to mention that Nikolić was a high-ranking Ustasha officer. Nikolić himself, however, did not forget to offer his interpretation of the events, past and present : « When we used to explain who started conflicts in 1941, people found it hard to believe us. But [centre of the Serbian Krajina] confirms again that they would neither today nor yesterday leave us in peace, so we could develop Croatia into a free and democratic state »48. We read thus in Glas Koncila that the fascist Independent State of Croatia wanted to organise itself as a democratic state, but that Serbs obstructed those efforts, a situation which, according to Nikolić, was being repeated at the time of the interview. The stigmatisation of Serbs and Yugoslavia (with which Serbs were identified) became a frequent topic in Glas Koncila. In August 1990 we read under the title « Yugoslavia as a negative experience » that « it could have been clear from the very that the strongest in Yugoslavia created this state as a chance to uproot Islam and Catholicism, and to introduce throughout the country Islam and Orthodoxy »49. Or, that « during the past seven decades, the hate between nations grew », and that « the Western Catholic part of the state was exhausted; what Turks began, Yugoslavia continued »50. This « what » is clearly signified : « the expansion of Serbian territories and of Orthodoxy, because Serbs behave in new regions as conquerors, and the Serbian Orthodox Church strives to serbianise all its believers in Yugoslavia »51. With an inescapable comment that the Croatian Catholic Church never did anything similar.

18 The process of the national re-awakening was rounded up by Glas Koncila in the following way : a human being cannot be human outside of a community. (.....) Belonging to a nation is a mark of a true human. (.....) [T]o be Croat means to be human in a Croatian way .... no-one is human in any way or in all ways. (.....) Thus, we know that it is highly important that we are Croats – that this is important for the soul and for the body52.

Past Suffering Turning Present

19 Nevertheless, as Glas Koncila testifies, it was not an easy thing to be Croat. Especially, it was difficult to belong to one Croatian nation. It is not possible at this point to elaborate more on it, but it is known that the experience of the Second World War divided Croatia – two camps, the so-called Ustasha camp and the partisan camp were not the only ones, but they came to the fore most often. The idea of the national reconciliation varied in content, depending on its creators’ imagination. In the communist Yugoslavia, the official interpretation was that foreign occupiers (Germans and ) were to be blamed for all committed evils and crimes ; with their elimination, the reason for antagonisms and frictions vanished. It should be said though that Communists were less interested in the idea of the inner-Croatian reunion

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and more in the Croato-Serbian re-alignment through the idea of brotherhood and unity53. There were, however, others with different visions. Former commander of the Ustasha concentration camp Jasenovac, Maks Luburić, who fled the country in 1945, construed the first plan for Croatian national reconciliation on the basis of all Croatian victims. The idea was adopted in emigration by another Croatian migrant, Bruno Busić, and from Busić by Franjo Tudjman ; the latter tried to materialise it in the nineties by an attempt to transfer to Jasenovac the bones of Croats who were killed by partisans and to create in Jasenovac a memorial place for all Croats killed by the two totalitarian regimes. To mix thus the bones of the dead in order to reconcile the living. As we read from Glas Koncila, such ideas were not alien to the Croatian Catholic Church either. In April 1990, Glas Koncila invited all interested to attend a celebratory mass for Zrinski and Frankopan which would be « a memorial day for all who died for the Croatian homeland » (ergo, on all sides)54. This somewhat modest plea intensified in the second half of 1990, when a number of cavities was discovered which contained bones of people killed immediately after the Second World War. When a cave known as Jazovka was unveiled, Glas Koncila openly called for « reconciliation through victims »55. Finally, in November 1990, a mass was held for « all victims of war and post-war period ». On that occasion, Glas Koncila wrote (under the title « To bury the spirit of war times ») that « the Croatian Catholic Church wanted to return dignity to the countless innocent victims and to call living to reconcile with the God and people »56. All Croats killed in the period 1941-1990 became thus innocent victims. Accordingly, bishop Djuro Koksa held the celebratory mass on this occasion in Zagreb, during which he compared the history of the Croatian people with the history of the chosen Israeli people and concluded his sermon with a cry : « there are so many tears, so much pain, broken hearts, interrupted lives, abridged hopes, severed branches, murdered fathers and sons, disgraced and humiliated mothers and daughters ..... but we do not want revenge; we want this drama to provoke in us evolution, reconciliation and catharsis »57. The Croatian Catholic Church is revealed thus as a strong force that worked to homogenise the nation.

20 The discourse of suffering and martyrdom was strongly present in Glas Koncila throughout the second half of 1990. In September, a series of articles was initiated under the collective title « Testimonies about sufferings ». The first article brought on the same page and in the same red frame two texts. One was about the killing of Milan Sufflay (murdered by Serbian nationalists 1931 in the Yugoslav Kingdom) who « gave his life for homeland Croatia »58. The other text, which has nothing in common with Sufflay’s story but which nevertheless shares its frame, is illustrated by a photograph of a mutilated dead body which is supposed to be a Catholic priest Zigrović. According to the text, « nothing on the man’s body remained intact. The witnesses of the murder remember that the priest was dragged by horses in run, that his torturers cut off his genitals and broke all his bones »59. Allegedly, the crime was committed by an anonymous partisan fighter in 1943. The arrangement of the two essentially unrelated stories under the same title of suffering, the photo of the body and textual details, all together aimed to provoke strong emotions in the reader. The equation proposed was very simple : Serbs are the same as partisans, and together, they fought against Croats and Croatia.

21 The series about Croatian sufferings continued further. Its most vivid contribution came in October, in an article about the cave Gluvuša, twenty meters deep, where the

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bones of the killed around the war and immediately after it were thrown. Glas Koncila does not say who killed those people, but it asserts that the authorities took great precautions to keep possible witnesses away from the cave. In spite of their efforts, some people were able to recount a story about the double death of a young man who after being stabbed in the throat and thrown in the cave, climbed out of the cave and was killed again. The eye-witness says that he saw wounds made by a knife in the young man’s throat. Half-dead and at the end of his strength, the young man entered one house near-by and, pointing with his hands, asked for a glass of water, for he could not speak. As he drank it, the water leaked out of his wound and spilled out on his chest. When one of his executioners found out about the escaped, he tied him up, took away and shot him during the day-light60.

22 Finally, sufferings had to be carried into the present. In November 1990, Antun Grahovar, a priest from the city of Sisak, was murdered. Before the official statement and the police investigation into the circumstances of his death, Glas Koncila printed its own version of the event. It alluded to the ultimate interpretation already in the title, « Who was disturbed by Croatian Catholic priest ? », implying thus that he was killed because he was Croatian, plus Catholic, plus priest. Such reading is enhanced by the article which states : « Every crime is preceded by hate. (...) Isn’t hate being incited in our region, and especially lately, toward everything that is Catholic and Croatian ? ». Starting from this, it was only possible to conclude that the killed priest was « a martyr for faith, the Church and for Croatian nation. He is the last among many martyrs who have saturated with their blood our Croatian soil »61.

A Meaningful Conclusion ?

23 On August 18, 1990, Tudjman’s party organised and officially institutionalised its sister- party in and Herzegovina. Many Croats from all over BiH took part in the constitutive gathering in that day. Buses with Croats came also from a small Herzegovinian town Bugojno. Glas Koncila describes the fate of the bus from Bugojno as follows. On return, the bus was hit by stones thrown at it by people from Sarajevo. Several windows were broken, and one stone hit a middle-aged woman, Ljuba Turulija, in the head. The bus took her to the first ambulance, and once she joined them back, Ljuba’s friends in the bus started singing « O, Croatian mother, do not be sad ». To which she responded : « I am not sad, my children, I am not sad. For freedom of my beloved Croatia I am ready to walk into death. And I would be happiest, if I could give my life for her »62. This is the way in which Catholic Glas Koncila writes in September 1990. To the outbreak of the Yugoslav war and the moment when Ljuba would have a chance to fulfil her biggest wish, only a few months had to pass by.

NOTES

1. Quotations and pictorial details from Glas Koncila [further in text GK], 23/10.6.1990, p. 8.

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2. Ramet (Pedro), Cross and Commissar. The Politics of Religion in Eastern Europe and the USSR, Indiana University Press, Bloomington and Indianapolis, 1987, p. 3. 3. Idem, p. 103. 4. Ibid., p. 101. 5. Ivica Ra~an, as quoted by ibid., p. 105. 6. Ivan Cvitkovi}, as quoted by ibid., p. 105. 7. Ibid., p. 99. 8. Ibid. 9. GK was started in 1962, and in 1995 it reached the circulation of 50 000 copies (Boeckh (Katrin), « Die Darstellung von Religion und Nation in “Glas koncila” », in Bremer Thomas, Hrsg., Religion und Nation im Krieg auf dem Balkan, Bonn, 1996, p. 127). This makes GK the most widely read among more than 100 publications of the Catholic Church in Yugoslavia. For purposes of comparison, next to 102 catholic publications, there were 16 orthodox and 6 muslim publications in Yugoslavia. 10. I am aware that such analysis will not offer a complete picture of the attitude of the Croatian Catholic Church to the Croatian national question, since it is confined to only one type of sources. I do hope, however, that the most important trends will become evident even from such a limited endeavour. In order to make my case stronger, I will offer a number of quotations and reports as delivered by GK in the analysed period which together should produce a meaningful and coherent story. 11. GK, 1/6.1.1985. 12. GK, 39/29.9.1985. 13. GK, 4/27.1.1985. 14. GK, 7/17.2.1985. 15. GK, 2/13.1.1985. 16. GK, 3/20.1.1985. 17. An article in GK 45/10.11.1985 describes a survey which was conducted among « the youth in the entire homeland ». This « youth in the entire homeland » talks in return about « our Volk » in « our Church » which ends up being Croatian Catholic Church. 18. In an article in GK 2/13.1.1985 where at the beginning we read about « mother tongue », around the middle of the article this label changes smoothly into « Croatian language ». 19. GK, 4/27.1.1985. 20. GK, 4/24.1.1988. 21. GK, 7/17.2.1985. 22. GK, 3/17.1.1988. 23. GK, 18/1.5.1988. 24. GK, 19/8.5.1988. 25. GK, 20/15.5.1988. 26. GK, 19/8.5.1988. 27. GK, 9/28.2.1988. 28. Around the same time, Cardinal Kuhari} in Zagreb could only mildly insist that « all nations want in their consciousness and history to be happy, living in peace and freedom, developing their identities and sovereignty equally with other nations ». GK, 4/24.1.1988. 29. GK, 21/27.5.1990. 30. GK, 5/4.2.1990. 31. GK, 7/17.2.1985. 32. GK, 8/24.2.1985. 33. GK, 8/21.2.1988. 34. GK, 6/11.2.1990. 35. GK, 40/2.10.1988.

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36. Both quotations, GK, 22/29.5.1988. 37. Both quotations, GK, 15/10.4.1988. 38. GK, 11/18.3.1990. 39. GK, 44/4.11.1990. 40. GK, 31/5.8.1990. 41. GK, 11/18.3.1990. 42. GK, 19/13.5.1990. 43. Until that point, this topic was discussed less frequently. It was mentioned in an article about the destiny of Croatian children in Herzegovina who had to learn the Cyrillic alphabet (GK, 5/4.2.1990) and in an essay about the Croatian children in Glina (a city in Croatia which up until 1995 had a significant proportion of the Serbian population) who allegedly learned history from Serbian text-books (GK, 15/15.4.1990). 44. GK, 19/13.5.1990. 45. GK, 31/5.8.1990. 46. GK, 13/1.4.1990. Today we know that ^ubrilovi}’s gun was not real but an imitation. Drago Krpina, who disarmed ^ubrilovi}, claimed at the time that the gun was real, while the police asserted that it was a replica. GK observed that this case manifested that « one has to communicate with the police only in front of the witnesses and in the presence of one’s lawyer ». Many years later, even Krpina acknowledged that the gun was a fake. 47. GK, 22/3.6.1990. 48. GK, 43/28.10.1990. 49. GK, 34/26.8.1990. 50. GK, 35/2.9.1990. 51. GK, 35/2.9.1990. 52. GK, 43/28.10.1990. 53. There was an echo of the official discourse in GK, too. In 1985 we find a letter by a reader asking : « Can an idea and a delusion of some members of one nation, in one tragic moment, be a permanent reason for disunity in that nation ? (...) If we have reconciled with those who, as conquerors, provoked antagonism between our peoples, I see no reasons why we, as victims of that conflict, would not reconcile among ourselves. (...) It should be recognised that national reconciliation is a precondition for peaceful cooperation with other nations, because a nation which is conflicted within, cannot work on brotherhood with other nations ». GK, 1/6.1.1985. 54. GK, 17/29.4.1990. 55. GK, 28/15.7.1990. 56. GK, 45/11.11.1990. 57. GK, 45/11.11.1990. 58. GK, 37/16.9.1990. 59. Quotations and details, GK, 37/16.9.1990. 60. GK, 40/7.10.1990. 61. GK, 47/25.11.1990. 62. The whole episode in GK, 37/16.9.1990.

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INDEX

Geographical index: Croatie Mots-clés: Deuxième Guerre mondiale, église catholique croate, nation, Glas Koncila

AUTHOR

MAJA BRKLJAČIĆ Central European University – Budapest

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Fear of becoming minority as a motivator of conflict in the former Yugoslavia

Dejan Jović

It is not the Party’s role to act as a programmed executor of the “will of the majority”... , [The Party] had to see deeper and further than the broad mass of the people and the ‘majority. Edvard Kardelj, 1967 In this sense, one cannot talk here of minority and majority when it comes to the nations in . Serbs and are not a minority in relations to in Kosovo, just like the Albanians are not a minority in Yugoslavia. Slobodan Milošević, 1987 When we think about the idea that a majority vote should be introduced in a multi- ethnic federation, we ask : is this anything else but a denial of the equality of the peoples, a denial of sovereignty and of their right to self-determination as an inalienable human right. Milan Kučan, 1989

1 Much of the conflict in the former Yugoslavia is result of fears among its main ethnic groups (whether “nations” or “nationalities”) of becoming minorities in newly independent states. It is often argued that those fears are a result of “ancient ethnic hatred” and of the revival of memories of the horrors of the World War II among the Yugoslav ethnic groups. In this paper a different line of argument is presented. I argue that fears of losing ethnic status from “nations” or “nationality” to that of a “minority” are to be understood within a context of the collapse of the ideological narrative of self- management, which was not based on the rule of the majority, but on the notion of consensus and “self-managing harmonisation”. Destruction of this self-managing narrative of “no-minority-no-majority” and its replacement with the one of representative democracy (which included the “creation” of both majority and minority) fundamentally disturbed inter-ethnic relations in Yugoslavia. A democratic Yugoslavia would make all ethnic groups (including the Serbs) what they really were - a minority. The fear of becoming a minority (which was created by nationalist members of the counter-elite) was the main reason why a large segment of the population

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supported separation. Rejection of a democratic Yugoslavia was not an “inevitable” outcome of some “ancient ethnic hatred” but a product of combined efforts by conservative members of the political elites (which in the whole post-war period opposed to “unitarism” and “great-statist tendencies”) and the nationalist counter- elite (mostly in intellectual circles). These two groups were successful in convincing the dominant ethnic groups within their republics that it was in their interest to be a majority in a smaller, rather than minority in larger (and more complex, Yugoslav) state. At the same time, those segments of the former “constitutive nations” and “nationalities” which in new circumstances became minorities (especially Serbs, but also Croats in Bosnia-Herzegovina, as well as Albanians in Serbia) refused to accept the new concept for the same reason : they feared they would become minorities at territories in which they once had been recognised as constitutive. The fears of being existentially endangered if a minority, led all these groups (Slovenes, Croats, Bosnian and Croatian Serbs, Serbian Albanians, Bosnian Croats) towards separatism, and in most cases to authoritarian and military styles of governing in their new political entities. I argue that the fear of becoming a minority was, and remains, a major motivator of conflict in the former Yugoslavia. Subsequently, that conflict is likely to continue for as long as the main Yugoslav ethnic groups fear for their survival.

The Narrative of Yugoslav Socialism : « No-Majority- No-Minorities »

2 In the socialist Yugoslav federation (1945-1992) all ethnic groups were in a minority : yet the constitutive narrative upon which the social project was based did not recognise the concept of a minority. No ethnic group in the former Yugoslavia was larger than Serbs, but they were only 36,3 % of the Yugoslav population in 1981. The largest ethnic group, therefore, was still a minority in Yugoslavia with regard to the total population, just as any other ethnic group. Furthermore, just as other main ethnic groups in Yugoslavia (all except Bosnian Muslims, Albanians and Macedonians) their share in population was decreasing1. While in 1961 Serbs made 42,1 % of the population, in 1981 they were 36,3 %. The share of Croats also fell in this period from 23,2 % to 19,7 %. With a growing number of those who declared themselves Yugoslavs in the ethnic sense (increasing from 1,7 % to 5,4 % between 1971 and 1981, with an estimation for this number to reach up to 25 % until 2001), Yugoslavia was on its way of becoming even more complex and heterogeneous than ever before.

3 At the same time, the self-managing rhetoric of the Yugoslav communists did not include concepts such as “minorities” and “majorities”. In the ethnic sense, the term “national minority” was treated as an outdated category which belonged to the old, pre-socialist political vocabulary. Instead of “minorities” and “majorities”, the official classification differentiated between “(constitutive) nations” (narodi) and “nationalities” (narodnosti), leaving some space for “ethnic communities” (etničke zajednice) in a somewhat gray area of political vocabulary. The six Slavonic constitutive nations were not treated as “minorities” in any part of the Yugoslav territory, not even in those areas where they were in minority (for example, Serbs in Croatia or in Kosovo, Croats in Vojvodina or Bosnia, etc.). Accordingly, unlike Italians, Albanians and , they were not offered institutional protection which would normally accompany their “minority” status (autonomous provinces, publishing houses,

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newspapers, separate schools, etc.). Nationalities were also not treated as “minorities”. Where they were in majority of the local population (such as Albanians in Kosovo), their position was institutionalised. Where they were in minority (such as Albanians in , Italians in Croatia and , Hungarians in Vojvodina) – their status did not differ much from a status of “constitutive nations” when in a minority.

4 It is not only in the political history of Yugoslavia, but also in its constitutive ideology where one can find an explanation for why the notions of “minority” and “majority” were excluded from the political vocabulary. According to the self-managing concept upon which the Yugoslav political system was based, the division of society to its “majority” and “minority”, not only in ethnic but also in political and economic sense, was to be overcome as the process of transition to communism advanced. By decentralisation and “socialisation” of the state (podruštvljavanje države), the self- managing doctrine constructed a « new form of political and social self-managing community of working people and citizens » in which « self-managing agreements and harmonisation » (samoupravno sporazumijevanje i dogovaranje) should replace permanent divisions between “majorities” and “minorities”2. The self-managing process should include everyone or nearly everyone; in theory all “self-managers”, (samoupravljače), which were the “subjective force of socialism”, with a noticeable exception of the anti- socialist forces. The “subjective forces of socialism” were entitled to organise public affairs by gradually replacing the state, through a net of organisations such as “workers councils” in the sphere of production and “Socialist Alliance of Working People” in the sphere of politics. The Yugoslav communists aimed at replacing the state with an “association of free producers”. The working class – once the main subject of revolution – was withering away as the process of socialism was advancing towards its realisation. Terms such as “working people and citizens” (radni ljudi i gradjani) were introduced as a replacement for “class”. While a “class” could be a minority, the phrase “working people and citizens” was a category which covered neither a minority nor a majority. It was the whole the of population, and it included all except “anti-socialist enemies”.

5 Although self-managing socialism recognised the importance of massive participation, and in fact claimed to be the first type of society to include majority of population into process of political decision-making, it was not based on the majority rule principle. As the Programme of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (LCY) stated in 1958, to be “in the interest” of the majority does not necessarily mean to be supported by the same majority. The majority might be unaware of its own best interests – it might be “blind” about them. This is why – especially in the “first phase of socialism”, in the immediate post-revolutionary period - a vanguard is needed to show the proper way and to educate the masses. « Communists, says the Programme of the LCY, must educate the working people to take a greater, more direct and more independent share in the managing of society, and to think and act in a socialist manner, until the very last citizen has learnt to manage the affairs of the community »3. Intellectual superiority (“far-sightedness” – dalekovidnost) and not the will of majority was what legitimised the Communist power. Or, as the leading ideologue of Yugoslav socialism, Edvard Kardelj concluded in 1967 : That democracy is not synonymous with rule by erratic impulse and that it is not the Party’s role to act as a programmed executor of the “will of the majority” are fundamentals never forgotten by the Party despite its consistent commitment to democratic goals and the masses. If the party meant to remain the leading force of society, it had to see deeper and further than the broad mass of the people and the

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“majority”. The party had to perceive the principal historical meaning of its leading ideological and political role in elaborating the long-term goals of progressive social action and in persevering in its work of transmitting its progressive learning to the broad masses of the people4.

6 It was not only possible, but somehow given by definition that the “vanguard” was not a majority of the population. Communist parties were, for example, clearly a minority in all countries of socialist hemisphere, though they aimed at gradually embracing the majority – and, ideally, the whole population5. Socialism was a process of ideological expansion of the vision formulated by the “classics of Marxism” and interpreted by the communist parties to the whole of society. Although coercion remained an important factor in preventing a “counter-revolution”, the real change could happen only when the intellectual mission of the Party “once and for all” prevailed over other interpretations of reality and other “directions of development”6.

7 The aim of this process was communism, a classless and stateless social formation, based not on the rule of a majority but on harmony, justice and equality among the people. Communism will, once it occurs, not tolerate minorities as a political fact, since their existence would keep the state alive. Being the instrument of the “ruling class”, the socialist state indeed was conceptualised as the instrument of the “majority” over “minorities”, but with a tendency towards self-destruction.

8 The anti-state narrative and action that followed it were the key elements of Yugoslav identity under the Communists. The entire project of Yugoslav socialism was based on criticism of Soviet “statism” and of its “hegemonic role” within the world of socialist states. In its essence, therefore, the Yugoslav project was anti-statist. Treating Soviet socialism as “revisionism”, the Yugoslav Communists linked elements of the national tradition with strict implementation of the Marxist notion of the “withering away of the state”. The other antipode for the Yugoslav anti-statist narrative was the inter-war (bourgeois, centralised, “unitarist”) Yugoslavia. Socialist Yugoslavia was to be radically different from it (i.e. revolutionary). It was also meant to be different from both Western and Soviet models, both of which were treated as “statist”. Instead, the Yugoslav communists aimed at constructing a new type of social organisation, which would deny the existence of either the “majority” or “minorities” and would reduce the role of the state. The whole history of Yugoslav socialist federalism was based on this vision. Decentralisation of the state was not a result of ethnic pressures from within the country or external pressures from the international community (although both these elements played some role), but was a vision-driven process, initiated primarily by the political elite itself7.

9 In the Yugoslav case, even the word “Party” was in 1952 replaced by the “League” – not only a clear distinction from both the Soviet and West-European cases, but also a clear indication that Yugoslav Communists do not want to represent a part but the whole of society. Kardelj’s later opposition to any “party-system”, whether “one-” or “multi- party” went as far as saying that in Eastern Europe one party had taken over the role that was performed by many parties in the West, but that was all. Real democracy, however, is only direct, self-managing democracy, to which neither “one-” nor “multi- party” systems can contribute8. What one can conclude from Kardelj’s criticism of both types of then existing political systems is that neither the rule of a minority nor of the majority per se is not a guarantor of socialist transformation. Both of them could be (and in reality, as Kardelj believed, were) in certain circumstances potentially

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damaging for the socialist project. The only real guarantor is the LCY and its clear and coherent vision.9

10 The main instrument of this expansion of what once was a party to the whole of society was education10. Socialism was a “large classroom” in which the party “taught” the majority (workers) about their own interests, and took care that these interests were realised despite of the will of various majorities and minorities11.

11 The Party had a monopoly on the vision of the future. As Tito said in his concluding speech at the XI LCY Congress 1978 : Following a critical Marxist analysis of social trends, the League of Communists has arrived at scientific data about the essence of social processes. On this basis it established the directions of the further development of the revolution, ensuring its continuity. At the same time, it armed the working class with these data, making it the conscious subject of socialist development12.

12 In this process, of course, concepts such as “minorities” and the “majority” could hardly find a place. The communist party could not call itself a “minority”, although – by criterion of simple counting – that is precisely what it was. But the project it led did not aim at the rule of the majority, such as in representative democracies. The majority was not automatically treated as the legitimate ruler, as in representative democracies. In certain situations, i.e. if the achievements of the socialist revolutions were endangered, even if by majority of the population, it was legitimate to intervene against this majority (for example in Czechoslovakia 1968).

13 To conclude this overview of the narrative of Yugoslav socialism : concepts such as “minority” and “majority” were, for the Yugoslav communists, closely linked to representative democracies, i.e. to “bourgeois political systems”, and therefore avoided in the constitution itself. This ideological position was at the core of the institutional structure of the Yugoslav federation, in which republics (and in some cases even provinces) were all treated as equal at the federal level, regardless of the size of their population or territory. Also, within multi-ethnic republics, such as Bosnia- Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia and Serbia, other “constitutive nations” or “nationalities” were not offered any special status or institutional autonomy. Nor were they offered such a status in Kosovo. Although Albanians were the majority in Kosovo, and Serbs in Serbia, the narrative of the regime did not recognise that either of these groups was a majority (and thus should rule as the majority rules in representative democracies, i.e. to form government regardless of the opposition) or a minority (and thus should be protected in the territories where it was a minority). Instead, the rhetoric of « no minorities - no majorities » continued even in the first years after Slobodan Milošević’s accession to leading positions in Serbia. Speaking in Kosovo Polje in April 1987, Milošević said : In this sense, one cannot talk here of minority and majority when it comes to the nations in Kosovo. Serbs and Montenegrins are not a minority in relations to Albanians in Kosovo, just like the Albanians are not a minority in Yugoslavia, but are a nationality [narodnost] that lives together and in equal rights with other nations and nationalities in three of our socialist republics13.

14 In the case of differences or a conflict between the Yugoslav nations and republics, it was left to the Party, not to the majority to decide. In a state of emergency, the party presidents at all levels (including the Federation) acted as the real decision-makers. This position was sanctioned by legal provisions which made them ex ufficio heads of the Committees for General People Defence and Social Self-Protection (ONO i DSZ)14.

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Constitutional provisions also made party presidents ex-officio members of the presidencies of their respective “socio-political communities” : including the President of the LCY Central Committee who was the ninth member of the Federal State Presidency, without a right of becoming its President or Vice-President. The position of the ninth member could have been of crucial importance in cases such as a stalemate in the decision-making process: it would be up to the party representative to switch to this or that side.

15 This formula, based on Kardeljist political discourse was seen as crucial in preserving a balance between nations and nationalities in Yugoslavia.

Change of a Discourse : the Emergence of Majorities and Minorities

16 The situation, however, changed with the collapse of the socialist discourse. In the Yugoslav case, this collapse happened gradually and to large extent before the eyes of general public. Between 1985 and 1987 the media had opened up for criticism of the regime, but – more importantly – they started broadcasting live political events. In April 1987, Milošević’s speech to Serb and Montenegrin protesters in Kosovo Polje presented the crisis of the Party in its full light. In September of the same year, TV cameras were allowed to broadcast the session of the Serbian Central Committee in which Milošević’s line prevailed over that of Ivan Stambolić. By 1988, the direct TV broadcasting of the Central Committee sessions at federal level became a general practice. With this broadcasting, the Party became transparent – more “human” but also clearly perceived as weaker than ever.

17 The extraordinary place which the LCY had in the political system (as explained above) channelled all political conflicts towards the party itself. Soon it became clear that the Party was in fact an un-elected parliament, much too pluralistic to formulate any vision for the future of Yugoslavia.

18 The crucial step towards the institutional ending of the Kardeljist concept, however, was taken in 1988, when the party initiated (and Yugoslav Assembly accepted) a constitutional amendment by which its direct representation in the Federal Presidency cease to exist. The Central Committee also banned its members from holding state positions, and asked members of all party committees to follow the same rule. The decision demonstrated the Party’s intention to separate further from the state structure, and thus to fulfil its promise to be “leading” but not “commanding” force in society. At the same time, however, the change left an open possibility for the Federal Presidency to enter a stalemate with eight, rather than nine members. This indeed soon happened. On the other hand, without a direct representation in the state structures, the Party (led by a Croat Kardeljist Stipe Šuvar) remained a little more than a “chat room” with limited influence over republics and now even over the federal institutions.

19 The withdrawal of the Party representative from the Federal Presidency was a symbolic sign of a fundamental change. Instead of relying on the decisive role of Party, the “state” now had to rely on a majority of the votes. This first step was soon to be followed by others. In May 1989 Slovenians voted for the first time for their representative in the Federal Presidency, and elected Janez Drnovšek, the first ever member who did not belong to the LCY. When the Party collapsed in January 1990,

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following Slovenian withdrawal at the 14th Extraordinary Congress, there was little left to keep Yugoslavia together.

20 A couple of months later the republican organisations of the LCY renamed themselves and – more importantly - allowed a new concept (the one of representative democracy) to be introduced.

21 This new discourse, however, contained in itself notions of both “majority” and “minority”. Representative democracy is rule by a majority, which is identified in free and fair elections. Minorities are recognised and protected: but – they could hardly count on being in practice in everything equal with the majority. Regardless of various instruments of minority protection, it is ultimately the majority that takes decisions. Both the doctrine of “self-managing agreement and harmonisation” and the practise of self-management, were now to be replaced by majority voting in which every citizen (not republics or ethnic groups) was treated as equal to every other15. Instead of ideological constructions of anti-state “socio-political communities” (as “a new form of social organisation” which was to replace the state), a proper (Yugoslav) state was to be created. Almost inevitably, representative democracy would create a Yugoslav demos instead of six “constitutive nations” and “nationalities”. Equally likely, the existence of a Yugoslav “civic nation” would become the main substance of a democratic Yugoslavia’s new identity, which would undermine already weak linguistic, religious, cultural and political boundaries between the existing “constitutive nations”. Ultimately, a Yugoslav nation would emerge as a product of representative democracy. In normal circumstances, political parties and votes, as well as post-electoral coalitions would cut across ethnic lines16. Creation of a Yugoslav democratic parliament, in which citizens would be treated as equal, would destroy equality between large and small nations, but also between “nations” and “nationalities”. Albanians would, for example, in this parliament have more representatives than Slovenes, while Montenegrins could not count on one eighth of the vote as they used to have in socialist Yugoslavia. What would, then, be left of Yugoslavia, either as a country of South (as originally imagined) or as a Kardeljist project of socialist alternative to statism ?

22 In the final phase before the collapse of the Yugoslav state, the main line of political division ran between the supporters of the change (reformists of the constitution) and those who opposed it (defenders of the constitution). When it appeared, the conflict was by no means primarily ethnic. It was a political and ideological gap that divided the leaders : those who wanted to re-establish a state (statists, such as Milošević) from those who preferred the status quo and preservation of Kardeljist constitutive discourse (anti-statists, such as Milan Kučan)17.

23 If one believes, as it is suggested here, that narratives are not only empty words without any resonance among the population, then one can clearly see why so many people (and especially political leaders) remained committed to the old, Kardeljist narrative, rather than accepted a new one which would imply creation of a Yugoslav nation. The opposition to democratic changes by the anti-statists (defenders of the constitution) was perfectly rational as it followed the political interests of their ethnic groups and republics, as understood within the Kardeljist narrative. Being a “constitutive nation” in Yugoslavia, with one eighth of the vote in Federal Presidency, Slovenes (for example) had no reason to support a change which would make them only 8 % of the electorate and deprive them of “veto-mechanisms” reserved for each republic and even in many cases provinces. Even less they had a reason to support a

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one-member-one-vote principle within the LCY, where their share was rapidly decreasing, only to reach five percent of total membership by 198918. It made no sense for them to become a minority in a country in which they had been treated as a “constitutive nation”. Slovenia’s fear of becoming a minority in Yugoslavia was only secondarily linked with the proposed concepts of the new Yugoslavia, although it was clearly encouraged by repressive nature of political actions undertaken or supported by the reformers of the constitution, mostly in Serbia. But, as the Slovene authors clearly said in a series of articles published in the Nova Revija magazine19any Yugoslavia, even the most democratic one (and - one may conclude - especially the most democratic one) would be unacceptable to Slovenes (and in fact many others) if they had to become a minority in it20. Even to Serbs, who were the largest nation in Yugoslavia, a democratic Yugoslavia was acceptable only for as long as they were winning in political arena within it. As their refusal to accept a vote of confidence against their representative in the Federal Party Presidency Dušan Čkrebić demonstrated at the 17th CC LCY Session (17 October 1988), the Serbs also feared becoming a minority in Yugoslavia, and therefore – as the previous narrative used to say in a pejorative way – “outvoted” (nadglasani) by an “anti-Serb coalition”21. The fear of becoming a minority in Yugoslavia encouraged separatist forces within Serbian nation, which has been for the whole 20th century divided to “pro-Yugoslav” and “pro- Serbian” groups22. Although a majority of Serbs remained ultimately committed to a Yugoslav, not a Serbian orientation, tolerance towards free expression of Serbian separatist nationalism in other republics of the former Yugoslavia further encouraged fears on the side of the majorities in these republics. Serbian, Slovenian (and later certainly Croatian) nationalism indeed fed each other with excuses for their own existence.

24 The same reason why the Slovenes rejected the democratisation of Yugoslavia, explains why the Serbs rejected the creation of Croatian and Bosnian demos in these two newly independent states after the collapse of Yugoslavia. They feared becoming a minority in territories in which once they had been treated as “constitutive nations”. So did the Croats in Bosnia. This was especially the case when the new minorities faced a high birth-rate by new majorities, such as in Kosovo (and to lesser extent – Bosnia) or a strong tendency towards “ethnically mixed marriages” which encouraged the trend of creating “Yugoslavs” (especially in Bosnia and certain parts of Croatia). Fears of being “swallowed” by the new majority – which had already been seen as threat to the achieved ethnic status – created a core of a new narrative. It offered a good starting point for myths, which were then created by leading intellectuals and political actors. Ultimately, it led to crimes against families in both Bosnian and Kosovo conflicts.

Conclusion

25 The replacement of one (communist) narrative by another (potentially liberal- democratic) produced a massive instability and disturbance in inter-ethnic relations in Yugoslavia. Everyone felt somehow endangered by the possibility of losing their status as a “constitutive nation” (or, indeed a “nationality”) and becoming once again a simple and powerless “minority”. Although many of the new leaders were in favour of citizens’ equality within their own republics (they in fact refused to recognise collective rights and identities within them), they stubbornly opposed implementation of the

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same principle at the Yugoslav level. In doing so, they often relied on Kardeljist argument that Yugoslav nations are ‘completed’ and that an idea of a “Yugoslav nation” represents not only an illusion but a dangerous demand on the sides of either pro-Soviet (“unitarist”) or pro-bourgeois (“anti-socialist”) forces23. In any attempt to constitute a united Yugoslav state (regardless of the level of autonomy offered to its constitutive parts) they saw either a renewal of the “Ranković era” or renewal of “pre- war Great-Serbian domination”.

26 Both Kardeljist leaders and ethnic nationalists in the opposition rejected a democratic Yugoslavia which would make every ethnic group what it indeed was : a minority. And in doing so, they were not irrational from the point of view of their own interests. Nor were they irrational from the point of view of the imagined interests of their own ethnic groups and republics / provinces. Why would they agree to be a minority in Yugoslavia, when they can be a majority in their own republics ? And since they could not be a majority in Yugoslavia, the choice was indeed reduced to a simple one : minority in a large state or majority in a smaller one. For political elites, already powerful in their republics but increasingly powerless at federal level, the choice was the one between keeping and strengthening power on the one hand and risking to lose it on the other. It made a lot of sense to them to opt for the former, rather than later. By choosing a path of separation, the former constitutive nations became majorities in their own republics. But, significant segments were left outside – and most of them refused to become “minorities”. So did Albanians from Kosovo, which perhaps longer than others remained committed (and not without a good reason !) to Kardeljist concept of “no minorities – no majorities”.

27 The refusal of those parts of the former constitutive nations which were now separated by borders from their “national state” to became “minorities” in their new states, as well as of the former “nationalities” (Albanians) to become minorities in a new Yugoslav federation (Serbia-) was the main motivator of their actions against those new states. These actions were not primarily due to some mystic remote control from this or that capital of newly created states, although the common understanding and the nationalist character of the new paradigm often brought leaders of the same ethnic group together, regardless of the state borders between them.

28 The fear of becoming a minority was real and strong in all parts of the former Yugoslavia in a situation of fundamental uncertainty about the future of the country. In Slovenia, those fears increased following the Janša trial in 1988. While in April 1988 (before the trial), 25,4 % of Slovenes said they felt « fear and hope at the same time for the future of the country and / or themselves », and 26,1 % felt « fear and worry only », these figures rose to 33,9 % and 36,2 % respectively by October 1988 (after the arrest). « Fear » was, therefore, the word which 70,1 % of Slovenes used to describe their feelings on the eve of 198924. These fears were not produced by some foreign power, as was often the case in previous years. In April 1988, only 1,5 % of Slovenes believed Yugoslavia was endangered from the West, and 5,9 % saw danger in the East, while an additional 25,8 % said the potential danger came « from them both ». If one takes all those who saw any danger from any of the sides together, it was still the case that two thirds (66,2 %) of Slovenes saw no danger at all from anywhere outside. The source of fear was inside the country, but outside Slovenia – in Belgrade.

29 In Belgrade, however, a majority of the population felt the same sense of fear and uncertainty. In October 1990, only 3,1 % of Serbian population did not feel « worry » or

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« fear » for their personal future and that of their families, while 66,4 % had a « Messianic attitude » described in a sentence : « I am afraid, but I think we can find a way out, if we are united »25. The combination of fears and hopes, both in Slovenia and in Serbia (and later in Croatia too) was a perfect pretext for the emergence of authoritarian leaders and “revolutionary” actions they proposed for ending the crisis26.

30 Those fears were by no means faked : they were real and strong. They originated in a sense of losing something that had been achieved and guaranteed before. In the Slovenian case, it was a fear of losing a status of the constitutive nation and of “”, as recognised in Kardelj’s concept of the self-managing Yugoslavia. In the Serbian case, it was fear of losing Yugoslavia, which for the largest number of Serbs was unacceptable27.

31 Those fears were additionally constructed by the main representatives of the “culture of apocalypse” which was developed by the leading anti-regime intellectuals (especially in Serbia and Slovenia) during the 1980s28. Under a wide umbrella of “breaking with taboos”, the leading members of the intellectual elite offered alternative interpretations of recent history (mostly of the WW-II and immediate post-war tragic events) reminding their readership of evil on the side of this or that other nation in Yugoslavia. Those authors mostly shared an ultra-conservative understanding of history and basically believed that « in history there are no accidents and that, in essence, almost nothing is new »29. Thus everything tends to repeat itself almost inevitably, and the reminiscences of the past fears were now easily transformed into fears for the future. What happened in 1941-1945 might and will happen again, they argued. The genocide committed in the old times of the , or during the Independent State of Croatia (the Ustashe regime in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina) against the Serbs will happen again. As Bogdanović argued analysing the new rhetoric, offered as a replacement for the Kardeljist narrative, its main characteristic was that there was no clear line between myth and reality, between death and life, between past and future30.

32 The rhetoric of apocalypse31 and the ultra-conservative interpretation of history developed within the tolerated groups of intellectual counter-elites fell onto fruitful ground of fears and uncertainties. One should not forget that this all happened within a context of a collapsing anti-statism which provided a loose understanding of political obligation and which never developed a proper rule of law. A socialist state, weakened to an almost anarchic situation by its own commitment to anti-statist doctrine and by challenges from the outside of it, was now far too weak to survive. Being unable to protect its citizens from the increasingly felt threat to their own existence, the state in fact opened its doors to a “war-of-all-against-all” situation. It should not be a great surprise then that various nationalist and statists presented themselves as “saviours of the nation” by offering an authoritarian style of governing in almost all post-Yugoslav independent states. The emergence of strong and authoritarian states may be understood only within a context of non-existent “state”, which was “withering away” in the end of the 1980s. They were not only a product of authoritarian features of the main leaders in those states, but also of a perception of needs on the part of large segments (newly created majorities) of their population.

33 The aggression that followed was only a further step, another result of this perception. Fears of becoming minority were easily manipulated before they were transformed into aggression towards others. This aggression was seen as a pure self-defence, as a

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reaction to injustice and a tool of self-protection. We need to look here for the roots of the conflict in the former Yugoslavia, and also for reasons why even today, after a whole decade, many former Yugoslavs still believe that the wars of the 1990s were just and justified.

NOTES

1. The notion of the “main” ethnic groups refers to Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. Although the Yugoslav constitution treated all nations as equal, both political elite and counter-elites recognised that these three groups had larger influence on Yugoslav politics than others. The former LCY CC President Stipe Šuvar confirmed this in interview I conducted with him in January 1998. For an interesting classification of nations in Yugoslavia from the point of view of a leading Slovenian “dissident” see Urbančič (Ivan), « The Yugoslav “nationalist crisis” and the Slovenes in the perspective of the end of nations », Nova Revija, (57), 1987. 2. The construction of new reality (as socialism defined its objective) demanded the replacement of old terms linked to the existence of the state with new ones that belonged to the self-managing glossary. Some of these words are almost impossible to translate into any West European language since they were invented to describe institutions uniquely linked to a new form of social organisation. Others had a different connotation than it was the case in the West. For example, state and statism, which were both used with a negative connotation – as something opposed to self-management. 3. The Programme of the League of Yugoslav Communists, Belgrade, 1958, p. 128. 4. Kardelj (Edvard), « Thirty years after the founding congress of the Communist Party of Slovenia » [1967], in The Nations and Socialism, STP : Belgrade, 1980, p. 47. 5. In 1981, 13,4 % of the Yugoslav adult population were members of the LCY. Only in Slovenia the share was below 10 % - 9,1. In 1983, however, membership of the LCY began to decrease. 6. The main political conflicts within the Yugoslav political elite were in fact structured over the question of how much repression is desirable and necessary against the “anti-socialist forces”. It is today very popular to argue that the main conflicts were always ethnic : but neither the removal of Ranković (1966), nor the action taken against the Croatian Spring (1971), or Serbian “Liberals” in 1972 were primarily motivated by ethnic reasons. All these were primarily intra- ethnic conflict between members of political elites who had different views on the importance and necessity of repression and “ideo-political work”. For this see Tripalo (Miko), Hrvatsko proljeće, Zagreb : Globus, 1991 ; Perović (Latinka), Zatvaranje kruga : ishod političkog rascepa u SKJ 1971-1972, Sarajevo : Svjetlost, 1991 ; and Marković (Dragoslav Draža), Život i , Vol. 1-2. Beograd : Rad, 1987-1988. The same goes for conflicts in the post-Tito period : Šuvar-Špiljak in Croatia, or Stambolić-Milošević in Serbia. 7. It is worth noting that Yugoslavia began the last phase of its decentralisation in the mid-1960s, when both West and East faced a crisis of “statism”, i.e. at the time of the massive leftist protests in the West, and the Czechoslovak crisis in the East. Yugoslav communists were certainly not forced to initiate such changes – on the contrary, the only relevant protests against the regime (the student protests in Belgrade in 1968) urged them to introduce more “equality” and more state intervention, rather than to decentralise political system. With a bit of cynicism,

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one could conclude that in Yugoslavia leaders wanted the state to wither away, while majority of population (especially workers) wanted less self-management and more state intervention. 8. For Kardelj’s views on this see his last book, Kardelj (Edvard), « Ways of Democracy in a Socialist Society » [1977], in Self-Management and the Political System, Belgrade : STP, 1980. 9. Kardelj believed that vision is the key to the unity of a nation. As he said in 1977 : « The unity of the nation is not possible unless based on a clear platform, on a clear outlook for the future development of society » (ibid., p. 263). This is why the unity of Yugoslavia, in fact, ultimately depended on the Party itself. 10. This is why the key ideological issue was “reform of education system”. Croatian Communist ideologue Stipe Šuvar was notorious for his attempt to bring the education system in line with Marxist idea of an “association of free producers”. He fought “elitism” and introduced courses such as « Marxism », « Theory and Practice of Self-Managing Socialism » and « Production and Technical Education » as compulsory to all high-school curricula. 11. The totalitarian potential of communism as well as its extreme sensitivity to all intellectual activities (even the most benign ones, such as poems, etc.) had its roots in this vision. For the importance of words in socialism, see Havel (Vaclav), « A Word About Words » [1989] and « Power of the Powerless » [1978], in Open Letters, London : Faber and Faber, 1991. 12. Tito (Josip Broz), « The LCY in the Struggle for the Further Development of Socialist, Self- Managing and Non-Aligned Yugoslavia » (Speech at the 11th Congress of the LCY), in 11th Congress of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia, Belgrade : STP, 1978, p. 65. 13. Milo{evi|, (Slobodan), « Noć i zora u Kosovu Poqu » [Speech in Kosovo Polje, 24-25 April 1987], in Godine raspleta. Beorad : BIGZ, 1989, p. 143. 14. Had`ić (Miroslav), « The Army’s Use of Trauma » [1996], in Popov (Nebojša), ed., The Road to War in Serbia, Budapest : CEU Press, 2000. 15. It is often argued that self-management was no more than an “empty word” with little correspondence with what happened in reality. I do not subscribe to this interpretation. In only four years following the introduction of the Law on Associated Labour (1976-1980), about 94 000 basic organisations of associated labour were created in Yugoslavia. Between 1,25 and 1,5 million directives, orders, contracts and other obligatory acts were enacted throughout the system in the first post-Constitutional years (Bilandžić (Dušan), Jugoslavia poslije Tita 1980-1985, Zagreb : Globus, 1986, p. 39). In many cases, such as those described by I. Stambolić (Stambolić (Ivan), Put u Bespuće, Belgrade : B92, 1995, p. 44), a small minority of workers was able to veto majority. Stambolić remembers a case where « seven thousand workers voted for a decision, but the BOAL of the Catering Services voted 31 against and 29 for. Because of these two votes, 7 000 workers could not realise their self-managing will ». Although it clearly could not break the LCY’s monopoly in political sphere, the self-managing system took deep roots in the sphere of production. Self-managing was not jut an empty parole by the regime. It was an illusion to expect it would be “wiped away” from people’s memories over night. In fact, some of its key elements came back in workers’ protests against privatisation and the corruption of the new authorities in the late 1990s. 16. The last Yugoslav Prime Minister, Ante Marković, begun the process of creating a Yugoslav party, and there were originally encouraging signs of support for this concept. In its last pre-war phase, the main conflict was between Marković’s type of Yugoslavism and republican nationalisms. However, the institutional structure of Yugoslavia helped Marković’s opponents because its main purpose was to disable any Yugoslav “unitarism” and “hegemonism”. Marković, therefore, faced a choice : either to act anti-constitutionally in his attempt to save Yugoslavia or to act constitutionally but with slim chances of saving it. A democratic and united Yugoslavia was becoming as improbable as a Communist-led united Yugoslavia. Not many, however, realised this until very late. For example, as the last US Ambassador to Yugoslavia (1988-1992) Warren Zimmermann writes, the US Government believed that « unity and democracy were the Siamese

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twins of Yugoslavia’s fate… the loss of one meant that the other would die » (Zimmermann (Warren), Origins of a Catastrophe, New York : Random House, 1996, p. 6). Marković basically believed the same. However, both Marković’s term in office and American policy in the Balkans ended in failure, partly because they did not understand this. 17. This line of division largely cut across ethnic lines within the Yugoslav political elite – for example, Croatian political leaders of Serb ethnic origins (such as Dušan Dragosavac, Milutin Baltić, etc.) and those from Vojvodina were on the opposite side from the majority of the Serbian leadership. At the same time, as in many previous occasions, the main divisions were within the same ethnic group, not between them : for example, between Slobodan Milošević and Ivan Stambolić in Serbia; and Mika Špiljak and Stipe Šuvar in Croatia, etc. 18. For details of ethnic structure of the LCY see Burg (Burg (Stephan), « New Data on the League of Communists of Yugoslavia », Slavic Review, 46, 1987, p. 553). The Slovenian LC had 126 437 members in 1982. The Slovenes made up 5,2 % of the Party, less than any other constitutive nation in Yugoslavia (including the Montenegrins, four times smaller in total population). This share was further decreasing (and rapidly so) in the mid-1980s. 19. Nova Revija, (57), january 1987. 20. One of the Nova Revija authors, Tine Hribar, opposed both “Yugoslavism” and “Yugoslavianism” (jugoslovanstvo, jugoslavijanstvo), i.e. both Yugoslav nation in ethnic and in political sense respectively. For him, both were equally unacceptable. Both of them would make Slovenians only a minority within a unitary state (Hribar (Tine), « Slovenska dr`avnost », Nova Revija, (57), 1987). In arguing in favour of independence, many of the Nova Revija authors (such as Jambrek (Peter), « Pravica do samoodločbe slovenskega naroda », Nova Revija 57, 1987, p. 166 ; Urbančič (Ivan), loc. cit., p. 44) used Kardelj’s anti-statist concept, which recognised republics as states to support their arguments. Slovenian nationalist opposed Yugoslav “unitarism”, not Serbian nationalism. France Bučar and Ivan Urbančič in fact even supported Serbian nationalist claims, but clearly demanded that their Serb counterparts should dissociate themselves from any trace of Yugoslav unitarism (Bučar (France), « Slovenija med Balkanom in Evropo », Nova Revija, (91), 1989, p. 1497 ; Urbančič (Ivan), loc. cit., p. 39). Finally, it is on this platform that the opposition agreed with the President of the Slovenian LC CC Milan Kučan. On 17 June 1989, Kučan said : « When we think about the idea that a majority vote should be introduced in a multi-ethnic federation, we ask : is this anything else but a denial of the equality of the peoples, a denial of sovereignty and of their right to self-determination as an inalienable human right » (Borba, 19 June 1989). During the first common action by the LCY and Slovenian opposition, at Cankarjev Dom in Ljubljana in February 1989, Kučan said that if policy against Kosovo Albanians continued, « this would be a very clear announcement that the minority nations and nationalities will first be pushed to the margins, and then out of the country, abroad or who knows where » (Bilić (Jovan), Bilbija (Djuro), Slovenija i Srbija od Cankarjevog Doma do Jugoalata i Gazimestana, Belgrade : Tera, 1989, p. 30). 21. The term is coined by Macedonian member of the SFRY Presidency Vasil Tupurkovski – yet another illustration of the conclusion presented here that the line of division within the leadership cut across ethnic lines and did not play the crucial role at that time (1988), as often argued today. For the 17th Session, see Šuvar (Stipe), Nezavrseni mandat 1-2, Zagreb : Globus, 1989. 22. Pavković (Aleksandar), « From Yugoslavism to Serbism : the Serb national idea 1986-1996 », Nations and Nationalism, 4, 1998. 23. Not even the present-day Serbia has abandoned this crucial idea of Kardeljist concept. The FRY does not aim at creating a Yugoslav nation out of Serbs, Montenegrins, Albanians and Hungarians, but remains committed (even after the latest Constitutional change in June 2000) to idea of the equality of two – by size very uneven – nations (Serbs and Montenegrins) and their “sovereign states” (Montenegro and Serbia). 24. Toš (Niko), ed., Slovensko Javno Mnenje 1988-1989, Ljubljana : Delavska Enotnost, 1989, p. 132.

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25. Obradović (Marija), « Vladajuča stranka : ideologija i tehnologija dominacije », in Popov (Nebojša), ur., Srpska strana rata, Belgrade : Republika, 1996, p. 494. 26. About the role of fears in Serbian politics under Milošević, see Djilas (Aleksa), Razgovori za Jugoslaviju, Belgrade : Prometej, 1993. Also, Richard West’s description of new atmosphere in Belgrade following the Eighth Session of the CC LC Serbia in September 1987. West, himself a frequent visitor to Belgrade since 1945, writes : « For the first time since I had known Belgrade [so, since 1945 !], I was warned by friends against careless talk in public places, and still more on the telephone. People were keeping their voices down in the café of the Moskva Hotel… » (West (Richard), Tito and the Rise and Fall of Yugoslavia, London : Sinclair-Stevenson, 1994, p. 345). For fears among the political elite, see Bogdanović’s analysis of the rhetoric of the Eighth Session. Bogdanović concluded that Milošević’s fraction demonstrated « an almost unbelievable fear, real panic of polysemia, of the pluralist meaning of words and speeches, even in describing obviously pluralist events » (Bogdanović (Bogdan), Mrtvou`ice : Mentalne zamke staljinizma, Zagreb : August Cesarec, 1988, p. 20). For the sense of fear among members of the Yugoslav political elite, see memoirs by B. Jović (Jović (Borisav), Poslednji dani SFRJ, Belgrade : Politika, 1995) – entries on Petar Gračanin and Veljko Kadijević. 27. This is why in 1990 they voted against Vuk Drašković’s Serbian Resistance Movement, in favour of a more pro-Yugoslav Milošević’s Socialist Party of Serbia. As an illustration of how unpopular were even symbols of Serbian nationalism, see Thompson (Mark), Proizvodnja rata : mediji u Srbiji, Hrvatskoj i Bosni i Hercegovini, Belgrade : Medija centar / Radio B-92, 1995, p. 88. He quotes from the instructions to Serbian TV editors in 1990 whom the government asked to remove from their reports « nationalist symbols [which were] unacceptable to the majority of viewers », such as Chetnik symbols and old Serbian flags (without a red star). 28. Ramet (Pedro), Yugoslavia in the 1980s’, Boulder / London : Westview Press, 1985. 29. Tudjman (Franjo), Horrors of War [1989], New York : M. Evans and Company, Inc, 1996, p. 3. 30. Bogdanović (Bogdan), op. cit., p. 23. 31. Ramet (Pedro), op. cit.

INDEX

Index géographique : Yougoslavie Mots-clés : Autogestion, Communisme, Ligue des communistes de Yougoslavie, Minorités, Socialisme

AUTEUR

DEJAN JOVIĆ University of Stirling, UK

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Paradigm Lost :Yugoslav Self- Management and the Economics of Disaster

P. H. Liotta

Democracies create free markets that offer economic opportunity, make for more reliable trading partners and are less likely to wage war on one another. While democracy will not soon take hold everywhere, it is in our interest to do all that we can to enlarge the community of free and open societies, especially in areas of greatest strategic interest, as in Central and Eastern Europe.1 I believe it is easier to wage war than to organise [sic] the government and direct social development, because these are complicated matters.2

1 During much of the 1990’s, American foreign policy consistently emphasized the promotion of democratic values and free market reforms as stabilizing influences and forces for increased state and regional prosperity3. The ideological bases for these policy influences, no matter how valid in principle, have failed to sufficiently appreciate that Yugoslav disintegration was itself reflective of a larger European transformation from socialist structures to market economies and democratic practices. Such transformation holds the potential for increased regional interdependence and prosperity as much as it provides the means for descent into economic disaster and societal collapse.

2 From an ecological perspective, the human and technological potentials that democratic practices and economic reforms provide can prove disastrous if specific aspects predominate (such as, for example, would happen with a sharply increased emphasis on laissez-faire private market incentives to the detriment of public, social guarantees). With regard to democracy, a number of policy scholars have already noted the rise of “illiberal democracy”4. A White House diplomatic envoy expressed the significance of this “illiberalism” on the eve of democratic elections in September 1996 in Bosnia-Herzegovina, when he pondered the real possibility that “free and fair” democratic elections might well lead to the publicly supported selection of “racists, fascists, [and] separatists who are publicly opposed to [peace and reintegration]”5. Such democratic practice, however, reflects the potential failure of constitutional liberalism (a

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process and a tradition that respects both individual liberty and the rule of law) to have taken deep root in the post-Cold War era in the “new” Europe, despite the promise and optimism both diplomats and policymakers saw in the Cold War’s aftermath6.

3 Further, the promise that democratic institutionalization could eventually bring to evolving governments and social structures in Central and Eastern Europe, as well as in the nations of the former Soviet Union, can equally conflict with too rapidly enforced economic change. The economic reforms that foreign creditors and “Western” governments essentially demanded of Yugoslavia in its final days required an authoritarian regime to voluntarily reduce its own powers even as contrarian human and technological forces demanded that the Yugoslav government retain what little authority it still possessed in order to provide a stable civic order, sufficient legal enforcement, and a living standard that could meet the expectations of a socialist order7. In such a case, the intent of democratic practice and economic reform to bring about positive change in a society proved counter-productive, and determinedly disastrous, by the introduction of too rapid change.

4 The failure of the Yugoslav state to provide such necessary order during a time of variously attempted economic and democratic reforms was a factor that allowed ultra-“nationalist” forces to take hold, forces that opposed the continuation of a “Yugoslav” state. These opposing forces (Croatian President Franjo Tudjman, Serbian and later “Yugoslav” President Slobodan Milošević, and 1997 candidate for the Serbian presidency, Vojislav Šešelj) proved essential to the ending of Yugoslavia. The state’s failure to provide social order and social guarantees in a time of social transformation virtually assured its inevitable decline.

5 Serbia, treated as the pariah Balkan state by the West ever since the last days of the Yugoslav state in 1991, failed to achieve either democracy or economic reform by the end of the decade. (In the fourth, failed run-off election of 21 December 1997, a Serbian voter bluntly pronounced the dilemma facing voters in his nation : « We have a communist and a fascist for the two presidential candidates. What kind of democratic choice is that ? »8.) By 1998, Serbia had come to represent the conditions of social chaos that economic and foreign policy scholar Susan Woodward warned of in 1995 : Economic reforms such as those demanded of Yugoslavia (...) ask for political suicide. (...) Without a stable civil and legal order, the social conditions that are created can be explosive : large-scale unemployment among young people and unskilled urban dwellers ; demobilized soldiers and security police looking for private employment ; thriving conditions for black market activities and crime ; and flourishing local and global traffic in small arms and ammunition9.

6 Former Yugoslavia thus provides a pertinent example of how the pressures of societal expectations coupled with a mounting foreign debt crisis can erode social fabric and accelerate declining living standards ; further, such decline in a condition of weak state authority and intrastate tensions can often lead to conflict. From a social and strategic management perspective, the lessons of post-Yugoslav Serbia as well as Bosnia- Herzegovina foretell a potentially bleak future for European stability.

7 Ironically, the innovation of Yugoslav “Self-Management”, or “Self-Government”—a double meaning for the same word in Serb-Croatian, samoupravljanje—once considered a benchmark in creative economic reform within a socialist society, proved to be a major contributing factor in the death of Yugoslavia. An examination of both the promise and lost opportunities of self-management might provide an appropriate—and

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cautionary—paradigm for the integration of the ideologies of democracy and free market reforms within an evolving Europe in a new century.

The Promise of Self-Management

8 Despite the intentional claim by the post-World War II Yugoslav government to have found precedent for Yugoslav “Communism” in the writings of Karl Marx, the evolution of self-management rose directly from the experience of the war itself. As a nation, Yugoslavia had only existed in political union since 1918, a stepchild, as it was, of the . During World War II, however, that “union” had shattered along ethnic lines and fierce fighting among indigenous “Yugoslav” forces (such as Ustaše, ^etnici, Bela Garda, Domobrani, and Partisans) in an area of complete Nazi occupation. At the same time, Yugoslav Partisan resistance to overwhelming Nazi power—in terms of forces—proved so effective that British Prime Minister Winston Churchill argued successfully to switch Allied allegiance from the Yugoslav Chetnik resistance fighters to the Partisans, led by a Croat-Slovene named Josip Broz—in later years, simply known as “Tito”10.

9 Tito’s subsequent independence of thought and demands for sovereignty for his post- World War II state led to an inevitable collision with Joseph Stalin, the nominal ideological world leader for the Communist movement. Stalin’s furor over Tito’s refusal to adhere to Marxist-Leninist doctrine above a national “South Slav” affiliation led to Yugoslavia’s expulsion from the International Communist organization, the Cominform, in 194811. This tension between the Soviet Union would last until 1955, culminating in the state visit of Nikita Kruschev to Belgrade12. (Yugoslavia’s peaceful separation from the USSR also influenced the Hungarian uprising of 1956 and the Czechoslovak movement known as “Socialism with a human face” in the spring of 1968.) Yugoslavia, in the late 1940’s, grew convinced of a Soviet invasion through the province of Vojvodina (which bordered Hungary) and both re-located industry from Serbia into Croatia and Slovenia and thought creatively about new, independent ways to strategically manage the social framework of a “new” Yugoslav state.

10 One of the unique aspects of such individual and creative strategic innovation was the creation of Yugoslav self-management. In theory, the pivot of Titoism maintained that socialism would dictate the “withering away of the state”—an idea in direct opposition to the Soviet strategic management of a bigger, increasingly stronger, increasingly centralized state13. Tito recognized the Soviet model of government ownership of the means of production as little more than a fiction. He thus pushed for sweeping decentralization and economic liberalization. Under Tito, then, the worker’s self- management system was meant, in its purest conception, to provide the opposite of a Soviet-type dominance over the worker ; the “new” Yugoslav worker, by contrast, was intended to have democratic control and a democratic voice in the daily activity of work. In retrospect, five decades later, this visionary social management seems extraordinary.

11 In a prescient image of management texts and innovative articles on new management thinking (found most often in the Harvard Business Review) at the millennium’s end14, self-management sought innovation in a system that resembled an inverted pyramid in which workers from the lower echelons controlled and mandated the decisions made by higher management. Yugoslav self-management was, in theory at least, akin to

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democracy—tied to the tenet that basic decisions would be made by the workers who would have to carry out such decisions or be most affected by them15. Worker’s councils, composed of as many as 50 individuals in large factories, represented the “will” of the worker. Further, since the state itself was intended to wither away, political leadership attempted to shift responsibilities to the worker’s commune—or opština (općina)—which was meant, in turn, to raise its own funds, sets its own budgets, and provide workers with necessary social services16.

12 Thus, the factory was meant to be an autonomous and competitive organization. Self- management represented « an indirectly controlled market economy, with elements of Keynesianism [that is, based on the economic theories of John Maynard Keynes] as well as Marxism »17. The worker’s council was the basic operations unit—deciding what and whom to pay, what wages to give, how best to reallocate profits after taxes and operating costs were made. Unlike a capitalist economy in which shareholders determine both the allocation of resources and decide on how best to use capital, self- management provided a system whereby workers themselves were shareholders. The worker was not able to individually invest his or her earnings but would reap in the collective wealth of the organization. The worker’s only task was to make a profit for the organization.

13 The National Assembly of Yugoslavia adopted the Worker’s Self-Management Act on 26 June 1950 ; it was not until 1952, however, that relevant portions of the Act took hold in the economic transition that attempted to allow more independence for enterprises, broader worker rights, and to introduce elements of market practices18. Workers, in a legally mandated precedent, could—through elected worker’s councils—approve enterprise plans and accounting, make management decisions, make initial regulations, dismiss management committees that proved unsatisfactory, and distribute profits after taxes19.

14 In accordance with Marxist theory, the core root of inequality between individuals and classes is the ownership of the means of production ; thus, the search for new paradigms led to self-management socialism. Private ownership was thus allowed in the production of various crafts, agriculture, services, transport, catering and tourism, but the contribution of these “industries” to overall Gross Domestic Product was small20.

15 Self-management, by contrast, both in its conception and during its first decade of existence, seemed to hold the promise of individual “de-alienation, the liberation of work, and direct democracy” for large-scale industry. Indeed, self-management provided a model that a number of other countries sought to replicate in their own societies to improve both efficiency and worker contributions21.

16 There appears never to have been any official declaration on the aims of self- management. As Harold Lydall notes22, however, it is reasonable to claim that the general aims of self-management were to create an “industrial democracy,” one in which workers held the same right of control (and censure) over policy as citizens in a democracy nominally hold similar control over their own government. Thus, in its time, Yugoslavia proved itself a maverick state, one neither Western nor Soviet- inspired23.

17 Yugoslavia’s innovative bureaucratic structures invited attention ; at the heart of this attention, and this innovation, lay the system of Yugoslav self-management socialism, one in which workers participated in decision-making at the enterprise level. Since

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democracy remained a titular desirable aim of both Communist and socialist governments, self-management in itself would appear to be in concert with such aims. Further, while it might appear premature to argue that self-management from its inception in 1950 was an intentional move to decentralize control from Belgrade and move toward a loose federation of republics (that led to the disintegration of the Yugoslav state in 1991), the concept of “the withering away of the state” remained, in proclamation at least, a desired goal. In reality, various economic pressures in the 1960’s helped bring about this potential while no sufficient alternative arose to replace the state that had withered away.

The Failure of Self-Management

18 From 1952 to 1965, Yugoslavia witnessed the golden age of its economy, rivaling Japan as the fastest growing worldwide economy24. Labor-managed firms seemed to allow freedom of choice and direction for workers ; equally, self-management was an indicator both of a market economy taking root and the presence of economic democracy within Yugoslavia. From 1950-1985, only Taiwan (6,64 percent), Japan (6,26 percent) and China (5,10) produced Gross National Product (GNP) rates that exceeded Yugoslavia’s (4,46)25.

19 In particular, the year 1960 saw Yugoslavia « riding a wave of unprecedented prosperity »26. Agricultural yields, the rise in imports, demand in consumer goods along with extended lines of consumer credit were as high as ever. Yugoslavia, the “different” Communist state, attracted worldwide attention. By 1962, overextension of credit, a rapid decline—and eventual depletion—of personal savings, and a failure in industrial output to match the boom in demand brought serious consequences that the miracle of the 1950’s could not sustain27.

20 The Communist Party of Yugoslavia (CPY) finance minister who most furthered early Yugoslav economic reform (beginning in May 1952) was a Macedonian named Kiro Gligorov (who became the first president of independent Macedonian in 1991). Gligorov attempted to bring wage goods back into line, devalued the Yugoslav dinar in order to stimulate export production, while simultaneously cutting public expenditures and loosening state control over financial accountability in order to release available resources for manufacturers. One consequence of his actions, nonetheless, was the rise in corrupt misuse of such loosened financial accountability and the subsequent abuse of funds as newly available “working capital” was released to various industries28.

21 There are a number of causes for the failure of self-management. Perhaps the simplest and most viable explanation is that of « the psychology of rising expectations »29. As Lydall notes, the naïve belief that workers, given the right to elect councils and be consulted with referenda would equally act to safeguard the interest of “society” was an inherent flaw30. Workers were excluded from significant decisions, a truth best indicated by the evidence that executive appointments of top-level “directors” rested firmly in the hands of Yugoslav politicians31. Indeed, the irrelevance of workers’ councils, the one body over which all workers have the democratic right to control and censure enterprise, was demonstrated during the wave of strikes that began in 1987. Workers demanded an increase in income ; their demands were passed directly to enterprise “directors”, and bypassed workers’ councils.

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22 A brief consideration of the rapid rise in “work stoppages”—an essential Yugoslav euphemism for “strike”—reveals a striking parallel with the general societal declines that led to the disintegration of the Yugoslav state. In 1987 there were 1 262 work stoppages (involving 196 000 workers), decidedly more than the 851 strikes for 88 860 workers in 198632 ; in 1988, the number of strikes rose to 1 720 strikes involving 388 000 workers33. (Although strikes were commonplace for years, the right to strike was not constitutionally guaranteed until November 1988 ; in 1989, the law itself was under fierce debate in the federal assembly.) By 1990, the number of yearly strikes had risen to 1 900 strikes, involving 470 000 workers, and an inflation rate that soared to 2 500 percent34. By 1990, in the final months of the Yugoslav state, the national labor federation (CITUY) of Yugoslavia, had become an empty shell ; worker unions tended to align with nationalist allegiances within specific republics (or with dominant ethnic groups within republics)35.

23 The transformation of union leaders from government mouthpieces to “democratic” representatives for workers’ rights also took root in the late 1980’s. Leaders began to advocate workers’ interests on matters such as the impact of inflation, standard of living, and wage policies. (Under self-management, union leaders, by contrast, had played a minor role in representing workers’ interest in the management of enterprise, distribution of income, settlement of disputes, and conduct of strikes.) By 1988, there was a clear distinction between the official Council of Trade Unions of Yugoslavia, which supported official government policy, and local trade union trade union leadership, which increasingly represented worker rights in establishing unprecedented strike codes and arguing for wage policies to prevent income losses that amounted to a reduction in real wages earned of 21,5 percent in one year36.

24 As Lydall has noted, for any enterprise to work efficiently it must have an efficient enterprise structure, effective management, and incentives and discipline37 ; self- management, in its actual form, possessed none of these features. Thus, the rising number of strikes against enterprise proved a significant event. In a purely competitive and “free” self-management system, workers would have no reason to strike against themselves. In practice, nonetheless, the high degree of government intervention in enterprise affairs provoked adverse reaction in workers. Workers were striking not against enterprise, but against government policy38.

25 Eventually, self-management’s potential could not be sustained by the system that created it (particularly by those republics that never intended to remain in Yugoslavia). The 1974 amendment to the federal constitution of Yugoslavia essentially institutionalized the autonomy of the six Yugoslav republics, thus implicitly allowing the acceleration of national - economic- and ethno-centrisms.

26 Yugoslavia’s unique brand of socialism and capitalism also thwarted private initiative, effectively renouncing individual aims as “selfish”. Self-management, in practice, promoted « the formation of an economic system [that fostered] equality rather than differentiation according to unequal ability »39. Non-profitable firms could not be sold ; thus, firms in a socialist economy could operate under a soft budget constraint40.

27 From 1979 to 1985, in a kind of mirror event of the larger decline in industry production, social product services fell significantly. Education, health, and housing services were unable to meet the demand of rising social needs. Productivity fell by 20 percent ; workers’ incomes fell by 25 percent ; by 1987, inflation was at 150 percent per annum41. By contrast, from 1952 to 1975, inflation had peaked only once—from 1965 to

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1966—rising to 30 percent42. Further exacerbating the problem of disintegration was economic polarization : by the 1980’s personal income in the southern Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia was less than half that of the northern Republic of Slovenia ; in the southern autonomous province of Kosovo, the increased number of so-called “peasant” households and larger family sizes equally accentuated economic difference43.

28 The ultimate failure of self-management thus lay perhaps in the failure of the “withering away of the state”—or the socialization of centralized government to lower levels of effective, instrumental, self-managed budgets44. Demographics illustrated that the Yugoslav work force, responding to state initiatives, had increasingly moved from private, subsistence agriculture into a public sector that could not grow at a pace sufficient to supply the jobs required by such displacement45. Eventually, and at its most basic and divisive level, self-management became a forum for struggles over wages within the workplace.

29 The supposed harmonizing influence of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia became one more element in the fracturing of economic division : Conflicts over substantive policy were redefined as conflicts over the distribution of money—over budgetary revenues and tax policy, transfers and subsidies, and the locus of control over monetary policy, foreign exchange allocation and banking46.

30 One perhaps minor but illustrative example of the federal government’s inability to meet transformed social and societal expectations occurred in 1987, when a conference titled « Possibilities for Reform in Socialist States », sponsored by the Center for Philosophy and Social Theory, was canceled at the final moment, possibly out of concern for adverse reaction from Warsaw Pact states47.

31 A larger example of the state’s inability to accept criticism was reflected in published law that forbade criticism of both former President Tito and Socialist self- management ; dissident Jovan Opačić, for example, was jailed in 1989 after interrupting an official commemoration in Knin and being charged with « committing a criminal act against Social self-management (...) and against the reputation of Yugoslavia »48.

32 By 1991, the self-management system was being phased out. Economic reforms begun in 1990, had attempted to reduce government regulation, reform the banking system, expand private competition and encourage foreign investment. Such reform attempts had collapsed by 1991 under the pressures of high inflation, decreased production rates, high unemployment, and increasing fracturing of the economy along republic and ethnic lines49.

The « Ecological » Meaning of Failure

33 Marshal Tito’s 1974 constitutional reform appears now to have created two ironic contradictions. In political terms, Tito, it seems obvious, wanted to ensure no leader of his particular and central stature in the Yugoslav state could replace him as ikon ; this explains the establishment of a federal presidency that was little more than a figurehead position50. In economic terms, Tito’s decentralized system was meant to delegate power and authority to republics and local governments in order to preserve stability among various conflicting ethnic nationalities.

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34 The effects of decentralization may indeed have prolonged the eventual death of the Yugoslav state. At the same time, however, the removal of effective power from a central government contributed to the ineffectiveness of government reforms in the last days of the Yugoslav state. Self-management in its true sense, nevertheless, provided a number of advantages over a Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist type economy. Not only did the system allow for competition between similar enterprises, it allowed equally for worker and manager innovation and the practice of free market-type relations. Thus, in the 1950’s and 1960’s, Yugoslavia experienced rapid economic progress.

35 At the same time, inherent system weaknesses led to economic stagnation. These weaknesses include the truth that under a laissez-faire self-management system there still would not exist the competitive “spur” of private enterprise ; under socialist self- management, such as in Yugoslavia—in which workers had no ownership rights—no potential existed to influence decisions on investment, technology, or management appointments51. With over 500 communes and power distributed to various republics and political elites, the Yugoslav federation had indeed created the “dictatorship of the Proletariat”52. Thus, although Yugoslav self-management differed significantly from the negative, Stalinist model in how it encouraged initiative both in economic and political life, it still contained essential flaws. In the truest sense, the Communist model of “Reward according to need” transformed, in Yugoslav ideology, to “Reward according to work” and finally to “Reward according to the results of work”53. The essential problem remained that rewards lagged increasingly behind any expectation of results during the 1970’s and 1980’s.

36 According to Mencinger, self-management passed through four distinct systemic phases during its existence : administrative socialism (1945-1952) ; administrative market socialism (1953-1962) ; market socialism (1963-1973) ; and contractual socialism (1974-1988), followed by collapse54. These phases, in the space of four decades, mark the shift from an agricultural, capitalist society into an industrial socialist society.

37 An alternate perspective shows the extraordinary determination of the Yugoslav people to transform themselves in the wake of World War II—a war which was both an internecine civil war (among various warring Serbian, Croatian, and Macedonian elements) and a war for national “liberation” from Nazi occupation under Marshall Tito. It was perhaps only through Tito’s iron rule (in which he purged dissident elements and maintained an extraordinarily efficient secret police) that such transformation from a largely agricultural to industrial societal base could take place.

38 The unique aspect of the Yugoslav experience is that its Communist government in the early years, unlike other East European nations, enjoyed widespread popular support, largely because of its determined resistance to Nazi occupation55. Thus, although the Communist regime was able to withstand the pressures of decentralization (which began in 1974) far longer than other East European nations that fractured quickly in the last days of 1989, the rise of fractious nationalist identities, along with the inherent truth that meeting the needs of workers without accompanying economic growth seemed increasingly difficult, proved to be disastrous “ecological” elements for the state56.

39 In retrospect, those who still favor a self-management system that is in theory, correct, seem somehow unable to recognize the truth of one Yugoslav economist’s comment that self-management was a system « for angels and not for men »57. The façade of self-

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management, as Zagorka Golubović has rightly noted, lies in the inherent incompatibility between democratic practice and the control of a one-party Marxist state. Self-management was bound to fail because workers and enterprise itself had no real influence—despite the claims of the (one-party Marxist) state—on decision making, production process, or social policy58. The reasons for failure can be thus summarized, briefly, as : 1. Yugoslav society rested on a form of control from a single “all encompassing” ruling ideology. This reality excluded the basic principles of self-organization, self- determination, self-management, and self-government. 2. The real authority of the state allowed, at best, a “paternalistic self- management.” Self-management was an appendage to the state, rather than its alternative. 3. Self-management was developed by those who implemented Stalinist post-war development in Yugoslavia until 1948. Thus, self-management was neither a form of social innovation nor a theoretical reassessment of the Soviet model, but rather a form of appropriation in the hands of those who maintained real power59.

40 Further, according to Adamović and Pavlović, five significant factors impeded Yugoslavia’s democratic transition, and by extension true market reform, in the late 1980’s : 1. The pressures for change were not as radical in Yugoslavia as in other East European countries after the fall of the Berlin Wall. 2. Post-Cold War Yugoslavia failed to make radical democratic changes. 3. Yugoslavia had wedged itself, during the Cold War, between bipolar superpowers and was slow to appreciate the meaning of the changed international order. 4. The power of one-party and one-person (Marshall Tito) politics destroyed Yugoslavia’s ability to create independent political identities; 5. Socialism itself retarded the development of civil society60.

41 Although the Law of Enterprise of January 1989 is generally considered the official “ending” of self-management, 18 actual laws passed in the period 1988 to 1989 marked the effective end of self-management61. Then Prime Minister Ante Marković‘s “shock therapy” stabilization program in the spring of 1990, coupled with liberalizing economic measures to include full foreign ownership, seemed to hold the potential for a Yugoslav recovery. Such recovery, if only an economic one, could not take place in isolation from other pressures. In December 1990, the Slovene electorate voted for full national independence by June 1991 and subsequent accompanying demands by both the Croatian and Slovenian governments to assume federal jurisdiction over legislation, laws, administration of justice, and police enforcement, which led not to further confederation and decentralization but to civil war.

42 From 1963 to 1973, the slowdown in economic progress coupled with rising unemployment and accompanying social pressures virtually assured the end of the Yugoslav miracle. The eventual death of the system itself, coupled by increasing administrative measures with no consideration for economic theory, proved to have only significant negative results. From 1952-1962, the annual Gross National Product averaged an impressive 8,2 percent ; by 1980-1988, the GNP average had slowed to a trickle—0,6 percent62.

43 One central “cause” for self-management’s failure, nonetheless, can be explained simply in human terms. While Yugoslavs did manage themselves within factories to a considerable degree, they also acted in what should be considered the most human way in an environment that allowed them to act freely. With little regard for production,

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workers, obsessively perhaps, pursued what in Serbo-Croatian was called trka za dinarom (running after dinars). Workers raised wages.

44 This inherent “self”-incentive, uncoupled from an equal rise in production rates and along with a rash of unwise governmental economic investments, along with an increasingly liberal lending policy without regulatory control (quite similar to the practices that led to the Southeast Asian economic crisis of 1997), produced inevitable results. Unlike the International Monetary Fund intervention in controlling the economic crisis of 1997 in South Korea, however, Tito refused “market intervention”, advocated laissez-faire economics, and relied on the law of supply and demand63. For an avowed Communist and for what was doctrinally a Communist state, this intervention refusal seems extraordinary.

45 In the words of Adam Smith, the « skill, dexterity, and judgment [applied to] the greatest improvement in the productive powers of labour [sic] » lead to the most effective results64. By contrast and partially as a counter-response to the “exploitation” of the laborer, Marx saw future capitalist, free market societies as practicing a modern theory of colonization : « the only thing that interests the new world [is] the political economy of the old world (...) the capitalist mode of production and accumulation, and therefore capitalist private property, have for their fundamental condition the annihilation of self-earned private property; in other words, the expropriation of the labourer »65 [sic]. Today, in the post-Cold War and post-Yugoslav era, both Smith’s and Marx’s words contain essential truths and contradictory tensions. The necessary balance is to harmonize the needs of the worker with marketplace profit.

46 Self-management in former Yugoslavia was imposed from the top down (by the government), rather than pushed forward from the bottom up (by the workers for whom self-management was first established “to protect”). Self-management, in its way, proved an acceptable substitute for self-government until its inherent weaknesses betrayed it.

47 Thus, some essential “ecological” truths about societal structure may be gleaned from the experience of failure. These truths include variations on the theme that the basic rights of a civil society must prevail and the individual citizen must have the right to exercise a voice that cannot exist in a one-party state. The Staatsrecht—a state in which the rule of law allows the guarantee of civil rights, including self-governing rights, and the independence of social activities—should prove the essential guarantor of societal stability66. In essence then, the idealized Yugoslav “de-etatization”—the “withering away of the state”— which began in 1955 and was foreseen to finally allow self-managed organizations to take control, was impossible. Some form of higher level control, at a federal level, was required67.

48 The economic failure of Yugoslavia is linked to human failures in motivation and control. Yet what happened in Yugoslavia (and may happen again) is a possibility in the new Europe—one that includes West, East, the Caucasus, the Crimean Basin, Central Asia, and the Balkans. Aside from the widespread environmental damage (both human and natural) done to Yugoslavia, the process of economic growth came to reject Marx’s reform-minded conception of the reconciliation of humanity with nature; in essence, Yugoslavia rejected both the technological and human factors that were required for its continued existence68.

49 The Yugoslav example shows that democratic practice such as that which self- management at its core intended itself to be, works best—and perhaps works only—at

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the level of small enterprise. The Yugoslav state, nonetheless, was the ultimate decision maker; this was also a one-party, non-democratic system that sanctioned, in its final days, every important aspect of executive decision making69. Thus, the issue of transparency of a company, popular in contemporary terms, is also a relevant one. Self- management failed because the Yugoslav government would not allow true worker democracy ; the Yugoslav self-managed worker likely had far less power than a worker in private enterprise who belonged to an effective trade union70.

50 As Gapisnki, Škegro, Zuehlke point out, even an American political system would prove itself incapable of change when all inevitable decisions meant only substantial income losses71. The Yugoslav example by the late 1980’s showed that unless reform had an immediate short-term effect and did not overcome worsening of the distribution of gains losses, the reform itself was bound to fail. The status quo, no matter how terminally ill its central core might be, became the standard to protect.

51 Statistical evidence shows that Yugoslav workers acted most often out of motivation only to increase personal income ; such “motivation” may equally have come to influence official state ideology72. Thus, the “system” of self-management had little to do with the act of managing daily life. By contrast, Yugoslavia and Yugoslavs became preoccupied (some might say obsessed) with the standard of living73.

52 The disintegration of Yugoslavia, and the creation of six newly independent states (Serbia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina) was the partial result of different approaches and transition processes in the move from publicly to privately owned market-economy structures. Along with the disintegration of a federal structure came the disintegration of federal legal structures that might have regulated such transition between Yugoslav republics74.

53 Even the significant economic reforms of the late 1980’s and early 1990, uncoupled from other ecological factors that would insure societal stability, proved fruitless. Prime MinisterAnte Marković‘s economic austerity program of the late 1980’s saw the inflation rate drop from a high of 2 500 percent in 1989 to 8,4 percent in February 1990. Further, Marković‘s Communist Reform Party, a true coalition of Yugoslav identities— favoring revisionist Islamic, Serbian, Croatian, and socialist elements—showed the potential of a continued Yugoslav identity along with a major program of economic reform75.

54 Yet, despite the influence of often overwhelming government regulation, banking system reform and the expansion of competition through the increase of private enterprise and increased foreign investment, Marković‘s economic reforms provided a temporary, but not long-term, solution. By 1993, what remained of Yugoslavia under the mantle of Slobodan Milošević was a ruin : the Yugoslav Statistics Bureau revealed that inflation that year grew at a rate of 0,7 percent an hour, 20 190 percent monthly, and translated into an annual inflation rate of 286 billion percent76.

55 The true ecological meaning of self-management’s failure—and the subsequent failure of the state—lay in how an innovative system could not be sustained by the structure that nominally provided support for it. (Further damaging were well intentioned international efforts to economically blockade Serbia and Montenegro after Yugoslavia’s demise.) Such ecological devastation to the environment and to the peoples of former Yugoslavia resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths, millions of

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refugees, economic repercussions that continue today, and a perplexing security problem for future European stability.

56 The extraordinary change in “culture” during the decades of self-management appears now to have been insufficient to transform the Yugoslav themselves. By contrast, the galvanizing post-World War II force of Communist ideology and partisan resistance proved sufficient to unite a population toward the goal of national liberation while equally providing sufficient force to “mobilize” this sentiment in postwar reconstruction77. Such fervor could not, and did not, last forever.

The Significance of Failure

57 In his 1971 memoir, former Yugoslav economic minister (in the early 1950’s) Svetozar Vukmanović-Tempo suggested that the best strategic “weapon” Yugoslavia could use against the United States would be to send two Yugoslav planners to help ruin the American economy78. The Yugoslav example is not an isolated one. While Yugoslavia represented in its time a significantly “experimental” socialist society—one that allowed freedom of travel for its citizens and toyed with various free market ideas—the meaning of its disintegration should not be considered in isolation. Indeed, the neighboring nation of Bulgaria, which during the 1990’s hovered near economic collapse after casting off its Cold War socialist legacy, demonstrated how fundamental tensions between democratic practices, economic reforms, and competing governmental forces hold the potential for the breakdown of political and civil order79. Bulgaria, nonetheless, managed to survive despite these tensions. The economic failure of the Yugoslav state, of which self-management was a major contributing factor in Yugoslavia’s post-World War II history, may well replicate itself in future instabilities both in Central Europe and in various nations of the former Soviet Union.

58 What remains perhaps most significant about the Yugoslav “Experiment” lies in how far ahead of its time it was. The post-World War II “new” Yugoslavia was a decentralized nation of six federated republics and two self-governing regions (Vojvodina and Kosovo). Democratic participation, albeit under a strict one-party rule, was a uniquely Yugoslav innovation ; a collision course with the Soviet Union in 1948 seems now, in retrospect, inevitable. At the same time, the structure of the internal security mechanism within Yugoslavia was the most powerful in Eastern Europe80. This seeming contradiction is significant in its implication for the future Europe : in the inevitable decentralization of power in Yugoslavia, the central oligarchy became eventually replaced by separate, often contradictory and frequently competitive oligarchies81. The fracturing of the state became not only a struggle for control of scarce resources but an ideological battle for nationalist identity.

59 Tito’s own political entrenchment follows the pattern of Yugoslavia’s progressive—and by extension, social—decline. Expelled from the Cominform in 1948, Tito approved the self-management initiative that began its golden “miracle” era in 1953. That same year, Tito was re-elected president after his first five-year term and repeatedly re-elected. In 1963, the year that marked self-management’s “miracle” end and its permanent decline, Tito was elected president for an unlimited term. In 1971, Tito was established as chairman of the newly created collective presidency and Yugoslavia entered a descending spiral fueled by contributory, ecological factors that led to its inevitable disintegration. The economy itself, a major contributory factor of significance in the

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death of Yugoslavia, weakened in the 1970’s under high inflation, increasing foreign debt, and inefficient industry.

60 In a remarkably prescient article that appeared in The Atlantic Monthly in December 1962, journalist Fred Warner Neal correctly questioned the viability of self- management’s continued success under a Titoist system82. Although Neal articulated the miraculous transformation of an agricultural society to a competitive industrial economy in the space of two decades, he also noted the numerous potential weaknesses of its system. While production in 1961 showed the sharpest increases worldwide, the inherent contradictory pressures of free enterprise and collective ownership, in essence a unique blend of Keynesianism and Marxism, was bound to lead to a bad end. Yugoslavia, as a breakaway Communist state that clearly differed from the Soviet paradigm, also received significant foreign aid : various claims show that the United States gave Yugoslavia $1,5 billion in economic assistance from 1950 to 1959 as well as $724 million in military assistance83.

61 The economic reforms that foreign creditors and “Western” governments essentially demanded of Yugoslavia in its final days required an authoritarian regime to voluntarily reduce its own powers even as contrarian human and technological forces demanded that the Yugoslav government retain what little authority it still possessed in order to provide a stable transition period. The failure of the Yugoslav state to provide such necessary order during a time of variously attempted economic and democratic reforms was a factor that allowed ultra- “nationalist” forces to take hold, forces that opposed the continuation of a “Yugoslav” state.

62 The Yugoslav example thus provides a pertinent example of how the pressures of societal expectations coupled with an eroding social fabric in a condition of weak state authority and intrastate tensions can often lead to conflict. From a social and strategic management perspective, the lessons of post-Yugoslav Serbia as well as Bosnia- Herzegovina foretell a potentially bleak future for European stability. The innovation of Yugoslav self-management, once considered a benchmark in creative economic reform within a socialist society, proved to be a major contributing factor in the death of Yugoslavia.

Implications for State and Regional Stability

63 A number of inferences for future European stability, if not lessons, can be drawn from the Yugoslav experience. First, as Spegele has noted in regard to international economics, the notion that the core motivation for robust globalism is human emancipation (that is, in a political and societal context, the embedding of constitutional liberalism within a social framework), takes its logic not from the writings of Adam Smith, but from Marxist tradition84.

64 Secondly, in what is perhaps the most extraordinary irony of the post-Cold War era : the most pertinent and cautionary critic of globalism and free market incentives that are not tied to responsible social initiatives is none other than the scourge of capitalism, Karl Marx. A review of Marx’s writings, particularly Das Kapital, reveals sufficient evidence, in an age of globalism, that side effects of —corporate tax shelters, child labor, closed down factories, dwindling social support programs—can lead more toward global disintegration than integration if taken to an extreme85. While Marx seems clearly to have erred in his trumpeting of the coming triumph of

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Communism, he may well remain the most accurate critic of (current and future) capitalism in its purest form.

65 Thirdly, as a number of economic observers have begun to realize, economic flexibility and societal cohesion are inherently linked factors in periods of political transformation. Continued emphasis on globalization, which in a European context is best represented by the expansion of the European Union, requires considerable economic, social, and cultural adaptation—even within societies and cultures linked by common history and heritage86.

66 Finally, the most critical and difficult implication for future European stability lies in a continued commitment to support those structures “outside” the framework of a strategic vision that seeks only economic gain. The most pertinent example, of course, is that of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Although the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank have recently placed increased importance on macroeconomic structural programs that are coupled to demands that governments both root out corruption and respond to stricter internal reforms87, it remains far too early to predict the success of Bosnia as a future state.

67 The most likely outcome is that Bosnia, if it survives, will become a weak, economically fragile, and relatively unstable nation for some time to come. Equally, Bosnia will require significant support in the form of military (the 36 member NATO-led Stabilization Force) and economic (World Bank) assistance. As for Serbia, continued ostracism by the international community—particularly by the United States—will both prolong and exacerbate integration within the European security architecture. Economic assistance for both Bosnia and Serbia, as Susan Woodward has noted, should not allow the continued opportunity for local crime networks to capitalize on foreign investment and route construction activities, transport operations, and other foreign assistance to the benefit of dominant political parties, state corruption, and provide future opportunities for the proliferation of criminal activity88.

68 The dangers for the future post-Yugoslav states, thus, are similar to the dangers all post-Cold War Europe faces. From the perspective of the classical liberalist thinker, Ralf Dahrendorf, these dangers rise squarely out of conditions that exist when « economic values begin to dominate politics (... ) [and] liberty is at risk. The new economism of capitalism is no less illiberal that the old one of Marxism »89. The challenge for European stability, as Dahlendorf examines it, is to reconcile the often contradictory tensions of prosperity, solidarity, and liberty. Indeed, as the disastrous Yugoslav example illustrates, economic growth and economic disintegration are conditions that rarely, if ever, occur in isolation.

NOTES

1. Clinton (President William Jefferson), A National Security Strategy of Engagement and Enlargement, Washington, D.C. : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1996.

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2. Marshal Tito, interviewed by Henry Fairlie, [The Queen, (5497), 18 September 1962], in Sirc (Ljubo), The Yugoslav Economy under Self-Management, New York : St. Martin’s Press, 1979, p. v. 3. Clinton (President William Jefferson), A National Security Strategy of Engagement and Enlargement, Washington, D.C. : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1994; Clinton (President William Jefferson), op. cit., 1996, p. 2; Clinton (President William Jefferson), A National Security Strategy for a New Century, Washington, D.C. : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1997. 4. Zakaria (Fareed), « The Rise of Illiberal Democracy », Foreign Affairs, November-December 1997, pp. 22, 38 ; Carothers (Thomas), « Promoting Democracy in a Postmodern World », quoted in « Which Democracy Should We Export ? » Harper’s,September 1996, p. 17 ; Carothers (Thomas), « Democracy without Illusions », Foreign Affairs, January-February 1997, pp. 85-87. 5. Zakaria (Fareed), loc. cit., p. 22. 6. Holbrooke (Richard), « America, a European Power », Foreign Affairs, March-April 1995, pp. 39-43 ; Christopher (Warren), « The CSCE Vision : European Security Rooted in Shared Values », Statement to the Plenary Session of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, Rome, 30 November 1993 ; Christopher (Warren), « Toward a More Integrated World », Statement at the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) Ministerial Meeting, Paris 8 June 1994. 7. Woodward (Susan), Balkan Tragedy : Chaos and Dissolution after the Cold War, Washington, D.C. : The Brookings Institution, 1995, p. 17. 8. National Public Radio’s All Things Considered, 20 December 1997. Serbian voters, through an intentional boycott, failed to elect a Serbian president from the two candidates, Vojislav Šešelj— the “fascist”—and the protégé of Milošević, Zoran Lilić—the “communist”. Until 24 December 1997, neither candidate was able to capture 50 percent of the popular (registered) vote. On that date, the results of a fourth presidential election were announced, in which another protégé of Milošević, Milan Milutinović, was declared the newly elected president of the Serbian republic. 9. Woodward (Susan), op. cit., p. 17. 10. The name “Tito” comes from Josip Broz’s effective organizational skills in leading the communist resistance movement from 1937 on. After Gorkić, the Secretary General of the Yugoslav Communist Party, was “liquidated”, Tito took his place immediately, earning a reputation for telling subordinates where to go and what to do : « You (ti) will do this (to) ... You (ti) will do that (to) —Ti,to ; ti, to » (Maclean 1964, p. 316). 11. Bertsch (Gary K.), Ganschow (Thomas W.), Comparative Communism : The Soviet, Chinese, and Yugoslav Models, San Francisco : W. H. Freeman and Company, 1976, pp. 131-132. 12. Djilas (Milovan), Conversations with Stalin, New York : Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962, pp. 10-11 ; Banac (Ivo), With Stalin against Tito : Cominformist Splits in Yugoslav Communism, Ithaca : Cornell University Press, 1989, pp. 255-267. 13. Neal (Fred Warner), « Yugoslavia at the Crossroads », Atlantic Unbound (from the original December 1962 Atlantic Monthly article), 3 December 1997. 14. Chesbrough (Henry W.), Teece (David J.), « When is Virtual Virtuous ? Organizing for Innovation », Harvard Business Review, January-February 1996, pp. 65-73. 15. Schrenk (Martin), Ardalan (Cyrus), El Tatawy (Nawal E.), Yugoslavia : Self-Management Socialism and the Challenges of Development (Report of a Mission Sent to Yugoslavia by the World Bank), Baltimore : The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979, pp. 375-376. 16. Zukin (Sharon), Beyond Marx and Tito : Theory and Practice in Yugoslav Socialism, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1975, p. 61. 17. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 18. Sirc (Ljubo), op. cit., p. 2 ; Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., pp. 57-58. 19. Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., p. 57. 20. Gapinski (James H.), Škegro (Borislav), Zuehlke (Thomas W.), Modeling the Economic Performance of Yugoslavia, New York : Praeger, 1988, p. 32.

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21. Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., pp. 48-49. 22. Lydall (Harold), Yugoslavia in Crisis, Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1989, pp. 102-103, 104-105. 23. Ramet (Sabrina Petra), Social Currents in Eastern Europe : The Sources and Meaning of the Great Transformation, (2nd edition), Durham : Duke University Press, 1995, p. 333. 24. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 25. Kovać (Oskar), « Foreign Economic Relations », in Adamovich (Ljubiša S.), Ramet (Sabrina Petra), eds., Beyond Yugoslavia : Politics, Economics, and Culture in a Shattered Community, Boulder : Westview Press, 1995, p. 282. 26. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 27. Ibid. 28. Woodward (Susan), Socialist Unemployment : The Political Economy of Yugoslavia, 1945-1990, Princeton : Princeton University Press, 1995, pp. 168-169. 29. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 30. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., p. 104. 31. Idem, p. 105. 32. U.S. Department of State [USDS], Country Reports on Human Rights Practices [CRHRP], Washington, D.C. : U. S. Government Printing Office [USGPO], 1987, p. 1085. 33. USDS, CRHRP, Washington, D.C. : USGPO, 1988, p. 1265. 34. USDS, CRHRP, Washington, D.C. : USGPO, 1990, pp. 1275-1277, 1262. 35. USDS, CRHRP, Washington, D.C. : USGPO, 1991, p. 1358. 36. USDS, op. cit., 1988, pp. 1263-1264. 37. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., pp. 109-119. 38. Ibid., p. 120. 39. Gapinski (James H.), Škegro (Borislav), Zuehlke (Thomas W.), op. cit., p. 32. 40. Kornai (János), Economics of Shortage, Amsterdam : North-Holland Publishing Company, 1980 (Quoted in Gapinski (James H.), Škegro (Borislav), Zuehlke (Thomas W.), op. cit.). 41. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., pp. 4-5. 42. Macesich (George), The International Monetary Economy and the Third World, New York : Praeger Special Studies, 1981, p. 240. 43. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., p. 7. 44. Woodward (Susan), Socialist Unemployment (op. cit.), p. 186. 45. Idem, p. 191. 46. Idem, p. 335. 47. USDS, op. cit., 1987, p. 1084. 48. USDS, CRHRP, Washington : USGPO, 1983, p. 1171 ; USDS, CRHRP, Washington : USGPO, 1989, p .1267. 49. USDS, op. cit., 1990, p. 1342 ; USDS, op. cit., 1991, p. 1309. 50. In 1971, Tito created a rotating 22 members collective presidency that served a five-year term. The federal presidency was composed of the presidents of the six republics and two autonomous provincial assemblies, as well as 14 members selected from republican and provincial assemblies. Tito also established rotation in top federal positions, nominally so that representatives of republics and provinces would serve on a collective body, the Federal Executive Council, to implement decisions and carry out duties normally accomplished in other countries by a single president. 51. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., pp. 236-237. 52. Idem, p. 237. 53. Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., pp. 248-249. 54. Mencinger (Jo`e), « From a Communist to a Capitalist Economy ? » in Dekleva (Jo`e), Simmic (James), eds., Yugoslavia in Turmoil : After Self-Management, London : Pinter Publishers, 1991, p. 73.

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55. Dekleva (Jo`e), Simmie (James), « General Lessons from the Yugoslav Experience », in Dekleva (Jo`e), Simmic (James), eds., op. cit., p. 145. 56. Idem, pp. vii, 152-153. 57. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., pp. vi-vii. 58. Golubović (Zagorka), « Characteristics, Limits and Perspectives of Self-Government : A Critical Reassessment », in Dekleva (Jo`e), Simmic (James), eds., op. cit., p. 32. 59. Adapted from idem, pp. 37-38. 60. Adamović (Svetlana), Pavlović (Vukašin), « Environmental Issues and Policies, with Special Attention to Montenegro », in Adamovich (Ljubiša S.), Ramet(Sabrina Petra), eds., op. cit., pp. 309-310. 61. Woodward (Susan), Socialist Unemployment (op. cit.), p. 256. 62. Mencinger (Jo`e), loc. cit., p. 78. 63. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 64. Smith (Adam), An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Great Books of the Western World, Chicago : Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1952, p. 3. 65. Marx (Karl), Capital, Chicago : Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1952, p. 379. 66. Golubović (Zagorka), loc. cit., p. 43. 67. Šmidovnik (Janez), « Disfunctions [sic] of the System of Self-Management in the Economy, in Local Territorial Communities and in Public Administration », in Dekleva (Jo`e), Simmic (James), eds., op. cit., pp. 28-29. 68. Adamović (Svetlana), Pavlović (Vukašin), loc. cit., p. 308. 69. Lydall (Harold), op. cit., p. 108. 70. Idem, p. 109. 71. Gapinski (James H.), Škegro (Borislav), Zuehlke (Thomas W.), op. cit., p. 228. 72. Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., p. 72. 73. Idem, p. 98. 74. Adamovich (Ljubiša S.), « Economic Transformation in Former Yugoslavia, with Special Regard to Privatization », in Adamovich (Ljubiša S.), Ramet(Sabrina Petra), eds., op. cit., p. 275. 75. U.S. Department of State, op. cit., 1990, p. 1342. 76. Maass (Peter), Love Thy Neighbor : A Story of War, New York : Vintage Books, 1996, p. 228. 77. Zukin (Sharon), op. cit., p. 235. 78. Sirc (Ljubo), op. cit., p. 9. 79. Woodward (Susan), Balkan Tragedy (op. cit.), p. 15. Bulgaria’s extraordinary, and often halting, recovery can, nonetheless, be taken as a sign of guarded optimism for future European stability. Although Bulgaria suffered significant negative growth in the mid-1990’s, strict economic measures coupled with sufficient societal guarantees for citizens produced some positive result. Perhaps the most positive result occurred on 13 December 1997, when Bulgaria (along with Romania, Latvia, Slovakia, and Lithuania) was granted “second wave” consideration for accession talks as an eventual full European Union member. 80. Glenny (Misha), The Rebirth of History, London : Penguin, 1990, p. 120. 81. Davidson (Basil), The Black Man’s Burden : Africa and the Curse of the Nation-State, New York : Times Books, 1992, pp. 281-282. 82. Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 83. « Major Expansion of Arms Sales to Yugoslavia Planned by US », Aerospace Daily, 28 September 1978 ; Weintraub (Bernard), « US to Sell Arms to Yugoslavia and Widen Military Cooperation », Current News , 29 September 1978 ; Neal (Fred Warner), loc. cit. 84. Spegele (Roger D.), « Is Robust Globalism a Mistake ? », The Review of International Studies, April 1997, p. 237. 85. Cassidy (John), « The Return of Karl Marx », The New Yorker, 20-27 October 1997.

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86. Miller (Riel), « Economic Flexibility and Societal Cohesion », The OECD Observer, August- September 1997, p. 24. 87. New York Times, 11 August 1997, p. A1. 88. Woodward (Susan L.), « Bosnia after Dayton : Year Two », Current History, March 1997, p. 103. 89. Cohen (Mitchell), « Review of After 1989 : Morals, Revolutions, and Civil Society by Ralf Dahrendorf », New York Times Book Review, 23 November 1997, p. 17.

AUTEUR

P. H. LIOTTA P. H. Liotta is the Jerome E. Levy Chair of Economic Geography and National Security at the U.S. Naval War College. He previously served as a Fulbright scholar to Yugoslavia during its breakup as a nation-state and as a diplomatic attaché to the Hellenic Republic. He has traveled extensively throughout the former Soviet Union, Europe, and the Balkan peninsula. The author of ten books and over 250 articles in fields as diverse as poetry, criticism, education, international security, intervention ethics, and foreign policy analysis, his work has been translated into Arabic, Bosnian, Bulgarian, French, Greek, Italian, Japanese, Macedonian, Russian, Serbo-Croatian, and Spanish. He has received a Pulitzer Prize nomination and National Endowment for the Arts literature fellowship, as well as the first International Quarterly Crossing Boundaries Award and the Robert H. Winner Award from the Poetry Society of America. A member of the advisory board for the Research Institute for European and American Studies, he has also been a visiting lecturer at the University of and Complutense University in Madrid and visiting writer at SUNY Binghamton and the California Institute for the Arts.

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Bosnies

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Introduction

Xavier Bougarel

1 Les cinq contributions rassemblées ici ont été rédigées par des étudiants en géographie ou en anthropologie, et sont basées sur des recherches de terrain conduites dans le cadre d’une maîtrise ou d’un D.E.A. À leur manière, elles témoignent donc du renouveau des études balkaniques en France, un renouveau tout aussi réjouissant qu’indispensable, mais qui reste encore très partiel et fragile aujourd’hui. Le dossier qu’elles constituent s’intitule « Bosnies », car leur dénominateur commun est leur caractère monographique, le fait de s’intéresser à un lieu ou à un espace particulier en Bosnie-Herzégovine : Sarajevo, la capitale, et son agglomération ; la Ligne-frontière inter-entités (IEBL), qui serpente à travers le territoire bosniaque ; Brčko, clef de voûte de la construction territoriale et institutionnelle mise en place par les accords de Dayton ; Prnjavor, que certains, avant la guerre, appelaient la « petite Bosnie » (« Bosna u malom »), à cause de son surprenant éventail de populations ; Blagaj, enfin, village d’Herzégovine meurtri par la guerre, à quelques kilomètres de .

2 Or, ce que montrent d’abord ces contributions, c’est à quel point les réalités locales de la Bosnie-Herzégovine sont à la fois semblables et différentes, chacun des lieux choisis déclinant sur un mode qui lui est propre un certain nombre d’éléments communs. Ainsi, ce ne sont pas les mêmes communautés qui sont en jeu, ou du moins pas dans les mêmes proportions : avant la guerre, les trois nations constitutives de la Bosnie- Herzégovine se croisaient à Brčko, Sarajevo était surtout peuplée de Bochniaques, de Serbes et… de « Yougoslaves », Prnjavor, majoritairement serbe, s’enorgueillissait de ses minorités « non-constitutives », et Blagaj était déjà mononational. De même, chaque ville, chaque village a sa propre identité locale et régionale, sa propre trajectoire historique, comme le montre en particulier Nikola Guljevatej à propos de Prnjavor.

3 Ces différentes inscriptions dans la géographie et l’histoire bosniaques ne sont pas sans conséquences sur les formes qu’y ont pris la guerre et l’après-guerre. Certes, une des caractéristiques du conflit bosniaque est qu’il a bouleversé la Bosnie-Herzégovine dans son ensemble, et que rares sont ceux ayant échappé à ses conséquences funestes : il suffit de se rappeler que ce conflit a fait de 150 000 à 200 000 morts, et 2 100 000 réfugiés et personnes déplacées (soit plus de la moitié de la population bosniaque), pour s’en convaincre. Mais, alors que l’IEBL longe en grande partie les anciennes lignes

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de front, et se reconnaît donc à ses champs de ruines et ses champs de mines, alors que Blagaj, Brčko et Sarajevo ont été ravagées par les bombardements et les combats, Prnjavor n’a connu d’autres destructions matérielles que celles, très ciblées, des exécuteurs de basses oeuvres. Et, pendant que Laurence Robin-Hunter rappelle la terrible violence du nettoyage ethnique dans le corridor de Brčko, Nikola Guljevatej s’interroge sur les raisons de sa relative « modération » à Prnjavor1.

4 Il n’en va pas autrement pour l’après-guerre et, comme l’explique Emmanuelle Lebrun- Chaveneau, l’IEBL elle-même peut prendre des formes et des rigidités différentes selon qu’elle traverse la Bosnie occidentale ou orientale, une zone urbaine ou rurale, une rue d’une banlieue de Sarajevo ou un axe routier très fréquenté. Certes, là encore, certaines évolutions communes se dégagent, à commencer bien entendu par celles liées au morcellement du territoire et au déplacement forcé des populations. De Sarajevo à Blagaj, en passant par Brčko et Prnjavor, ce sont les mêmes processus qui sont en cours : homogénéisation ethnique des populations, recomposition des identités locales et communautaires, marquage symbolique du territoire, naissance de nouvelles frontières. Partout également transparaît l’extraordinaire complexité institutionnelle qui caractérise la Bosnie-Herzégovine d’après-guerre : à Sarajevo, où Amaël Cattaruzza décrit l’enchevêtrement des échelons administratifs ; dans le district « neutre et réunifié » de Brčko, dont Laurence Robin-Hunter retrace les origines complexes ; sur l’IEBL, dont Emmanuelle Lebrun-Chaveneau rappelle l’indétermination juridique.

5 Dans le même temps, ces processus nés de la guerre sont contredits, ou du moins amendés par d’autres évolutions propres à l’après-guerre : l’IEBL se franchit de plus en plus facilement, et l’on y commerce avec ardeur, dans des marchés sauvages et sur des étals improvisés ; à Sarajevo et à Brčko, villes-test pour la communauté internationale, les « retours minoritaires » se comptent par milliers, malgré des résistances plus ou moins fortes ; à Prnjavor et à Blagaj, ils s’amorcent à peine, mais les plus courageux viennent déjà se rendre compte de l’état de leurs biens, et saluer certains de leurs anciens voisins. Dans toute la Bosnie-Herzégovine, la question du retour est donc d’actualité, au niveau officiel comme au niveau individuel. Toutefois, comme le constate Arnaud Appriou à Blagaj, de nombreux autres déplacés s’installent durablement dans leur lieu d’exil, entreprennent la construction d’une autre maison, et contribuent eux aussi à l’émergence d’une nouvelle Bosnie-Herzégovine, différente de l’ancienne et aux contours encore incertains.

6 Une étude détaillée, à l’échelle locale, de ces diverses évolutions humaines, territoriales et institutionnelles montre en effet comment celles-ci changent d’intensité, voire de sens, en fonction des lieux et des moments, à quel point elles sont portées par des forces multiples et antagoniques, des dynamiques complexes et souvent paradoxales. Dès lors, les analyses bien carrées, les scénarios impeccables aux anticipations linéaires et binaires (réintégration ou partition !), si chers aux administrations et aux think tanks qu’elles financent, apparaissent tristement naïfs et irréalistes. Ces contributions viennent aussi à point nommé pour rappeler que la réalité bosniaque, les réalités bosniaques, ne sont pas seulement faites d’identités ethniques et d’appartenances communautaires. Le clivage ville / campagne y occupe ainsi une place importante, même si le fait que les habitants de Blagaj (une bourgade aux yeux des Sarajéviens !) se posent en « urbains » face aux « ruraux » venus de l’extérieur oblige à relativiser la pertinence de ces identités, tout aussi imaginaires et bricolées que les autres 2. De même, plusieurs auteurs soulignent fort à propos que la vraie préoccupation

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quotidienne des Bosniaques n’est ni la Constitution, ni la loi électorale, mais la misère et le chômage.

7 Enfin, si ces cinq contributions sont toutes de type monographique, elles n’ont ni le même format, ni la même démarche : alors que Amaël Cattaruzza s’interroge sur la place de Sarajevo dans son environnement national et international, Emmanuelle Lebrun-Chaveneau se demande comment une ligne-frontière tracée sur une carte d’état-major finit par s’inscrire dans les paysages et dans les têtes, Laurence Robin- Hunter et Nikola Guljevatej explorent les quartiers et les hameaux de leurs municipalités respectives, et Arnaud Appriou choisit la maison familiale comme clef de lecture de son village d’Herzégovine. Mises bout à bout, elles permettent donc de passer du général au particulier, du macroscopique au microscopique, de la géopolitique à l’anthropologie, et produisent ainsi un fascinant « effet de zoom ». De ce changement d’échelle progressif émerge une question ô combien actuelle en Bosnie-Herzégovine et au-delà, à savoir les modes d’articulation du global et du local. A chaque fois, en effet, il apparaît que la Bosnie-Herzégovine ne peut plus être comprise sans tenir compte des organisations internationales (OHR, OSCE, UNHCR, etc.) qui supervisent et influencent son destin, des forces multinationales (SFOR, ITPF, etc.) qui la surveillent et la parcourent en tous sens, des étrangers (militaires, fonctionnaires internationaux, entrepreneurs, ingénieurs, humanitaires, militants, etc.) qui y séjournent, y travaillent, y vivent. À l’inverse, il semblerait que la société locale, institutions, forces politiques et sociales ou simples individus confondus, sache finalement assez bien s’adapter à cette insertion accélérée dans le village global, lui résister, lui échapper ou en tirer profit. Et, qui sait, il s’avèrera peut-être un jour que le succès ou l’échec d’une des plus grandes opérations multilatérales de peace making réalisées à ce jour était aussi lié aux prix inabordables pratiqués par un restaurant de poisson, quelque part sur les bords de la Buna3.

8 Pour laisser au lecteur le loisir de s’en convaincre, je préfère stopper là cette introduction. Toutefois, je voudrais encore revenir brièvement sur une question de terminologie. En serbo-croate, le terme « Bosanac » (adj. : bosanski) désigne l’ensemble des habitants de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, alors que le terme « Bošnjak » (adj. : bošnjački) s’applique aux seuls membres de la communauté musulmane. Plusieurs spécialistes français des Balkans, tels que Paul Garde ou Michel Roux, proposent de traduire ce couple de mots par le couple français « Bosnien / Bosniaque ». Cette solution se rapproche de la solution anglaise (« Bosnian / Bosniak »), et correspond à d’autres cas de distinction entre appartenance régionale et appartenance ethnique (ex. : Malaisien / Malais, Serbien / Serbe, etc.). Toutefois, elle ne me paraît pas satisfaisante et je lui préfère le couple « Bosniaque / Bochniaque ». D’une part, en serbo-croate comme en anglais, c’est le terme ethnique (Bošnjak, Bosniak) qui sonne comme un néologisme, alors que la solution de P. Garde et M. Roux revient au contraire à créer un néologisme pour le terme régional, introduisant ainsi une distorsion sémantique grave dans le rapport existant entre ces deux termes. D’autre part, la langue française ne traduit pas systématiquement le suffixe serbo-croate -ac, indiquant l’appartenance régionale, par le suffixe français -ien (exemples : Crnogorac : Monténégrin, Dalmatinac : Dalmate, etc.). Enfin, seul le choix du couple « Bosniaque / Bochniaque » permet de réserver le terme « Bosnien » pour la traduction d’un troisième terme serbo-croate, « Bošnjan », qui désignait les habitants de la Bosnie à l’époque médiévale (« dobri Bošnjani »).

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9 À l’origine, certaines des contributions présentées ici utilisaient le couple « Bosnien / Bosniaque », et d’autres le couple « Bosniaque / Bochniaque ». A des fins de cohérence, j’ai décidé d’harmoniser l’ensemble des textes en utilisant la deuxième solution4. Je prie les auteurs et les lecteurs qui désapprouveraient ce choix de ne pas m’en tenir rigueur.

NOTES

1. A ce propos, une récente étude réalisée par des géographes américains confirme l’idée selon laquelle les formes locales de la guerre seraient liées aux configurations communautaires présentes sur le terrain. Ce constat, qui reste à vérifier et à nuancer, ne doit en aucun cas faire apparaître le nettoyage ethnique comme une fatalité mécanique, et disculper ainsi ses instigateurs et ses exécutants. Il incite cependant à s’interroger sur les motivations et les dynamiques réelles de la violence dans les guerres yougoslaves, au-delà des discours moralisateurs et des analogies faciles. Voir Slack (J.),Doyon (R.), « Population Dynamics and Susceptibility for Ethnic Conflict : the Case of Bosnia-Herzegovina », Journal of Peace Research, 38 (2), mars 2001, p. 139-161. 2. Voir à ce propos Bougarel (X.), « La “revanche des campagnes”, entre réalité sociologique et mythe nationaliste », Ballkanologie, 2 (1), juillet 1998, p. 17-35. 3. Sur les interactions entre acteurs globaux et acteurs locaux en Bosnie-Herzégovine, voir entre autres Chandler (D.), « Democratization in Bosnia : The Limits of Civil Society Building Strategies », Democratization, 5 (4), Winter 1998, p. 78-102 ; Belloni (R.), « Civil Society and Peacebuilding in Bosnia-Herzegovina », Journal of Peace Research, 38 (2), March 2001, pp. 163-79 ; Deacon (B.),Stubbs (P.), « International Actors and Social Policy Development in Bosnia- Herzegovina : Globalism and the New Feudalism », Journal of European Social Policy, 8 (2), May 1998, p. 99-115. 4. Pour des raisons techniques, certaines cartes n’ont pu être harmonisées.

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Sarajevo, capitale incertaine

Amaël Cattaruzza

1 Sarajevo a occupé au cours du XXe siècle une place particulière dans la mémoire collective occidentale. Faut-il croire que le traumatisme causé par l’assassinat de François Ferdinand, Archiduc d’Autriche, le 28 juin 1914, ne s’est jamais vraiment effacé chez les peuples d’Europe de l’Ouest ? Ce souvenir passionnel et tragique n’aurait-il pas en partie accentué l’engouement des journalistes, intellectuels et hommes politiques qui, pendant les quatre années du conflit bosniaque, ont fait de cette ville le symbole d’une résistance contre les nationalismes en guerre, et celui d’un espoir de coexistence intercommunautaire face à la barbarie de la « purification ethnique » ? Mais aujourd’hui, que reste-t-il de tout cela ? Dans cet article, nous nous proposons de dresser un bilan de la situation complexe de cette ville en l’an 2000, cinq ans après le retour de la paix.

2 Sarajevo est d’abord une ville qui a connu un siège d’un peu moins de quatre ans, entre avril 1992 et décembre 1995, période pendant laquelle elle n’a pas cessé d’être pilonnée, et où ses habitants étaient constamment menacés. La guerre a profondément affecté la structure de sa population, une population à près de 85 % bochniaque aujourd’hui (49 % en 1991), du fait des déplacements forcés qui ont été le but avoué du conflit. Cette nouvelle répartition suffit à ébranler le mythe qui voudrait que Sarajevo soit restée une cité pluriculturelle et pluriethnique, une “Jérusalem balkanique”. En outre, à la dissociation ethnique viennent s’ajouter d’autres types de fractures. Avec l’arrivée massive de réfugiés dans la ville pendant et après le conflit, des tensions sont apparues entre les “désabusés”, anciens Sarajéviens ayant vu leur ville détruite jour après jour, et les “déracinés”, nouveaux Sarajéviens issus la plupart du temps d’un milieu rural ou de villes plus petites, et qui se heurtent à des coutumes urbaines, des civilités qu’ils ne connaissent pas. L’incompréhension entre ces deux groupes est accrue par un contexte social difficile dans lequel le marché noir fleurit, seul moyen de subsistance pour de nombreuses personnes sans travail et sans ressource.

3 Dans une perspective plus générale, cette ville est en transition entre système communiste et démocratie libérale, à l’image des pays de l’Est dans leur ensemble. Ce problème doit toujours être placé en toile de fond. En effet, derrière la réparation des vestiges de la guerre, c’est tout un système de valeurs qui est en train d’évoluer, de se

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transformer. L’ampleur de ce changement suffit à expliquer certains blocages, tant au niveau économique et administratif (industries et administrations dominées par les partis politiques) qu’au niveau individuel (nostalgie de la période titiste).

4 Enfin, Sarajevo est, depuis 1992, une capitale de rang international à la tête d’un nouvel Etat indépendant, la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Cette position dominante de Sarajevo à l’intérieur du pays est plutôt récente, et reste sujette à contestation. Aussi, la ville doit trouver sa place tant au niveau national qu’international, à l’heure où elle traverse de grandes difficultés politiques et économiques. Sur la scène mondiale, elle reste sous tutelle des différentes organisations internationales en présence. Sur le plan national, elle est soumise à la fragilité de l’Etat bosniaque. En effet, le pays est actuellement divisé en trois zones distinctes qui ne coopèrent que très peu ensemble : deux entités créées par les accords de Dayton (décembre 1995) et séparées par une ligne inter- entités, la Republika Srpska (République serbe) et la Fédération croato-bochniaque, et au sein de cette dernière, deux zones croate et bochniaque. Or, la ville de Sarajevo a été âprement disputée pendant le conflit, et se situe désormais en grande partie en zone bochniaque, mais jouxte la Republika Srpska. Dans ce contexte, nous verrons que la place de Sarajevo est donc bien précaire et pleine d’incertitudes.

Sarajevo, une histoire démographique mouvementée

5 L’installation humaine dans la région de Sarajevo est ancienne. Celle-ci présente en effet l’avantage d’être située dans la vaste vallée de Sarajevo-Zenica, à proximité du point de confluence de la Miljačka et de la Bosna, c’est-à-dire dans un site qui était prédisposé à être, dans cet espace montagneux, un lieu de passage et de communication, un carrefour entre l’Europe de l’Est et la côte Adriatique, entre Orient et Occident. Au Moyen Âge, alors que la Bosnie devenait progressivement un royaume indépendant, on voit quelques cités fortifiées (, Kotorac, Vrhbosna, Trgovište) s’établir aux alentours du site actuel de Sarajevo.

6 Depuis sa fondation en 1462 par Isa Beg Isaković à l’époque gouverneur de Bosnie- Herzégovine, Sarajevo a toujours été soumise à des systèmes politiques larges (Empires, Royaume ou Fédération) qui ont pu favoriser, par leur fonctionnement ou dans leur succession, un brassage communautaire important. A travers l’histoire de Sarajevo, nous pouvons distinguer différentes étapes de son développement urbain et démographique : la période de domination ottomane, celle de l’administration austro- hongroise, celle du Royaume des Serbes, Croates et Slovènes, et enfin celle de la Yougoslavie de Tito1.

7 La ville ne connaît un réel essor qu’au début du XVIe siècle, lorsque Gazi Husrev Beg devient, à son tour, gouverneur de Bosnie. Il décide de faire de ce centre administratif un šeher (“grande ville”), et y fait construire de nombreux monuments et édifices publiques. On lui doit la plus belle mosquée de Sarajevo, qui porte son nom (Begova džamija, 1530), une bibliothèque (1537), une medressa (école coranique, 1538), un bezistan (marché couvert, 1542), etc. Le XVIème siècle est l’âge d’or de la ville. Le système ottoman est suffisamment souple pour favoriser les échanges commerciaux et la pluriculturalité dans la cité. Le principe du millet permet à chaque communauté de rester sous l’autorité de son propre chef religieux. A Sarajevo, on dénombre à la fin du siècle quatre-vingt onze mahale (quartiers) musulmans, deux chrétiens, ainsi qu’une colonie juive. La domination ottomane se traduit dans les villes par de nombreuses

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conversions à l’islam. Le nombre d’habitants musulmans à Sarajevo, ou du moins déclarés comme tels, augmente rapidement. La présence d’une communauté juive joue un rôle important dans la croissance de l’activité commerciale, et notamment du commerce extérieur, en raison de ses liens avec d’autres colonies et des personnalités juives de l’Empire et des pays occidentaux. Une synagogue est construite vers 1580. Sarajevo reste sous autorité ottomane pendant plus de quatre cents ans, de 1462 à 1878.

8 Le 13 août 1878, le Congrès de Berlin confie l’administration de la Bosnie-Herzégovine à l’Autriche-Hongrie. La période de domination austro-hongroise, qui ne dure que quarante ans, inaugure un second stade de développement de la ville. Des bâtiments d’un style nouveau, plus académique, commencent à côtoyer les anciens quartiers ottomans. Le nombre des catholiques augmente, justifiant l’édification d’une cathédrale. Cet accroissement de la population catholique est en partie dûe a une politique délibérée de l’administration austro-hongroise, comme en témoignent la création en 1881 de l’archevêché de Sarajevo, des évêchés de Banja Luka et de Mostar, et la nomination au siège épiscopal de , un catholique ultramontain. La nouvelle structure démographique mise en place à Sarajevo au cours des quarante ans de tutelle austro-hongroise reste encore perceptible après la Première Guerre mondiale, à l’époque du Royaume des Serbes, Croates et Slovènes, même si la part des Serbes (orthodoxes) augmente alors au détriment de la population croate (catholique).

9 La troisième grande phase d’extension et de développement de la ville remonte au temps de la Yougoslavie communiste. L’agglomération continue alors de s’étendre vers l’ouest le long de la vallée de la Miljačka. Sa population augmente de façon constante jusqu’au déclenchement de la guerre, confortant son caractère multiculturel mais bouleversant une fois encore ses structures démographiques. En 1991, au cours du dernier recensement yougoslave, le nombre de Sarajéviens s’élève à 527 049, dont 49,2 % de Musulmans (Bochniaques), 29,8 % de Serbes, 6,6 % de Croates, 10,7 % de “Yougoslaves”, et 3,6 % d’habitants classés dans la catégorie “Autres”. Le nombre de Musulmans s’est donc accru jusqu’à représenter près de la moitié des habitants, tandis que l’accroissement du nombre de personnes s’affirmant “Yougoslaves” rend plus délicate une quelconque analyse de l’évolution relative des populations serbe et croate. Toujours est-il que la ville est alors considérée comme une illustration de la réussite du modèle d’intégration yougoslave et, de fait, les mariages mixtes y sont plus courants que dans les campagnes, sans toutefois se généraliser.

10 L’attention que nous portons volontairement aux différentes appartenances communautaires ne doit pas cacher d’autres types de disparités, comme celles qui apparaissent au niveau social. Elles expliquent l’apparition dans les années 1970 d’une banlieue ouvrière, formée de grandes tours d’habitation, alors que Sarajevo commence à sentir les effets de la crise économique yougoslave. Les Jeux Olympiques d’hiver en 1984 lui permettent cependant d’atténuer les retombées de cette crise. De grands travaux de rénovation et de restructuration urbaine y sont alors accomplis. La croissance de la ville se maintient péniblement. Elle est brutalement stoppée en avril 1992, avec le début du siège.

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Les nouvelles structures démographiques, sociales et identitaires

11 Les logiques communautaires, religieuses et nationalistes de la guerre ont profondément affecté Sarajevo, tant au niveau démographique qu’au niveau identitaire et social. Les estimations du Haut commissariat aux réfugiés, datées de juillet 1999 pour Sarajevo et de mars 1996 pour Srpsko Sarajevo (“Sarajevo serbe”), indique que la ville serait peuplée de 361 934 habitants côté Fédération (dont 59 685 personnes déplacées), et de 29 689 personnes côté serbe, soit, dans le meilleur des cas, d’un total de 391 623 habitants. L’inversion de tendance démographique est évidente sur une courbe :

Evolution démographique de Sarajevo entre 1948 et 1999

12 En 1999, la ville est presque revenue à son niveau de 1971. Les raisons de cette perte sont doubles : d’une part, les morts, tués par les obus ou les snipers (le bilan humain de la guerre est estimé à 10 000 morts environ pour Sarajevo), d’autre part, les personnes déplacées, familles serbes, croates, mixtes, ou même bochniaques qui ont dû fuir la ville. La partie de Sarajevo située en Fédération serait peuplée à 84 % environ de Bochniaques, alors qu’ils n’y représentaient que 49,2 % en 1991. Les minorités ethniques, serbe ou croate, sont aujourd’hui regroupées dans le centre-ville. Dans la partie serbe de Sarajevo, il n’existe pas de données exactes concernant les différentes communautés ; cependant, nous pouvons affirmer que la quasi-totalité de la population est serbe.

13 Pour contrecarrer cette homogénéisation ethnique de la ville, les organisations internationales mettent l’accent sur le retour des réfugiés. L’Office du Haut représentant de l’ONU (Office of the High Representative -OHR) a ainsi appelé les institutions internationales à signer le 3 février 1998 une Déclaration de Sarajevo. Celle-ci présente les priorités de la communauté internationale pour l’agglomération et son canton, à savoir la multiethnicité, la non-discrimination, le respect de la propriété privée des personnes déplacées et un nombre d’au moins 20 000 retours minoritaires en 19982. Cette année-là, le Haut commissariat aux réfugiés n’a en fait enregistré que 4 934 retours minoritaires dans le canton de Sarajevo, auxquels s’ajoutent les retours spontanés qui peuvent atteindre quelques milliers. Quoi qu’il en soit, l’objectif de

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départ est très loin d’avoir été atteint, car les entraves au retour sont nombreuses. Tout d’abord, le processus démographique amorcé par les accords de Dayton semble ne pas aller dans le sens d’une réintégration humaine mais, au contraire, dans celui d’une dissociation ethnique et territoriale de plus en plus marquée. Louis Sell évoque ainsi le départ massif des Serbes de Sarajevo après la fin du siège et le départ de l’armée assiégeante3. Sur les quelques 157 000 Sarajéviens serbes d’avant-guerre, il estime qu’il en restait 10 000 seulement à la fin du retrait des forces serbes, la plupart étant partis s’installer en Republika Srpska. Quant à ceux qui désireraient maintenant rentrer dans leur ancien foyer, la démarche apparaît longue, fastidieuse et risquée du fait de l’obstruction délibérée des administrations (l’influence du SDA -parti nationaliste musulman- y est prégnante), de la discrimination à l’embauche, dans l’éducation, la santé, etc., et des problèmes identitaires qu’un tel retour implique. Or, plus le temps passe, plus les retours minoritaires semblent hypothétiques.

14 Pourtant, la situation sociale des Sarajéviens est globalement plus enviable que celle du reste du pays. Le taux de chômage au 1er janvier 2000 serait à Sarajevo de 14,4 %, avec 52 110 chômeurs, alors qu’il est de plus de 50 % en Bosnie-Herzégovine. Néanmoins, au nombre officiel de chômeurs, il faut ajouter les travailleurs “en attente” (na čekanju) qui sont employés par des entreprises n’ayant pas réouvert depuis la guerre. Le taux de chômage atteint alors 18 % environ, c’est-à-dire près de un actif sur cinq. La proportion de chômeurs est moindre lorsque l’on s’approche du centre ville. Cette différence est peut-être dûe à la concentration dans le centre du secteur tertiaire, qui représente probablement le principal fournisseur d’emploi de la capitale. Mais la condition des travailleurs n’est pas bien meilleure que celle des chômeurs. D’après les sources officielles, le revenu moyen mensuel d’un Sarajévien serait en janvier 2000 de 466,74 KM (Mark convertible), soit l’équivalent de 1 570 FF ou 236 Euros4. La situation précaire d’un grand nombre d’habitants explique le développement d’un important marché noir, qui est en fait presque légal, puisqu’il se fait à la vue de tous, dans la rue, sur les marchés ou au porte-à-porte. Les fractures qui divisent la population sarajévienne pourraient donc être bien plus de nature sociale qu’ethnique.

15 En effet, les tensions nationalistes se trouvent atténuées à Sarajevo par rapport à l’ensemble du pays, peut-être du fait d’une identité sarajévienne particulière. Celle-ci passe d’abord par l’apprentissage de toute une mythologie qui tourne autour des différents sites de la ville, et le respect de certains “rites”, comme celui de se retrouver le 1er mai à Ilidža, aux sources de la Bosna, pour célébrer la fête du travail. Elle se fonde enfin sur l’histoire de la ville, connue et partagée par tous les Sarajéviens. Or, cette identité est aujourd’hui remise en cause par l’afflux de nouveaux arrivants. Si l’écart entre l’ancienne et les nouvelles populations est important à Sarajevo, il devient plus profond encore lorsque les nouveaux arrivants sont d’origine rurale. Deux cultures se côtoient et s’affrontent alors : culture urbaine et culture rurale.

16 Les noms ne manquent pas chez les anciens Sarajéviens pour qualifier ces ruraux : les primitivci ou encore les papci (sing. : papak), la traduction n’étant pas nécessaire pour deviner l’aspect péjoratif de ces termes. Aujourd’hui, il existe à Sarajevo un conflit latent entre les “déracinés”, ces personnes arrachées à leur campagne, qui se retrouvent perdues en ville, et les “désabusés”, ces Sarajéviens qui ont d’abord vu leur ville détruite et qui voient aujourd’hui de nouvelles populations mettre en péril, par des comportements nuisibles à la ville, l’intégrité de leur cité. Ce phénomène d’exode rural n’est pas nouveau, mais il a été considérablement accru par la guerre. Et cette

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arrivée soudaine et massive de ruraux au sein de la capitale pose de nouveaux problèmes : les papci vont-il s’intégrer à la ville, ou le tissu social de Sarajevo va-t-il se désintégrer faute de résoudre cette tension ? Va-t-on assister à l’émergence d’un papak citadin, ou à une communautarisation accrue de la population de Sarajevo ?

Une capitale contestée au niveau national

17 Sarajevo est, depuis l’indépendance de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, la capitale d’un nouvel Etat. Elle est également, depuis les accords de Washington (mars 1994), la capitale de la Fédération croato-bochniaque. Mais ce double statut est loin d’être acquis pour la ville, et les prochains défis que Sarajevo va devoir relever pour assumer pleinement sa place de capitale vont être de s’affirmer tant au niveau national qu’international.

18 Il lui faudra d’abord être reconnue par l’ensemble du pays, ce qui repose le douloureux problème de la division de la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Cette reconnaissance paraît d’autant plus difficile à obtenir que la ville a représenté un enjeu important au cours du conflit. Trois plans de paix ont échoué en partie sur la question du statut de Sarajevo, car ils proposaient de faire passer la ville sous administration internationale5. Finalement, les accords de Dayton (décembre 1995) ont mis fin à l’encerclement de la ville par les troupes serbes et accordé la plus grande partie de son territoire à la Fédération croato- bochniaque, réduisant la zone serbe à quelques secteurs périphériques à l’est et au sud de la ville. Cette solution était à l’époque bien loin de satisfaire les dirigeants bosno- serbes qui auraient préféré une division plus “équitable”, et leur ressentiment est encore perceptible aujourd’hui dans le mépris qu’ils ont envers leur capitale. Le statut de capitale octroyé à Sarajevo reste donc fragile, par la définition même de ses pouvoirs dans les accords de paix, et par sa contestation dans une partie du pays. En outre, la ville doit aussi s’émanciper de la tutelle internationale, ce qui semble bien loin de se réaliser, tant au niveau économique que politique et militaire.

19 Au niveau de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, les pouvoirs attribués par les accords de Dayton au gouvernement central installé à Sarajevo sont limités aux affaires étrangères, et aux questions intérieures qui nécessitent une harmonisation globale comme la monnaie, les communications et les transports. La capitale n’est donc pas le lieu de toutes les décisions dans le pays, et les accords de Dayton ont rejeté toute solution allant dans le sens d’une centralisation plus poussée. Au niveau de la Fédération croato-bochniaque, les pouvoirs de Sarajevo sont également restreints : chaque canton vote ses propres lois, possède ses propres administrations et sa propre police, et élabore ses propres programmes scolaires et universitaires. La mise en place de la Fédération s’accompagne donc d’un formidable processus de décentralisation des pouvoirs. La parité entre représentants bochniaque et croate est scrupuleusement respectée au sein des institutions fédérales, ce qui révèle le principe idéologique sous-jacent à la création de la Fédération : la division. De fait, les cantons ne coopèrent que très peu entre eux.

20 Un autre problème qui se pose est la lourdeur que cet enchevêtrement institutionnel et administratif implique. En effet, chaque canton a son ou ses Président(s), son Assemblée et son gouvernement, tout comme la Fédération croato-bochniaque et la Bosnie-Herzégovine elle-même. A ces trois échelons de pouvoir s’ajoute celui des municipalités. Sarajevo, située au sommet de cette pyramide, est devenue une ville où les administrations ont pris une importance démesurée, puisque les quatre échelons s’y trouvent concentrés sur un territoire restreint. En outre, la mise en place du canton de

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Sarajevo en mars 1996 a eu pour conséquence une perte de compétences et de revenus importante pour la municipalité.

21 Sarajevo est encore loin de pouvoir se prévaloir d’une reconnaissance unanime de la part de la population bosniaque. La contestation que subit la ville se fait sur des bases soit régionales, soit ethniques. Sur le plan régional, la concurrence entre les différentes villes bosniaques est ancienne. Notons que la capitale politique de la Bosnie au temps de la domination ottomane n’était pas Sarajevo, mais Travnik. Au cours du XXe siècle, Sarajevo s’est sans doute développée plus vite que n’importe quelle autre ville de Bosnie-Herzégovine, du fait des politiques délibérées de l’Empire austro-hongrois, du Royaume des Serbes, Croates et Slovènes, et à leur suite de la Yougoslavie communiste. Mais cette centralité de Sarajevo n’a cessé de susciter la jalousie des autres centres urbains tels que Banja Luka, Mostar, Tuzla ou Zenica. Celle-ci s’est notamment manifestée en 1984, lorsque que d’importants investissements ont été réalisés à Sarajevo pour les Jeux Olympiques d’hiver. Sur le plan ethnique, les zones croates sont plus tournées vers la Croatie, avec laquelle elles partagent des frontières communes, que vers Sarajevo. Quant à la Republika Srpska, elle possède ses propres centres régionaux auxquels elle accorde un statut de “capitales” : d’un côté, Banja Luka, qui est devenue le centre administratif de la Republika Srpska, et de l’autre, Srpsko Sarajevo, la partie serbe de Sarajevo séparée de la capitale par la Ligne-frontière inter-entités (Inter-Entity Boundary Line –IEBL).

22 Or, l’IEBL qui traverse actuellement Sarajevo pose un problème tout aussi grave que celui de sa reconnaissance en tant que capitale : cette ville n’est-elle pas en train de devenir une ville-frontière ? Parler de ville-frontière en ce qui concerne Sarajevo reste contestable, car cela demande au préalable de considérer l’IEBL comme une frontière, alors que celle-ci n’est pas véritablement reconnue comme telle par les autorités nationales et internationales. Elle est définie par les accords de Dayton comme une simple « ligne de démarcation entre les entités », et aucun autre statut ne lui est donné. Pourtant, cette ligne agit dans les faits comme une frontière, et qui plus est une frontière fermée. Dans ces conditions, la zone d’influence de la ville s’arrête de façon très claire à l’IEBL. Cette position pourrait être dangereuse pour l’avenir économique à long terme de la capitale : Sarajevo ne risque-t-elle pas d’être marginalisée au sein de la Fédération croato-bochniaque, alors même qu’elle se situe au coeur de la Bosnie- Herzégovine ? Cette situation de ville-frontière pourrait ausi avoir des conséquences politiques graves à long terme, la ville se repliant sur elle-même et s’homogénéisant toujours plus sur le plan ethnique pour se protéger du danger que représente la proximité de la Republika Srpska. Elle deviendrait alors un “rempart bochniaque” opposé aux zones serbe et croate. De fait, les industries situées dans la capitale restent au mains du SDA, le parti nationaliste musulman, et les mosquées se multiplient dans le but de stabiliser la nouvelle composition ethnique de la ville. De l’autre côté, Srpsko Sarajevo affirme par tous les moyens son identité serbe. Sarajevo et Srpsko Sarajevo multiplient donc les provocations réciproques comme l’érection de monuments à leur héros de guerre respectifs, les discriminations de tous ordres et le mépris mutuel de leurs habitants.

23 Srpsko Sarajevo est une création issue de la guerre, sans aucun fondement historique. Elle est consignée dans la zone attribuée à la Republika Srpska par les accords de Dayton, qui s’étend sur quelques quartiers et secteurs périphériques à l’Est et au Sud de Sarajevo. Le projet serbe d’un Srpsko Sarajevo pouvant rivaliser avec la capitale s’inscrit

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dans la perspective du rattachement des quelques quartiers serbes (Dobrinja, Lukavica) à la petite ville de Pale, vingt kilomètres plus à l’Est. Aussi, les autorités serbes se sont efforcées avec le peu de moyens dont elles disposaient de reconstruire les bâtiments des quartiers serbes de Sarajevo et de favoriser l’essor de Pale, afin de permettre aux réfugiés serbes de s’installer définitivement, et de pérenniser ainsi l’homogénéisation ethnique de ce territoire. Mais ces efforts de développement cachent une réalité assez déplorable : le niveau économique de Srpsko Sarajevo est nettement inférieur à celui de Sarajevo, et les reconstructions sont beaucoup moins avancées du côté serbe. Les politiques de reconstruction des organisations internationales ont nettement favorisé la Fédération : officieusement, 82 % des aides seraient allées à la Fédération, contre 18 % seulement à la Republika Srpska.

Une forte présence internationale

24 Au niveau international, Sarajevo est une ville sous tutelle. A l’aéroport de Sarajevo, placé sous la surveillance de la SFOR (Stabilization Force), avions civils et avions de transport militaires se partagent les pistes. En ville, des soldats sillonnent en permanence les rues, et des véhicules militaires de toutes sortes se mêlent aux voitures ordinaires. Cette présence de la SFOR en Bosnie-Herzégovine a pour principal objectif de prévenir la reprise éventuelle d’un conflit, et de soutenir les efforts de la communauté internationale. Un retrait progressif a déjà été amorcé, mais on peut penser qu’il ne s’achèvera pas avant longtemps.

25 La présence internationale est également visible au niveau politique, à travers les interventions de l’Office du Haut représentant de l’ONU (OHR). Pour la ville de Sarajevo, cette tutelle politique se traduit par exemple par le fait que, le 29 novembre 1999, le Haut représentant a destitué vingt-deux élus ou responsables politiques locaux, dont le maire de la partie serbe d’Ilidža (située dans Srpsko Sarajevo) et le ministre de la Justice

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du canton de Sarajevo. Plus largement, le but avoué de cette tutelle internationale est la conversion de la Bosnie-Herzégovine à la démocratie libérale. Ce n’est là qu’une tentative de “rectification” politique dans un pays qui connaît le règne de la “partitocratie”. Et, de fait, certains rapports internationaux soulignent la faible influence de la communauté internationale comparée à la domination, à toutes les échelles de décision, des partis nationalistes.

26 Au niveau financier, la ville doit également beaucoup à la participation internationale. Les fonds accordés à la Bosnie-Herzégovine sous forme de dons ou de crédits seraient, depuis la fin de la guerre, de l’ordre de 5,2 milliards de dollars. Autant dire que peu de choses auraient pu être réalisées sans cette aide, qui a toutefois un prix, celui de rendre le pays et sa capitale débiteurs pour de nombreuses années. Cette dépendance s’exprime également sur le plan technique, puisque les organisations étrangères s’occupent aussi de l’encadrement et du suivi des projets qu’elles financent. Ce sont elles qui fournissent l’essentiel des ingénieurs et des techniciens qui gèrent les reconstructions.

27 Cette implication étrangère tous azimuts se traduit, dans la capitale, par une présence massive de gens d’origines diverses, mais principalement occidentales, qui vivent le plus souvent en autarcie, au sein d’une micro-société se renouvelant tout les six mois. Leurs salaires sont nettement supérieurs à ceux des Sarajéviens. Sarajevo a dû s’adapter à ces nouveaux arrivants, et une double économie s’est mise en place : des boutiques, des logements ne sont aujourd’hui accessibles qu’aux plus hauts revenus, et sont souvent de fait réservés aux internationaux.

28 Enfin, la transition économique qui s’amorce actuellement en Bosnie-Herzégovine, et plus particulièrement à Sarajevo où la plupart des investissements se sont concentrés, n’est pas sans danger pour le pays et sa capitale. La question est de savoir si les entreprises bosniaques sauront faire face à cette nouvelle concurrence malgré leurs handicaps, ou si elles seront amenées à se marginaliser, voire disparaître, en laissant la place aux sociétés étrangères. Le risque est élevé, vu les grands groupes qui ont commencé à s’intéresser au marché potentiel que représente la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Volkswagen, BMW, Bouygues et Intermarché sont déjà sur cette liste. Aujourd’hui, symbole de la résistance de l’économie locale, un supermarché bosniaque, Cenex, s’est installé à Dobrinja, juste à côté de l’Interex ouvert par Intermarché. Mais combien de temps cette compétition pourra-t-elle être assumée ? Sarajevo n’est-elle pas en train de tomber, en même temps que le pays tout entier, sous le contrôle de puissances économiques extérieures ?

Conclusion

29 Le destin de Sarajevo est encore incertain, tant au niveau national qu’international. Cette cité deviendra-t-elle une capitale de rang européen, à l’échelle modeste de ses 400 000 habitants, ou ne sera-t-elle qu’un centre régional parmi d’autres, dans un pays « balkanisé » et dépendant du monde extérieur ? L’homogénéisation ethnique actuelle n’est-elle qu’un épisode passager dans l’histoire mouvementée de Sarajevo, ou traduit- elle une tendance plus durable ? La diversité ethnique de Sarajevo a souvent été due, comme nous avons pu le constater, aux mesures politiques ou économiques de systèmes impériaux ou autoritaires. Aujourd’hui, une telle diversité ne peut se concevoir que dans le cadre d’un nouveau rayonnement économique de Sarajevo, dans

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un climat de tolérance réciproque entre les différentes communautés, et dans une Bosnie-Herzégovine solidaire et coopérante, sinon réunifiée. L’avenir de la capitale bosniaque se trouve ainsi lié à celui de la Bosnie-Herzégovine toute entière. En outre, il semble que seul un développement durable et contrôlé de la ville puisse permettre de résoudre les clivages ethniques ainsi que les différentes fractures sociales qui sont apparues ces dernières années au sein de la population sarajévienne.

NOTES

1. Voir Mudry (T.), Histoire de la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Faits et controverses, Paris : Ellipses, 1999, et Sanguin (A.-L.), « Sarajevo avant et après le siège, les mutations culturelles d’une capitale pluriethnique », Géographie et Cultures, (27), automne 1998, pp. 41-62. 2. Les retours minoritaires ( minority returns) sont les retours de réfugiés ou de personnes déplacées dans des régions où leur communauté ethnique est minoritaire. 3. Sell (Louis), « The Serb Flight from Sarajevo : Dayton’s First Failure », East European Politics and Societies, 14 (1), hiver 2000, pp. 179-202. 4. Federalni Zavod za Statistiku, Statistički podaci o privrednim / gospodarskim i drugim kretanjima u Federaciji Bosne i Herzegovina po kantonima, Sarajevo, mars 2000. 5. Ce sont respectivement les plans Vance-Owen (janvier 1993), Owen-Stoltenberg (juillet 1993), et le plan du “Groupe de contact” (juillet 1994).

INDEX

Index géographique : Bosnie-Herzégovine, Sarajevo

AUTEUR

AMAËL CATTARUZZA Doctorant à l'Université de Paris-Sorbonne et chercheur associé au laboratoire CNRS-UPRESA 8064 « Espace et Culture »

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La Ligne-Frontière inter-entités : nouvelle frontière, nouveau pays ?

Emmanuelle Chaveneau-Le Brun

1 La comparaison des cartes démographiques par communauté de la Bosnie-Herzégovine en 1991 et en 1996 est édifiante. Autant les trois communautés principales (Bochniaques, Serbes et Croates) étaient mêlées en 1991, autant leur séparation spatiale est lisible sur la carte de 1996, où les Serbes occupent le nord et l’est du pays, les Bochniaques le centre et l’ouest, les Croates le sud. Les exceptions à cette distribution sont rares (voir carte 1).

2 C’est l’exode des populations provoqué par l’avancée des fronts et le nettoyage ethnique qui, pendant la guerre, a conduit à une telle simplification. Or, à cette séparation des communautés obtenue par la violence, s’est surimposée une séparation politique, acquise lors de la signature des accords de Dayton (14 décembre 1995). C’est- à-dire que, en suivant largement les acquis territoriaux de la guerre, on a séparé le pays en deux entités, l’une attribuée aux Serbes, la Republika Srpska (République serbe), et la seconde attribuée aux Bochniaques et aux Croates, la Fédération de Bosnie- Herzégovine (voir carte 2). Cependant, la création de ces deux entités ne signifie pas la division du pays en deux Etats indépendants. Toute la subtilité des accords de Dayton est là : accorder aux belligérants les territoires qu’ils ont conquis, afin de parvenir à la paix, sans signer l’acte de mort de la Bosnie-Herzégovine1.

3 Subtilité, et surtout… fragilité. Comment faire tenir ensemble deux entités ayant chacune leur Constitution, leur gourvernement, leur armée, leur police, et surtout leurs intérêts propres et divergents ? Deux facteurs sont censés permettre la survie du pays. D’abord, la création d’institutions centrales, à savoir essentiellement une Présidence collective de trois membres (représentant chacune des trois communautés) et un gouvernement, qui doivent pérenniser l’existence de la Bosnie-Herzégovine au niveau international et faciliter la coopération entre les entités. Ensuite, le retour chez elles des personnes déplacées à l’intérieur du pays et de celles réfugiées à l’étranger, qui doit annuler l’homogénéité ethnique des entités, permettant ainsi, par le jeu électoral, un renouvellement de la classe politique, et annihilant donc indirectement tout projet sécessionniste.

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Carte 1 –Répartition spatiale par communauté après la guerre (1998)

Source : Office of the High Representative

4 En effet, le déplacement des populations n’est pas inéluctable. Leur retour chez elles, une fois la guerre terminée, eut été tout à fait envisageable, si les nationalistes n’avaient pas pris le soin de détruire systématiquement les habitations abandonnées, ou n’y avaient pas installé de nouveaux occupants. À partir de 1995, la communauté internationale s’est donc trouvée face à un problème complexe : parmi les déplacés et les réfugiés, certains voulaient revenir chez eux, mais ne pouvaient pas le faire parce que leurs maisons étaient occupées ou détruites. D’autres ne voulaient pas rentrer, par peur de se retrouver en situation de minorité, empêchant ainsi le retour des précédents. Ce casse-tête sans solution miracle explique le faible taux de retour effectif.

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Carte 2 – Tracé de la ligne frontière inter-entités (IEBL) et ligne de fronts en 1995

Source : Office of the High Representative

5 D’après le Haut commissariat aux réfugiés, sur les quelques deux millions de réfugiés et déplacés recensés à la fin de la guerre, un peu plus du tiers a pu regagner son domicile. Mais ces retours ne favorisent guère le mélange communautaire, car ils sont pour la plupart le fait de Serbes en Republika Srpska, ou de Bochniaques ou de Croates en Fédération. Ce n’est donc pas, pour l’instant, grâce aux retours que la survie de la Bosnie-Herzégovine peut être assurée. Quant aux institutions communes, elles ne se mettent que très lentement en place, car les entités redoutent de perdre la souveraineté acquise par les accords de Dayton en concédant quelque pouvoir que ce soit aux institutions centrales, et cherchent avant tout à asseoir leur autorité sur leurs territoires respectifs.

6 Par conséquent, la Bosnie-Herzégovine reste un pays à la structure extrêmement fragile, dont la ligne de fracture a été tracée lors des négociations de paix : la ligne- frontière inter-entités (Inter-Entities Boudary Line –IEBL). Cette ligne est une frontière d’un nouveau genre, unique au monde, inventée pour tenter de colmater une fissure béante. Est-elle alors une simple limite administrative au sein d’un Etat fédéral, ou une frontière délimitant les zones de souveraineté respectives de deux Etats différents ? La définition varie en fait suivant les intérêts, et les accords de Dayton eux-mêmes ne donnent pas de définition plus précise qui permettrait de sortir de ce flou. L’Annexe II des accords de paix parle d’une « ligne de démarcation entre les entités », uniquement pour préciser les conditions matérielles de sa délimitation dans l’espace : difficultés liées aux changements de cours des fleuves et des rivières dont l’IEBL suit le tracé, marquage au sol là où celle-ci ne suit aucun élément du paysage, création d’une carte au 1 / 50 000e portant le tracé officiel de la ligne-frontière, etc. Le texte des accords de

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paix rentre bien dans ce genre de détails matériels, mais ne donne à aucun moment une définition juridique de l’IEBL.

Les étapes du partage territorial

7 Plusieurs plans de paix ont été proposés entre 1992 à 1995, le dernier étant celui qui répondait le plus aux vœux des nationalistes. Les plans successifs sont en effet allés vers une simplification de plus en plus grande du partage territorial2. Le premier, celui de Cyrus Vance et David Owen, proposait en janvier 1993 la constitution de dix provinces : trois musulmanes (bochniaques), trois croates, trois serbes, et une mixte pour l’agglomération de Sarajevo. La forme de ces provinces était irrégulière, et surtout, les provinces d’une même communauté n’étaient pas contiguës. Ce plan interdisait donc tout projet de regroupement territorial et de sécession d’une même communauté. Il en va autrement du plan adopté à Dayton, qui dessine deux entités pleines, pouvant pratiquement exister indépendamment l’une de l’autre, même si la manière dont sera par la suite réglée la question du “corridor de Brčko” vient nuancer ce constat3. Les négociations avaient du reste été ouvertes grâce à ce présupposé : l’acceptation par la communauté internationale de la formation de deux entités séparées. Sur cette base, il restait à définir leurs limites, à savoir le tracé de la ligne- frontière.

8 Les négociations territoriales ont été âpres4. Chaque partie cherchait à obtenir le maximum, en fonction de deux priorités : l’importance stratégique des territoires, et leur statut symbolique. En définitive, l’IEBL suit très largement les lignes de front au moment du dernier cessez-le-feu, le 12 octobre 1995. Cette concordance de la ligne qui sépare les deux entités avec les anciennes lignes de front est liée au moment où a été négociée la fin de la guerre. En effet, en octobre 1995, les positions des armées sur le terrain correspondait grosso modo au partage 51 % - 49 % envisagé dès avril 1994 par le Groupe de contact. A l’époque, les forces serbes tenaient environ 70 % du pays. Mais, un an et demi plus tard, les offensives conjointes croato-bosniaque ont changé la donne, chaque camp tenant alors environ 50 % du territoire bosniaque. La base des négociations a donc bien été la situation sur le terrain d’octobre 1995, à partir de laquelle il a fallu entrer dans un jeu complexe de tractations territoriales pour atteindre le fameux équilibre 51 % - 49 %. Les principaux points d’achoppements ont été Bosanski Novi, au nord-ouest du pays, les anciennes enclaves musulmanes de F0 Srebrenica et A6 epa, prises par les Serbes en juillet 1995, celle encore existante de Goražde, l’agglomération de Sarajevo, Brčko et son fameux corridor traversant la . Les trois derniers points, surtout, ont à plusieurs reprises failli faire échouer les négociations.

9 Celles-ci étaient basées sur le principe des “échanges compensatoires” : le corridor de Brčko contre celui de Goražde, une partie de la Posavina contre l’“enclume” de Čipovo et Mrkonjić Grad, etc. Sans prêter aucun crédit au principe selon lequel l’ensemble du territoire devait rester la propriété de tous au sein d’une Bosnie-Herzégovine unie, les négociateurs se sont alors efforcés de constituer des territoires homogènes, sûrs et défendables. En définitive, quelques anomalies contredisent le principe de continuité territoriale : les enclaves croates d’Orašje et de Odžak, au nord du pays, sont coupées du reste de la Fédération, l’ancienne enclave de Goražde est reliée à cette même Fédération par une simple route-corridor, et la ville de Brčko bénéficie d’un statut tout

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à fait particulier. La possession de cette municipalité était en effet d’une grande importance stratégique pour les Serbes, car elle garantissait la continuité territoriale de la Republika Srpska, mais aussi pour les Bochniaques, car elle leur assurait un débouché essentiel vers l’Europe centrale5. La question de savoir à qui Brčko reviendrait n’avait pas été tranchée à Dayton, et c’est en mars 1999 seulement qu’un arbitrage international l’a transformé en district neutre. Cette décision a pour conséquence de couper la Republika Srpska en deux parties distinctes, situées à l’ouest et à l’est du district de Brčko.

10 L’IEBL, quant à elle, est longue de 500 kilomètres environ, et bordée de part et d’autre d’une zone de séparation large de quatre kilomètres. Elle passe à travers 161 zones d’habitation, et ce sont donc autant de villes, de villages ou de hameaux qui ont été coupés en deux par cette frontière d’un genre nouveau. L’IEBL reprend en grande partie d’anciennes lignes de fronts qui, parfois, suivaient déjà elles-mêmes une ligne de séparation entre les lieux de résidence de deux communautés différentes. Or, de façon épisodique au début, puis de plus en plus systématique à partir de 1994, les forces en présence ont défendu leurs acquis territoriaux en minant les lignes de front. Au total, ce sont trois millions de mines anti-char et anti-personnel qui ont été posées, sans plan précis, sur environ 8 000 zones recensées. Leur déminage complet serait un travail colossal et très coûteux. La SFOR (Stabilization Force) ne démine donc que les sites qu’elle utilise et, par conséquent, toutes les routes du pays sont accessibles. Pour le reste, rien ou presque ne se fait. L’IEBL a donc une existence tout à fait concrète : elle est minée. La carte des zones minées de Bosnie-Herzégovine donne grosso modo le tracé de la ligne-frontière. A l’inverse, la création de ce no man’s land qu’est l’IEBL permet de renvoyer sine die l’épineux problème du déminage.

L’IEBL, un « tiers espace » pour un pays divisé

11 Les représentants des institutions internationales s’efforcent de traiter la Bosnie- Herzégovine comme un Etat unitaire, et l’IEBL comme une simple démarcation administrative dont la signification serait la même qu’une limite entre cantons. Pourtant, ils sont les premiers à connaître les difficultés qu’il y a à faire dialoguer les deux parties d’une municipalité traversée par la ligne-frontière, ou les différences qui existent et s’accroissent entre les deux entités. Ils sont également les premiers à savoir que l’IEBL n’est pas la seule ligne de fracture du pays, et qu’une “IEBL bis” apparaît nettement à l’intérieur de la Fédération, entre Bochniaques et Croates, suivant cette fois encore les anciennes ligne de front des affrontements croato-musulmans de 1993-1994. Pourtant le discours officiel le répète à l’envi : l’IEBL n’existe que sur les cartes.

12 En réalité, une fois tracée sur les cartes d’état-major, l’IEBL s’est vite matérialisée. Dès l’immédiat après-guerre, une simple observation du paysage permettait de reconnaître son tracé. Quelques signes indiquaient, ou indiquent encore aujourd’hui, de manière discrète, à quel moment s’effectue le passage d’une entité à l’autre. Dans les zones rurales, la ligne-frontière passe sans que l’on s’en aperçoive. Aucun marquage au sol n’existe, et rien ne distingue une campagne de la Republika Srpska d’une campagne de la Fédération. Sur les grands axes routiers, en revanche, lorsque l’on passe de la Fédération à la Republika Srpska, de grands panneaux proclament en cyrillique : « Bienvenue en Republika Srpska », et tous les panneaux indicateurs sont désormais

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écrits en cyrillique. Côté Fédération, le monopole des caractères latins est tout aussi flagrant, alors qu’auparavant, les deux alphabets cohabitaient. Aujourd’hui, l’utilisation d’un alphabet ou d’un autre constitue un acte d’affirmation identitaire. Cependant, des panneaux publicitaires en caractères latins font peu à peu leur apparition en Republika Srpska, logique commerciale oblige...

13 En milieu urbain, les signes sont beaucoup plus nombreux. Par endroits, l’IEBL reprend les anciennes lignes de front, c’est-à-dire les zones où les destructions ont été les plus importantes, et les réparations les plus difficilement envisageables, vu le niveau de destruction et la présence de champs de mines. A l’heure où le pays se reconstruit, des zones entières encore totalement détruites indiquent donc de façon implicite le passage de la ligne-frontière. D’autres indices peuvent être perçus par l’observateur attentif. En 1999, à Sarajevo, en haut des collines de Grbavica, une file de taxis bosniaques attendait, les voitures orientées vers la ville. A quelques mètres de là, une autre file de taxis, serbes cette fois, et orientés dans l’autre sens, attendaient eux aussi. Bien évidemment, l’IEBL passe sur la ligne de crête, entre ces deux files de taxis se tournant le dos. Le client désireux de passer d’une entité à l’autre devait alors franchir la ligne- frontière à pied, et changer de taxi en même temps qu’il changeait d’entité. Ce manège se déroulait encore en 1999, alors même que de nouvelles plaques minéralogiques avaient été adoptées pour l’ensemble du pays, qui ne permettaient plus de savoir d’où venait le véhicule. Mais, habitude restée de l’époque où les plaques les trahissaient, ou peur toujours latente des contrôles policiers, les chauffeurs ne franchissaient pas la ligne-frontière. Aujourd’hui cette habitude a disparu, et il est possible de circuler entre Sarajevo et Srpsko Sarajevo (“Sarajevo serbe”).

14 Dans les agglomérations, le signe le plus flagrant du passage de l’IEBL est dorénavant la différence de niveau de vie. Il n’est pas besoin d’être expert pour savoir à Sarajevo où finit la Fédération et où commence la Republika Srpska. Sur le bord de la route qui mène de Sarajevo à Pale, en Republika Srpska, des femmes attendent, assises sur des chaises pliantes, pour vendre des paquets de cigarettes, des napperons ou des bouteilles d’huile et d’essence. De même, dans une rue du quartier de Dobrinja, à Sarajevo, on peut remarquer des immeubles neufs, repeints de couleurs vives d’un côté, et des immeubles encore détruits sur le trottoir d’en face. Les premiers sont situés du côté croato-bochniaque de la ligne-frontière, les seconds à Srpsko Sarajevo, du côté serbe, là où les reconstructions ont pris du retard. La nuit, le contraste est encore plus flagrant : le côté serbe est plongé dans le noir, tandis que l’électricité a été rétablie depuis deux ans du côté fédéral.

15 Enfin, sur les routes importantes passant d’une entité à l’autre se sont installés au niveau de la ligne-frontière des marchés de plein air, dits “sauvages”, que le Général Jean Cot décrivait ainsi en 1999 : Ces marchés sauvages (…) fonctionnent à jours fixes, en pleine campagne, sans aucune infrastructure, à l’endroit exact où passe la ligne de démarcation. Marchands et clients des trois communautés y échangent absolument tout, du bétail aux voitures en passant par les cigarettes et les vêtements, sans qu’il soit possible de distinguer ce qui est honnête et ce qui relève de la contrebande ou du vol pur et simple ; au moins ces marchés ont-ils pour vertu non négligeable de faire se retrouver des gens qui, avant la guerre, échangeaient sur les places des bourgs, et ne s’étaient plus revus depuis quatre ans.6

16 Décrits comme des lieux d’échange, ces marchés profitent de l’impunité policière qui règne dans le no man’s land de l’IEBL, et de la neutralité politique du lieu. Ni

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bochniaques, ni croates, ni serbes, ces quelques kilomètres n’appartiennent à personne et à tout le monde. Dans l’immédiat après-guerre, il n’était pas question pour un Serbe de revenir en Fédération, et inversement. Mais les échanges devaient bien se faire. Du simple point de vue agricole, les deux entités sont complémentaires : la Fédération a hérité de 56 % des pâtures et des prairies, tandis que la Republika Srpska a reçu 57 % des terres arables. La Fédération produit donc du bétail et manque de certains produits, tandis que la Republika Srpska produit des légumes et des céréales, et est susceptible de dégager des surplus agricoles, étant donnée sa population totale (1 450 000 habitants environ en Republika Srpska, contre 2 250 000 en Fédération)7. La reprise économique du pays passe forcément par un développement des échanges inter-entités, c’est-à-dire une reconstitution des flux économiques d’avant-guerre. Ces flux ont été interrompus par la partition du pays, et des lieux de production ont été séparés de leurs marchés8. Certaines marchandises sont donc échangées sur les routes, au niveau de la ligne- frontière. Ces marchés, d’importance variable, ne sont pas vraiment illégaux. Certes, ils échappent à l’administration fiscale, mais dans une économie en reconstruction, la plupart des échanges du pays se font par le marché parallèle. L’International Police Task Force – IPTF, quant à elle, ne reconnaît que deux marchés illégaux, à savoir le marchéRajner à , où se vendent principalement des voitures, et le marché Arizona à Brko. Ce dernier est devenu le cauchemar de l’IPTF, qui ne sait pas en définitive si elle doit ou non intervenir. Loin de l’image donnée par le Général Cot, ce marché est aujourd’hui devenu un lieu de trafics où transitent aussi bien des produits de contrebande tels que les cigarettes et l’essence, que la drogue ou les filles destinées à la prostitution en Europe de l’ouest…

17 Les marchés sauvages sont étroitement liés à la ligne-frontière, dans la mesure où ils utilisent les opportunités offertes par ce lieu d’échanges. D’autres trafiquants en tous genres ont su mettre à profit cette zone de non-droit. L’exemple le plus typique est celui d’un homme qui avait eu la bonne idée de placer son stock de marchandises volées ou illégales dans un hangar situé d’un côté de la ligne-frontière, et de se domicilier de l’autre côté, tout en restant très proche de son précieux stock. Les polices de chaque entité étaient au courant de ses trafics, mais il leur était impossible de prendre en même temps l’homme et ses marchandises, puisqu’elles n’ont pas le droit de franchir l’IEBL ! Il a donc fallu une opération coordonnée des deux polices (chose très rare) pour parvenir à l’arrestation du trafiquant.

18 Fin 1995, après la signature des accords de paix, les nationalistes serbes alors au pouvoir avaient une lecture particulière des textes. Ils considéraient la Republika Srpska comme un territoire uniquement réservé aux Serbes, et l’IEBL comme une frontière internationale. Les Croates, de leur côté, qui n’avaient pas obtenu d’entité propre, ont tenté d’établir une frontière à l’intérieur même de la Fédération entre l’Herzégovine, bastion croate, et la Bosnie centrale, peuplée majoritairement de Bochniaques. Dès la fin de la guerre, en dépit des dispositions des accords de Dayton concernant la liberté de mouvement, des check-points illégaux sont donc apparus sur la ligne-frontière, ainsi qu’aux limites de l’Herzégovine. Là, les Bochniaques et les Croates qui désiraient entrer en Republika Srpska, les Serbes qui désiraient entrer en Fédération, les Bochniaques qui souhaitaient se rendre en Herzégovine devaient souvent patienter de longues heures, parfois payer un “visa”, d’autres fois encore faire tout simplement demi-tour. En décembre 1996, on apprit ainsi que des policiers serbes faisaient payer 45 DM à ceux qui voulaient entrer en Republika Srpska, et refusaient

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parfois l’entrée aux Bochniaques et aux Croates, sous prétexte qu’ils n’avaient pas les papiers nécessaires pour obtenir le “visa”. En juillet 1997, 53 check-points illégaux, de tous bords, ont été démantelés. Par la suite, l’IPTF s’est employée à les supprimer et les remplacer par des patrouilles mobiles censées ne plus s’intéresser qu’aux trafics illégaux et aux excès de vitesse. Les check-points ont donc plus ou moins disparu du paysage et le franchissement de l’IEBL tend, avec le temps, à se faire avec de moins en moins de difficultés.

L’IEBL, limite de la souveraineté des entités

19 Pour les gouvernements des entités, l’IEBL marque les limites du territoire sur lequel s’étend leur souveraineté, et leur ordre du jour est plus à l’accaparement politique et symbolique de ce territoire qu’au développement d’initiatives transcendant la ligne- frontière. Un exemple est, à ce titre, assez révélateur : depuis la signature des accords de Dayton, une “Commission IEBL” a été créée auprès de la SFOR. Elle a pour rôle d’aider les parties à régler d’éventuels échanges de territoires le long de l’IEBL. L’annexe des accords de paix la concernant précise en effet que des échanges pourront avoir lieu si les deux parties s’entendent, et obtiennent l’aval de la SFOR. De très nombreuses zones ont été étudiées : il s’agissait souvent de zones infimes, n’excédant parfois pas un kilomètre carré. Mais le résultat de ces négociations est très limité. Au total, un seul échange a eu lieu par accord mutuel : le 5 mai 1998, en effet, la municipalité de Ribnik, en Republika Srpska, a pu récupérer deux villages, Velečevo et Dubočani. En contrepartie, le hameau de Koprivna et une partie de la rive droite de la rivière Sana ont été rattachés à la municipalité de Sanski Most (en Fédération). Cet échange a permis le retour de 400 familles serbes à Velečevo, et la municipalité de Sanski Most a récupéré 6,5 kilomètres carrés de terres le long de la Sana, grâce auxquelles l’approvisionnement en eau de toute la ville est devenu possible.

20 Par ailleurs, les échanges proposés ne le sont pas toujours pour des raisons économiques ou de peuplement. L’un des principaux points de tension concernant le tracé de l’IEBL est particulièrement révélateur à ce sujet. Au sud-est de Sarajevo, dans le quartier de Dobrinja, celle-ci passe en plein tissu urbain. Habituellement, le tracé de la ligne-frontière en milieu urbain suit celui des rues mais, dans ce quartier, et sur les cartes de la SFOR faisant foi, elle traversait… des immeubles et des appartements ! Cependant, la Republika Srpska détenait des cartes datant des négociations de paix, et indiquant un passage de l’IEBL le long d’une rue. Les négociations à ce sujet ont duré quatre ans, et n’ont finalement abouti que grâce à un arbitrage international. Chacune des deux parties tenait en effet à ce que chaque parcelle de territoire lui ayant été attribuée par les accords de Dayton lui revienne effectivement, même si les enjeux, dans le cas précis de Dobrinja, étaient relativement dérisoires : ils se limitaient à quelques immeubles, une gare routière, un centre commercial, c’est-à-dire trois petits supermarchés comme il en existe au pied de toutes les tours d’immeubles à Sarajevo, et une école, peut-être minée, en tout cas hors d’usage et habitée par des réfugiés.

21 Economiquement parlant, il n’y avait rien à gagner, si ce n’est des bâtiments à reconstruire, et peut-être à déminer. Mais l’enjeu était avant tout symbolique : il s’agissait de la seule partie du tissu urbain de Sarajevo qui soit revenue aux Serbes (Srpsko Sarajevo se situe en fait en bordure de Sarajevo, et non pas dans la ville elle- même). Les négociations sont donc restées au point mort, jusqu’à ce que le Haut

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Représentant de l’ONU impose l’arbitrage du juge irlandais Diarmuid Sheridan. Le 24 avril 2001, celui-ci a tranché, attribuant 800 appartements ainsi que l’école à la Fédération, contre 300 appartements et la gare routière à la Republika Srpska. Le Président de la Republika Srpska, Mirko Šarović, s’est alors déclaré choqué par cette décision, et les Serbes de Dobrinja ont manifesté contre celle-ci durant trois jours.

22 La singularisation des espaces politiques le long de la ligne-frontière est très nette entre la Fédération et la Republika Srpska. Cependant, elle ne s’effectue pas avec la même force tout au long de la ligne-frontière. La séparation se fait plus dure à l’est, où Pale reste ferme sur ses positions de non-participation aux institutions communes, tandis que Banja Luka coopère d’avantage avec elles. Inversement, l’IEBL n’est pas la seule zone de séparation politique du pays. Des lignes de fracture non moins dures entre l’ancienne Herceg-Bosna croate et les régions bochniaques apparaissent à travers le marquage symbolique des territoires ou dans la politique des élus locaux. Cette seconde ligne de fracture entre régions croates et bochniaques est plus irrégulière et insidieuse. Tout le monde connaît la situation de la ville de Mostar, où les deux communautés bochniaque et croate vivent séparées. C’est le cas dans d’autres villes de la Fédération : à Stolac par exemple, au sud de Mostar, une nouvelle école à été créée pour les enfants croates, tandis que les enfants bochniaques suivent toujours les cours dans l’ancienne école de la ville. On retrouve cette ségrégation ailleurs sous des formes différentes : ainsi, lorsqu’il était impossible de construire une autre école, les uns vont occupent l’étage supérieur, et les autres le rez-de-chaussée de l’école…

Une frontière vécue par les habitants

23 Le fait de couper la Bosnie-Herzégovine en deux a de facto divisé en deux l’espace vécu par ses habitants. La ligne-frontière marque la fin de l’espace accessible sans inconvénient et sans risque, même si ceux-ci sont désormais limités. Les nouvelles plaques d’immatriculation, harmonisées par le Haut Représentant pour l’ensemble du pays, ont en particulier permis une plus grande sécurité des automobilistes. Mais l’IEBL est tout de même perçue comme la ligne au-delà de laquelle le territoire n’est plus accessible, et surtout n’est plus sûr. De manière générale, les propos et les actes des habitants traduisent une peur à l’idée de passer dans l’autre entité. La perception varie selon l’âge. Les jeunes ne franchissent pas la ligne-frontière sans y songer, mais le font tout de même, surtout lorsqu’il s’agit d’aller écouter Elton John à Banja Luka. En revanche, les personnes plus âgées n’hésitent pas à faire des détours pour éviter au maximum de passer dans l’autre entité. Et pourtant, le réseau routier du pays rend tout cela compliqué : le tracé des routes principales et des lignes de chemin de fer croise à plusieurs reprises celui de l’IEBL. La mobilité spontanée des habitants s’en trouve réduite.

24 Les problèmes liés au retour des personnes déplacées vient renforcer ce sentiment d’insécurité. On parle de “retours minoritaires” (minority returns) pour désigner le cas des personnes se retrouvant en situation de minorité ethnique dans leur commune d’origine. Ce sont ces retours minoritaires qui, seuls, peuvent permettre à nouveau le brassage des communautés à travers le pays. Or, ils se sont souvent très mal déroulés, surtout dans les premières années d’après-guerre. Certains candidats au retour se sont fait rouer de coups, à peine arrivés dans leur village. D’autres fois, la maison reconstruite à leur intention avait été détruite la veille de leur arrivée. Enfin, pour ceux

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qui ont réussi à s’installer, les perspectives d’avenir se sont vite révélées sombres : tracasseries administratives incessantes, impossibilité de trouver un emploi, de scolariser les enfants, etc. Ces évènements sont connus de tous et contribuent à diaboliser l’espace qui s’étend au-delà de la ligne-frontière.

25 Cependant, le Haut commissariat aux réfugiés donnent des statistiques de retour qui traduisent une évolution dans la perception des entités par les candidats potentiels au retour minoritaire. En effet, réfugiés et déplacés confondus, ils sont chaque année plus nombreux, à rentrer chez eux et à se retrouver en situation de minorité ethnique. En 1996, seuls 1 731 Serbes étaient revenus en Fédération. En 2000, ils sont 18 975 à l’avoir fait. Il en va de même en Republika Srpska, où les Bochniaques et les Croates ont été de plus en plus nombreux à rentrer, atteignant le chiffre record de 27 071 en 2000. Même si le nombre total des retours minoritaires n’atteint pas les objectifs fixés par la communauté internationale, cette progression, liée à un apaisement des oppositions ethniques violentes de part et d’autre de la ligne-frontière, suggère aussi un changement de sa perception par les habitants du pays : d’infranchissable, elle devient de plus en plus facile à traverser.

26 L’IEBL se caractérise donc par les variations de l’idée que s’en font les Bosniaques eux- mêmes. Variations au cours du temps, mais aussi d’un individu à l’autre. Deux personnes ne décriront pas la même ligne-frontière selon le lieu où elles résident actuellement et celui où elles ont habité, selon leur nationalité ou selon leur réseau familial et relationnel. Or, ces perceptions individuelles sont très importantes dans la façon dont les habitants pratiquent la ligne-frontière et, en définitive, la font vivre. Moins les habitants de Bosnie-Herzégovine osent franchir l’IEBL, plus celle-ci divise le pays, et inversement. Les partis nationalistes l’ont bien compris, qui s’efforcent, par la propagande et la désinformation, de renforcer dans chaque communauté la peur de l’autre entité.

27 L’IEBL n’est pas une ligne fantôme. Elle a été tracée sur les cartes d’état-major, puis elle a pris vie. Ou plus exactement, on lui a donné vie, de diverses manières. Elle est tout à la fois ce qui entérine et ce qui crée une coupure du pays, politique, culturelle et économique. Elle existe dans le paysage. Elle a surtout pris corps dans la perception de l’espace qu’ont les habitants et les dirigeants du pays. Tracer une frontière n’est en rien un geste anodin. L’IEBL, comme toute frontière, porte en elle sa propre dynamique. Elle s’auto-alimente dans sa logique de séparation et les écarts se creusent de plus en plus de part et d’autre. Charles Ricq souligne le danger qui guette deux populations originellement d’un même pays qui établissent une distance entre elles : (…) par l’intériorisation de modèles et de symboles nationaux différents, des populations vivant dans le même espace s’éloignent au niveau culturel, ce qui ne peut qu’handicaper les relations nationales qu’elles en retiendront. Des stéréotypes d’hostilité, de crainte, de rancune, de supériorité, se développent. Le sentiment d’appartenance à un même espace vécu est dépassé par celui de l’appartenance à une communauté nationale, minimisant toute référence à une communauté régionale transfrontalière.9

28 Une frontière est tout d’abord une conséquence de choix politiques mais, très vite, elle acquiert une force propre. Conséquence d’une césure politique, la frontière, par son existence, renforce cette césure initiale. Le fait d’avoir tracé l’IEBL sur les cartes, d’avoir limité les espaces sur lesquels s’étend la souveraineté des entités lors des accords de Dayton aurait pu avoir des conséquences minimes, si les autorités locales ne

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s’étaient entêtées à la matérialiser, la surveiller, faisant d’une ligne virtuelle une réalité quotidienne pour tous les habitants de la Bosnie-Herzégovine.

NOTES

1. Klemenčić (M.), « The Boundaries, Internal Order and Identities of », IBRU Boundary and Security Bulletin, 3 (3-4), Winter 2000-2001, pp. 63-71. 2. Bougarel (Xavier), Bosnie. Anatomie d’un conflit, Paris : La Découverte, 1996, pp. 146-155. 3. Voir le papier de Robin-Hunter (Laurence) dans ce même numéro. 4. Voir Holbrooke (Richard), To End a War, New York : Random House, 1998. 5. Ventura (C.), « Le corridor de Brcko. Un litige territorial », Espace et culture, (38), été-hiver 2001, pp. 85-102. 6. Cot (Jean), Demain la Bosnie, Paris : L’Harmattan, 1999. 7. Food and Agricultural Organization, A Medium Term Agriculture Sector Strategy for the Federation of Bosnia-Herzegovina, FAO, 1999. 8. Roux (Michel), « Fronts, territoires et échanges dans les Balkans dans la perspective de l’intégration européenne », Territoires en mutations (Université Paul Valéry, Montpellier), (2), 1997 (n° spécial). 9. Ricq (Charles), « Les distances culturelles dans les espaces frontaliers », in Goetschy (H.), Sanguin (A.L. ), eds., Langues régionales et relations transfrontalières en Europe, Paris : L’Harmattan, 1995, p. 111.

INDEX

Index géographique : Bosnie-Herzégovine Mots-clés : ligne frontière inter-entités (IEBL)

AUTEUR

EMMANUELLE CHAVENEAU-LE BRUN Doctorante à l’université Paris-Sorbonne

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Brčko, un microcosme de la Bosnie ?

Laurence Robin-Hunter

1 Lors de la négociation des accords de paix à Dayton en décembre 1995, Bochniaques, Serbes et Croates s’accordent sur le partage de la Bosnie-Herzégovine en deux entités, la Fédération croato-bochniaque (Fédération) et la République serbe (RS), excepté pour la ville de Brčko. Les représentants de la Fédération la revendiquent parce que les Serbes y étaient minoritaires avant la guerre, et parce qu’elle représente pour eux une “ouverture”, une “porte” vers l’Europe. Mais les Serbes ne sont pas prêts à abandonner une ville qu’ils ont pris par la force en mai 1992, pour des raisons stratégiques. Le “corridor de Brčko” relie en effet la partie orientale de la RS à sa partie occidentale et, sans lui, cette entité ne constituerait pas un territoire continu. La communauté internationale décide alors de créer un Tribunal formé de trois juges-arbitres : un juge de la Fédération, un juge de la RS, et un arbitre-président américain. Ce tribunal devra décider, au plus tard un an après l’entrée en vigueur des accords de Dayton, à qui revient la ville de Brčko.

2 Dans les faits, le Tribunal reportera deux fois sa décision, et le sort de Brčko ne sera finalement scellé qu’en mars 1999. Entre-temps, cette ville sera le théâtre de fortes rivalités entre Bochniaques, Serbes et Croates et, pendant trois ans, les représentants de la Fédération et de la RS useront de stratégies diverses pour convaincre le Tribunal de la légitimité de leur revendications respectives. Cet article traite de cette période, sur la base des observations que j’ai pu faire à Brčko au cours des trois années que j’ai passées en Bosnie-Herzégovine, après les accords de Dayton. Par contre, il ne fait que succinctement référence aux changements intervenus après la décision finale du Tribunal, car je n’ai obtenu que des informations générales sur cette région après mon départ au printemps 1999.

Brčko : un enjeu stratégique majeur pour les Serbes

3 Jusqu’à la veille de la guerre en Bosnie-Herzégovine, la ville de Brčko n’apparaît pas être d’une importance stratégique particulière, même si elle se trouve au carrefour de plusieurs axes de communication fluvial, ferroviaire et routier. L’intérêt des Serbes pour Brčko se manifeste à l’automne 1991, lorsque cinq Régions autonomes serbes,

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englobant des espaces où les Serbes ne sont pas majoritaires, sont instaurées en Bosnie- Herzégovine. La municipalité de Brčko est incluse dans ces régions autonomes, qui couvrent près de 58 % du territoire bosniaque.

4 Après un plébiscite sur l’autodétermination de ces différentes régions autonomes, organisé les 9 et 10 novembre 1991, les Serbes proclament le 9 janvier 1992 une “République serbe de Bosnie-Herzégovine” (RS), dont Radovan Karadžić prend la tête. C’est dans ce contexte que se tient les 29 février et 1er mars 1992 le référendum sur l’indépendance de la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Le résultat est un “oui” massif obtenu par les votes des Bochniaques et des Croates, les Serbes ayant boycotté le scrutin. La Bosnie- Herzégovine déclare son indépendance le 6 avril 1992. L’Armée populaire yougoslave (Jugoslovenska Narodna Armija –JNA), qui s’appuie sur les Régions autonomes serbes, mène alors un véritable Blitzkrieg : en deux mois, elle occupe une grande partie de la Bosnie orientale et occidentale.

5 La tactique des forces serbes consiste à garantir la circulation entre les territoires sous leur contrôle, et à empêcher les liaisons de leurs adversaires. Or, début mai 1992, les territoires que les Serbes contrôlent à l’est et à l’ouest de la Bosnie ne sont pas encore connectés. Ils cherchent donc à établir un corridor les reliant dans le nord de la Bosnie. C’est à partir de ce moment que la ville de Brčko devient pour eux un enjeu stratégique majeur. Dans la nuit du 30 avril au 1er mai 1992, l’armée yougoslave attaque Brčko. Elle rencontre une faible résistance : la ville tombe après six jours de combats seulement. Les forces serbes entreprennent ensuite d’élargir leurs conquêtes à l’ouest et au sud de Brčko, pour achever de former le corridor. C’est seulement au début de juillet qu’ils y parviennent. Le corridor de Brčko permet alors le ravitaillement depuis la Serbie des troupes serbes se trouvant en Bosnie occidentale et en Krajina (Croatie).

Une ville ethniquement « nettoyée », puis colonisée

6 Peu après l’attaque de la ville fin avril 1992, de nouvelles autorités municipales, dirigées par les membres locaux du parti de R. Karadžić, le Parti démocratique serbe (Srpska Demokratska Stranka – SDS), sont mises en place. Celles-ci mènent une véritable politique de nettoyage ethnique dans le corridor. Des paramilitaires serbes venus d’autres régions de Bosnie-Herzégovine ou de Serbie “nettoient” le territoire conquis : les populations civiles bochniaque et croate sont chassées, ou exterminées dans des camps de détention. Le corridor de Brčko est ensuite repeuplé par des Serbes venant de différentes régions de Bosnie-Herzégovine et de Croatie. Ainsi, le nombre de déplacés et de réfugiés1 serbes (27 000 en 1999) y devient progressivement beaucoup plus important que celui des résidents serbes (16 000).

7 La première vague d’arrivée de déplacés serbes à Brčko a lieu au début de la guerre. La plupart d’entre eux originaires du sud de la municipalité de Brčko, resté sous contrôle croato-bochniaque (“Brčko -Fédération”), ou des municipalités de Tuzla, Orašje et Zenica, arrivent au début de l’été 19922. Les grandes vagues d’arrivée suivantes n’ont lieu qu’à la fin de la guerre, lorsque les Bochniaques et les Croates reprennent certains territoires. Ainsi, la plupart des déplacés de Bihać fuient l’armée bosniaque qui, en octobre 1994, a lancé une offensive au sud de cette enclave3. La plupart des déplacés de arrivent suite à la prise de cette ville par l’armée croate en août 19954. En outre, la fin de la guerre ne signifie pas la fin des mouvements de population serbe en direction de Brčko. La majorité des déplacés serbes de Sarajevo arrivent en effet en 1996, après la

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signature des accords de Dayton : quatre municipalités de Sarajevo (Hadžići, Ilidža, Ilijaš et Vogošća), ainsi que le quartier central de Grbavica, passent alors sous le contrôle de la Fédération. Cette décision a pour conséquence le départ des Serbes qui refusent de vivre dans un territoire gouverné par les Bochniaques. Sur les 50 000 Serbes qui quittent alors Sarajevo, 5 000 partent s’installer à Brčko. Quant aux réfugiés de Croatie (environ un millier), ils viennent plus particulièrement de Slavonie et de Krajina. Certains rejoignent Brčko dès 1991, lorsque la guerre éclate en Croatie. D’autres arrivent en 1995 seulement, lorsque les Croates lancent leurs opérations “Eclair” (Slavonie occidentale, mai 1995) et “Tempête” (Krajina, août 1995), ou quand commence le processus de réintégration pacifique de la Slavonie orientale sous autorité croate (janvier 1996).

8 La raison pour laquelle les déplacés et réfugiés serbes viennent non seulement des municipalités voisines, mais aussi de régions plus éloignées, est simple : la ville de Brčko, “nettoyée” de ses habitants croates et bochniaques, n’est en fait guère détruite. Il y a par conséquent beaucoup de maisons inhabitées et disponibles. D’autre part, les représentants du SDS assurent la population serbe que Brčko, du fait de sa situation stratégique, sera défendue ardemment par l’armée yougoslave et restera sous contrôle serbe. Brčko est la ville la plus sûre pour les Serbes en Bosnie-Herzégovine, et représente donc un “Eldorado serbe”. C’est pourquoi, lorsque le SDS organise dans les principales villes de Bosnie-Herzégovine des convois en partance pour Brčko, les Serbes, terrifiés à l’idée d’une attaque des forces croato-bosniaques, n’hésitent pas à tout abandonner derrière eux pour aller s’y réfugier.

9 Parallèlement au nettoyage ethnique et à la colonisation, les Serbes assurent jusqu’à la fin de la guerre la défense militaire du corridor de Brčko. A plusieurs reprises, les Bochniaques et les Croates tentent en vain de le reprendre. Aussi, de 1992 à 1995, la municipalité de Brčko est traversée par la ligne de front. A la signature des Accords de Dayton, celle-ci devient la Ligne-frontière inter-entités (Inter-Entity Boundary Line – IEBL), qui sépare la Fédération croato-bochniaque et la République serbe. Un tiers de la municipalité de Brčko appartient alors à la RS (région administrative de Bijeljina). Ce territoire est appelé “corridor de Brčko ” ou “ Brčko ko-RS”. Le reste du territoire, appelé “ Brčko -Fédération”, appartient à la Fédération croato-bochniaque, et plus exactement au canton de Tuzla-.

10 Le nettoyage ethnique et la colonisation du territoire bouleversent la composition ethnique du corridor de Brčko. La municipalité de Brčko était majoritairement bochniaque et croate avant la guerre (Carte 1). D’après le recensement yougoslave officiel de 1991, le territoire correspondant au corridor de Brčko comptait alors une population totale de 58 171 habitants, dont 25 914 Musulmans / Bochniaques (44 %), 15 367 Serbes (26 %), 9 016 Croates (15 %) et 7 874 “Autres” (13 %). A la fin de la guerre, l’homogénéité ethnique du corridor est flagrante, puisque plus de 95 % de sa population est serbe (Carte 2). Les autorités serbes de Brčko vont s’évertuer à conserver cette homogénéité par la mise en place d’une défense politique et physique du corridor de Brčko.

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Les élections municipales de 1997 et la légitimation du pouvoir serbe

11 En Bosnie-Herzégovine, les premières élections municipales d’après-guerre ont lieu les 13 et 14 septembre 1997. Elles sont importantes car la plupart des conseils municipaux, dont celui de Brčko, sont dominés par des personnes ayant usurpé le pouvoir pendant la guerre, et dépourvues de mandat démocratique. A Brčko o, les dernières élections municipales d’avant-guerre (novembre 1990) avaient concerné tout le territoire de la municipalité. Or, sept ans plus tard, celle-ci est partagée en deux par l’IEBL. Comment faut-il alors organiser les élections ? Les autorités de la Fédération refusent d’organiser des élections municipales pour Brčko -Fédération, car ce serait reconnaître le partage de la municipalité et préjuger ainsi de l’arbitrage en suspens. L’Organisation pour la sécurité et la coopération en Europe (OSCE), qui supervise les élections, les autorités de la RS et celles de la Fédération trouvent alors un compromis : le nouveau conseil municipal élu n’aura sous sa responsabilité que les localités situées dans le corridor de Brčko (dont la ville de Brčko elle-même), les localités situées dans Brčko -Fédération restant par contre sous le contrôle des autorités constituées pendant la guerre par les Bochniaques et les Croates.

Carte 1 - Répartition ethnique de la population de la municipalité de Brčko en 1991

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Carte 2 - Majorité ethnique de la population dans la municipalité de Brčko en 1996

Cette carte est valable jusqu'au début de l'année 1999. En effet, entre 1996 et 1999, il n'y a pas eu de changements démographiques importants à Brčko : les déplacés serbes ne sont pas rentrés dans leurs foyers d'origine et peu de Bochniaques et Croates sont retournés vivre dans le corridor de Brčko.

12 Par ailleurs, les accords de Dayton prévoient que « tout citoyen ne résidant plus dans la municipalité dans laquelle il ou elle résidait en 1991, sera, en règle générale, censé voter, soit en personne, soit par procuration, dans ladite municipalité (…). Cependant, ce citoyen peut demander à la Commission [électorale provisoire] d’enregistrer son vote en un autre lieu ». Toutes les personnes qui résidaient avant la guerre dans les localités comprises dans le corridor de Brčko peuvent donc participer à l’élection du conseil municipal de Brčko. Par contre, les déplacés et les réfugiés serbes vivant dans le corridor sont censés voter dans leur municipalité d’origine, même s’ils peuvent demander à s’inscrire à Brčko. Les partis serbes, qui veulent garder le contrôle politique du corridor de Brčko, ont pour objectif d’y remporter les élections municipales. Or, si les Bochniaques et les Croates décident de participer aux élections, les voix des Serbes qui habitaient déjà dans le corridor en 1991 ne suffiront pas pour que les partis serbes obtiennent la majorité des voix. En revanche, ils peuvent s’emparer du conseil municipal grâce aux voix des déplacés et des réfugiés serbes. Ils n’ont alors plus qu’un seul objectif : faire voter ces derniers à Brčko.

13 La constitution des listes électorales devient donc le principal enjeu des élections municipales. Les autorités serbes ont recours à toutes sortes de stratagèmes pour persuader la population déplacée et réfugiée de s’inscrire à Brčko, et la décourager d’aller voter en Fédération. Elles insistent sur le danger d’aller voter “de l’autre côté”. Si cet argument n’est pas suffisant, elles procèdent à divers chantages : les déplacés serbes doivent présenter un récépissé prouvant leur demande d’enregistrement électoral à Brčko pour obtenir une aide alimentaire et financière, ou encore un emploi. Les autorités serbes leur fournissent ensuite de faux documents. En effet, l’OSCE conditionne l’inscription des déplacés sur les listes électorales de Brčko à leur présence

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sur les listes du recensement de 1991 (afin d’éviter que des Serbes de Croatie ne s’inscrivent sur les listes), et à la présentation d’une carte de déplacé ou d’un certificat de résidence prouvant qu’ils habitent à Brčko depuis le 31 juillet 1996 au moins. Or, tous les déplacés n’ont pas ces documents. Les autorités serbes fabriquent donc de fausses cartes d’identité, ainsi que des cartes de résidents antérieures au 30 juillet 1996.

14 La fraude est tellement évidente qu’elle est découverte par l’OSCE, et le processus d’enregistrement doit être repris depuis le début. Durant la seconde tentative d’enregistrement, de nouvelles fraudes ont lieu. L’OSCE décide alors de destituer trois des candidats présents sur la liste du SDS à Brčko. Les dirigeants du SDS ripostent en menaçant de boycotter les élections. Dans le même temps, une “erreur” d’enregistrement portant sur 2 660 noms serbes est découverte par l’OSCE, et ceux-ci sont rajoutés sur les listes électorales. A la suite de cette rectification, le SDS décide de participer aux élections et nous allons vite comprendre pourquoi. Le 10 octobre 1997, les résultats des élections municipales à Brčko sont annoncés publiquement : les partis serbes ont gagné de justesse la majorité, avec 53,58 % des voix. Or, ce sont justement ces 2 660 électeurs serbes supplémentaires qui ont fait basculer la majorité en faveur des partis serbes. Les Bochniaques et les Croates crient au scandale, estimant que les Serbes ont bénéficié d’un traitement de faveur. L’OSCE ne donne aucune explication à ce sujet, et les plaintes des Bochniaques et Croates ne sont pas retenues. Ceci compromet l’intégrité des élections municipales à Brčko, mais les partis serbes ont atteint leur objectif : la municipalité reste sous le contrôle d’un maire serbe, membre du SDS, et les Serbes obtiennent la majorité des sièges au conseil municipal (30 sièges sur 56).

La consolidation physique des conséquences du nettoyage ethnique

15 Après la guerre, les autorités serbes de Brčko veillent également à ce qu’aucun Bochniaque ou Croate ne pénètre dans le corridor. Le trafic est surveillé et régulé par la police serbe, qui met en place de check-points illégaux à l’entrée du corridor, sur toutes les routes menant à Brčko. Il est alors facile de connaître la nationalité d’un conducteur grâce à la plaque d’immatriculation de sa voiture car, jusqu’au début de l’année 1998, il existe trois sortes de plaques minéralogiques correspondant aux trois communautés bosniaques5. La police arrête donc toutes les voitures dont la plaque d’immatriculation n’est pas serbe et les rackette. Aussi, les conducteurs non-serbes ne peuvent pas rentrer dans la ville de Brčko, et n’ont plus qu’à faire demi-tour. Cette entrave à la liberté de mouvement restera possible jusqu’à ce que la communauté internationale décide de mettre en place un système de plaques d’immatriculation unique pour toute la Bosnie- Herzégovine.

16 Les accords de Dayton prévoient le retour des personnes déplacées et réfugiées dans leurs foyers d’origine. Or, lorsque les Bochniaques et Croates réussissent à passer les barrages de la police serbe à l’entrée du corridor, ils rencontrent un autre obstacle, d’ordre légal cette fois-ci, à leur retour définitif. En effet, en janvier 1996, une loi sur le logement proposée par le SDS est adoptée en RS. Cette loi s’intitule Loi sur l’utilisation de la propriété abandonnée. Selon la clause principale de cette nouvelle loi, « les logements qui n’ont pas été réclamés et réhabités avant le 6 janvier 1996 par leur locataire ou propriétaire d’avant-guerre, sont déclarés abandonnés et peuvent être réalloués à un

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nouvel occupant de façon définitive ». Or, il est évident que, deux semaines à peine après la signature des accords de paix, les déplacés et réfugiés n’ont pas eu le temps de rentrer chez eux. Cette loi signifie donc clairement que les maisons des Bochniaques et des Croates ne leur seront pas restituées si elles sont occupées. Suite à l’adoption de cette loi, les autorités serbes de Brčko n’ont qu’une obsession : reloger les déplacés serbes dans toutes les maisons bochniaques et croates encore vides aux alentours de Brčko (le centre-ville est saturé début 1996), et particulièrement dans les secteurs où les retours doivent débuter. Les autorités installent alors des déplacés serbes dans ces futures zones de retours, afin de créer un “bouclier humain” empêchant le retour des Bochniaques et Croates6. Cette Loi sur la propriété abandonnée entrave durant trois ans le retour des personnes déplacées et réfugiées dans leur foyer d’avant-guerre. Il faut en effet attendre le 2 décembre 1998 pour que, sous pression internationale, une nouvelle loi permette aux propriétaires et locataires d’origine de récupérer leur logement. Ainsi, de la signature des accords de Dayton au début de l’année 1999, les Bochniaques et les Croates de Brčko n’ont eu aucun recours légal pour empêcher la spoliation de leurs biens.

17 De plus, lorsque certains Bochniaques et Croates aventureux prennent le risque de retourner sur leur lieu d’habitation d’avant-guerre, la réponse des Serbes est souvent violente. Ils intimident les candidats au retour et les persuadent que leur sécurité n’est pas assurée dans le corridor de Brčko. En 1996, des Bochniaques et des Croates commencent à reconstruire leur maison aux alentours de Brčko, en prévision de leur retour. Ils sont attaqués à plusieurs reprises, et les soldats de l’OTAN doivent intervenir afin de calmer les esprits “belliqueux”. Des actes de violence contre les Bochniaques ont également lieu en 19977. En 1998, à douze occasions différentes, des habitants serbes de Brčko organisent des manifestations contre les retours des Bochniaques et des Croates dans des localités se trouvant à l’ouest de Brčko (Klanac, Ivici et Gluhakovac), ainsi que dans le centre même de la ville (Meraje). Les familles bochniaques et croates qui reviennent vivre dans le corridor de Brčko sont constamment harcelées. La stratégie d’intimidation des ultranationalistes serbes fonctionne bien, puisqu’un nombre très faible de retours est enregistré durant les trois premières années suivant la fin de la guerre.

18 Parallèlement, les autorités serbes tentent de créer un environnement totalement serbe, et de convaincre les déplacés de rester sur place. Après avoir pris le contrôle de Brčko, les Serbes ont effacé toute trace de la religion musulmane. Il y avait six monuments religieux dans la ville de Brčko avant la guerre : trois mosquées, deux églises catholiques et une église orthodoxe. L’église orthodoxe n’a pas été touchée pendant la guerre, et les deux églises catholiques ont été à peine endommagées. En revanche, les trois mosquées ont été dynamitées et totalement détruites en 1992. Les autorités de la ville ont construit à leur place des parking ou des espaces verts. Après la guerre, elles érigent aussi des monuments à la gloire de héros serbes, pour marquer la ville du sceau serbe. Ainsi, en septembre 1997, un monument est inauguré à la gloire de Draža Mihajlović, chef des tchetniks serbes pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale. Quelques semaines plus tard, un monument dédié Aux défenseurs serbes de Brčko est érigé dans le centre-ville. D’autre part, les noms de rue renvoyant à la culture bochniaque ou croate sont supprimés au profit de noms de héros et victimes serbes des différentes guerres. Fin 1998, la signalisation des rues est faite exclusivement en alphabet cyrillique.

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19 Afin de convaincre les déplacés serbes qui se trouvent en situation précaire à Brčko de ne pas retourner en Fédération, les autorités serbes n’hésitent pas à construire de nouveaux logements sur des terrains appartenant à des non-serbes. Par exemple, plus de 2 000 logements sont créés dans les localités de Grbavica, Dizdaruša, Ivici, Klanac et Rijeke en 1998. Officiellement, ces logements ont été alloués aux déplacés qui logeaient en centre collectif ou qui partageaient une maison avec une autre famille. Enfin, les autorités serbes emploient un autre instrument : la propagande. On entend dire dans la ville de Brčko que, “de l’autre côté” (en Fédération), les “Turcs” attendent les Serbes pour les égorger. La plupart des déplacés sont effrayés à l’idée de retourner chez eux. Le discours des autorités serbes est clair : la Fédération ne leur permettra pas de récupérer leurs maisons ; autant rester à Brčko où ils sont certains d’avoir un toit. Les autorités serbes passent notamment sous silence la nouvelle loi sur le logement adoptée par la Fédération le 12 mars 1998, qui permet la restitution des biens immobiliers à leurs occupants et propriétaires d’avant-guerre. Un an après le vote de cette loi, de nombreux déplacés serbes à Brčko l’ignorent toujours, parce que la télévision et la presse de la Fédération y sont interdits.La censure et la propagande fonctionnent bien : la plupart des déplacés serbes ne font aucune demande auprès des autorités de la Fédération pour récupérer leur maison. Les quelques familles qui accomplissent une telle démarche (45 en 1997, sur un total d’environ 26 000 déplacés) font preuve de courage, non seulement parce qu’elles ne savent pas exactement ce qui les attend en Fédération, mais aussi parce qu’elle doivent faire face aux intimidations des autorités serbes. En effet, quand celles-ci apprennent que des familles serbes désirent retourner en Fédération, elles les terrorisent.

20 Ainsi, les autorités serbes jouent la carte de la perpétuation du fait accompli politique et démographique sur le territoire du corridor de Brčko, afin de légitimer sa possession par la République serbe. Cette politique est principalement mise en place par les membres du parti de R. Karadžić. Après avoir organisé le repeuplement du corridor de Brčko, ils assurent sa préservation à la fois politique et physique. Afin d’atteindre leurs objectifs, ils utilisent les déplacés et les réfugiés serbes, grâce à qui Brčko est devenue une ville serbe. De même, c’est grâce à leurs voix que le SDS assoit et légitime son pouvoir.

La « reconquête » de Brčko par les Bochniaques et les Croates

21 Si les autorités serbes s’opposent au retour des déplacés serbes en Fédération, qu’en est-il des autorités de la Fédération ? Se prononcent-elles pour le retour des déplacés à Brčko? Et quelle est la stratégie des Bochniaques et des Croates expulsés de cette ville ?

22 En mai 1992, les Bochniaques et les Croates chassés du corridor par les forces serbes se réfugient dans des zones contrôlées par l’armée bosniaque et le Conseil de défense croate (Hrvatsko Vijeće Odbrane - HVO). Ils fuient principalement vers le sud, les territoires situés à l’est et à l’ouest de la ville étant occupés par les Serbes. Beaucoup s’arrêtent dans les villages de Brčko-Fédération8, où ils forment une nouvelle municipalité qu’ils intitulent “ Brčko libre”, en opposition à la municipalité serbe. En référence à leur situation de déplacés, ils la qualifient aussi de “gouvernement en exil”. Bochniaques et Croates restent unis en son sein pendant deux ans, jusqu’à ce que les Croates décident en juin 1994 de créer leur propre municipalité, indépendante de

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l’autorité de “ Brčko libre”. Deux municipalités distinctes coexistent alors sur le territoire de Brčko -Fédération : l’une, bochniaque, appelée “Rahić-Brčko ”, et l’autre, croate, appelée “Ravne-Brčko ”.

23 En 1997, les autorités locales de Rahić-Brčko et Ravne-Brčko, ainsi que celles de la Fédération, s’opposent à la tenue d’élections municipales sur le territoire de Brčko- Fédération. Elles estiment en effet que, un scrutin étant déjà organisé pour le conseil municipal de Brčko-RS, un vote séparé à Brčko-Fédération officialiserait l’existence de deux municipalités : l’une en Fédération et l’autre en RS, incluant la ville de Brčko. De plus, les autorités croato-bochniaques ne veulent pas prendre le risque d’organiser des élections à Brčko -Fédération pour une autre raison : les déplacés bochniaques et croates pourraient alors voter soit pour le conseil municipal de Brčko-RS, soit pour celui de Brčko-Fédération. En ne leur laissant pas le choix, la Fédération est davantage assurée que ces déplacés “réserveront” leurs voix pour le scrutin municipal de Brčko- RS. Cette stratégie conduit environ 18 500 Bochniaques et Croates à voter en RS, et permet donc aux partis bochniaques et croates d’obtenir 46,42 % des voix, et 26 sièges sur 56 au conseil municipal de Brčko-RS.

24 Les autorités croato-bochniaques luttent pour une “reconquête” non seulement politique, mais aussi physique du corridor de Brčko. Elles poussent au retour des déplacés bochniaques et croates pour plusieurs raisons. Premièrement, ce retour des déplacés dans leurs foyers d’origine est un droit légitime inscrit dans les accords de Dayton. Deuxièmement, les autorités de la Fédération craignent que la communauté internationale ne “donne” Brčko à la République serbe, simplement parce que Brčko est devenu de facto une ville serbe. Aussi, jusqu’à la décision finale du Tribunal en mars 1999, elles cherchent à contrebalancer le poids démographique de la population serbe sur ce territoire.

25 La “reconquête” du corridor de Brčko reste toutefois géographiquement limitée. En effet, Bochniaques et Croates reviennent là où leurs logements sont détruits, plutôt que là où ils sont restés intacts. Ce phénomène est facilement explicable : dans les secteurs où tout a été détruit, la communauté internationale finance la reconstruction des maisons pour faciliter le retour des déplacés et des réfugiés. Dans les secteurs non- endommagées, par contre, les autorités serbes de Brčko ont installé des Serbes qu’elles refusent de déloger. Ainsi, les endroits où les retours de Bochniaques et de Croates sont les plus nombreux sont les zones de « no-man’s land » qui longent l’ancienne ligne de front, et se trouvent à environ quatre kilomètres du centre-ville. Jusqu’à début 1999, aucune famille bochniaque ou croate ne parvient à retourner vivre dans le centre-ville, qui n’a pratiquement pas été détruit pendant la guerre. La « reconquête » du terrain s’arrête donc aux portes de la ville.

26 Selon la Commission pour les retours9, le nombre total de Bochniaques et de Croates étant retournés dans le corridor de Brčko à la date du 26 janvier 1999 s’élève à 5 000 environ. Or, selon la mairie de Brčko-RS, la population totale du corridor est à la même époque de 48 000 habitants. Ce qui signifie que les Bochniaques et les Croates représentent environ 11 % de la population totale du corridor au début de l’année 1999, contre 67 % en 1991. Bien que la “reconquête” du corridor soit laborieuse, le nombre de 5 000 personnes reste relativement élevé, lorsqu’il est comparé au nombre total de retours minoritaires en RS. En effet, d’après le Haut commissariat aux réfugiés, 10 000 Bochniaques et Croates seulement sont retournés en RS au début de 1999. En outre, plus de 5 000 familles bochniaques et croates ont fait une demande auprès de la

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Commission des retours pour se réinstaller dans le corridor, ce qui représente un retour potentiel de 20 000 personnes non-serbes environ. Ce nombre est lui aussi très élevé, en comparaison au nombre total de demandes faites par les Bochniaques et Croates pour retourner en RS depuis la fin de la guerre. Il y a donc une évidente “offensive” croato-bochniaque sur le corridor de Brčko, qui n’a pas d’équivalent dans le reste de la RS.

27 En outre, si le nombre de retours minoritaires est beaucoup plus élevé à Brčko que dans d’autres régions de la RS, c’est grâce à la présence massive de la communauté internationale, et plus particulièrement grâce au superviseur international dont le rôle est de contrôler à Brčko l’application des accords de Dayton, c’est-à-dire, entre autres, de veiller aux retours des populations déplacées ou réfugiées pendant la guerre.

Le rôle décisif de la communauté internationale

28 En février 1997, Roberts Owen, le Président du Tribunal pour Brčko, décide de mettre en place un programme spécial pour le retour des déplacés et réfugiés dans le corridor de Brčko, car le nombre de retours minoritaires y est très faible à cette date. La réalisation de ce programme est confié à Robert Farrand, superviseur nommé par le Haut représentant international en Bosnie-Herzégovine. Afin de mener à bien cette mission, R. Farrand est autorisé à promulguer des ordonnances obligatoires que les autorités serbes de Brčko devront respecter et appliquer. Le 24 avril 1997, il crée une commission chargée d’approuver les retours dans le corridor de Brčko10 et, le 11 juin 1997, il interdit toute nouvelle attribution de logement à des réfugiés ou personnes déplacées sans le consentement de cette commission. Le but de ces ordonnances est à la fois d’empêcher les autorités serbes de Brčko-RS d’installer de nouveaux déplacés serbes dans des zones de retour, et de mettre en confiance les Bochniaques et les Croates qui souhaiteraient revenir. Le superviseur décide ensuite de mettre en place une police et une justice multiethniques, afin de faciliter le retour de la population non- serbe : leur composition sera basée sur celle des listes électorales pour les élections municipales de 1997 (Serbes : 52,2 % ; Bochniaques : 39,1 % ; Croates : 8,7 %).

29 En mars 1999, le Tribunal pour Brčko rend enfin son arbitrage, et décide que la municipalité de Brčko n’appartiendra ni à la Fédération, ni à la République serbe, mais sera transformée en “district neutre”11. Les frontières du nouveau district sont celles de la municipalité d’avant-guerre, et incluent donc Brčko-RS comme Brčko-Fédération. Ce territoire sera administré comme un “condominium”, c’est-à-dire qu’aucune des entités ne pourra exercer son autorité directe et exclusive sur le district, celui-ci étant placé sous l’autorité des institutions communes de la Bosnie-Herzégovine. Ainsi, ni la politique serbe du fait accompli, ni la légitimité historique et démographique des Bochniaques et des Croates n’ont prévalu.

30 Pourquoi le Tribunal a-t-il finalement opté pour cette solution sans gagnant ni perdant ? Il a d’abord estimé qu’il serait injuste d’attribuer Brčko à la RS, car ce serait entériner le nettoyage ethnique pratiqué par les Serbes durant la guerre. De plus, cela aurait enterré à tout jamais l’espoir d’un retour de la population non-serbe. Par contre, il semble que les divergences entre Bochniaques et Croates soient une des raisons pour lesquelles le Tribunal n’a pas attribué Brčko à la Fédération. Celle-ci, alliance “artificielle” créée par les Américains en mars 1994 (accords de Washington), est un mirage. Le Tribunal n’a apparemment pas voulu donner Brčko à une entité qui ne

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fonctionne pas. Une autre explication est possible : Brčko représente un enjeu stratégique de taille pour les Serbes ; le corridor est nécessaire à l’existence de la RS, parce qu’il permet sa continuité territoriale. Les Serbes avaient promis le retour de la violence en Bosnie-Herzégovine si Brčko était attribué à la Fédération. Le Tribunal n’a donc pas voulu prendre de risques et a opté pour un compromis.

31 En mars 2000, le superviseur de Brčko applique la décision du Tribunal : il dissout les deux municipalités de Brčko-Fédération (Rahic-Brčko et Ravne-Brčko), ainsi que la municipalité serbe du corridr de Brčko (Brčko-RS),pour créer une seule entité politique appelée “District de Brčko de Bosnie-Herzégovine”. Il nomme les membres d’un gouvernement intérimaire du District, avec à sa tête un maire serbe et un maire adjoint croate. Il nomme également les conseillers de l’Assemblée intérimaire du District, dont le président est bochniaque. En 2001, cette administration intérimaire est toujours en place, puisque des élections pour la désignation d’une nouvelle assemblée et d’un nouveau gouvernement n’ont pas encore eu lieu.

32 Depuis la signature des accords de Dayton, l’obsession de la communauté internationale est la reconstitution d’une société bosniaque pluricommunautaire, telle qu’elle existait avant la guerre. Un de ses objectifs principaux est donc le retour des populations réfugiées et déplacées, et particulièrement des minorités, dans leurs foyers d’origine. Pour la communauté internationale, Brčko représente un “microcosme” de la Bosnie- Herzégovine : le corridor de Brčko a été “nettoyé” pendant la guerre, comme beaucoup d’autres régions bosniaques, et les rivalités de pouvoir persistant à Brčko entre les trois communautés sont révélatrices de celles qui s’exercent dans le reste de la Bosnie- Herzégovine. En d’autres termes, la communauté internationale pense que Brčko,en temps que district neutre géré comme un protectorat, peut servir de laboratoire. Avec la nomination d’un superviseur international, Brčko représente une sorte de test ayant valeur d’exemple : il s’agit, sur un petit territoire, de favoriser par de fortes pressions diplomatiques le retour des déplacés et des réfugiés dans leurs foyers d’origine, afin de recréer un échantillon de la société bosniaque multiethnique d’avant-guerre. Si l’expérience fonctionne à Brčko, elle pourra ensuite être étendue à toute la Bosnie- Herzégovine.

33 Or, cinq ans après la signature des accords de Dayton, il s’avère que les endroits où les retours minoritaires sont les plus nombreux ne sont pas forcément ceux le plus étroitement contrôlés par la communauté internationale. Depuis l’arbitrage du Tribunal en mars 1999, le nombre de retours minoritaires dans le District de Brčko n’a pas autant progressé que dans le reste de la RS. En effet, leur nombre a plus que doublé en RS entre 1999 et 2000 (passant de 10 000 à 22 000 environ), alors qu’il tendent à se stabiliser dans le District de Brčko. Il faut cependant relativiser ce demi-échec, puisque les retours minoritaires dans le corridor de Brčko représentent toujours un quart du nombre total de ceux enregistrés dans toute la RS. L’espoir nourri par la communauté internationale de faire de Brčko un exemple de multiethnicité pour le reste de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, même s’il s’amenuise, n’est donc pas encore éteint.

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NOTES

1. Est considérée comme déplacée toute personne résidant déjà en Bosnie-Herzégovine au moment du recensement de 1991, mais ayant dû quitter son lieu de résidence au cours du conflit. Est considérée comme réfugiée toute personne ayant trouvé refuge en Bosnie-Herzégovine après 1991 (ex. : Serbes de Croatie). 2. Environ 4 000 déplacés sont originaires de Tuzla , 2 500 de Brčko-Fédération, 2 500 de Zenica et 1 200 d’Orašje. Source : Mairie de Brčko, Département de la protection sociale (mars 1999). 3. Environ 1 800 déplacés sont originaires de Bihać. Source : Idem. 4. Environ 3 500 déplacés sont originaires de Jajce. Source : Idem. 5. Les plaques d’immatriculation des Bochniaques ont une fleur de lys, symbole de la Bosnie- Herzégovine, celles des Croates le damier rouge et blanc qui se trouve sur le drapeau croate, et celles des Serbes le symbole national serbe avec quatre “S” en cyrillique, qui signifient : « Seulement l’unité sauve le Serbe » (Samo Sloga Srbina Spašava). 6. Les autorités ont notamment relogé des Serbes de Bihać dans deux villages à majorité croate avant la guerre, Marković Polje et Gorice. 7. Le 2 mars 1997, à Gajevi (Brčko-Fédération), 150 Serbes mettent le feu à onze maisons préfabriquées dans lesquelles vivent des Bochniaques en attendant de pouvoir retourner à Brčko. Le 1er mai 1997, des Serbes jettent des pierres sur deux bus transportant des Bochniaques et des Croates venus visiter leurs maisons, et les obligent à faire demi-tour. Le 5 août 1997, des Serbes déplacés et relogés à Broduša assaillent des Bochniaques venus reconstruire leurs maisons. 8. Sur les 25 914 Bochniaques et 9 016 Croates que comptait le corridor de Brčko en 1991, 15 000 Bochniaques et 4 000 Croates environ se seraient réfugiés à “ Brčko-Fédération”. Source : municipalités de Rahić-Brčko et Ravne-Brčko, mars 1999. 9. Organisme gérant le retour des personnes déplacées et des réfugiée à Brčko, et rassemblant le maire serbe de Brčko, ses deux adjoints bochniaque et croate, ainsi que des représentants de l’Office du Haut représentant (OHR), du Haut commissariat aux réfugiés (UNHCR), de la Force de stabilisation (SFOR) et de la police internationale (IPTF). 10. Voir note précédente. 11. Cette décision est en fait prise par le seul arbitre-président, Roberts Owen, les juges serbe et bochniaque ayant refusé de s’y associer.

AUTEUR

LAURENCE ROBIN-HUNTER Titulaire d'un DEA de géopolitique à Paris VIII et étudiante à la School of Law de Columbia University (New-York). Cet article est basé sur les recherches menées dans le cadre de son mémoire de DEA.

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L’économie du nettoyage ethnique à Prnjavor

Nikola Guljevatej

1 La commune de Prnjavor se situe dans le nord de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, où elle occupe 631 km². En 1991, elle comptait 47 055 habitants, dont 71,2 % de Serbes, 15,2 % de Musulmans / Bochniaques, 3,7 % de Croates et autant de Yougoslaves. De plus, 6,2 % de la population rentrait dans la catégorie “Autres”, celle-ci incluant, par ordre d’importance décroissante, des Ukrainiens, des Italiens, des Tchèques et des représentants de douze autres minorités non-constitutives1. En 1999, l’International Police Task Force (IPTF) a estimé que la population totale de Prnjavor était passée de 47 055 à 53 000 personnes environ, du fait notamment de l’afflux de déplacés serbes. La composition ethnique de la commune serait la suivante : Serbes 85 %, “Autres” 13 %, Bochniaques 1,5 % et Croates 0,5 %2. L’homogénéisation sur des critères ethniques a donc bien eu lieu, comme dans toute la Bosnie-Herzégovine.

2 Une des thèses souvent avancées pour expliquer le nettoyage ethnique évoque des “haines implacables de l’autre”. Cette idée de “haines séculaires” implique que toutes les minorités auraient dû connaître le même sort tragique. Or, le cas spécifique de Prnjavor remet en cause une telle explication. Contrairement à d’autres villes de taille comparable qui ont fait la une des médias internationaux (Srebrenica, Prijedor, etc.), Prnjavor est restée dans l’ombre. Il n’y eut pas d’atrocités à grande échelle, ni d’expulsion massive et organisée, ni d’exécutions sommaires, ni de camps de concentration. Il apparaît aussi que le nettoyage ethnique a touché beaucoup plus les Bochniaques et les Croates que les minorités non-constitutives, qui constituent pourtant une part non-négligeable de la population locale.

3 Le cas de Prnjavor soulève donc plusieurs questions. Pourquoi une telle “modération” dans les formes du nettoyage ethnique ? Pourquoi une telle “clémence” envers les minorités non-constitutives ? Le retour s’en trouve-t-il pour autant facilité ?

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Les populations de la commune de Prnjavor

4 Il est des localités dont le nom même renvoie à leur insignifiance. Prnjavor est l’un de ces lieux-là. Le mot “prnjavor” désigne dans la langue courante un lieu éloigné des chemins principaux et difficile d’accès, mais aussi, plus spécifiquement, un village construit sur le domaine d’un monastère3. Dès lors, faut-il être surpris de rencontrer souvent ce toponyme en Bosnie, dans les Balkans ? Un magazine de Banja Luka intitulait son reportage sur Prnjavor, à 50 km de là : « La ville dont on ne se souvient pas »4. Cependant, Prnjavor a une particularité dont ses habitants étaient, et sont encore parfois, particulièrement fiers : cette commune comptait en 1991 dix-huit nationalités différentes, et était la championne incontestable de la pluriethnicité en Bosnie-Herzégovine.

5 On ne peut avoir de certitudes sur les origines de la population de Prnjavor. On sait seulement que la majorité catholique, qui peuplait la région au Moyen Âge, a disparu pendant la période ottomane (entre 1530 et 1878) pour céder la place aux populations orthodoxe et musulmane. Le premier recensement austro-hongrois de 1879 dénombrait dans l’arrondissement de Prnjavor 17 009 orthodoxes (85,3 %), 2 700 musulmans (13,5 %) et 243 catholiques (1,2 %). En cela, Prnjavor est représentatif de la Bosnie dans son ensemble, et de la région de en particulier.

Tableau 1 : L’évolution confessionnelle de l’arrondissement de Prnjavor (1879-1931)

Orthodoxes Musulmans Catholiques Juifs et autres Total

1879 17 009 2 700 243 - 19 952

1885 20 226 3 186 1 001 11 24 406

1895 24 334 4 769 1 199 95 30 424

1910 28 202 3 578 13 732 802 46 314

1921 28 604 3 827 16 590 872 49 893

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1931 39 964 4 669 19 061 929 63 653

6 La palette des nationalités s’élargit au tournant du siècle, avec un afflux massif de colons venus de tous les coins de l’Empire austro-hongrois pour trouver des terres à défricher5. Ils y étaient incités par des exemptions fiscales destinées à améliorer l’agriculture locale, avec en dernière instance la perspective pour Vienne d’augmenter les revenus du gouvernement provincial6. D’autres estiment que « l’Autriche-Hongrie voulait à tout prix diminuer la grande concentration de Serbes dans cette région »7. Quoi qu’il en soit, cette entreprise de colonisation fut limitée au nord de la Bosnie (voir Carte 1). Alors que dans le reste de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, les Austro-Hongrois arrivaient au compte-goutte pour occuper des postes de cadres industriels et administratifs, Prnjavor connut surtout une immigration paysane. L’arrondissement eut par conséquent la plus forte croissance démographique de toute la Bosnie- Herzégovine entre 1885 et 1910 : + 52,2 %. La croissance externe (colonisation) atteignit au total + 27 % entre 1895 et 1910, soit en moyenne + 1,8 % par an, si bien qu’en 1931, le serbo-croate n’était pas la langue maternelle de plus de 18 000 personnes, soit 29 % de la population totale de l’arrondissement, un record en Bosnie-Herzégovine.

7 Les premiers à s’installer, peu après l’entrée des troupes austro-hongroises en 1878, furent des Allemands de Silésie et de Rhénanie, sur l’invitation expresse du premier archevêque de Bosnie-Herzégovine, Mgr. Stadler8. Leur installation se fit par colonies agricoles : deux groupes de 20 et 70 familles allemandes respectivement obtinrent les meilleures terres au nord et à l’est de la commune, à Šibovska et Glogovac, où l’on peut aujourd’hui encore reconnaître un parcellaire égalitaire autour de ces nouveaux villages, à la forme caractéristique de villages-rues. Les Allemands apportèrent des techniques nouvelles d’exploitation agricole et développèrent les premières activités industrielles (moulins à vapeur). Après eux vinrent les Hongrois, 40 familles environ, concentrées dans le village préexistant de Lužani. Leur histoire se termina pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, en 1942, lorsque la Wehrmacht organisa l’évacuation des Allemands et des Hongrois qui le souhaitaient. Les rares qui restèrent jusqu’en 1945 ne connurent donc pas l’expulsion massive qui frappa surtout les Allemands de Voïvodine, en même temps que ceux de toute l’Europe de l’Est. En 1948, il ne restait plus que six Allemands et quatre Hongrois dans la commune de Prnjavor.

8 Parmi les colons dont il ne reste plus de traces significatives, il faut aussi mentionner les Polonais. Ils arrivèrent de la région de Cracovie dans les années 1890, et furent dispersés sur l’ensemble de la commune par une sorte de tirage au sort des parcelles que les pouvoirs locaux leur avaient attribuées. Après la Seconde Guerre mondiale, la Pologne invita tous les Polonais de l’extérieur à rentrer au pays, et les autorités yougoslaves organisèrent leur rapatriement entre novembre 1945 et avril 1946. Ceux de Prnjavor firent partie des 20 000 Polonais rapatriés, si bien que, en 1948, il en restait moins d’une centaine.

9 Les trois principales communautés de colons qui survécurent à la Seconde Guerre mondiale furent les Italiens, les Tchèques et les Ukrainiens.

10 Selon les dires des anciens, les Italiens sont arrivés en 1881 de la région de Valsugano, dans le Tyrol, poussés par les inondations du Brento et la faillite de la culture de la soie dans cette région de l’Empire austro-hongrois. Ils étaient au début installés dans quatre

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villages différents mais, après maintes lettres de doléance aux autorités, ils obtinrent leur regroupement dans le village de Štivor.

11 Les Tchèques installés à Prnjavor ont vécu une véritable odyssée : il s’agissait de paysans tchèques partis en Russie en 1874 à l’invitation du Tsar, pour en revenir vingt ans plus tard lorsqu’on exigea d’eux qu’ils deviennent citoyens russes, ce qu’ils refusèrent. L’Autriche-Hongrie leur accorda des terres en Croatie, dans les environs de Daruvar, et en Bosnie-Herzégovine, à Nova Ves et à Prnjavor, où 25 familles fondèrent le village de Maćino Brdo.

12 Les Ukrainiens de Galicie autrichienne arrivèrent les derniers. Les fortes densités de population rurale et le retard de l’industrialisation ont destiné cette région à fournir un grand nombre d’immigrants aux Etats-Unis et au Canada, mais aussi quelque 8 000 colons à l’arrondissement de Prnjavor entre 1898 et 1913. Ce n’est qu’en 1901 que les autorités austro-hongroises, freinées par l’hostilité du Parlement provincial de Bosnie- Herzégovine, leur distribuèrent des terres dispersées entre plusieurs villages de l’arrondissement. Confrontés à un risque d’assimilation9, ils se dotèrent de plusieurs paroisses et de diverses associations culturelles entre 1900 et 1917.

Formes d’identification au territoire

13 La répartition des différentes communautés sur le territoire de Prnjavor montre une mixité élevée en ville et une forte séparation dans les campagnes, si bien que l’on peut parler de connotation identitaire des lieux de résidence. Dans la campagne, qui englobe 82,2 % de la population locale, cette identification communautaire se fait à l’échelle des hameaux et des villages. Dans la ville de Prnjavor, elle se fait à l’échelle des quartiers (mahala).

a) Faible mixité des campagnes

14 Sur 62 villages, 55 présentent les caractéristiques de villages dispersés, et comptent plusieurs hameaux (voir Carte 2). Tous ces villages dispersés sont habités par de très fortes majorités serbes, ce qui est le signe d’une création relativement récente, contemporaine de l’arrivée des Serbes dans la région. Ils se distinguent des autres villages par leurs hameaux, qui portent fréquemment le nom des familles qui les habitent (par exemple : Vasići, Božunovići et Milići à Grabik Ilova). D’autres toponymes de lieux les entourant comprennent aussi des indicatifs d’appartenance à une famille ou un individu (par exemple : Radiškovića Brdo -la colline des Radišković- au sud-est de Prnjavor). Ces toponymes liés aux noms de famille indiquent leur relative jeunesse. Ce fait est particulièrement flagrant autour de la Careva Gora, la “forêt du Tsar”, défrichée par les nouveaux venus.

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15 Ces toponymes indiquent également la stabilité des structures familiales patriarcales au sein de la zadruga10. Avant que la société ne se modernise partiellement, l’appropriation d’un terrain était inséparable de l’appartenance familiale : un homme dénommé Vaso s’installait avec sa famille à l’écart des routes en défrichant un bout de forêt ; ses fils poursuivaient le défrichage et s’installaient avec leurs familles à côté de la maison du père : le hameau portait alors le nom de “Vasići”. Aujourd’hui encore, tous les habitants d’un hameau sont donc des cousins plus ou moins proches, se reconnaissant comme tels. Le nom de famille est dès lors porteur d’une identité territoriale, mais aussi religieuse et nationale, vu que l’exogamie est très faible dans ce type de village.

16 Ce type d’identification au hameau familial ne se retrouve pas chez les Bochniaques. Leur identification au territoire se fait principalement à l’échelle du village : en 1991, les Bochniaques urbains forment 29 % de la population du chef-lieu Prnjavor. Par ailleurs, 82,7 % des Bochniaques ruraux vivent dans cinq villages où ils forment la majorité de la population (entre 60 et 99 % des habitants) ; les autres sont répartis entre 19 villages où ils constituent une forte minorité.

17 On remarque que les villages où les Bochniaques sont majoritaires se trouvent le long des axes de communication locaux proches des meilleures terres agricoles, réservées aux musulmans à l’époque ottomane. Inversement, la prédilection des Serbes de Prnjavor pour les endroits les plus reculés vient d’une série de lois très contraignantes pour les chrétiens à l’époque ottomane, les Serbes représentant à l’époque la majorité des kmets (serfs), du moins là où l’on a pu l’établir avec certitude. C’est ce qui explique leur dispersion à la périphérie de la commune, sur les anciennes “terres désertes” (erazi mevat) que la loi de Ramazan de 1858 définissait comme celles se trouvant à une demi- heure de marche de tout lieu habité, ou hors de portée de la voix humaine, soit un kilomètre et demi11.

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18 Dire que l’on vient de ces villages-là indique très souvent de façon extrêmement précise son identité religieuse et nationale. Cette règle valait aussi, et vaut encore parfois, pour les communautés de colons qui ont été installées sur des terres libres, et non dans des villages préexistants : les Italiens étaient regroupés dans leur village de Štivor, les Tchèques à Maćino Brdo, et les Allemands à Glogovac et à Šibovska (voir Carte 3). Ces derniers ont gardé leur forme de village-rue (voir Carte 2), même s’il n’y a plus d’Allemands aujourd’hui. Mais cette règle ne vaut pas pour les colons arrivés plus tardivement, les Ukrainiens et les Polonais, du fait de leur dispersion sur tout le territoire de la commune.

19 Une des principales marques de la présence de ces minorités sont les édifices religieux : églises ukrainiennes (plusieurs églises uniates et une église orthodoxe), tchèque, italienne, etc. Faute de pouvoir se regrouper dans l’espace, ces minorités ont en effet préservé leur identité nationale par le biais de paroisses en langue maternelle et d’organisations culturelles, et ce depuis leur arrivée à Prnjavor jusqu’à nos jours. Comme l’écrit B. Michel, « chanter en chœur avec ses amis des chansons issues du folklore national [est] un acte beaucoup plus chargé de signification que d’aller voter »12. Ce caractère limité et non-territorial de revendications identitaires explique la tolérance qu’ont manifestée envers les colons les différents régimes politiques qui se sont succédés en Bosnie-Herzégovine, sauf pendant les deux dernières guerres.

b) La mixité : un trait urbain

20 La ville est, en Bosnie-Herzégovine, le lieu de mixité ethnique par excellence. Comme la plupart de villes fondées à l’époque ottomane, Prnjavor se situe au carrefour de plusieurs axes de communication13. Avec le repli de l’Empire ottoman sur la Save en 1699 (paix de Karlowitz) apparaît le besoin d’une voie parallèle à la rivière pour relier les parties septentrionales de l’Empire. Les récits du XIXe siècle affirment que la ville

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est fondée près d’une auberge (han), à mi-chemin entre Tešanj et Banja Luka, sur la route des caravanes commerciales. Elle apparaît pour la première fois sur une carte élaborée en 1783 par I. von Makovich, capitaine des garde-frontières en Slavonie, tandis que les sources bosniaques ne la mentionnent qu’en 1843, dans une liste des paroisses orthodoxes de la région de Banja Luka. Contrairement à ce qu’affirme Z. Nedović14, il s’agit dès l’origine d’une bourgade binationale : la première mosquée date de 1800, et la première église orthodoxe de 1829. On peut toutefois, avec Z. Nedović, déduire de l’étymologie du mot “prnjavor” une prépondérance originelle des chrétiens orthodoxes à Prnjavor. Cela reste une hypothèse qui n’entre pas en contradiction avec la possibilité que le monastère abandonné (qui n’a pas été localisé, faute de fouilles archéologiques) ait été transformé en auberge par des musulmans ayant quitté la Slavonie après la paix de Karlowitz.

21 Quoi qu’il en soit, la ville de Prnjavor a gardé jusqu’à nos jours une structuration communautaire par mahala (rue ou quartier urbain), typique des villes ottomanes. Elles sont caractérisées par un quartier commerçant appelé čaršija, entouré de mahalas (parties résidentielles de la ville). […] Le mahala, en tant qu’unité résidentielle de base, était formé d’une cinquantaine de maisons regroupées autour d’une mosquée […] et d’un mekteb (école [religieuse] élémentaire). [Il] comprenait également un puits, une boulangerie, une épicerie et un cimetière.15

22 Jusqu’à la guerre de 1992-1995, on peut retrouver cette trame des mahalas à Prnjavor. L’espace urbain de cette ville d’environ 7 000 habitants se divise entre son centre (čaršija) et ses périphéries pavillonnaires. D’un côté, le čaršija caractérisée avant 1992 par une forte mixité, du fait de la superposition des activités administratives et commerciales, de l’autre, les périphéries pavillonnaires à dominante bochniaque (sud et ouest) et serbe (nord et est) correspondent au noyau historique binaire de la ville. Cette répartition spatiale n’a pas été fondamentalement modifiée par l’urbanisation récente. Simplement, au lieu de préserver la vieille architecture ottomane du čaršija, le

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pouvoir communiste a préféré la remplacer par de grands ensembles de peuplement mixte (car les appartements y étaient –du moins en théorie– distribués selon les critères sociaux et non communautaires).

23 Ainsi, en fonction de son lieu de résidence, on pouvait avec une forte probabilité deviner à quelle communauté appartenait telle ou telle personne. L’appropriation de l’espace de la commune de Prnjavor reposait donc sur une identification communautaire par hameau, village ou quartier urbain. L’entreprise de séparation territoriale des communautés pendant la guerre a su utiliser cette donne.

La guerre de 1992-1995

24 Les événements qui ont marqué les années de guerre à Prnjavor sont tombés doucement dans l’oubli, à force de questions restées sans réponse. Les habitants interrogés en 1999 étaient plutôt préoccupés par un quotidien très difficile, si bien que, lorsqu’on les amenait à parler de cette période, ils avaient l’air de déterrer un mauvais souvenir enseveli sous beaucoup d’autres. C’est comme si, au fond, ils étaient contents de ne plus avoir vraiment à s’en soucier. Mais ils étaient conscients de faire partie des gens les moins affectés par la guerre.

a) La violence physique et symbolique

25 Les premières élections démocratiques en Bosnie-Herzégovine, le 18 novembre 1990, furent marquées à Prnjavor par la victoire du principal parti nationaliste serbe, le Parti démocratique serbe (Srpska Demokratska Stranka –SDS). Les préparatifs pour la guerre commencèrent dès le printemps 1991, avec la mobilisation générale des réservistes de l’Armée populaire yougoslave (Jugoslovenska Narodna Armija – JNA), impliquée dans les opérations militaires en Croatie. Comme beaucoup d’autres communes bosniaques, Prnjavor eut aussi sa propre milice locale : les “Loups de Vučijak”. D’après le compte- rendu du commandant de la brigade de Prnjavor, au mois de juin 1991, 23 volontaires partirent combattre l’armée croate dans la région de la Krajina (Croatie), sous le commandement d’un petit brigand, Veljko Milanković. Il en revinrent enrichis par le pillage des maisons abandonnées (serbes et croates), pour repartir ensuite en Slavonie orientale. Ils restèrent actifs en Croatie jusqu’au début de la guerre en Bosnie- Herzégovine (mars-avril 1992).

26 Lorsque la JNA fit appel aux réservistes de Prnjavor, 140 d’entre eux (et pas seulement des Bochniaques et des Croates) refusèrent d’aller combattre en Croatie : ils furent renvoyés chez eux et la majeure partie d’entre eux furent immédiatement licenciés. Les autres restèrent engagés en Croatie jusqu’à l’arrivée de la Force de protection des Nations-Unies (Forpronu) en juin 1992. Après leur retour, les soldats de Prnjavor participèrent à la prise de contrôle du “corridor de Brčko”, au nord de la Bosnie, qui permettait le passage de l’approvisionnement en provenance de la Serbie. Jusqu’à la fin de la guerre en 1995, ils participèrent aussi aux combats dans la région de la Bosanska Krajina, et à la défense de la ligne de front en Bosnie centrale.

27 Il faut préciser que toutes ces activités militaires étaient organisées dans le cadre normal des lois yougoslaves sur la mobilisation, comme si c’était encore la période titiste. Aussi, tous les citoyens sans distinction d’appartenance nationale étaient appelés à combattre, au nom de la “défense” de la région. Les non-Serbes devaient donc

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choisir entre la collaboration et des sanctions juridiques. L’économie de la commune était à dominante agraire, mais tout le secteur industriel était étatisé, d’où la possibilité pour le SDS de licencier les récalcitrants.

28 Il en va de même pour le volet médiatique des préparatifs du nettoyage ethnique. La radio locale, qui avait couvert la manifestation pacifiste du 5 mars 1992, dernière tentative d’arrêter la guerre qui s’annonçait, fut immédiatement saisie, et son directeur remplacé par un homme du SDS. Elle se mit alors à diffuser les communiqués officiels, des reportages en provenance du front, et divers chants nationalistes serbes. En juin 1992, cette radio accusa les Bochniaques du village de Lišnja de posséder des armes, ce qui servit à justifier l’attaque de l’armée contre ce village. Les termes utilisés faisaient référence à la Seconde Guerre mondiale : l’armée croate était qualifiée d’“oustachis”, celle des Bochniaques de balije16. Le terrain avait naturellement été préparé par les émissions de la Radio-Télévision de Belgrade, qui rappelait aux Serbes le danger des pogroms commis par les Oustachis, et celui du djihad des fondamentalistes. Pour avoir vu pendant les neuf mois précédant la guerre [en Bosnie-Herzégovine] des reportages authentiques montrant des cadavres et des villages brûlés en Croatie, le paysan et le citoyen serbe moyen était facilement persuadé que ces menaces étaient réelles. Il ne manquait plus que quelques détails aux couleurs locales pour compléter le tableau17.

29 L’épisode de Lišnja eut exactement cette fonction-là : permettre le passage de la peur au nettoyage ethnique, la psychose entretenue par les médias justifiant les exactions à l’encontre des minorités. Cependant, derrière le terme de “nettoyage ethnique” se cache toute une panoplie d’activités qui n’ont en commun que leur objectif final : l’homogénéisation du territoire sur des critères ethniques. Si les procédés classiques, décrits par N. Malcolm et bien d’autres, n’ont pas été utilisés à Prnjavor même, c’est que les configurations politiques locales les rendaient superflus. Une autre méthode fut utilisée pour s’attaquer aux minorités isolées au milieu d’un territoire dominé par les forces serbes : accuser la population minoritaire de détention illégale d’armes, puis lancer un ultimatum pour qu’elle les rende, en ouvrant ainsi la voie à une attaque militaire. Résultat : une cinquantaine de notables du village bochniaque furent arrêtés et emprisonnés dans une usine située en face du lycée.

30 Il faut noter qu’une résistance militaire des minorités n’avait pas de sens : elles étaient trop peu nombreuses, sans armes, éloignées d’une centaine de kilomètres des premiers territoire sous contrôle bochniaque ou croate. De nombreux Bochniaques et Croates de Prnajvor choisirent donc de s’assurer la protection du pouvoir serbe en échange de leur participation à l’effort de guerre, en combattant, en creusant des tranchées ou en effectuant d’autres travaux. Ceux qui refusaient ne pouvaient s’estimer en sécurité. Quelques meurtres commis contre les récalcitrants suffirent à convaincre les autres. Des assassinats de ce genre ont été enregistrés en 1992 dans le village bochniaque de Lišnja, et dans celui de Kulaši, à majorité croate. En juillet 1992, l’assassinat par un membre de la milice locale d’un Bochniaque qui s’était joint aux forces serbes et rentrait en permission à Prnjavor avec tout son régiment, montre que même ceux qui avaient consenti à collaborer n’étaient pas à l’abri. L’assassin fut arrêté, puis relâché quelques jours plus tard sous la pression des “Loups”.

31 La violence contre les minorités à Prnjavor resta limitée à ce genre d’incidents isolés, provoqués par les milices extrémistes qui agissaient en toute impunité. Mais, même

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limitée, la violence a toujours une fonction symbolique : il suffit qu’une personne en soit victime pour que toute sa communauté se sente menacée.

32 Dans ce contexte, une attention particulière doit être portée à la forme la plus fréquente de violence symbolique, celle visant les édifices religieux. Les destructions de lieux de culte ne sont pas de simples actes de vandalisme : à travers les églises, les mosquées et les cimetières, ce sont bien les populations elles-mêmes qui sont visées. On peut dire que ces destructions avaient pour fonction d’annoncer des mesures plus sévères dans le cas où ces populations minoritaires refuseraient de partir. C’est pourquoi, au cours de la seule année 1992, ce sont 101 églises et 800 mosquées environ qui subirent ce genre de violence en Bosnie Herzégovine18, dont 200 édifices religieux musulmans sur 460 dans la région de Bosanska Krajina.

33 Aujourd’hui, il ne reste plus aucune mosquée à Prnjavor. La mosquée située au centre de la ville a été détruite par une charge explosive le 2 juin 1992. Seul reste le cimetière musulman qui l’entourait. La série de destructions de mosquées –restée inexpliquée aux dires des autorités locales, pratiquement inchangées dix ans après les événements– a commencé par l’opération des “Loups” contre le village de Lišnja. Le 2 août 1992, presque simultanément, furent endommagées l’église croate de Kulaši et l’église ukrainienne de Prnjavor. Sur la liste des lieux de culte endommagés ou détruits figurent encore les églises croates de Kulaši (27 septembre 1992), de Doline (14 mars 1993), de Drenova (15 août 1993), ainsi que toutes les mosquées, la dernière à avoir été détruite étant celle de Konjuhovci, le 30 juin 1995, jour du kurban bajram (fête du sacrifice)19.

b) Les particularités du nettoyage ethnique à Prnjavor

34 Les pouvoirs locaux de Prnjavor se défendent d’avoir été impliqués dans les destructions de lieux de culte appartenant aux populations minoritaires. Lorsque, après la destruction de leur église, le maire alla rassurer les Ukrainiens de la commune, il leur déclara qu’il s’agissait d’une erreur, et que c’était probablement l’église croate du centre ville qui était visée. Selon lui, ces actes auraient été commis par des “éléments extérieurs”. Les pouvoirs locaux condamnèrent la violence en termes généraux et vagues, promirent une enquête, et on en resta là. Toutefois, le curé croate dit avoir bénéficié de la protection de la police locale contre les provocations d’éléments extrémistes.

35 Le sort qu’ont connu pendant la guerre les minorités non-constitutives, peu nombreuses et de mentalité loyaliste (leurs seules revendications sont d’ordre culturel et religieux), est bien meilleur que celui des Bochniaques ou des Croates. Nous étudierons ici les trois principales : les Ukrainiens, les Tchèques et les Italiens.

36 Ces derniers sont encore 750 dans leur village de Štivor, comme en 1992, du moins formellement. En réalité, la majorité n’y réside plus de façon permanente, et il ne reste que des personnes âgées20. En 1992, les pouvoirs locaux avaient promis aux Italiens qu’ils n’auraient pas à faire la guerre ; en revanche, ils les ont laissés partir en Italie comme “travailleurs temporairement expatriés”, contre le paiement d’un impôt de guerre s’élevant à 200 DM par mois et par personne. Les Italiens de Štivor avaient été longtemps oubliés par leur pays d’origine, mais les soldats italiens de la Forpronu sont intervenus auprès des autorités locales pour que leurs lointains compatriotes reçoivent

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des passeports, et auprès du gouvernement italien pour qu’ils obtiennent des permis de séjour et de travail. Aussi, tout le monde y a trouvé son compte.

37 Selon les données fournies par le président de l’association culturelle tchèque locale Česka beseda (“La langue tchèque”), sur la base d’un recensement informel effectué en 1998, il y aurait dans toute la commune de Prnjavor 99 Tchèques, soit l’équivalent de la seule population de leur village de Maćino Brdo avant guerre (108 personnes en 199121). Une douzaine de familles a quitté la Bosnie, grâce à Caritas et à la Croix-Rouge, pour trouver refuge auprès de la petite communauté tchèque de Croatie, près de Daruvar. Ceux-là ont dû, comme les Bochniaques, renoncer à leurs biens, tandis que les autres ont servi loyalement dans les rangs de l’armée serbe. Lorsqu’en 1998, cette petite communauté a reçu la visite de l’ambassadeur tchèque, qui leur a proposé d’être rapatriés en République tchèque, les villageois ont décliné l’offre, manifestant ainsi un profond attachement pour leur lieu de résidence et leur vie de paysans indépendants. L’ambassadeur leur a toutefois promis de leur délivrer des passeports tchèques pour qu’ils puissent voyager.

38 Bien qu’étant la seule à avoir vu son église détruite, la communauté ukrainienne a aussi bien résisté que les autres. Aux dires de leur prêtre, seule source d’information en l’absence de toute statistique, une douzaine de familles au total a quitté la commune. Huit familles paysannes ont profité de liens familiaux pour émigrer au Canada. Quelques Ukrainiens urbains, artisans et universitaires, ont aussi émigré vers l’Occident, et non vers l’Ukraine. Selon le prêtre toujours, la majorité de ses paroissiens ont été retenus par l’impossibilité de quitter un territoire en plein conflit, mais aussi par leur caractère rural et leur âge avancé. Leur attachement à Prnjavor s’explique donc par une combinaison de facteurs socioculturels anciens et de circonstances immédiates. L’attitude tolérante des pouvoirs locaux à leur égard s’explique par leur insignifiance démographique et électorale. La municipalité a même participé financièrement, aux côtés des Ukrainiens locaux et de la diaspora, à la reconstruction de l’église de Prnjavor, inaugurée le 19 août 199922.

39 Les interprétations historicistes du nettoyage ethnique, sur place ou à l’étranger, peuvent être résumées par les propos d’un “expert local” affirmant que « rien ne remplace chez les Serbes, dans la célébration guerrière de la victoire, la destruction des édifices religieux »23. On voit dans le cas de Prnjavor qu’il n’y a pas la moindre trace d’une quelconque foule serbe détruisant les édifices religieux, mais des actes terroristes, commis de nuit par des professionnels du maniement des explosifs. Il peut s’agir de membres des unités spéciales, ou de miliciens. Mais derrière ces actes, il y a une volonté politique : détruire les liens d’une partie de la société avec le territoire qu’elle habite, frapper des figures de proue et des symboles communautaires, tout ceci afin d’inciter au départ. Cela suppose des organisateurs qu’il est difficile de nommer avec certitude. Les pouvoirs locaux semblent avoir joué la carte de la légalité transformée en appareil discriminatoire, alors que les milices semaient la terreur pour décourager ceux qui se résignaient à subir cette discrimination. Par ailleurs, les “ennemis” sont hiérarchisés en fonction de leur importance numérique : moins ils sont nombreux, plus les pouvoirs locaux se montrent modérés, voire protecteurs ; plus ils sont nombreux, plus les pouvoirs locaux laissent le champ libre à des actions individuelles et aux milices locales.

40 Cependant, à Prnjavor, on n’est jamais allé jusqu’à la violence de masse (expulsion massive et/ou camps de concentration). La milice locale a même protégé la commune

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contre l’intrusion de milices concurrentes venues de la Serbie. Les seuls à avoir tenté une telle intrusion sont les “Aigles Blancs” de Mirko Jović, qui se sont attaqués aux riches maisons bochniaques de Prnjavor en juin 1992. Les “Loups” les ont roués de coups et traînés dans les rues de la ville, avec un écriteau au cou : « Je suis la honte du peuple serbe ». Difficile d’interpréter cet épisode de la guerre : esprit de clocher ou chasse gardée ? Quoi qu’il en soit, l’exode des Bochniaques a continué en empruntant des canaux para-légaux : pour partir, en empruntant le corridor serbe, il fallait acquérir de “vrais-faux” papiers, délivrés au prix fort par la mairie. Ces départs s’accompagnaient de la vente forcée, à vil prix, des biens bochniaques. Ce sont les pouvoirs locaux qui en ont tiré profit en renforçant leurs réseaux clientélistes.

41 La relative “modération” du nettoyage ethnique à Prnjavor peut s’expliquer par plusieurs facteurs. Tout d’abord, la commune n’était revendiquée que par les Serbes : ils y représentaient la majorité absolue de la population et détenaient le pouvoir local. Face à eux, la population bochniaque (15 % de la population en 1991) était regroupée à Prnjavor même et dans quelques villages, et éloignée d’une centaine de kilomètres du premier territoire majoritairement bochniaque ou des lignes de front. Cela avait un effet dissuasif contre toute tentative d’action armée. Par conséquent, les SDS n’a pas eu à craindre pour son pouvoir, et donc à recourir aux moyens les plus extrêmes. C’est aussi le cas de deux communes voisines qui ont un profil semblable (Čelinac et Laktaši). Tout semble se passer comme s’il existait un “seuil” au-dessous duquel la présence des minorités ne représentait pas une menace pour le pouvoir, exercé au nom de la communauté majoritaire. On peut également supposer que les ordres venus du sommet du pouvoir serbe n’étaient pas très précis, et qu’ils laissaient une certaine marge de manoeuvre aux décideurs locaux quant aux moyens à employer pour réaliser l’homogénéité ethnique du territoire qu’ils contrôlaient.

42 Si l’on observe les pires exactions perpétrées contre des civils en Bosnie-Herzégovine, on se rend compte qu’elles ont eu lieu dans des communes au profil situé aux antipodes du celui de Prnjavor. A Prijedor, par exemple, les Bochniaques représentaient une majorité relative de la population locale, et le Parti de l’action démocratique (Stranka Demokratske Akcije – SDA) y avait emporté les élections, alors que cette commune se trouve au coeur de la Bosanska Krajina serbe. Aussi, l’action militaire serbe y a-t-elle été particulièrement violente, car destinée à faire partir les civils bochniaques24. De manière plus générale, les violences ont été poussées à l’extrême à proximité des fronts d’importance stratégique comme le long du “corridor de Brčko” ou dans la vallée de la Drina où, pour assurer une continuité territoriale avec la Serbie, le SDS devait expulser les Bochniaques de Srebrenica, de Žepa ou de Višegrad. Par contre, il n’était pas politiquement vital pour les pouvoirs locaux de Prnjavor de chasser les Bochniaques de la commune. S’opposer à la milice locale qui le voulait restait toutefois un risque considérable.

Un retour difficile

43 L’après-guerre est marquée à Prnjavor par la présence de nombreux déplacés serbes. Ils seraient environ 4 000 en 2000. Il s’agit surtout de personnes ayant quitté en 1995 les communes perdues par la Republika Srpska : Bosansko Grahovo, Glamoč et Drvar. C’est dans ces même communes, ainsi qu’à Martin Brod (Bihać), qu’ont trouvé refuge les Bochniaques de Prnjavor. Elles sont situées dans un des cantons croates de la Fédération de Bosnie-Herzégovine. Aussi, le retour des déplacés dépend d’une étrange

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valse : tant que les autorités croates de Bosnie-Herzégovine ne permettent pas le retour des Serbes dans les régions qu’elles contrôlent, il n’y aura pas de restitution des maisons bochniaques à Prnjavor, et vice versa.

44 Or, de part et d’autre, les autorités locales font preuve de mauvaise volonté. Ainsi, à Drvar, sur 2 912 demandes de restitution de biens immobiliers (propriétés privées ou logements sociaux), seules 429 ont été traitées au cours de l’année 2000, et seulement 161 décisions favorables ont été rendues. De telles proportions, très inférieures aux moyennes de la Fédération, se retrouvent à Glamoč. Seul Bosansko Grahovo, confronté à une soixantaine de demandes, en a résolu 42 % de manière favorable. Les autorités locales de Prnjavor ne font pas franchement mieux : sur environ 2 000 demandes de restitution de la propriété déposées, un quart seulement a reçu une réponse, et 15 % une réponse positive, soit dans 323 cas 25.

45 En plus de cette obstruction administrative des tribunaux, les pouvoirs locaux ont fermé en 2000 le cimetière musulman situé en centre-ville, à côté de la mosquée détruite26. Plusieurs attaques à la grenade contre des rentrants ont également été enregistrées au printemps 2000. Le quotidien Oslobodjenje du 26 mars 2000 affirme qu’il s’agit là d’une campagne organisée à la veille des élections locales, et destinée à stopper la timide vague de retours. Mais cela n’est peut-être pas la seule explication, ni la plus pertinente. Selon le représentant de la société caritative Merhamet à Prnjavor, dans de nombreux cas, les occupants de logements bochniaques, et notamment de logements sociaux, ne sont pas des déplacés mais des locaux qui, grâce à leurs relations, bénéficient ainsi d’un appartement confortable à côté de leur propre maison27. C’est ce genre de réseaux clientélistes qui s’opposent au retour. Quant aux déplacés, du fait de leur statut extrêmement précaire, ils sont facilement mobilisables par les partis extrémistes. Ce sont eux qui exigent des pouvoirs locaux une priorité à l’embauche ou un droit de préemption sur les envois humanitaires. Tout cela en fait des acteurs politiques très actifs, pouvant déstabiliser les oligarchies locales au pouvoir.

46 En fait, les retours n’ont commencé que très récemment. Selon le Haut commissariat aux réfugiés, il n’y avait en mars 2000 que 256 retours minoritaires enregistrés à Prnjavor depuis la fin de la guerre. Le phénomène s’est ensuite accéléré, avec 35 retours (31 Bochniaques et 4 Croates) pour le seul mois de janvier 200128. Mais le départ des Bochniaques est considéré par les politiciens locaux comme un fait accompli. Le danger pour eux ne vient pas du retour de quelques milliers de Bochniaques en soi, mais du discrédit que cela susciterait au sein de leur électorat, qui se tournerait alors vers un autre parti serbe plus radical. Encourager le retour au statu quo ante signifierait pour eux prendre le risque de perdre le pouvoir local, mais ne remettrait pas en cause le fait majoritaire serbe.

NOTES

1. Le système yougoslave établissait une différence entre les nations constitutives ( narodi : Musulmans / Bochniaques, Serbes et Croates en Bosnie-Herzégovine) et les minorités nationales

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non-constitutives (narodnosti). Les autres minorités nationales présentes à Prnjavor étaient les Albanais, les Allemands, les Hongrois, les Macédoniens, les Monténégrins, les Polonais, les Roms, les Russes, les Ruthènes, les Slovaques et les Slovènes. 2. L’IPTF a probablement sous-estimé le nombre de Croates (275), car le prêtre catholique de Prnjavor nous a affirmé en mars 1999 avoir environ 500 paroissiens. Elle a par ailleurs surestimé le nombre des “Autres”, qui a difficilement pu passer de 3 000 environ à 7 000 entre 1991 et 1999. La proportion de Serbes reste cependant assez crédible. 3. Mala Enciklopedija Prosveta, Belgrade : Prosveta, 1969, t. I, p. 374. 4. Tarlać (G.), « Grad koji se ne pamti » (La ville dont on ne se souvient pas), Reporter (Banja Luka), (79), 1999. 5. Sources : recensements austro-hongrois et yougoslaves, dans Marić (F.), Pregled pućanstva Bosne i Hercegovine izmedju 1875. i 1995. godine (Aperçu de la population de la Bosnie-Herzégovine entre 1875 et 1995), Zagreb : Katehetski Salezijanski Centar, 1996 et Kočović (B.) , Etnički i demografski razvoj u Jugoslaviji od 1921. do 1991. godine (Le développement ethnique et démographique en Yougoslavie de 1921 à 1991), 2 vol., Paris : Bibliothèque Dialogue, 1998. 6. Liski (B.), « Stoljeće života u novoj domovini » (Un siècle de vie dans la nouvelle patrie), Nova Dumka (Vukovar), (81), pp. 9-10 et (82), pp. 15-17, 1990. 7. Nedović (Z.), Prnjavor i njegova okolina (Prnjavor et ses environs), Doboj : Grafičar, 1999. 8. Malcolm (Noel), Bosnia, A Short History, Londres : Macmillan, 1996, pp. 142-143. 9. Selon V. Grotsky, ils se rendaient indifféremment à l’église catholique croate ou à l’église orthodoxe serbe. Voir Grotsky (Y.), Polojénia Oukraïntsiv ou Bosniï (L’installation des Ukrainiens en Bosnie), L’viv : s.e., 1909 (Repr., s.l.n.d.). 10. Communauté familiale élargie caractéristique des Slaves du Sud, qui regroupe plusieurs générations autour de l’homme le plus âgé (domaćin), et en commun les biens et les revenus du travail. 11. Voir Erić (M.), Seljaštvo i poljoprivreda Bosne i Hercegovine po austro-ugarskom okupacijom 1878-1918 (La paysannerie et l’agriculture en Bosnie-Herzégovine pendant l’occupation austro- hongroise 1878-1918), Sarajevo : Seljačka knjiga, 1953, pp. 14-15. 12. Michel (B.), Nations et nationalismes en Europe Centrale, XIXème et XXème siècle, Paris : Aubier, p. 107. 13. Pour une comparaison avec d’autres “villes nouvelles” de l’époque ottomane, voir Prevelakis (G.), Les Balkans. Cultures et géopolitique, Paris : Nathan, p. 79. 14. Nedović (Z.), op. cit., pp. 25-29. 15. Smlatić (S.), Banja Luka, grad i njegove funkcije (Banja Luka : la ville et ses fonctions), Sarajevo : Svjetlost, 1978, p. 35. 16. Le terme “balije” est un terme péjoratif employé pour désigner les Bochniaques. 17. Malcolm (N.), op. cit., p. 273. 18. Gabrić (M.) et al., Croatia-Bosnia-Herzegovina, Sacral Institutions on Target, Zagreb : Hrvatski Informativni Centar, 1993, p. 90-92 ; et Omerdić (M.), « Porušeni i oštećeni vjerski objekti Islamske Zajednice na tlu Bosne i Hercegovine u toku agresije 1992. Godine » (Les monuments religieux de la Communauté islamique détruits et endommagés sur le sol de la Bosnie- Herzégovine pendant l’agression en 1992), Preporod (Sarajevo), 15 octobre 1992 (supplément spécial de huit pages). 19. Šošić (S.), Banjalučkom Timoteju (Au Timothée de Banja Luka), Zagreb : Teovizija, 1997, pp. 49-56. 20. Tarlać (G.), op. cit. 21. Gelo (J.) et al., Stanovništvo Bosne i Hercegovine : narodnosni sastav po naseljima (La population de la Bosnie-Herzégovine : la composition nationales par lieux habités), Zagreb : Državni zavod za statistiku, 1995.

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22. Holowinsky (Y.), « Parishioners in Prnjavor Celebrate the Reopening of Their Church », The Ukrainian Weekly, (40), 17 octobre 1999. 23. Marković (I.), « Srpsko-pravoslavno zaledje razaranja sakralnih objekata u Bosni i Hercegovini kao sredstvo etničkog čišćenja » (Les origines serbo-orthodoxes de la destruction des édifices religieux en tant que moyen de nettoyage ethnique), Bosna franciscana, (1), 1993, p. 101. 24. Sur le nettoyage ethnique à Prijedor, voir en particulier le « rapport Bassiouni » publié par l’ONU en juin 1994 (Rapport final de la commission d’experts constituée conformément à la Résolution 780 du Conseil de sécurité, document S/1994/674). 25. Commision for Real Property Claims, Statistics Implementation of the Property Laws, Sarajevo : CRPC, 2000. 26. U.S. Department of State, Annual Report on International Religious Freedom – Bosnia and Herzegovina, Washington, 2000. 27. Oslobodjenje, 14 septembre 1999. 28. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, Registered Minority Returns 01/01/2001 to 31/01/2001 in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Sarajevo, 2001.

INDEX

Index géographique : Bosnie-Herzégovine, Prnjavor Mots-clés : Minorités nationales, Nettoyage ethnique

AUTEUR

NIKOLA GULJEVATEJ Etudiant en troisième cycle à l’Institut d’études politiques de Paris. L’article s’appuie largement sur un mémoire de maîtrise de géographie soutenu à la Sorbonne en 1999.

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Atmosphère d'après-guerre dans un village d’Herzégovine

Arnaud Appriou

1 En Bosnie-Herzégovine, la paix reste une réalité fragile, et la guerre, même si personne ne l’envisage à nouveau, occupe une place très importante dans le quotidien vécu et pensé des Bosniaques. Ainsi, à Blagaj, village d’Herzégovine où se situe notre terrain d’étude, la mémoire de la guerre se construit chaque jour, non pas sur des efforts permettant une paix durable, mais sur l’impact que la guerre a encore aujourd’hui sur la vie de tous les habitants de Bosnie-Herzégovine.

2 Cette mémoire se construit en grande partie dans les foyers, les maisons, ces cibles détruites massivement durant la guerre, et la trame de fond de cette construction mentale demeure souvent la définition ou les caractéristiques supposées de l’Autre, ou plus exactement des Autres. Ce sont là les bases des choix identitaires et des légitimations politiques de l’après-guerre.

3 Nous tenterons dans cet article de fournir des éléments facilitant la lecture de ces enjeux majeurs. Après avoir présenté brièvement le village de Blagaj, nous nous intéresserons aux fonctions actuelles de la maison pour ses habitants, ainsi qu’à leurs comportements identitaires et politiques.

Blagaj, un village sans perspective économique à long terme

4 Situé en contrebas du plateau de et en bordure de la plaine de Mostar (Bišće polje), le village de Blagaj s’étend largement sur le karst herzégovinien, et nous est ainsi décrit dans son guide touristique daté de 1998 : « L’harmonie unique de la grandeur et de la beauté de la création divine. Pour l’homme, un riche trésor de la création archéologique, architecturale et culturelle »1. De façon moins poétique, les habitants de Blagaj introduisent quant à eux la description des divers mahalas (quartiers, hameaux) en utilisant la très significative formule d’après-guerre : « c’était… ». Nous essaierons

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pour notre part de présenter ici la situation de ce village méditerranéen au début de l’année 1999.

5 D’après l’Organisation pour la sécurité et la coopération en Europe (OSCE), la population de la municipalité de Mostar-Sud-est (Mostar-Jugoistok), dans laquelle se situe Blagaj, était de 10 911 habitants en 1991, dont 26 % de Serbes et de Croates. A la même époque, le village lui-même était déjà quasiment mononational, puisque 1661 de ses 1 804 habitants se déclaraient Musulmans (Bochniaques). Sept ans plus tard, la municipalité de Mostar-Sud-est compte 9 780 habitants, essentiellement Bochniaques, 58 % d’entre eux étant originaires des villes voisines, et appartenant donc à la catégorie des “déplacés” (displaced persons) ou des “réfugiés” (izbjeglice),d’après les taxinomies respectives des organisations internationales et de la population autochtone. Selon les témoignages recueillis, la plupart des Serbes et des Croates ont fui avant les bombardements du village par l’Armée populaire yougoslave (Jugoslovenska Narodna Armija – JNA) en 1992, puis par le Conseil de défense croate (Hrvatsko Vijeće Odbrane – HVO) en 1993. Notons ici que les rares Serbes et Croates restés à Blagaj malgré les combats se nomment eux-mêmes “orthodoxes” et “catholiques”. Il arrive à présent que des déplacés originaires de Blagaj se rendent au village afin de connaître le sort de la maison qu’ils occupaient jusqu’au début des hostilités. Chargées d’émotions et d’incertitudes, ces visites peuvent être le premier pas vers une future réinstallation.

6 Outre les nombreux morts (environ 15 % de la population), les quatre années de guerre ont engendré à Blagaj d’importantes fluctuations démographiques dues à une succession, sur une période très courte, de plusieurs mouvements de population : civils et militaires, réfugiés des villes et des campagnes (jusqu’à 17 000 au plus fort des combats). Le caractère tragique et souvent forcé de ces mouvements a participé à l’édification, de facto ou de jure, de nouvelles frontières qui perturbent aujourd’hui les déplacements quotidiens (commerciaux, scolaires, professionnels) et structurent les représentations mentales. Pour la population de Blagaj, les déplacements dans la partie dite croate de Mostar ou sur la côte Adriatique ne sont plus que des souvenirs, faute de pouvoir s’y rendre sans crainte pour sa propre sécurité. Le niveau scolaire de la jeunesse de Blagaj est également bouleversé : outre les problèmes causés par une scolarisation quasi inexistante entre 1993 et 1995, les habitants décrient souvent de façon dédaigneuse les mœurs de type « paysan » (seljak) des nouveaux arrivés. Quant aux réfugiés revenant de l’étranger, ils supportent mal le climat tendu et les destructions souvent plus importantes qu’au moment de leur départ. A ces mouvements de la population locale s’ajoutent enfin ceux des étrangers travaillant pour diverses organisations internationales, et qui, par leur visibilité souvent exubérante, diffusent un sentiment d’infériorité plutôt que de sécurité au sein de la population.

7 Ces mouvements seront amenés à se poursuivre dans un avenir proche. En effet, les autorités cantonales et internationales ont récemment prévu de construire quatre cent cinquante maisons sur la commune de Blagaj, afin de reloger des réfugiés. Ainsi, la question du plan d’urbanisation et des infrastructures publiques se trouve à présent posée, et la coexistence des autochtones et d’allogènes arrivés en masse ne se fera pas sans problème si le développement économique n’accompagne pas la croissance démographique. Il apparaît donc nécessaire que les responsables politiques émettent des projets basés sur une vision économique à long terme.

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8 Si, de prime abord, la population affirme souvent qu’il s’agit à présent de jouir de la vie et de la paix, les conversations en famille et entre amis sont quasiment toujours relatives aux richesses et à l’économie, et d’aucuns parlent de “guerre économique” pour décrire la paix des armes entre Croates et Bochniaques d’Herzégovine2. Mais cela ne doit pas masquer les clivages économiques existant dans chacun de ces deux groupes.

9 La situation économique est difficile, voire très précaire pour l’ensemble de la population de Blagaj : les revenus sont bas, sinon inexistants. La survie des habitants, et parfois leur bon niveau de vie, sont de ce fait un peu mystérieux, même pour les observateurs aguerris de l’économie bosniaque3. Les ressources des habitants de Blagaj sont en grande partie issues de l’agriculture et de l’élevage. L’agriculture est devenue possible après la guerre grâce à la réhabilitation du réseau hydraulique local par une O.N.G. espagnole, au moyen de fonds versés dans le cadre du programme de l'Office humanitaire des Communautés européennes (ECHO). Le jardin familial (bašta) sert de garde-manger, le garage d’étable et la voiture permet le transport de matériel en tout genre. Les échanges de biens alimentaires entre voisins et cousins sont courants. Ce type de pratiques économiques existait avant la guerre, mais leurs spécificités dans l’après-guerre sont leur généralisation et leur banalisation, même aux abords de grandes villes telles que Mostar.

10 Jusqu’en 1992, les habitants de Blagaj étaient dans leur grande majorité employés dans les entreprises d’Etat de Blagaj ou de Mostar. Les plus importantes sont à présent endommagées ou détruites, ou bien leur accès est interdit aux Bochniaques suite à une privatisation effectuée au bénéfice de la seule population croate de la région. Sokol et Aluminij, grandes entreprises de construction aéronautique et de production d'aluminium illustrent très bien cette économie identitaire. Parmi les hommes et les femmes âgés de 20 à 35 ans, le taux de chômage est très important et les activités professionnelles principales se trouvent dans les cafés, les épiceries et autres čevabdžinice (restauration rapide à base de viande hachée grillée). Les jeunes gens sont également la main-d’œuvre idéale pour construire ou rénover les maisons.

11 Si divers trafics existaient déjà avant la guerre en Herzégovine (Blagaj, semble-t-il, n’était pas épargné par le trafic de drogue), il reste que le conflit et le caractère évolutif des alliances militaires ont favorisé l’implantation durable de nouveaux réseaux commerciaux plus ou moins mafieux. Soudés par leur vie commune sur le front, dans les prisons militaires et durant la guerre en général, les membres de ces réseaux ne s’enrichissent pas forcément beaucoup, mais parviennent cependant à obtenir quelques privilèges, allant du logement gratuit à divers passe-droits lors d’achats de biens privatisables, en passant par des prix d’ami pour certains services. A ces réseaux d’entraide s’ajoute le réseau propre à chaque groupe domestique, important mais pas toujours très efficace. Tout cela favorise une économie réticulaire de proximité qui constitue un apport indispensable pour le maintien d’un niveau de vie supportable, dans cette région où l’espace économique commun, non pas délimité de jure par les accords de Dayton, mais accepté sur le terrain par les institutions internationales, s’est réduit comme une peau de chagrin.

12 Cette situation offre à certains l’opportunité d’investir dans des domaines certes livrés à la concurrence, mais qui s’appuient aussi sur les efforts de différenciation mis en oeuvre durant la guerre, tels que le tourisme religieux, tout aussi lucratif qu’exclusif. Le cas du pèlerinage de Medjugorje (qui fut un petit hameau) à vingt kilomètres à l’Ouest

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de Mostar, est devenu célèbre parmi les catholiques charismatiques du monde entier, sans être reconnu par le Vatican4. Depuis quelques années, certains cadres religieux musulmans tentent aussi d’élargir le pèlerinage annuel de l’Ajvatovica, effectué à Prusac (Bosnie centrale) et récemment promu par les autorités politiques et religieuses bochniaques5, en y incluant une prière à Blagaj, devant la tombe d’un saint musulman (turbe de Saltuk Baba, à dix kilomètres à l’Est de Mostar). Les commerçants de Blagaj, plus sensibles aux difficultés économiques actuelles qu’aux croyances religieuses, ont à coeur de retrouver cette manne touristique qui existait durant la Yougoslavie titiste. Quels qu'ils soient, les touristes sont attendus, d'autant que, jusqu'à l’été 2000, les anciens “habitués” (Allemands, Autrichiens et Italiens principalement) avaient encore du mal à se sentir en sécurité sur les plages dalmates, et a fortiori au cœur de l’Herzégovine.

13 Ainsi, l’absence à court terme de perspectives touristiques et plus largement économiques favorise le développement d’activités précaires et plus ou moins légales. Celles-ci pérennisent les bénéfices des profiteurs de guerre et le poids de leur réseau sur la scène politique. Enfoncée dans ce marasme économique, la majeure partie de la population recentre dès lors ses activités sur la maison et la famille étroite.

La maison (« kuća ») d'après-guerre : lieu de cicatrisation des plaies mal refermées

14 L’analyse de la “maison villageoise archaïque” faite par Muhamed Kadić6 permet de comprendre à quel point la structure interne de la maison, et en particulier celle de la pièce principale (boravak) n’a pratiquement connu aucun changement jusqu’à notre époque. Le poêle, le sofa, le mur réservé à des étagères de rangement, l’espace central : la structure est conservée et la proportion des meubles également. La guerre, à Blagaj, n’a rien changé à cet agencement.

15 Les intérieurs révèlent pourtant les évolutions du mode de vie familial. Chaque génération apporte les symboles de son époque : si le poêle rappelle la génération des grands-parents, le portrait de Tito et le sofa dépliant sont propres à celle des parents. Enfin, le téléviseur, le Coran saoudien et les peluches sont les objets arrivés avec la dernière génération, et ces deux derniers spécialement durant le conflit : offerts par diverses organisations internationales, ils sont visibles dans la quasi totalité des foyers musulmans7. Le sérieux et la signification identitaire propres au livre saint musulman contrastent avec le caractère enfantin et insouciant des peluches multicolores. Cela semble refléter les deux pôles intellectuels auxquels les habitants de Blagaj portent un intérêt aujourd’hui, et les programmes télévisés regardés, qui servent à satisfaire l’attente suscitée par ces deux pôles, renforcent cette impression.

16 En plus d’être un espace matériel, la maison est un espace social dans lequel coexistent les membres de la famille réduite et du groupe domestique, où plusieurs générations d’hommes et de femmes ont des activités diverses, actes de la vie quotidienne ou fêtes, mariages et cérémonies de deuil8.

17 La guerre semble avoir largement interrompu un lien social peut-être propre à l’époque précédente : la génération. Que ce soit dans un cadre institutionnel (école, pionniers) ou non, l’appartenance à telle ou telle classe d’âge est un thème récurrent dans les discours, mais des réunions entre membres d’une même génération ne sont plus

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envisagées aujourd’hui9. Simultanément, les parents estiment être plus laxistes qu’auparavant avec leurs enfants : « Après la guerre, disent-ils, comment ne pas être tolérants avec nos enfants ? ». De nouvelles relations entre parents et enfants se profilent10, sans que nous puissions dès à présent émettre des hypothèses sur le transfert de l’autorité morale et ses conséquences. Les limites géographiques et sociales du groupe domestique et du cercle d’amis ont également changé de manière significative durant la guerre : désormais, ces limites sont rarement les frontières de l’ex-Yougoslavie, et sont repoussées loin, parfois au-delà des océans. D’après des réfugiés partis durant les combats et revenus à Blagaj, et en particulier parmi les plus jeunes, les relations créées à l’étranger demeurent plus qu’un souvenir, c’est un réseau affectif à maintenir et à entretenir dans un second “chez soi”.

18 La maison symbolise aussi l’antithèse des images associées à la guerre : destruction, humiliation, arrachement au terroir. Aux conditions économiques précaires s’ajoute en effet, dans l’après-guerre, un environnement psycho-affectif très déstabilisant. La violence des combats est exprimée de façon répétitive par un jeune homme de vingt-et- un ans, parti sur le front à quinze ans, par l’expression : Luda kuća ! (“Maison folle !”). Cette expression pourrait faire sourire si le sérieux du ton employé ne traduisait pas la prise de conscience d’un trouble psychologique généralisé. L’environnement en général est perçu comme instable et déréglé : un paysan affirme que « la guerre a même changé le climat ». Cela témoigne d’un manque de stabilité ressenti par la population, d’un passage dans la paix pas encore concrétisé. La maison est dès lors un lieu privilégié de reconstruction personnelle. L’éducation des enfants, les règles de la vie sociale et l’auto-identification sont en grande partie négociées et transmises sous le toit familial. Aujourd’hui, beaucoup de temps s’écoule dans la maison, afin de gérer les tensions générées par la guerre.

19 Les habitants de Blagaj répètent et se répètent que « ici, il n’y a pas de vie », ou encore qu’« il n’y a pas de liberté ». Ces phrases simples, mais énoncées gravement et dont le sens est fort, reflètent un sentiment de temps suspendu. Le temps s’écoule lentement, et il est pesant pour tous. A cela s’ajoute un manque de régularité et de cadre temporel dans les actes de la vie quotidienne. Ainsi, les activités pour “aujourd’hui” sont rarement définies, et la projection dans le long terme en devient d’autant plus difficile, sauf en ce qui concerne la perspective de construire sa propre maison. L’inactivité professionnelle engendre une absence d’ordre. Seuls les enfants scolarisés ont, de ce point de vue, des journées et des semaines plus régulières.

20 Alors que le taux de chômage atteint vraisemblablement 80 à 90 % de la population active à Blagaj, l’activité en général est donc présentée comme nécessaire, voire vitale. Non seulement pour occuper son esprit et son corps, mais surtout pour ne pas tomber dans l’apathie totale. Beaucoup l’expliquent de manière très consciente. Alors, la population s’occupe à la maison. Cette réaction participe du repli individuel et collectif sur le foyer familial. Les sorties à pied ou en voiture hors du village sont beaucoup plus rares qu’avant 1992, elles se font par obligation et non par choix.

21 Les actions répétées jusqu’à l’excès, telles les travaux de maçonnerie et les préparations culinaires multiples, ordonnent et stabilisent les individus. D’autres préfèrent le sport, la réparation de voiture ou la pêche. La guerre a souvent obligé les femmes et les enfants de Blagaj, ainsi que les hommes ne se rendant pas sur le front, à ne rien faire durant des jours et des nuits, se protégeant des obus. Actuellement, les “mono- activités” correspondent au besoin de chacun de réordonner tant sa psyché que son

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rythme de vie : la régularité et la répétition sont des outils, des repères, un moyen de ne pas rester bloqué sous le choc de la guerre.

22 L’atmosphère de guerre peut en effet produire de réelles paralysies. Comme nous l’a expliqué lors d’un entretien Marie-Christine Hamel, psychiatre française ayant exercé en Bosnie-Herzégovine, le siège durable d’une ville suscite des troubles psychomoteurs. A Blagaj, le siège a duré neuf mois. Du fait qu'aucune organisation non- gouvernementale locale ou internationale n’ait offert après 1995 d’activités structurantes, celles-ci sont souvent liées aux pratiques religieuses. Nous avons ainsi remarqué que les prières sont effectuées plus volontiers à la maison qu’à la mosquée. Elles deviennent de cette façon un élément structurant, apaisant, et par conséquent une source d’identification.

23 La maison, lieu des soins physiques et psychologiques, peut enfin remplir une fonction curative plus directe. La médecine à domicile utilise les méthodes modernes et traditionnelles. Outre les souffrances générées par la guerre, diverses maladies sont soignées dans le cadre des activités familiales qui, dans leur ensemble, sont comparables à une catharsis de groupe. Ces pratiques révèlent non pas l’existence de compétences médicales diffuses mais le très mauvais état du réseau médical et pharmaceutique d’une part, et une aversion vis-à-vis de la médecine non-traditionnelle d’autre part. La population de Blagaj dans son ensemble n’est pas en bonne santé. Les dentitions sont très abîmées et soignées (arrachées a fortiori !) sur le bord du sofa. Le diabète est très répandu chez les personnes âgées, mais les soins demeurent quasi inexistants. La vue est globalement mauvaise, et les lunettes restent beaucoup trop chères pour être achetées : c’est probablement une des causes de divers accidents, dont les plus visibles sont les accidents de la route. Les rhumes et les grippes sont soignés avec des tisanes, du miel ou de la gelée de figues (pekmez). Il n’est pas non plus rare de rencontrer des cueilleurs dans les champs ou aux bords des routes, pérennisant l’utilisation de plantes sauvages curatives.

24 Mais tout n’est pas que soin à la maison : les cigarettes se succèdent, et la consommation d’alcool ne semble être freinée ni par la religion musulmane, ni même par la fonction purificatrice du ramadan. Il est vrai que la guerre, dans l’ensemble de la Bosnie-Herzégovine, paraît avoir largement favorisé la consommation d’alcool, de stupéfiants et de cigarettes : selon des professionnels de la santé exerçant en Bosnie- Herzégovine, cette consommation, poussée à l’extrême, engendre des paralysies et des amputations. Ces excès traduisent un besoin d’amnésie, de libération des tensions accumulées qui, dans l’atmosphère politique et sociale actuellement tendue, ne peuvent être correctement expulsées.

25 Ce descriptif de la maison et de ses fonctions serait lacunaire si le miroir de la guerre que sont les journaux télévisés n’était pas mentionné. En effet, tous les jours, les difficiles pacification et reconstruction de la Bosnie‑Herzégovine et de l’ex‑Yougoslavie dans son ensemble sont retransmises par les programmes télévisés, et rappellent à tous que le passé est peut-être l’avenir. Pour reprendre le titre d’un film sur la guerre en Bosnie-Herzégovine (Joli village, jolie flamme11), chaque petite flamme visible aujourd’hui rappelle tous les villages brûlés. Ces images télévisuelles sont, tout autant que la réalité environnante, ce que les habitants de Blagaj tentent de fuir entre les murs de la maison, faute de mieux12.

26 La maison est avant tout celle que l’on habite, mais il reste aussi celle qu’il a fallu quitter, et qu’on ne peut oublier. Enfin, une seule maison respire l’avenir meilleur :

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celle que l’on bâtit13. Elle est la matérialisation d’un nouveau départ pour des hommes et des femmes qui se fixent des objectifs et des impératifs financièrement peu réalistes, tels que se marier et avoir des enfants. Cela répond au souhait d’avoir une famille et une descendance, de se motiver pour chercher un emploi, ou simplement de « faire la seule chose qu’il reste à faire ici ». La construction de la maison, ou sa rénovation, revêt donc une signification particulière pour ces hommes et ces femmes. La blessure provoquée par sa perte durant le conflit est comparable à une plaie béante, et les autorités locales et internationales insistent sur le nécessaire retour de chacun dans son foyer. Mais il semble encore plus important, à court terme, que chaque famille puisse construire sa maison afin de reconstruire simultanément sa propre personne, ce nouvel être que chacun est devenu depuis 1992.

27 Face à l’étranger qu’est le chercheur, les habitants de Blagaj présentent très souvent la reconstruction de la maison comme le reflet de « l’amour du travail, caractéristique de tous les Bosniaques, quels que soient leur rang social et leur religion ». Cette apparente normalité cache cependant les changements intervenus depuis 1992. L’anthropologue norvégienne Tone Bringa affirme qu'avant la guerre « le travail bénévole effectué par les voisins pour les maisons individuelles était une autre forme d’échange social faisant appel à l’hospitalité entre familles et entre voisins »14. Aujourd’hui, à Blagaj, chacun sait évaluer une maison, dire si elle est neuve ou reconstruite, et comment son propriétaire finance les travaux, mais la construction d’une maison n’implique ni réciprocité, ni relation de voisinage ou d’hospitalité. Il semble en fait que le groupe domestique constitue toujours un réseau important pour compresser les coûts de la construction, mais que de gros efforts et de longues discussions soient nécessaires pour le réactiver. En cas de succès, il permet de trouver un maître d’œuvre (majstor) et des maçons à moindre prix. Tout homme peut s’improviser maçon : c’est un des seuls moyens d’obtenir un revenu, ou du moins une activité bénévole. Les salaires sont rarement payés, mais un repas sert de rémunération minimale. Tout est fait pour réduire les dépenses, mais les marchands de matériaux de construction restent les gagnants dans la tourmente économique actuelle.

28 Lors de la construction, le prestige acquis en tant que combattant est également déterminant, en tant que source de privilèges officiels ou officieux. Les vétérans de Blagaj bénéficient de cette aura à Mostar et dans ses environs. La guerre a instauré de nouvelles sources de légitimité et de nouveaux passe-droits. Tone Bringa insiste sur le rôle que jouaient les relations au sein de la Ligue des communistes pour obtenir un terrain constructible15 ; aujourd’hui, ce même rôle est joué par le Parti de l’action démocratique (Stranka Demokratske Akcije), dont le maire de Blagaj est membre16. Une personne n’obtenant pas de permis de construire en mairie cherchera un bon contact (à Blagaj et si possible au sein de son groupe domestique) afin d’obtenir la signature du maire d’une autre façon. La légitimité et la reconnaissance dont bénéficiaient certaines familles à l’époque communiste perdurent cependant.

29 L’acte de construction déclenche des discussions sans fin avec les voisins et avec les passants : tout le monde s’informe, les projets sont expliqués, l’origine des moyens financiers est éclaircie… ou bien laissée volontairement dans l’ombre. Les déplacés qui construisent une maison et s’implantent de facto dans un nouveau village discutent également afin de se présenter et de connaître leurs voisins. Mais avant d'être acceptés et reconnus comme membres à part entière du village, il existe une phase transitoire, tout aussi perceptible dans le cas des anciens réfugiés revenus de l’étranger, bien

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qu’originaires du village. Pour ces derniers, il s’agit d'édifier sa maison en se réadaptant à l’environnement social, et se forger une nouvelle identité aux yeux des autres comme à leurs propres yeux.

30 Cela nous amène à nous interroger sur l’état actuel du komšiluk (bon voisinage), qui désigne, « en Bosnie-Herzégovine, le système de coexistence quotidienne entre les différentes communautés »17. La guerre, pourrions-nous penser, a annihilé le komšiluk en séparant systématiquement les groupes ethniques. Cependant, fondé sur la mitoyenneté et la reconnaissance des appartenances communautaires, le komšiluk a en fait conservé une certaine place à Blagaj, lorsque des personnes de religion différente se trouvent être encore voisines. Ainsi, il existe plusieurs cas où des chrétiens ont combattu au sein de l’armée bosniaque, ou vécu la guerre aux côtés des Bochniaques. Les habitants de Blagaj les considèrent en fonction de leur positionnement sur la ligne de front. Ainsi, le komšiluk n’a pas disparu pendant la guerre, même si le climat général, les déplacements de population et les discours des responsables politiques locaux ne favorisent pas sa pérennisation. Le komšiluk semble survivre, démontrant ainsi que la maison, théâtre de sa préservation, fonctionne comme un laboratoire où les relations sociales ne reflètent pas les décisions prises au sommet des partis identitaires et de l’Etat.

31 Dans le contexte de l’après-guerre, les personnes de confession musulmane (ou bien dont la famille mixte a été perçue comme telle pendant la guerre) se considèrent comme les victimes du conflit, et comme plus tolérants que les Serbes et les Croates. Cela a pénétré les consciences au point d’engendrer des histoires drôles et métaphoriques à ce sujet : l’une d’entre elles fait allusion à une fourmi qui s’est renforcée à travers les combats, se transformant alors en un puissant éléphant qui ne peut pas revenir à son état de fourmi fragile. La puissance apparaît ici comme une caractéristique du “nous”. Il semble également que l’idée d’authenticité, de droiture et d’attitude irréprochable au cours du conflit soit plus importante pour l’identité du “nous” que les termes “Bosniaque”, “Musulman” ou “Bochniaque”, employés de façon relativement indifférente par la population.

32 Dans les conversations courantes, le terme le plus fréquemment utilisé est “Musulman / musulman”. Mais s’agit-il alors d’un terme national ou religieux ? La religion est en tout cas un élément important de l’identité, le moyen de ressentir au niveau local un fort sentiment d’appartenance. Elle a donc un rôle important dans la construction et la cohésion du “nous” actuel. Certains de nos interlocuteurs banalisent l’impact de l’islam et plus précisément du ramadan sur leurs activités, de façon à montrer la continuité et l’aspect volontaire des démonstrations de leur piété. Mais les habitants les plus âgés le disent ouvertement : dix ans auparavant, quasiment personne ne jeûnait. De plus, face au chercheur considéré comme catholique, un intellectuel de Blagaj justifie le ramadan par comparaison : « Tout comme les catholiques doivent manger du poisson le vendredi pour se purifier le ventre, les musulmans pratiquent le jeûne durant le ramadan ». Cela suggère que les rites musulmans sont pratiqués en parallèle et en opposition aux rites supposés des principaux ennemis durant la guerre : les Croates, perçus comme des catholiques pratiquants par les habitants de Blagaj.

33 Les représentants institutionnels de l’islam et les O.N.G. à caractère religieux ont un rôle majeur dans la transmission du savoir et de l’identité, au cours du ramadan comme pendant le reste de l’année. A Blagaj même, il s’agit du hodža et du mutevelija (gestionnaire des vakuf) ; au-delà, ce sont le mufti de Mostar et le Reis-ul-

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Ulema de Bosnie-Herzégovine, la Communauté islamique ( Islamska Zajednica), organisation officielle des musulmans de Bosnie‑Herzégovine, et l’association de bienfaisance Merhamet, proche du SDA. L’étude de ces institutions et de ces individus, porteurs de projets très divers, permettrait de mieux comprendre les défenseurs de l’islam, ou plutôt “des islams” en Bosnie‑Herzégovine. Mais la diversité des islams présents aujourd’hui à Blagaj nous est déjà clairement révélée par les multiples modes d’expérimentations du ramadan. Plus que l’expression d’une piété en soi, le ramadan, et à travers lui l’islam, apparaissent donc comme un outil social de cristallisation du “nous”, à mi-chemin entre laïcité et religiosité, nationalisme et mysticisme.

34 Enfin, le “nous” peut également renvoyer à la riche culture qui, selon les habitants de Blagaj, caractérise l’Herzégovine. La langue, la cuisine, le sol fertile, le climat et l’histoire représentent pour eux cette richesse. Le “nous” inclut alors toute la population de la région, absorbée dans un tout indifférencié, quels que soient la religion et le camp durant la guerre, mais exclut ceux qui habitent “après” , limite septentrionale de l’Herzégovine au-delà de laquelle se trouve la Bosnie.

35 Plus largement, les manifestations de l’identité sont très liées aux réalités locales, et pas forcément à ce qui se passe dans les administrations de la capitale Sarajevo. Il s’agit de manifester son existence, de la rendre publique, visible ou audible sur son lieu de vie. Durant le mois de ramadan, par exemple, une détonation se fait entendre chaque jour, provenant du point le plus élevé de Blagaj, afin de signaler l'autorisation de rompre le jeûne. A Mostar-est, les appels à la prière sont lancés au moyen de haut- parleurs très puissants. En face, la nouvelle et imposante église catholique bâtie près de l’ancienne ligne de front a des cloches très puissantes. Ce besoin de rendre son identité tangible à l’Autre provoque une inévitable surenchère, qui est paradoxalement favorisée par le fait que les uns et les autres ne se côtoient presque plus à présent. Il s’agit de montrer ce qui crée le “nous” par des moyens audibles ou visibles, sans contact matériel direct. Si un tel contact est établi sans précaution, ses conséquences peuvent être violentes.

36 De même, les prises de position sur la situation de l'Etat diffèrent des réactions suscitées par les événements locaux, ces dernières étant souvent plus extrêmes : ainsi, chaque incident violent a l’effet d’une anamnèse collective qui vient rappeler l’existence de camps opposés. La publicité de ces incidents dans la population de Blagaj est très rapide et souvent excessive, ce qui accentue la sensation de ne toujours pas vivre en paix. Cela n'empêche pas l'existence d'un autre niveau de pensée qui pourrait être appelé idéel : dans l’esprit de chacun semblent ainsi coexister une Bosnie‑Herzégovine idéelle, qui renvoie à des projets politiques très ouverts et tolérants vis-à-vis de l’Autre, et une Bosnie‑Herzégovine de tous les dangers, pas forcément réelle, mais qui correspond aux images et aux récits de la guerre et de l’après-guerre. Le sens du “nous” peut donc varier en fonction des conversations et des activités, reflétant ainsi une amnésie sélective et instrumentale.

37 Cette sélective construction de la mémoire est effectuée par les personnes de plus de trente ans. Pour les plus jeunes, la guerre reste le moment fondamental dans la construction de leur identité. Cela n’a pas forcément pour conséquence une prise de conscience plus radicale, au contraire peut-être. Les jeunes ont le sentiment d’avoir tout perdu, d’avoir été sacrifiés sur un autel dont ils n’étaient pas les architectes. Et l’absence de perspectives professionnelles, le manque de liberté, ils n’hésitent pas à les fêter, à les défier en les fêtant. Ils ont dansé et bu dans certains bars de Blagaj ou au

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bord de la rivière pour le Nouvel an (catholique), et ils se sont aussi beaucoup amusés dans l’ivresse du Bajram (fêtes de fin de ramadan).

38 Il est donc difficile aujourd’hui de trouver des constantes dans les discours des habitants de Blagaj sur leur auto-identification. Le “nous” est traversé par diverses tendances contradictoires. Un homme s’affirmant “musulman” dit spontanément, le soir du Bajram, en levant sa bière dans une main et en montrant de l’autre le kolo18 dansé sur un rythme endiablé dans un bar de la čaršija : « La véritable Bosnie, elle est là, c’est cela, elle n’est pas à la mosquée ! ». Ainsi, le “nous” a des réalités et des sens divers pour les habitants de Blagaj. Les constructions identitaires ont des frontières et des caractéristiques mobiles et négociables. L’enjeu actuel majeur reste la délimitation à long terme du Dedans et du Dehors, et ses conséquences. Un “nous” ayant pour fondement principal l’identité confessionnelle risquerait de perpétuer les tensions entre les groupes et au sein de chacun d’entre eux, et de pérenniser les espaces politiques et économiques actuels, malgré leur caractère non-viable.

39 Des actes sont susceptibles de donner une matérialité à l’identité collective : les repas en famille, la construction des maisons et la prière à la mosquée. Ils sont caractérisés par l’implication identitaire personnelle de chacun, par l’absence de l’Etat, et par la présence éventuelle d’une O.N.G.. Aux vues de la situation économique globale, la participation des O.N.G. et des institutions internationales est nécessaire ; cependant, à plus long terme, elle favorise aussi la passivité des habitants et des autorités locales envers l’Etat. L’intense production identitaire des habitants de Blagaj se double donc d’une attitude politique attentiste et passive : le premier phénomène reflète leur forte identification à l’Etat, le second leur déception vis-à-vis de la réalité de l’Etat.

40 Ces deux phénomènes sont encore accentués par la légitimité du SDA qui, depuis la fin des combats, est quasiment inattaquable : le SDA est auréolé de sa présence à la tête de l’Etat durant le conflit, tandis que le Parti social-démocrate (ex-communiste) a plus de mal à valoriser sa participation à la défense de la Bosnie‑Herzégovine. Le repli identitaire des Bochniaques ne peut se faire sans qu’ils accordent leur confiance aux représentants officiels de cette identité. Car ce repli s’accomplit à trois niveaux : autour de la famille, autour de la religion, et autour de la nation (narod). Il peut donc se traduire par la pratique du jeûne du ramadan comme par le vote en faveur du SDA. Et les diverses élections qui ont eu lieu à Blagaj entre 1996 et 2001 ont permis le renforcement par les urnes de la légitimité du SDA, malgré l’absence de résultats positifs tangibles dans l'après-guerre.

41 Les Bochniaques ont conscience d’avoir un dilemme à résoudre : assurer leur propre existence politique dans l’Etat de Bosnie-Herzégovine sans favoriser leurs ennemis politiques, les mêmes que pendant la guerre. Alors, beaucoup restent dans l’expectative, acceptant de donner leurs suffrages au SDA, et ne posant qu’à voix basse cette question à leurs dirigeants : « A présent, que fait-on ? ». Les plus révoltés contre le SDA s’abstiennent le jour des élections. A cette attitude conservatrice et passive des électeurs correspond un comportement plus général de citoyens fatigués et impuissants : les privilèges des dirigeants des partis nationalistes ou des fonctionnaires des organisations internationales appartiennent-ils au même monde que la condition misérable des Bochniaques ?

42 Par ailleurs, les journaux de la presse écrite et télévisuelle, et a fortiori les émissions étrangères retransmises en Bosnie-Herzégovine telles que les actualités de Voice of America ou les informations hebdomadaires du Tribunal pénal international,

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accentuent la désagréable impression qu’ont les Bochniaques d’être gouvernés par une administration étrangère non-élue. Ce sentiment de confiscation du pouvoir par les organisations internationales, associé à leur échec six ans après l’arrêt du conflit, peut être dangereux : le pouvoir et la présence physique massive de ces organisations n’est légitime qu’en référence à la période du conflit, et risquent de devenir illégitimes à présent, faute de pouvoir résorber la crise économique et politique. Même la partie de la population bochniaque qui reste modérée dans ses prises de positions identitaires sort de sa passivité et dénonce de façon plus ou moins sévère les errements de la politique internationale en Bosnie-Herzégovine.

43 La déception exprimée à l’égard de la SFOR (Stabilization Force de l'OTAN) est à ce propos exemplaire. Il est dit à Blagaj que « les soldats étrangers ne sont ici que pour percevoir un salaire beaucoup plus élevé que chez eux ». Les forces armées de l’OTAN perdent ainsi une grande part de leur respectabilité. Ce sentiment est renforcé à Blagaj par la proximité de magasins détaxés de la SFOR, qui ont la réputation d’être “dévalisés” par les soldats de la SFOR avant leur départ de Bosnie-Herzégovine. En outre, leurs passages quasi quotidiens dans le centre de Blagaj, sur le chemin d’un restaurant de poisson réputé et onéreux, rendent leur présence difficile à supporter19, même si elle est synonyme de rentrées de devises. Un décalage s'est instauré entre le fonctionnement des institutions internationales et le quotidien de la population locale. Souvent réduits aux yeux des Bochniaques à leur seule force économique, les fonctionnaires internationaux en général ne leur inspirent pas le désir de participer à leurs activités, mais représentent plutôt l’espoir d’un profit financier personnel, lorsqu’ils ne provoquent pas une aversion a priori.

44 Ainsi, l'Union européenne perd tout doucement le capital psychologique qu'elle avait gagné auprès d'un candidat naturel à l'entrée dans l'Union en ne soutenant pas correctement une Bosnie-Herzégovine demeurée dans ses ruines. Face au poids économique et politique qu’est censée avoir la dite communauté internationale, les Bochniaques ont tendance à s’effacer, donnant aux observateurs extérieurs une impression de passivité politique. Déplorant le blocage de l’économie à Blagaj, le représentant du Conseil de l’Europe à Mostar affirmait en juillet 1999 que « les élus politiques préfèrent se contenter d’être réélus et laissent aux autorités internationales le soin de prendre les décisions difficiles, contraires aux intérêts nationalistes de la classe politique au pouvoir ». Ce genre de passivité quasi volontaire se vérifie au plus haut niveau de l’Etat comme au niveau individuel, et se retrouve par exemple dans une remarque exprimée par un adolescent : « La rue est encore pleine de trous, aucune organisation ne l’a réparée ». Cette affirmation spontanée traduit une attitude politique assez répandue qui élude les responsabilités et les compétences de l’Etat bosniaque : dépossédée par la communauté internationale de la direction des affaires de l'Etat, la population finit par ne plus en parler, et vote par conséquent pour le candidat symboliquement fort et rassurant. Dans les perceptions et les propos des Bochniaques, l’Etat et la communauté internationale semblent en effet se partager les tâches : tandis que la seconde possède de facto le monopole du savoir-faire et de l’efficacité, l’Etat n'assure que la défense de l’identité. Ainsi pourrait s'expliquer la persistance de revendications en faveur de l'existence de plusieurs Etats dans les frontières actuelles de la Bosnie-Herzégovine.

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NOTES

1. Custo (Č.), Vodič kroz Blagaj, Mostar : Islamski Centar, 1998. 2. Dans ce contexte, l’enjeu des privatisations est majeur. Les autorités en charge de celles-ci semblent favoriser la privatisation d’anciennes grandes entreprises d’Etat sur des critères ethniques. Ainsi, le quotidien Oslobodjenje titrait le 6 juillet 1999 : « Privatisation ethnique dans le canton d'Herzégovine- : 180 entreprises dans les mains croates ». 3. Voir par exemple Habul (E.), « Pauvreté en Bosnie-Herzégovine : la survie des Bosniaques », Alternativna Informativna Mreža, 13 juillet 1999. 4. Voir Claverie (E.), « Voir apparaître : les “événements” de Medjugorje », Raisons pratiques, (2), 1991, pp. 157-176 ; Bax (M.), Medjugorje : Religion, Politics and Violence in Rural Bosnia, Amsterdam : VU University Press, 1995. 5. Voir Dimitrijević (D.), « Ajvatovica, analyse de la tentative de construction d’un mythe fondateur de l’identité bochniaque », Annales de la Fondation Fyssen, (13), 1998, pp. 31-48. 6. Kadić (M.), Starinska seoska kuća u Bosni i Hercegovini, Sarajevo : Veselin Masleša, 1967. 7. Ceci n’est d’ailleurs pas spécifique aux foyers musulmans : chez des catholiques déplacés en Herzégovine occidentale ou près de Karlovac en Croatie, ou bien encore chez des orthodoxes de Banja Luka, les pièces principales sont aussi décorées de peluches sur les étagères, les meubles et les murs. 8. Les morts ne sont pas représentés dans le foyer : les photographies demeurent dans les tiroirs. 9. Par exemple, en Yougoslavie, avant 1991, les bacheliers d'une même classe se réunissaient tous les dix ans pour une soirée de souvenirs partagés. 10. C’est ce que montre Vuk Janić dans son court-métrage Psalm, Sarajevo-Amsterdam : Ifeta Stroil et Studio Production, 1997. 11. Lepa sela lepo gore, réalisé par Srdjan Blagojević, produit par Goran et Dragan Bjelogrlić, 1996. 12. Les refus des nombreuses demandes de visas d’émigration pour le Canada, les Etats-Unis ou l’Australie sont d’autant plus tragiques que le langage strict et juridique des autorités consulaires tranche avec la réalité quotidienne de la population en Bosnie-Herzégovine. 13. Les déplacés vivant à Blagaj ont toujours l’espoir de retrouver leur ancienne maison, détruite ou habitée par d’autres, à quelques dix ou vingt kilomètres de celle qu’ils occupent eux-mêmes, privant à leur tour une famille de sa maison. Mais il est arrivé que ceux qui ont pu reprendre possession de leur maison reconstruite aient la surprise de la voir à nouveau détruite, malgré la présence de la communauté internationale et de la police cantonale, prétendument neutre. 14. Bringa (T.), Being Muslim the Bosnian Way. Identity and Community in a Central Bosnian Village, Princeton : Princeton University Press, 1995, p.70. 15. Ibid., p. 74. 16. Le SDA est le principal parti nationaliste bochniaque. Lors des élections municipales d’avril 2000, il a obtenu 82,2 % des voix dans la municipalité de Mostar-Sud-est. 17. Bougarel (X.), « Voisinage et crime intime », Confluences Méditerranée, (13), Hiver 1994-95, p. 74. 18. Cette danse traditionnelle pratiquée en cercle, rythmée par la musique populaire, participe à la construction du “nous” qui inclut et lie fortement des personnes à un groupe. Elle peut être interprétée comme la matérialisation dans l’espace de l’aspect centripète et exclusif qui caractérise l’affirmation d’un “nous”. 19. Il est évident que le luxe que représente ce restaurant pour un Bosniaque n’en est pas un pour le ressortissant d’un Etat occidental.

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INDEX

Index géographique : Blagaj, Bosnie-Herzégovine, Herzégovine

AUTEUR

ARNAUD APPRIOU Titulaire d'un D.E.A. en anthropologie sociale de l'EHESS-Paris

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Homelands in question : Paradoxes of memory and exil in South-Eastern Europe

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Homelands in question : Paradoxes of memory and exil in South- Eastern Europe :Introduction au dossier1

Keith S. Brown

1 It is well-known that nationalism simultaneously invokes ideas of blood, home and rootedness, to create for citizens and outsiders the impression that village, town, region and nation represent a “nested” set of loyalties. But where people are driven out, or where refugees or exiles from elsewhere are incorporated into a nation-state, the distance between the metaphorical and literal meanings of these central terms is stretched. Official discourses are often silent on this score : it is in the experiences of displaced people, and in their narratives of the past, that the strains are most apparent. It is also at this level that we can trace how human agents recreate meaning and order from their fractured lives, formulating alternative views from those of the states they have left or entered. The papers collected here draw on histories of displacement in South-Eastern Europe to explore paths of analysis which may serve as the starting- point for a critique of the nationalist vision. Moving beyond familiar arguments of the “invention” or “imagination” of national belonging, they provide the basis for new ways of thinking about emergent and resistant solidarities.

Historical contexts

2 Histories of South-Eastern Europe often focus on the deep, historical roots of its communities. The idea of continuous residence on the same soil, from time almost immemorial, has a powerful grip on the imagination of various constituencies in the present. Insistence on autochthony is a characteristic of nationalist thought, for example, and frequently combines with an enthusiasm for ancestral markers of advanced civilization. But scholarship too has made its contribution to an emphasis on the static and enduring dimensions of human lives in the region : so too have foreign

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partisans or sponsors of one group or another. The interplay of different agents in shaping perspectives on the past is especially clear in the case of nineteenth-century , which was carved out of the Ottoman Empire. Whether construed as a bulwark of Europe, repository of classical Hellenic values, or heir to the Byzantine legacy, it was transformed from Turkish province to Greek homeland through a combination of material and symbolic work by its sponsors and newly-defined members2.

3 Yet alongside a history of sturdy farmers who keep their places, and great arcs of national continuity, runs another narrative thread, in which human relocation is recurrent and defining. Interviewing Macedonian villagers in the 1930s, the Polish ethnographer Josif Obrebski discovered that they preserved tales of their founding ancestors’ arrival from elsewhere in the site of their current residence3. In her work in Greek Macedonia, Lina Sistani records somewhat similar preserved origin myths4. In mountain villages all across the region, in particular, as well as on some of the Aegean islands, one can encounter tales of former settlements abandoned, especially for reasons of security, and communities relocating to better hidden, more defensible locations5. In all these cases, then, the current and undoubtedly cherished “home” turns out to be ancestral only up to a point. Prosperity and pride in place are built upon the ruins of former lives, often lived elsewhere.

4 At this most intimate level, such relocations appear of little significance in the present. The same cannot always be said of larger-scale displacements, especially those that occurred in the twentieth-century, and with which the papers in this collection are concerned. Three elements in particular distinguish the such movements from those conducted at the village level. In the first case, relocation was generally forced upon them not by fear of predatory pirates or bandits, but by pressures brought about by conflicts between states or between ideological opponents within a state. They did not merely decide to relocate to remove themselves from potential harm : they found themselves in situations where they were perceived as potential enemies or traitors to the state in which they lived. Secondly, as a direct consequence of this, they were pressurized not simply to move, but to move across a national boundary. The journeys they took were often long in literal terms, but their sense of distance from their former homes was further increased by the power of the frontier, which added bureaucratic obstacles to any return. Thirdly, the territory into which they moved was already perceived as home by an existing population. Although these movements were often represented at the state-level as repatriation, it is clear that the new settlers and their new hosts or neighbors did not generally see things in such straightforward terms. Sharing the same space, and in some cases competing for scarce resources, they were often acutely aware of cultural, social and linguistic differences.

Memory and Exile : anthropological approaches

5 The papers in this collection are for the most part by anthropologists, and draw upon a tradition of study of groups displaced by wars over national belonging. Peter Loizos’ harrowing account of Greek Cypriot refugees, for example, provides a key resource for much subsequent work6. In a new foreword to Renee Hirschon’s 1989 study of an urban community of refugees from Asia Minor in Athens, Michael Herzfeld suggested that it offered important comparative insights in the wake of late twentieth-century crises in Rwanda and Bosnia7. As Herzfeld indicates, Hirschon’s particular concern with space

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and place foreshadowed developments in the discipline, which led to a number of volumes that explored the presumptive “rootedness” of culture and introduced discussions of mobility through the alternative imagery of “routes”8.

6 The significance of collective or individual memory in the maintenance of identity, and especially the role of narratives of loss and nostalgia, has also been investigated. Jewish experiences have constituted one focus for such work, but anthropologists have also extensively documented the importance of oral and written accounts of the past for others caught up in state violence, notably Palestinians and Sri Lanka’s Tamils9.

7 One of the most influential recent anthropological works on refugees is Liisa Malkki’s study of Rwandan refugee communities in Tanzania10. There, she elaborates the important observation, that different experiences of exile may lead to different ideas about identity, and especially to the formation of distinct modes of historical consciousness. In the Tanzanian context, she argues, there was a significant divergence between the degrees of attention paid to and significance attached to the past. While refugees in camps, sequestered from the local population, appeared to cling onto the legacy of the homeland, and embraced the category of refugee as indexing their dreams of return, those who had made their lives in larger cities were more committed to leaving their experiences behind, and making a new life. To do so, they often actively resisted categorization as refugees, seeing it as a first step in their being returned to the camps or to the country they had fled. Instead, they sought means by which they could assure their residency status in the towns, and paid particular attention to the acquisition of identification documents which categorized them as non-refugees.

8 Similar concerns inform works on the Palestinian case, where George Bisharat and Julie Peteet have traced independently distinctions in identity politics between long-term camp residents and those who reside in towns or cities11. In this case, a longer time has elapsed since the original displacement, which leads both to refine Malkki’s categorical distinctions. Both indicate the persistence of stereotypical ideas linking individual characteristics to specific places of origin, while also highlighting shared dimensions of subsequent experience which generate narratives that are, in Peteet’s words, « consistent…. though certainly not interchangeable »12. She suggests that the term “refugee” was for an extended period rejected by Palestinians in , who preferred the term “returners”. Only after 1982, she argues, did they embrace the term “refugee” as a strategic necessity, in order to bargain with international agencies and governments for recognition of their rights13.

9 Writing of the West Bank, Bisharat charts a similar transformation, arguing that « refugee status (…) has been, alternately, a brand of disrepute, a strategy for survival, a badge of entitlement, and a moral claim »14. While “return” remains a powerful uniting ideology, it no longer indexes commitment to a physical homecoming—most homes have been destroyed—but refers instead to a « “Palestine” conceived abstractly », standing for an ideal future existence free of Israeli rule15.

10 In her forthcoming study of Italian exiles from Yugoslav Istria, Pamela Ballinger suggests that this transformation may not always be clearly marked. She argues that members of this community nourish multiple dreams of return, all of which she describes as forms of redemption, in the following terms : Previous winners and present losers, the Istrian Italians hope for eventual redemption : redemption at the symbolic level (the recognition of the esuli’s “forgotten history”), in memory (Istria living again in the hearts of these

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survivors), and in pragmatic terms (actual return of properties in Istria. Demands for legal and historical justice rest upon the moral quality of exile accounts qua biblical epics, which tell a tale about the betrayal and sacrifice of Istria’s Italians, innocent victims who paid the price for fascist ’s sins just as Christ paid for those of mankind16.

11 As Ballinger suggests, members of long-term exile communities often appear to slide easily between emphasizing individual innocence and expressing collective entitlement. In this regard their rhetorics reinforce those whereby new immigrants have historically been constructed as the equivalent, in a national sense, of newborn infants17. Political activism prior to the moment of displacement is by this formulation either forgotten or denied, as the community is retrospectively classified as living quietly on territory that was unquestionably theirs by right. Those driven from their homes are neither willing nor witting agents, and in this regard they can be conceptualized as children, vulnerable to larger historical processes, or the particular animus of some alien aggressor. Such narratives of belonging and attachment thus present the inhabitants of the past as bearing no blame for what befell them : their individual circumstances are sharply distinguished from those whose actions may have prompted their expulsion. By contrast, flight is often perceived as a moment which burns into people’s consciousness, and makes them aware of the necessity for collective action to restore their former fortunes. Will, it seems, is born in motion.

12 What these various accounts indicate is the recurrence of both narrative motifs and sociological dimensions in different refugee movements. From , Palestine and Istria, anthropologists have recorded people cherishing the key to their old house as a talisman that betokens faith in return18. Spatial concentration, either in a camp or a specific quarter of a town or city, seems also to encourage the preservation of social memory, through the reuse of familiar place-names, and continuing patterns of sociability and intermarriage19. What also emerges, though, is the diversity of experience, even within small communities. In Cyprus, for example, Loizos notes that the hardest hit by displacement were those who had invested most in the village, such as farmers, or married couples, especially women, who had worked and saved for years to build a house which was now lost. Young unmarried men, and those men whose livelihood had oriented them towards a wider world of business, adjusted more quickly20. Ballinger likewise emphasizes the importance of gender and age in shaping reactions to their exile : young people in particular reported a sense that greater opportunities opened for them21.

The papers

13 The papers in this collection explore different cases of forced migration in twentieth- century South-East Europe, and draw on a variety of analytical and narrative methods to do so. Nergis Canefe’s paper is the most historical and theoretical and the least ethnographic, and provides an introduction to the core issue of how the nation-state handles its “impurities”—legacies of cultural diversity within the frontiers which, ideally, enclose a homogeneous people. Focusing specifically on the case of Asia Minor and its displaced Greek population, Canefe takes a hard look at the politics of the production and commodification of new, nostalgic histories of the Ottoman legacy, and cautions that revisionism can serve simply to replicate nationalist moralities of “good” and “evil”.

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14 Miladina Monova’s paper demonstrates how even in a highly politicized case, the resettlement of Aegean Macedonian, or Egejci, in the Republic of Macedonia after the Greek Civil War, oral historical material and social anthropological methodology can yield insight, rather than enflame polarized debate. Employing a deliberately anecdotal, journalistic style in recounting his journey to document the experiences of the Muslims of Bulgaria who were “encouraged” to leave for Turkey after 1989, Petar Krasztev similarly shows the complex and shifting nature of solidarity and cultural memory. Both these accounts focus on the lives and choices of economically active groups who found themselves living in close proximity to people who were supposedly “the same”, but from whom they saw clear differences. These are both cases in which residential segregation, partly chosen, partly imposed, affects community solidarity : in both cases, too, the roles that women play in the workforce serve as a point of distinction. In the context of socialist-era Macedonia, the displaced Aegeans in Prilep were quicker to abandon prejudices against women working outside the home than their native neighbors. Thus although land-poor, families more quickly acquired capital: and although initially disdained for such practices, over time gained greater status. Krasztev’s work, conducted only seven years after the displacement and at a time when rumors still circulated that the “Bulgarians” might again find themselves relocated as a result of international intrigue, demonstrates how migrants from the Bulgarian socialist system likewise proved adept at utilizing labor resources, and quickly took pride in an adaptive individualism that distinguished them from their new neighbors.

15 The papers by James, Akgonul, Tsimouris and Tanc address different aspects of the population exchanges of the 1920s, during and after the Greek-Turkish war. Taken together, they offer a multi-sited response to Canefe’s call for many-sided history. Alice James discusses the settlement of Asia Minor refugees on Chios, the closest and largest island to the coast. Confirming many of the findings of Renee Hirschon’s work in the , James stresses the role of icons, photographs, and other material remnants of former lives in the cultivation of memories of loss. James’ account suggests that this process is a product of ongoing social interaction among former refugees, who still share particular neighborhoods and engage on common commemorative projects.

16 Akgonul, by contrast, considers the relative lack of refugee solidarity among Muslim refugees, or muhacirs, who were compelled to leave Crete and Macedonia for Asia Minor in the 1920s. Offering a range of oral historical interview material, the paper highlights the difficulties that the muhacirs faced in their new environment. Tensions with their new neighbors are much more a part of Akgonul’s account than James’, prompting secondary displacement as many families abandoned the rural locations where they had been settled to move to cities. As was the case with the immigrants from Bulgaria after 1989, they were often settled in areas with large Kurdish populations, a phenomenon that contributed further to the ambiguity surrounding the relocation : was it repatriation, or colonization of marginal territories22 ? Even when situated among Turks, they perceived themselves, and were perceived, as alien, as is demonstrated by the remark that Akgonul cites from a resident of Honuz, who reportedly said « the Greeks have left, other Greeks have arrived. Where is the difference ? » Such slippage in identity-ascription, argues Akgonul, characterizes muhacir history : young descendants of the refugees still might identify themselves as

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Macedonian or Cretan, but no longer does this compromise their senses of Turkish citizenship or nationality.

17 The papers by Tsimouris and Tanc carry the analysis one stage further, as they contemplate cases where links across the borders of national identity remain vital. Where the separation of lost homeland and new residence is clear-cut for those refugees from mainland Asia Minor, it is much less so for the Orthodox islanders of Imvros, who were exempted from the population exchange of the 1920s. Tsimouris documents how international pressures, especially over Cyprus in the 1960s and 1970s, impacted life on the island, with the result that many families elected to leave. In contrast to the mass exodus of the 1920s, though, their resettlement in Greece was not assisted by international organizations : nor was it welcomed by the Greek state, for which the continuing presence of this Greek Orthodox community in Turkey had enduring symbolic significance. Many exiled Imvriotes thus felt multiply betrayed by Greece, first for not doing more to protect them from Turkish intimidation or victimization, and second for making it difficult for them to obtain Greek citizenship. Yet as Tsimouris describes, they also have a troubled relationship with those members of their community who elected to remain on Imvros, and who give the impression of being more concerned to maintain relations with their Turkish neighbors than celebrate their Greek identity. At yearly festivals held on the island, and now attended by many exiled Imvriotes, tensions over property ownership, inheritance and the constraints posed by national citizenship all surface in the conversations and commentaries of residents and visitors recorded and analyzed in Tsimouris’s paper.

18 In the final paper of the section Barbaros Tanc, working through the medium of oral autobiographies, traces the way in which diverse lives are linked to the Anatolian village of Kayakoyu, formerly known as Livissi. Tanc juxtaposes three perspectives : he interviewed refugees who were forced to leave the village, those from elsewhere that were compelled to settle there, and residents whose families stayed in place. In each case, the lines between national and local belonging are drawn slightly differently. Many of the themes explored in other papers are here inter-related, as Tanc describes how refugees from villages close to cosmopolitan Salonika encountered culture shock in this new rural location, how returning after long absence reawakened past sensations for a Greek leftist, and how long-term residents saw their community as the poorer for the population transfer. In this single village-setting, Tanc traces the impact of the various dimensions of the exchange elsewhere described at a broader level : the time-lag between the Orthodox exodus from Asia Minor and the arrival from Greece of the muhacirs, for example, which allowed contact, albeit fleeting, between the two refugee groups, but also created an interim period in which homes and gardens in Asia Minor, lying empty, were illegally occupied or looted.

19 As Tanc demonstrates, there are significant disagreements between these groups with regard to the interpretation of the past. This is particularly the case between the long- term residents and the muhacirs, who continue to distinguish themselves. Yet there are also surprising convergences, especially on the issue of good relations between the Orthodox and Muslim communities in the region, at least until the . In the paper’s conclusion, Tanc calls for further exploration of alternative histories of Asia Minor’s past, to uncover such traces of pre- or anti-nationalist sentiments of intercommunal cooperation.

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Conclusion : The Uses of Memory

20 At first sight, this ending point might seem in direct contradiction with the argument made by Canefe, with which the set of papers begins. Certainly as Alice James’ article indicates clearly, some groups cling defiantly to their sense of loss, and enlist whatever material they can to emphasize the poignancy of their story. The example that James records is particularly striking, of a museum display of leaves snatched from a favorite tree in the garden as a family “fled the Turkish army”. This tangible, intimate sign of rootedness uprooted, ownership of land usurped, and the effect of displacement on the fruits of nature—they dry and shrivel—is ripe with ideological meanings that a state could share and further promote.

21 Yet the forms of memory that Tanc describes make the transfer to a broader, tendentious sphere less readily. One of the most powerful aspects of memory in his article is that described by a local Livisian in his account of life in the days when the town was home to a thriving, Christian community. The villager recalls specifically and with nostalgia the beautiful sound of the church bell, which could be heard far and wide. Such a memory is far less tangible than withered leaves in a museum on Chios, and drives a qualitatively different narrative. For the loss that it conjures is not one of personal property, but common wealth. The claim implied is not exclusive—this was mine, now it is yours—but instead makes reference to a shared good—see what we had ! And as if to force home his point, the narrator’s own coda on the bell’s fate slyly suggests that responsibility for this loss lies with a modern nation-state and its overarching concern to mobilize resources for war.

22 Modes of recall and commentary such as this, rich with experience, provide the inspiration for much of the research on which these papers are based. Whether emphasizing the lack of fit between representations and experiences of otherness, exploring the salience of movement between cities and villages or vice versa, or tracing the different effects of passing time for different refugee groups, the authors all seek to disrupt the easy slippage between “homeland” as imagined by individuals and families, and as defined and made sacred by national ideologies. Though memories may serve state agendas, and refugees in particular may find their pasts deployed to show national victimization, loss, and past greatness, close attention to the stories they tell permits us to see beyond histories that confuse attachment to locality with commitment to myths of national rootedness.

NOTES

1. The inspiration for this set of papers came from a group of presentations at a symposium hosted by the Center for the Study of South-Eastern Europe at the University of Wales in June 2000, entitled Intersecting Times : The Work of Memory in South-Eastern Europe. The papers by Georgios Tsimouris, Barbaros Tanc and Alice James were presented at the symposium, at which Peter Loizos served as commentator. Petar Krasztev and Nergis Canefe, both of whom had

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contributed different papers to the symposium, later volunteered papers on this theme for this collection, while the contributions from Miladina Monova and Samim Akgonul were added at the publication stage. I am grateful to my fellow symposium organizers Patrick Finney, Yannis Hamilakis, Margaret Kenna and Mark Pluciennek, to Yves Tomic and the Balkanologie editorial staff, and—especially—the authors—for their for their solidarity and patience. A grant to assist international attendance at the symposium was provided by the British Academy: we are also grateful to the University of Wales Collaboration Fund, which made the symposium and this publication possible. I would also like to thank Pamela Ballinger and Loring Danforth, who provided useful comments on sections of this introduction. 2. Herzfeld (Michael),Anthropology Through the Looking Glass : Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1987. 3. Fieldnotes in the Obrebski archive at the University of Massachussetts, Amherst. I am especially grateful to Professor Joel Halpern, and Mike Milewski, for alerting me to this material and facilitating my access. 4. Sistani (Lina), « Conceptualisations of “Turkish-ness” in a Macedonian community », Paper presented at Conference on Anthropology, Archaeology and Heritage in the Balkans and Anatolia, University of Wales, November 2001. 5. I have heard stories of this kind in Buf or Akritas in Greek Macedonia and on Samothraki in the Aegean. A succession of such past displacements led to the founding and growth of Krushevo, the Vlah town in the Republic of Macedonia. 6. Loizos (Peter),The Heart Grown Bitter : A Chronicle of Cypriot War Refugees, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1981. 7. Herzfeld (Michael), « Foreword », in Hirschon (Renee), Heirs of the Greek Catastrophe : The Social Life of Asia Minor refugees in Piraeus, New York / Oxford : Berghahn, 1998. 8. Lavie (S.), Swedenburg (Ted), eds., Displacement, Diaspora and Geographies of Identity,Durham, NC : Duke University Press, 1996 ; Gupta (Akhil), Ferguson (James), eds., Culture, Power, Place : Explorations in Critical Anthropology, Durham / London : Duke University Press, 1997 ; Fog Olwig (Karen), Hastrup (Kirsten), eds., Siting Culture : The Shifting Anthropological Object, London: Routledge, 1997 ; Clifford (James), Routes :Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century, Cambridge, MA : Harvard University Press, 1997. 9. Boyarin (Jonathan), ed., Space, Time and the Politics of Memory, Minneapolis : University of Minnesota Press, 1994 ; Bahloul (Joelle), The Architecture of Memory : A Jewish-Muslim Household in Colonial Algeria 1937--1962, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1992 ; Parmentier (B.), Giving Voice to Stones : Place and Identity in Palestinian Literature, New York : Columbia University Press, 1994 ; Steen Preis (Ann-Belinda), « Seeking place : Capsized identities and Contracted Belonging among Sri Lankan Tamil Refugees », in Fog Olwig (Karen), Hastrup (Kirsten), eds., op. cit. 10. Malkki (Liisa), Purity and Exile : Violence, Memory and National Cosmology Among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania, Chicago : University of Chicago Press, 1995. 11. Bisharat (George E.), « Exile to Compatriot : Transformations in the Social Identity of Palestinian Refugees in the West Bank », in Gupta (Akhil), Ferguson (James), eds., op. cit. ; Peteet (Julie), « Post Partition Palestinian Identities and the Moral Community », Social Analysis, 42 (1), 1998. 12. Peteet (Julie), loc. cit., p. 76. 13. Ibid. 14. Bisharat (George E.), loc. cit., p. 227. 15. Ibid., p. 224. 16. Ballinger (Pamela), Submerged Politics, Exiled Histories : Memory and Identity at the Borders of the Balkans, Princeton N.J. : Princeton University Press, forthcoming, chapter 7. 17. David (Henry), « Involuntary International Migration », International Migration Review, 7 (3-4), 1969, cite in Malkki (Liisa), op. cit., p. 11.

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18. Loizos (Peter), op. cit. , pp. 144-145; Bisharat (George E.), loc. cit., p. 214 ; Ballinger (Pamela), op. cit. In Loizos’ account, it is an exile from 1922 Smyrna who shows his key to a more recent internal Cypriot refugee, mocking the latter’s hopes of return. 19. Hirschon (Renee), Heirs of the Greek Catastrophe : The Social Life of Asia Minor refugees in Piraeus, New York / Oxford : Berghahn, 1998, pp. 168-169 ; Loizos (Peter), op. cit., pp. 167-171; Bisharat (George E.), loc. cit., p. 213-215, 223. 20. Loizos (Peter), op. cit., pp. 157-163. 21. Ballinger (Pamela), op. cit. 22. The same question can be posed of the extensive resettlement of Greece’s Asia Minor refugees in Macedonia, among Slavic-speaking minorities. where they significantly altered the demographic character of the territory.

INDEX

Mots-clés : Exil, Mémoire

AUTEUR

KEITH S. BROWN Thomas J. Watson Institute for International Studies, Brown University, and University of Wales, Lampeter.

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The Legacy of Forced Migrations in Modern Turkish Society : Remembrance of the Things Past ?1

Nergis Canefe

1 In the era of post-industrial capitalism and amid new patterns of globalisation, international migration is the norm rather than the exception regarding population movements. In the economic sphere, complex population movements taking the form of labour migration within and across the state borders constitute a primary mechanism alleviating supply and demand pressures2. In the political sphere, on the other hand, population movements generally assume a darker face. During the twentieth century, the largest number of people moved across state borders due to population exchanges and forced migration. These kinds of population movements tend to function as quick remedies for problems around political legitimacy and instability in both weak and strong states. Furthermore, certain sectors of the society seem to be disproportionately affected by them3. Recent comparative work in migration studies prove not only that ethnic, religious and racial factors have a systematic appearance in out-migration flows, but also that ethno-religious minorities are particularly prone to be displaced4.

2 The topic of this paper is the legacy of the forced migration of ethno-religious minorities in and out of Asia Minor that took place during the initial stages of the nation-building process in modern Turkey. The examination provided here has a particular focus : the remembrance of the life and times of Orthodox Christian communities that once lived in Asia Minor. Rather than being a celebration of Turkish society’s return to its past, however, the present work problematizes the selective use and presentation of refugee memories. The Republic of Turkey is a relatively young nation-state. Meanwhile, since its foundation in 1923, the intense struggle the Republican cadres undertook to establish the legitimacy of the new regime has hardly lessened. In this work, I argue that part of the reason for this ongoing crisis of historical identity in modern Turkish society is the denial or only partial recognition of both the causes and the effects of the large-scale demographic re-shuffling that took

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place during the closing decades of the Ottoman Empire. In this respect, I propose that the nostalgic return to the days of Ottoman Anatolia and the longings for harmonious multiculturalism in modern Turkish society remain unbalanced in terms of the perception of the Turkish national past. From the mid-nineteenth century onwards, there existed a specific set of socio-cultural conditions under which ethno-religious difference created a subset of people whose lives were uniquely traumatized by nascent nationalist ideologies in the Ottoman Empire. As such, it was not only the Ottoman Christians residing in Asia Minor who were affected by the demise of the Imperial system and the burgeoning of new nation-states. The new revisionist movement fails to pay attention to this fact and underestimates the significance of the massive influx of Muslims of various pedigree from the Balkans and the Caucuses into the Ottoman heartlands prior to or during the departure of Ottoman Christians from Asia Minor. In the following pages, I reach the conclusion that unless the picture of forced migration in and out of Ottoman Anatolia is recaptured in its totality, popularised reiterations of the sad exodus of Ottoman Christians offer little insight for the current problems ailing Turkish society around issues of cultural and religious tolerance, political pluralism and civic ideals of nationhood.

3 Mass population movements are a challenge to the generic nation-state model based on the assumption of a culturally homogeneous citizenry. Meanwhile, we can identify at least three patterns according which national polities are affected by regular waves of migration. Traditionally immigration-based societies such as USA, Canada and Australia have standardised procedures for acquisition of citizenship by the eligible newcomers. They, by definition, are obliged to accept a multi-ethnic / multi-religious population composition as the foundation of their societies. Western European democracies, on the other hand, were and still are subjected to successive waves of both labour migration and population flows from their ex-colonies. And yet, there is a strong tendency in European societies to err on the side of a discourse of cultural purity. Consequently, for the majority of European societies, acquisition of citizenship has long been a contentious issue and there are frequent referrals to the “true” spirit of the nation in mainstream political rhetoric. Finally, we have societies made up of various ethno- religious communities but whose “national identity” stresses ethno-religious unity and commonly overlooks the ingrained heterogeneity of the national polity. Turkey constitutes a hybrid case squeezed between the aforementioned second and the third categories. Therefore, there are grounds to test the applicability of the developments in European societies regarding the acceptance and legitimation of the heterogeneous make-up of the national polity. Indeed, a relatively recent debate concerning international migration, citizenship and nationalism within the Western European context looms large in the Turkish context, as well. This debate can broadly be titled as the post-nationalist discourse. The realisation that “Europe for the Europeans only” is not a viable promise led to a serious revision of views concerning the characteristics of cultural and political life in major European societies. Despite the restrictions imposed upon foreigners and visitors regarding the length of their stay, their travel and residence rights, and of course their participation in social, cultural and political spheres, selective labour migration, refugees and the long-term settlement of migrants from ex-colonies are now deemed as an integral--as opposed to being imposed or temporary--part of European social and political life5. As a response to this contradiction between European self-image and European realities, since the 1990s, alternative suggestions are being made regarding the status of settled immigrant

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communities irrespective of their inclusion by European citizenship laws. In this new context, full access to citizenship rights are no longer seen as the sine qua non of political, social and cultural participation and integration6. Especially in the field of international studies, there is a tendency to generalize the terms of this primarily European debate and to argue for the inherent multi-culturality and hybridity of all societies regardless of the formal structures dictating admittance to citizenship7.

4 Meanwhile, as this work proves, there are also grounds to propose that the euphoria about tolerant multi-culturalism is slightly out of context in the Turkish case. The crust of the problem concerning the identity of the modern Turkish nation rather concerns Turkish society’s misgivings about and dealings with its own history. There still remains a demarcation line drawn between the native born, the naturalised, and the alien, based on ethno-religious attributes. Therefore, the appeal to cultural rights, group rights, and selective exercise of political rights as a panacea for issues relating to the lack of legitimacy of the Republican regime yields only limited results. Hundred of thousands left their ancestral homelands in Asia Minor as a result of forced migrations at the onset of the Republic. Similar numbers also arrived to Asia Minor again as a result of forced migration movements, and were resettled. Therefore, there is an inherent “applicability problem” regarding Turkish society’s perceptions of multi- culturalism and tolerance. The dominant assumption that modern Turkish society is composed of a Muslim majority of clear Turkish ethnic ancestry underwrites the significance of both in and out migration across Asia Minor at the onset of the Turkish nation-state. In parallel, the human costs of forced migration and population displacements implicated by the Republican regime and its immediate predecessors remain a buried issue. The foundational phase of Turkish national history exemplifies the identification of indigenous minority groups with distinct ethno-religious identity claims as threats, and their targeted elimination via demographic reshuffling. Denial or selective granting of citizenship rights came as part and parcel of this package. Consequently, both members of ethno-religious minorities who left and those who arrived in Asia Minor are more often than not barred from having access to their own history and ancestral land. In this context, in societies like Turkey that are ethno- religiously diverse in reality but claimed to be homogeneous by authoritarian nationalist ideologies, acquisition and protection of citizenship remains as the sine qua non for the establishment of inclusive regimes and general enjoyment of relative social peace. In order for multi-culturalism to flourish, Turkish culture and politics has to witness the coming to terms with the Republic’s past outside the sanitised parameters of the narrative of national independence.

Remembrance of the Things Past ? Revisionist Accounts of the Life and Times of Ottoman Society of Asia Minor

5 Since the early 1990s, the Turkish market for popular culture has been filled with an abundance of products depicting the particular cultural richness and ethno-religious colorfulness of late Ottoman society. These include collections of Rembetika or Sephardic Jewish songs, hymns of the Greek Orthodox Church, Ottoman music in the immediate pre-Republican period clearly carrying the mark of multi-denominational influences, oral history accounts of the past of the remaining families of Christian

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pedigree in modern Turkey, architectural and urban historical revelations about the multi-ethnic and multi-religious background of Ottoman cities and towns, series of chronicles and memoirs of Ottoman Christian refugees, depictions of inter-communal life in Ottoman Anatolia as well as in the major cities of the Empire such as Constantinople and Smyrna as they were known, translations of works on minorities in the Ottoman Empire, and auto-biographical stories by Armenian and Greek writers about their birthplaces, childhood, ways of life, and of course their catastrophic exodus and uprooting.8 The emergence of this trend of “remembrance of the things past” coincides with daring albeit not always consequential attempts towards the establishment of political pluralism and cultural pluralism in the civic sphere. As a totality, this appears as a promising picture regarding the self-understanding and historical identity of the modern Turkish society.

6 However, especially on the remembrance front, the presented narratives come forward as far too circular, self-referential and largely devoid of gruesome or contentious details. There seems to have a “moral of the story” in each case, but it is not necessarily applicable to the understanding of our past. Whichever catastrophic events took place, these are portrayed as serious misfortunes and traumas without obvious or identifiable perpetrators. The blame is on violent nationalist rhetoric, culture of intolerance, forced circumstances dictated from “high up” in the state or military bureaucracy. Houses may be demolished, communities uprooted, property looted and confiscated, churches defaced, relationships severed, lives lost, but the human actors involved in these violations are largely absent from the revisionist accounts. Furthermore, the presentations tend to be either highly personal or individual cases. Unless one puts a mark on the map after attending to each manuscript or record, it is rather difficult to have a general sense of where these Christian communities lived, what their numbers were, their political and economic involvements, class-structure, etc. The revisionist literature and products aim at consolidating a generalised culture of tolerance for difference and civic citizenship based on common residence and adherence to common ideals9. The past, in this context, is treated as a fable. Its characters are mythically beautiful and elusive, its events only accountable as passing glimpses, while the lessons to be learnt from it have primarily a futuristic dimension. Looking back for the sake of reaching a better understanding of history is not necessarily included in this agenda of revitalisation of memory.

7 In the larger Turkish context of obsession with national history and heightened worries about the legitimacy and continuation of the Republican regime, these aims and products fall short of providing new outlets for addressing some of the key issues regarding the foundational identity of the modern Turkish nation. Is this a nation built upon war not only against imperialist Western powers but also against religious minorities ? Is this a nation built up of multiple ethnicities and cultures sharing the Muslim faith and some linguistic commonalities or simply a grandiose conglomeration of “Turkish people” ? Is this a nation united together in its faith in the Republican regime or did the regime acted as a buffer against the unwanted vestiges of a multi- denominational, multi-linguistic imperial Ottoman system with myriad kinds of inter- communal tensions ? What happened to the land and property of millions of Christians that left Ottoman Anatolia with no promise of return ? Who moved into their houses, who tilled their land, who took care of their orphans ? Who replaced them in the financial, cultural and social spheres ? These are only some of the questions that

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remain unanswered or even totally avoided by the revisionist movement. Their avoidance is partly due to the factor of blame that would be cast upon the parents and grandparents of the current generation of Turkish youth. Or else, they would bring to the surface all other kinds of memories of where many of today’s Turkish families initially arrived from and under which conditions they made Asia Minor their new homeland. This, in turn, would force the credibility of Turkish national history to its limits as its focal point is the rebirth of the Turkish nation assumed to have been resident in Anatolia and for centuries.

8 In this context, there are three issues that need to be opened up for debate regarding the current uses and presentation of memories pertaining to inter-communal life, exodus and multi-culturality in what was Ottoman Anatolia. First and foremost, the general historical background to the demographic make-up of Asia Minor is to be reinstated. Second, the politics of multiculturality in the Ottoman Imperial realm demand critical examination. Finally, the distinct characteristics of the socio-economic position of Ottoman Christians, particularly Orthodox Greeks as they are the most popular group for both the producers and consumers of revisionist accounts, have to be acknowledged. The combined effect of the addition to this enhanced background to the accounts of a pre- or early-Republican past would be not only its de-romanticisation. It would also involve introduction of real life actors into these stories of departure and severance. Furthermore, it could indeed show the human face of the perpetrators of forced migrations, as well. We still need more stories and accounts of Muslim migrants expelled from the Balkans and the Caucusus, Muslim businessmen not allowed to exercise their trade or not able to break into the circles of international finance and trade dominated by non-Muslim counterparts, Muslim religious leaders, soldiers and bureaucrats not willing to share power or allow the bringing down of old, rigid hierarchies in Ottoman society, and intellectuals of various background not content with what the Imperial legacy symbolised in the world at large and yearning for a recapture of their sense of pride and achievement. However, with the provision of an informed introduction to revisionist accounts, one is at least one step closer to making sense of all the suffering and loss, not only in terms of empathising with “the other”, but also in terms of reaching a better understanding of how one arrived at where one is today and at what cost.

Historical Context : Demography, Geography and Other Givens

9 The current political rhetoric suggests Turkey is a land of “99 percent Muslim” population. Revisionist accounts, on the other hand, suggest that Ottoman Anatolia was a truly polyglot society where ethno-religious communities of multiple backgrounds lived together. The historical facts lie somewhere in between. Christian communities of Asia Minor had a long history in what was known as “Ottoman Anatolia” well into World War I10. However, there was also a large Muslim population among whom the ethnic Turkish element was dominant. In this context, it is imperative that the somewhat fuzzy picture of harmonious inter-communal coexistence is replaced by a more accurate account of the demographic make-up of the late Ottoman society.

10 As already suggested, the Muslim population of the Ottoman Empire was by no means homogeneous despite the fact that ethno-linguistic differences among the Muslims

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have generally been overridden for administrative purposes11. During the nineteenth century, Anatolian Muslim communities were mainly composed of Turks, Kurds, Greek speaking Muslims (Laz) and a small number of Arabs. To these groups, later on joined the Caucasian Muslims emigrating from the Russian territories and Balkan Muslims emigrating from the newly established nation-states in the region12. In terms of gross figures, however, Muslims of Turkish ethnic descent constituted the largest ethnic group13. Both Ottoman sources and censuses of the Turkish Republic suggest that Muslims of Arab ethnicity inhabited mostly the south-east of the Asia Minor land mass, Kurds traditionally lived in the east, and Laz communities were found in the north and north-east. Peoples of Turkish ethnicity were found in every region, although they were the predominant group in Central Anatolia. Similarly, immigrants arriving from the Balkans and the Caucuses were strategically scattered around all parts of Anatolia.

11 The population distribution of Anatolian vilayets according to the 1330 (1911-1912) census also suggests that virtually all provinces had settled Greek and Armenian communities14. Christian communities of Asia Minor included Greeks and Armenians (Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant), Catholic and Orthodox Assyrians, Chaldeans and Nestorians of Anatolia, and, several others in small numbers such as Serbs, Bulgarians, Albanians and Romanians. There were also marginal communities practicing religious heterodoxies, syncretisms and different varieties of crypto-Islam15. The crucial fact is that these communities did not constitute “compact minorities” with identifiable borders that divided Anatolia into ethno-religious enclaves. Rather, Ottoman Anatolia was a historic example of inter-communal existence, with al the blessings and problems that come with it within an Imperial context16. Furthermore, the majority of the Christian communities that remained in Asia Minor well until the establishment of the new Turkish nation-state inhabited this land for centuries. Under the Ottoman reign, non-Muslim communities were acknowledged and incorporated into the imperial order under the rubric of the millet system. As illustrated in the next section, the costs and benefits of this political arrangement are open to debate. However, what matters in the context of demographic and geographic givens is that under the millet system, religious minorities by and large remained in their ancestral lands. During the break- up of the Empire and later the hey-days of national self-determination, on the other hand, they first became immigrants and refugees. In the first few decades of the twentieth century, they then became subjects of international treaties proposing population exchanges for the homogenisation of newly established nation-states. In particular, the political turmoil between 1914 and 1922 permanently changed the human geography of both Asia Minor and portions of the Balkan peninsula17. Finally, in the era of Republican Turkey, those who remained within the newly drawn borders became the religious minorities of Turkey, protected by laws and international treaties on paper but living in a precarious situation in reality18.

12 In the course of their changing status, the total population of Christian communities diminished radically. Admittedly, a reliable comparison of Ottoman and Republican Turkish statistics on Christian communities is by no means an easy task to achieve. To begin with, population figures belonging to specific Christian communities living in Anatolia during the pre-1923 period remain controversial to this day. During the Ottoman period, as a general rule Christians were tallied neither by ethnicity nor by language but only by religious denomination. This meant that ethnic and linguistic differences largely remained unaccounted for19. Population estimates on ethno- religious groups of the Empire are thus derived from suggestions of European scholars

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or emissaries, who traditionally relied upon religious leaders' counts or self-estimates by the communities20. During the Republican era, the censuses did include entries on mother tongue and religion up to 1965. However, ethnicity was not used as an entry. Consequently, neither before 1923 nor after 1965 do we have reliable and organised data that could reveal the changing population dynamics within ethnically distinct Christian communities. Meanwhile, the period between 1923 and 1965 provides significant information for educated estimates based on a combination of data on mother tongue and religion. Within this period, the first full-fledged Republican census taken in October 1927 is a particularly important source of information revealing population composition in Anatolia and Thrace following the upheavals of the Balkan Wars, , and the Turkish War of Independence21. In its basic method of enumeration, the 1927 census repeats the tradition of Ottoman censuses and primarily focuses on the male populace. As a result, it underestimates the total population. It also suffers from deficiencies in the enumeration of the eastern provinces. In the meantime, what is valuable and new about the 1927 census is the fact that it categorises the entries according to “Population by Place of Birth” and “Population by Mother Tongue”. These two categories, combined with the category of religion, provide a general picture of refugees arriving in Turkey as well as a rough estimate of those who left Anatolia. Taking into consideration the correction factors for the total figures, the Muslim population of Anatolia in 1927 was 14 184 381 out of the total of 14 589 14922. This is a substantial increase from the total figure of 11 618 550 in 1922. The difference is primarily due to Muslim in-migrants from the Balkans arriving to various provinces between 1922 and 1927. As to the total Christian population, the 1911-1912 Ottoman census figures suggest that in Anatolia as a whole, 17 % of the population was non- Muslim. Out of the total of 17,5 million inhabitants, this percentage amounts to a figure of close to 3 million people. Needless to say, the difference between the 1927 estimates for the non-Muslim population of 404 768 and the 1911-1912 figures of close to 3 million signals drastic changes in demography and politics between World War I and the founding of the Republic of Turkey.

The Political Context : From Empire to Nation-State

13 Political historians of the Middle East argue that across the region, the condition of the state envisioning its nation is a common occurence. During this process, competing nationalist movements challenged each other's national narratives and counterpoised their own ethno-religious uniqueness. Therefore, traditionally ethno-religious distinctiveness came to be identified with politically volatile “compact minorities”— that is, communities concentrated in often geopolitically defensible and defined areas23. In reality, however, ethno-religious communities show a great more variation than this stereotype of irredentist-separatism suggests. They can be in the position of a majority as well as a minority, dominant, subordinate, or in alliance with others. Similarly, their membership of a chosen group, community or polity may or may not overlap with clear territorial boundaries. They may be united by a vision of a common racial and linguistic descent, belief system and confessional practices. And yet, they are equally prone to be divided by internal primordial ties, tribal membership, linguistic or denominational differences, cultural cleavages, familial linkages and regional attributes. Indeed, internal conflict and divisions reflect the predicament of Christian communities of Asia

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Minor more than the politically volatile suggestions of “Greek” or “Armenian” threats to the Empire and later to the Turkish nation-state.

14 With the rise of Greek, Armenian, Bulgarian, Albanian, Serbian, Arab and subsequently Turkish nationalisms in the Ottoman Empire, Christian communities of Asia Minor no longer belonged to a working political order. Changing circumstances commanded that they make choices concerning their political loyalties, citizenship and nationality, and eventually their place of residence. In the larger, regional context, the ending of the millet system coincided with political expressions of the resentment of Turkish preeminence. Consequently, successive nationalist regimes embarked upon demolishing the remnants of Ottoman legacy24. The (1914-1945) in particular signifies the territorial destruction and total annihilation of the Ottoman Empire. Political changes in this period laid the foundations of a new state system in both the Balkans and the Middle East. By the 1960s, territorial states of a post-imperial and post-protectorate era were already parading as the nation-states of the foreseeable future25. Meanwhile, up until the present day, problems around ethno-religious minorities and political pluralism remain largely unresolved. Beneath the surface of formal institutional continuity, bureaucratic and military strength, and, central rule lie the troubled waters of political and cultural integration as well as recurrent waves of ethno-religious unrest.

15 Retaining the allegiance and securing the loyalty of ethno-religious communities to the state and central government is crucial for political stability and establishment of legitimate rule. However, some regimes resort to a short-cut and opt of radical demographic re-arrangements such as forced migration or cleansing of select minorities. What would be the foundations of a people's claim for nationhood under such circumstances ? While factors such as population size and ethno-religious or linguistic homogeneity, economic resources, military strength, or structures of bureaucratic centralisation shed light on the mechanisms of state-building, they illustrate little about the distinct character of a national polity and the citizenship contract it embraces. In this larger context, although the term itself has been contentious since the critical work of Braude and Lewis, the principles behind the Ottoman millet system provide critical clues about the backbones of many a national revival movement across the Balkans and the Middle East. The millet system, whether a coded term used primarily in foreign correspondence by the Ottoman state26 or a socio- political reality larger than the dictates of Ottoman central bureaucracy27, was the key administrative tool developed to account for the ethno-religious diversity within the borders of the Empire. It allowed a high degree of flexibility around issues of language, religion, ethnicity, distinct cultural practices and local customs while achieving an effective level of centralisation for the incorporation of various communities into the imperial administrative, political and economic system28. Indeed, as many Ottoman historians argued, the actual practice of the regulations and restrictions that came with this political system exhibited a great degree of variation depending on the individual situation of a given non-Muslim community as well as the personality and politics of local administrators. As a result, ethno-religious communities who were clustered into Greek, Armenian or Jewish millets with large administrative brush-strokes remained more or less independent in their linguistic, ethnic and local religious affairs. These separate communal and religious identities ascribed by the millet system then delivered a vocabulary of cultural uniqueness to the cadres of nationalist revolutionaries across

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the Empire. The young nation-states of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century burgeoning across former Ottoman territories aspired to the modern notion of a territorially sanctified secular state while simultaneously enhancing exclusively defined ethno-religious identities29.

16 The first major millet, the Orthodox Rum, was established in 1454. The Orthodox Christians of Asia Minor, the Middle East and the Balkans were thus brought together under a single religious authority. The Armenian millet with its own patriarchate was established in 1461. Unlike the Greek Orthodox community, the Armenians did not have a patriarchate in Constantinople before the Ottoman conquest30. Their ecclesiastical centers were the See of Etchmiadzin and the See of Cilicia. Then the Jewish millet was founded as yet another pillar in Ottoman administration. The Chief Rabbinate of the Ottoman Empire, however, did not survive the “centrifugal pressures” resulting from the large-scale Jewish immigration from the Iberian peninsula and ceased to be the single authority for all the Jewish communities with different cultural and linguistic traditions31. In this early order of things, the Greek and Armenian communities represented Christian subjects of the Ottoman Empire in the West and the East, respectively. The patriarchates in Constantinople assumed a central position vis-à- vis all other patriarchates due to their proximity to the Palace and thus to the heart of Ottoman bureaucracy. Meanwhile, the Greek and Armenian patriarchates were not furnished with rights to infringe upon the ethno-linguistic integrity of the multiplicity of communities under their jurisdiction. They were ordained to function in the manner of “umbrella organizations”. As numerous ancient churches of the East were included in the Ottoman territories, Copts, Maronites, Jacobites and other smaller and unorthodox sects of Christianity entered the domain of Ottoman rule. The autonomous survival of these various ethno-religious communities were guaranteed by a highly developed system of local administration based on rural or town quarter representation. In this context, the basic organizational unit of the millet system was not larger than the family-unit within a given community32. Indeed, the millet system cannot be identified with significant territorial divisions compared to administrative or political units such as the eyalet. Instead, it accounts for an abstract mapping of the ethno-religious communities within the Ottoman territories. Consequently, the millet system simultaneously encouraged religious universalism and administrative parochialism.

17 Meanwhile, the millet system was a mixed blessing in areas other than efficient imperial administration. To start with, in conjunction with the regular practice of sürgün (planned and selective forced migration) pursued to provide a “balanced” distribution of communities across the vast geography of the Empire, the Ottoman administrative apparatus has often been accused of a benign neglect towards the communal autonomy of non-Muslims and their right to their ancestral lands and property33. Similarly, the devsirme system based on the periodic levy of unmarried male children from the Christian peasantry of the Empire to be trained as Ottoman soldiers and bureaucrats after their conversion to Islam is commonly identified as an absolute abridging of the rights of Christian communities living under the Ottoman rule. Finally, the constitutional basis of the Ottoman millet system was the Islamic principle of recognition of the “Peoples of the Book”, which accorded them protection as dhimmis34. The term “religious tolerance” usually indicates the willingness of a dominant religious community to live side by side with members of other faiths35. In the case of the poly- ethnic Ottoman state, however, religious tolerance was offered to the “People of the

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Book” if and when they unequivocally recognised the primacy of Islam and the supremacy of Muslims. In this sense, the main noteworthy feature of the millet system appears to be the identification of non-Muslims as a category of Ottoman subjects divided within themselves according to their attachment to one of the three main faiths recognised by the Ottoman state well into the nineteenth century (Greek and Armenian Patriarchates and Jewish Rabbinate). Furthermore, it is commonly argued that although Greeks, Armenians and Jews had the same status as subjects of the Ottoman Sultan, there was a substantial difference in terms of how they came under such authority, and how they were treated from that point onwards. The Sephardic Jews migrated to the Ottoman lands for protection whereas the Greek and Armenian communities became subjects of Ottoman authority as a result of military conquests and invasions. Therefore, as far as cultural memories were concerned, the dictates of the millet system did not suffice to override the nationalist fervor of the nineteenth century to create a tradition of equality among cohabiting confessional communities. Instead, its emphasis on confessional distinctions insured a continued sense of ethnic and political separateness and unequal access to power based on such differences. Differing and sometimes hostile perceptions of other non-Muslims among Greek, Armenian and Jewish communities, dictated by religious biases and conflicting views of their communal histories and attachment to land, further clouded inter-communal relations36. Competing economic interests among non-Muslim communities as well as between Muslims and non-Muslims was yet another significant factor mitigating intercommunal friction, particularly among members of the classes engaged in commerce, finance and trade.

18 On the question of how long the millet system stayed in effect, arguments vary. However, there is common agreement that its inevitable death was signalled by the erosion of the distinct position of non-Muslims in 1856 in exchange for equal rights to all Ottoman subjects37. The subsequent process of absolute centralisation of state power that started with the Tanzimat reforms in the Ottoman Empire came together with politics of cultural and linguistic homogenisation that targeted the former millets38. With the establishment of the Republican regime in 1923, remaining Ottoman Christians were added into the “religious minorities” of Turkey. In the Lausanne Treaty (1923), they were accorded the right to speak their communal language, and to maintain and perpetuate their religion39.However, the Jacobin logic espoused by the cadres of the secular Turkish Republic favoured their total or near-total assimilation. As studies on Jewish, Greek Orthodox and other non-Muslim communities indicate, however, patterns of assimilation of non-Muslim communities did not exactly follow what was envisaged by the new Turkish state40. The dissolution of a once-widespread network of local communities following waves of emigration and compulsory population exchanges brought about the formation of compact minority communities. Among the Jewish, Greek and Armenian communities of Istanbul, communal structures led to the development of mechanisms of closure in order to perpetuate these group’s linguistic and religious identity in a rapidly changing and ethno-religiously homogenised Turkish society. Particularly after the 1960s and the massive forced exodus of Greeks of Istanbul, the combination of bureaucratic secularisation in Turkish society and a rise of Islamic ideologies in the political arena fed into the formation of self-affirming and yet simultaneously insecure gestures among the remaining non- Muslim communities. Consequently, once espoused by the millet system for the purposes of “good governance” under the Ottoman rule, religious difference became a

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legal stigma ordaining the lives of Christian communities in Republican Turkey. Even with their ever diminishing numbers in select metropoles and their aging population, they are still far too visible, and all for the wrong reasons.

The Greek Christian Communities of Asia Minor

19 The last of the critical issues to be discussed with reference to the revitalisation of “refugee memories” in modern Turkish society concerns the socio-cultural and political characteristics of the life of Greek Orthodox communities under Ottoman rule. The agreed upon revisionist sentiment about their forced departure is that it created a cultural lacuna as well as an economic loss in post-Ottoman Turkish society. Meanwhile, the reasons for the growing unease among local and newly settled Muslim populace concerning the status of Ottoman Christians come forward only in the more traditionalist and nationalist literature and memoirs. Similarly, the changing and at times conflicting aspirations of Ottoman Greeks, as well as the divisions and clashes within these communities, are addressed mostly in passing. This gap in both knowledge and understanding has to be closed to make sense of what prompted the massive forced exodus of historic communities to be overseen not only by rings of Independence fighters or later, soldiers of the new Turkish Republic but also by their neighbors, friends, customers, business relations and former allies in local, regional or imperial politics. Otherwise, history is prone to repeat itself albeit in different contexts as the lessons from it are yet to be learnt.

20 Until the end of the eighteenth century, Greek Orthodox communities of Asia Minor and the Middle East distinguished themselves based on three overlapping cultural worlds41. The most circumscribed and immediate of these was the local community within which an individual was born to and raised. It provided a sense of identity via its traditions, customs and social structure. Those who left their immediate communities and migrated elsewhere could still remain as part of it by retaining its particular customs and keeping the memory of their “place of origin” live. The second world of culture for an Ottoman Orthodox Greek was that of the larger confessional community. It symbolized commitment to a particular religious belief and to the hierarchical order that came with it. The world of Greek Orthodox Church was not bound by time or space, as one's immediate local community was. Nor, given the immense ethnic diversity of Greek Orthodox Christians scattered around the Empire, did it exclusively use the language of a particular ethnic group. In addition, the Church suffered from a peculiar tension within the institution itself. On the one hand, it bore the historically significant authority of Byzantine Hellenism. On the other, it was bound by the authority of the Ottoman Empire and was therefore reduced to be part of the larger mosaic of millets dictated by the imperial political system. Consequently, although essential for the Greek Orthodox identity, the Greek Orthodox Church was characterised more by paradoxes than by certainty. The third realm that shaped the life of Ottoman Greek Orthodox communities was what gradually became crystallised as the “Hellenic culture” by the advent of Greek nationalism. Initially, it was primarily defined in terms of language. Later on, however, territorial boundaries became the primary consideration, particularly after the 1821 Greek Revolt and the establishment of a Hellenic state42.

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21 As the Ottoman state began to show clear signs of internal fragmentation and an independent Greek state became a political reality, there was a fundamental change in the relationship between these three worlds of culture and identity which affecting the ordinary lives of ethnically Greek Christians. The founding of a Hellenic nation-state was accompanied by the creation of a set of central institutions that organised and re- focused the elements of what was deemed to be Greek. This did not necessarily mean that previous modes of identity were preempted or pulled under the dictate of a single political center. The young Greek state did, however, assume both political representation and cultural leadership of the dispersed and variegated world of Hellenism43. The new state, in a process very similar to that of the Turkish national experience to follow some 100 years later, produced a self-generated and nationalist urban bureaucracy in contradistinction to the cosmopolitan entrepreneurial middle classes of the Ottoman-Greek realm. Concomitantly, the problem arose of who has the most legitimate voice to be the spokesperson of “the Greek people” on the two sides of the Aegean Sea and around the Eastern Mediterranean littoral.

22 By the second half of the nineteenth century, individual communities residing in what remained Ottoman territories were already drifting away from the orbit of the “millet system”44. In particular, ethnic Greeks who were detached from their “place of origin” and joined the larger world of trade, commerce and bureaucracy became more attentive of matters concerning language and religion and showed great eagerness to assert their distinct identity in an increasingly cosmopolitan Ottoman urban culture45. For centuries, the Greeks of Asia Minor shared a social and political space as well as routines of everyday live with Muslims and other Christian communities--such as Armenians, Catholic and protestant Christians from various ethnic groups, and Jews. Nevertheless, by the closing years of the nineteenth century, what mattered most was not commonalities but differences. The motto of the day was the survival of the individual through the ethnic group46. Under such circumstances, narratives of Greek nationalism echoed across the Aegean Sea and found diverse expression in cities like Constantinople and Smyrna as well as the towns and the countryside. They combined with the Megali Idea of the geographic unity of all Hellenic peoples to orient the ethnically-Greek communities of Asia Minor towards integration with this new and promising “Greek world”47.

23 Not all the communities were influenced by Greek national revival to the same degree. The impact of Greek national consciousness on local Greek communities' sense of their cultural distinctiveness was significantly affected by their relative distribution--the proportion of Christians to Muslims in their area of residence--and their location within the imperial system. Within the borders of the Empire, more often than not, it is either the Orthodox Patriarchate's or the urban middle classes' attitudes that is considered worth mentioning. At one end of the spectrum of nationalist fervor, the ancient nobility of the Phanar district in Constantinople--its superior clergy as well as the lay dignitaries of the Greek Orthodox Church--and the majority of the established Greek Orthodox merchant families were opposed to acting against the status quo. On the other side, the enlightened and liberal class of members of the medical, legal and literary professions were identified as “most susceptible” to the Greek nationalist call. Still, even taken together, these two groups constituted only a minor portion of the Greek population in the Ottoman Empire. A much larger group was made up of settled rural communities outside the Greek mainland, and artisan and laboring classes in a

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range of Ottoman urban centers and towns. Those who lived in the interior of Asia Minor and were outnumbered by Muslim or non-Greek communities were considerably far away from the centers of Greek nationalist upheaval. However, they were not absent from the political project of Megali Idea. It was not only the mainland Greece that was seen as integral to the history and myths of Western European civilization48. According to both European philhellenes and Greek nationalists, ancient Hellenic culture survived among small Greek communities across Asia Minor. In this context, the Greeks of Asia Minor featured in the narratives of Greek national enlightenment as crucial compact units of culture that bore witness to the authenticity and continuum of Greek ethnic identity. Local dialects, confessional practices and and ways of life of Asia Minor Greeks thus became an essential part of this standardised and official package of cultural distinctiveness disseminated by the Hellenic Kingdom.

24 In summary, long before the total collapse of the imperial political system, the “Greek subjects” of the Ottoman Empire were faced with a difficult choice between three futures : remaining part of the Empire and changing with it in a way that secured its continuity, following the example of their fellow nationals and struggling for territorial independence, or finding a third alternative that allowed them both the opportunity to entertain their newly defined ethnic identity and to reap the benefits of their position within the empire as intermediaries in the larger world of finance, trade, and business49. Adding to the complexity of the situation, thousands of Greek nationals-- their foreign status being an asset--migrated to the major commercial centers of the Ottoman Empire in the course of the nineteenth century. They were drawn to the new possibilities in trade and liberal professions that came with the integration of the Ottoman markets into the world economy50. These migratory waves brought in new patterns of mingling between “local” and “outside” Greeks, thereby facilitating the formation of an umbrella ethnic Greek political identity. Combined with community- supported educational institutions teaching the curriculum sponsored by the Greek state across Asia Minor, Constantinople (Istanbul), Smyrna (Izmir), Trabizond (Trabzon) and Caesarea (Kayseri) became key points in the matrix of a new feeling of Greek nationhood. Furthermore, the appeal of the goal of liberating the lands of ancient heritage from “foreign forces” was unmatched in an age of political turmoil shaking the roots of the Old World Empires of Habsburgs and Ottomans. Competing political projects of “Greek ethnic liberation” included annexation of Asia minor by the Greek state, replacement of the Ottoman Empire with an Hellenic one ruled by a relative of the Orthodox Russian imperial family, or reorganisation of the Empire into a federation of autonomous states based on ethnic lineage51. It is true that economically or militarily there was very little that the new Greek state could do on its own concerning the political status of Greeks in the Ottoman Empire. Still, plans for the “liberation” of Asia Minor Greeks provoked enough of a nationalist fervor among the Ottoman bureaucratic élites against the Christian minorities. The critical issue that determined the final solution to this “problem” of dissident minorities was that of “political loyalty”. Rising cadres of both the old Ottoman and the young Turkish state were convinced that a homogeneous population in Anatolia was politically much more viable for the establishment and running of a nation-state than a microcosmic replica of the Ottoman millet system. It is under such an initiative that the 1922-1923 Compulsory Population Exchanges between Greece and Turkey took place.

25 The first wave of Greek Orthodox Christrian refugees left Asia Minor between 1912-1914. Some others, who were moved from the coastal regions to the interior of

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Asia Minor as a security measure undertaken by the Ottoman authorities, returned back to their original settlements during the years 1918-191952. Following the Greek- Turkish War of 1919-1922, however, the Greek communities who left Asia Minor during the clashes could not return back to their land and property. As they waited their faith to be determined in mainland Greece, the Aegean islands or other parts of the eastern Mediterranean, remaining ethnic Greek populace of Asia Minor was then subjected to a Compulsory Population Exchange agreed between Turkish and Greek governments. Consequently, 774 123 Greek Orthodox refugees from Asia Minor had to be resettled in Greece by 192853. This, however, is the lowest estimate regarding the numbers who were forced to leave Asia Minor. Not all refugees resettled in Greece. Some moved to Western Europe, North America or the Middle East. Secondly, there were deaths and disappearances caused by the brutal circumstances of what perhaps could count as a civil war between Muslims and Christians of Asia Minor, in addition to the casualties that occurred during the long-haul Muslim Turkish defense against invading European armies.

26 During the population exchanges, 73 000 Greek Orthodox Christians were allowed to remain in Istanbul as Turkish subjects and another 30 000 as Greek nationals, in addition to 7 000 Greek Orthodox Christians on the island of Imvros and 1 200 on the island of Tenedos54. In correspondence, 106 000 Moslems in Western Thrace were granted Greek citizenship55. However, during the 1950s, the lives of Greek Orthodox Christian communities in Turkey changed dramatically. On September 6 and 7 of 1955, violent anti-Greek riots in Istanbul led to a major exodus of the Greek communities of Istanbul56. During these mob-lead riots, 3 000 - 4 000 Greek businesses were sacked and plundered, churches were burnt down, Greek Orthodox were vandalised, more than 2 000 Greek homes were robed and Greek schools were attacked. Following this first wave of exodus from Istanbul, at the time of increased tension between Turkey and Greece over the Cyprus issue, the Greek church press was banned and the operation of the theological college was curtailed in 1963. By 1964, on the islands of Imbros and Tenedos, the teaching of Greek was prohibited at schools and community ownership of property (including schools and churches) was forbidden57. Then came the 1964 expulsion of Greek Orthodox Christians who had Greek citizenship on the grounds that they were a security threat to the Turkish state58. By September 1964, an estimated 12 000 Greeks were expelled from Turkey upon discontinuation of their residence permits. In October of the same year, another 30 000 Turkish nationals of Greek descent were reported to have left Turkey due to family ties and general discomfort59. Following the military confrontation of Greek and Turkish governments in Cyprus in 1974, the situation more or less reached a deadlock. The population of remaining Greek Orthodox communities of Asia Minor declined from 110 000 at the time of the signing of the Lausanne Treaty in 1923 to less than 2 500 today60. This includes the elderly populace of less than 500 left on the islands of Imbros and Tenedos61.

27 In the face of this sketchy portrait of the faith of Greek Orthodox Christians of Asia Minor in both late Ottoman and Republican times, it becomes harder to understand the nostalgia about intercommual living in a polyglot Empire shaken by the growing circles of separatist nationalism. Certainly, in the area of arts, crafts, architecture, cooking, music, popular culture, et cetera, both Istanbul and other parts of Ottoman Asia Minor had a much more cosmopolitan feel to them before the forced departure of large Christian communities. In the meantime, the co-existence of Muslims and Christians

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was not devoid of problems concerning the legitimacy of the Imperial system, lack of rights and representation for the Christian minorities if they remained Christian, and, power struggles culminating along class lines. The order of the day had to change, albeit not necessarily in the direction of ethnic homogenisation and massive exodus of minority groups. Still, the way things were was not satisfactory for the majority of the subjects of the Empire, be it Muslim, Christian, Jewish or secular in their attachments. This is a historical fact largely overlooked by the revivalist movement on the history of nationhood in modern Turkey. Similarly, further waves of exodus that affected the remaining Christian minorities took place under the Republican and not under the Ottoman regime. On this subject, there is less of “remembrance of the things past” and more of an inability to come to terms with one’s immediate political history62. The popularisation of Rembetika music or multi-cultural cuisine of the Ottoman times in modern Turkish society and similar causes are laudable cultural gestures in terms of protecting a heritage that is all but lost. However, as long as they are not accompanied by guarding of the cultural and political rights of the remaining Christians, protection of cultural and architectural sites, right of return or even visitation for those whose families were forced to leave Asia Minor, and a general debate on the kind of citizenship contract that the Republican regime was built upon, these gestures are forced to remain as just that and not much beyond.

Conclusion

28 Walter Benjamin argues in his sixth thesis on the philosophy of history that, « To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognize it “the way it really was”. It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger (...). The danger affects both the content of the tradition and its receivers »63. The danger Benjamin speaks of is paramount in the narration of histories of nationhood. As a self-generative and self-renewing idiom, a nation’s becoming a sovereign political unit constitutes the bedrock of national politics64. This kind of history is cultivated for the purposes of both cultural survival and revival. The history of nationhood is constructed in response to the immediate and this-worldly call of politics, be it in the cultural, economic or public spheres. Connections established between memories—whether of traditions, values, norms or communal characteristics—and the political project of sovereign statehood, provide anchorage for the self-referential definition of the national polity. Based on an account of “who we were, who we are and who we shall be”, the history of nationhood articulates a current mandate for the national polity65.

29 In this context, new takes on national history are, in a way, inevitable. With the changing times emerge new political visions, novel articulations of culture, and critical reformulations of what nationhood or citizenship mean. As the revisionist accounts of pre-Republican, Ottoman Anatolia in modern Turkey illustrate, chronicles of older ways of life are not just historical accounts : they are perpetually re-contextualised to speak to the demands of new generations. Such reiterations of stories of national becoming interweave realms of ethics, politics, culture, economics and history. There remain nonetheless limits to re-writing or re-introducing history. Although protagonists of revisionist or unorthodox politics claim the national polity as an interpretive community and call for divergences from singular statements of what the nation is, the ethical possibilities generated by such re-examinations of dominant

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nationalist movements are circumscribed by the degree to which they bring together seemingly disparate parts of the story they dare to re-member. In the Turkish case, overlooking the effects of the tragic exodus of Muslims from areas surrounding Asia Minor into the reduced borders of the Empire, as well as the deliberate shelving of economic, political, class and status based cleavages between Christian and Muslim communities residing in the Empire, lead to a romanticised look at the past. This smooth surface of memories of “the way we lived together”, constructed primarily based on the recaptured beauty of cultural artifacts, is not strong enough to serve as a mirror to the past of the modern Turkish nation. Early twentieth-century Asia Minor history has plenty of bones of contention—aspects of the millet system, problems concerning the mass of Muslim migrants who arrived to Asia Minor, and the local-level involvement of the public in the forced migrations of Christian communities to name but three. Unless such unpalatable issues are also brought onto the table and critically introduced to the political culture of the society, remembrance of things past in Asia Minor will remain merely fine-tuned nostalgia. It can hardly lead to a more pluralistic, less self-righteous re-embrace of the history of the Turkish nation.

NOTES

1. * I would like to thank Wendy Bracewell, Stephan, Kemal Kirisçi, Peter Loizos and Ferhunde Özbay for their comments and criticisms on earlier drafts of this paper. I also would like to acknowledge the generous support provided by the European Institute, London School of Economics during its completion for publication. 2. Giddens (Anthony), Modernity and Self-Identity : Self and Society in the Late Modern Age, Cambridge, UK : Polity Press, 1991. 3. There is an identifiable class of factors leading to the exodus or relocation of ethno-religious communities regardless of the religious and cultural make-up of individual countries. In particular, the work of Ted Gurr, Barbara Harf and other proponents of Early Warning Signs in international politics offer elaborate schemes of push and pull factors that shape the migratory patterns of ethno-religious minorities as well as global refugee flows. (Gurr (Ted), Harf (Barbara), « Early Warning of Communal Conflicts and Humanitarian Crises », The Journal of Ethno-Development (special issue), 4 (1), 1994 ; Gurr (Ted), Minorities at Risk : A Global View of Ethnopolitical Conflicts, Washington D.C. : United States Institute of Peace, 1993.) 4. Richmond (Anthony), Global Apartheid : refugees, racism, and the new world order,New York : Oxford University Press, 1994 ; Zolberg (Aristide), Suhkre (A.), Aguayo (S.), eds., Escape from Violence : Conflict and the Refugee Crisis in the Developing World, New York : Oxford University Press, 1989. 5. Canefe (Nergis), « Citizens versus Permanent Guests : Social and Political Effects of Immigration and Citizenship Laws in a Reunified Germany », Citizenship Studies, November 1998. 6. Soysal (Yasemin Nuhoglu), Limits of Citizenship. Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe, Chicago / London : University of Chicago Press, 1994 ; Hammar (Thomas), Democracy and the Nation-State. Aliens, Denizens and Citizens in a World of International Migration, Aldershot : Avebury, 1990.

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7. Soguk (Nevzat), States and Strangers, Wisconsin : University of Minnesota Press, 1999. 8. An exemplary but by no means exhaustive list of publications and products include Durbas (Refik), Anılarımın Kardesi Izmir (Izmir : My Memorial Brother), Istanbul : Literatür, 2001, Eksen (Ilhan), Çok Kültürlü Istanbul Mutfagı (The Multi-cultural Kitchen of Istanbul), Istanbul : Sel Yayıncılık, 2001, Bozis (Sula), Istanbul Lezzeti. Istanbul’lu Rumların Mutfak Kültürü (The Tastes of Istanbul : Culinary Culture of Istanbul’s Greeks), Istanbul : Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2000, Yorulmaz (Ahmet), Kusaklar ya da Ayvalık Yasantısı (Generations, or, Life in Ayvalık), Ayvalık : Geylan Yayınevi, 1999, Yorulmaz (Ahmet), Savasın Çocukları. Girit’ten Sonra Ayvalık (The Children of the War. Ayvalık Following Crete), Istanbul : Belge Yayınları (Marenostrum Serisi), 1997, Bıjıskyan (Minas), Pontos Tarihi (History of Pontos), Istanbul : Civi Yazıları, 1998, Yalçın (Kemal), Emanet Çeyiz : Mübadele Insanları (The Peoples of the Exhange), Istanbul : Belge Yayınları (Marenostrum Serisi), 1998, Margosyan (Mıgırdiç), Söyle Margos Nerelisen ? (Tell me Margos, Where Are you From ?), Istanbul : Aras, 1997, Mıntzuri (Hagop), Armıdan. Fırat’ın Öte Yanı (Armıdan. The Other Side of Tigris), Istanbul : Aras Yayınları, 1996, Andreadis (Yorgo), Neden Kardesim Hüsnü (Why, My Brother Hüsnü ?), Istanbul : Belge Yayınları (Marenostrum Dizisi), 1992, and, Deleon (Jack), Eski Istanbul’un Yasayan Tadı (The Still-live Tastes of Old Istanbul), Istanbul : Remzi Yayınevi, 1999 [1988]. Some of the critical and yet largely academic works written or published in Turkish on religious minorities in Ottoman and Turkish societies, on the other hand, are Özyürek (Esra), ed., Hatırladıkları ve Unuttukları ile Türkiye’nin Toplumsal Hafızası (Forgotten and Remembered : The Collective Memory of Turkish Society), Istanbul : Iletisim, 2001, Dündar (Fuat), Ittihat ve Terakki’nin Müslümanları Iskan Politikası, 1913-1918 (The Resettlement of Muslim Refugees under the rule of Committee of Union and Progress), Istanbul : Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2001, Aktar (Ayhan), Varlık Vergisi ve Türklestirme Politikaları (Capital Tax and Policies of Turkification), Istanbul : Iletisim, 2000, Bali (Rıfat), Cumhuriyet Yıllarında Türkiye Yahudiler. Bir Türklestirme Serüveni (1923-1945), Istanbul : Iletisim Yayaınları, 1999, Neyzi (Leyla), Istanbul’da Hatırlamak ve Unutmak. Birey, Bellek, Aidiyet (Remembering and Forgetting in Istanbul. Individual, Memory and Belonging), Istanbul : Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 1999, Akar (Rıdvan), (Demir) Hülya, Istanbul'un Son Sürgünleri (The Last Exiles from Istanbul), Istanbul : Iletisim Yayınları, 1994, as well as translations of Augustinos (Gerasimos), The Greeks of Asia Minor : Confession, Community and Ethnicity in the Nineteenth Century, Kent, Ohio : Kent University Press, 1993 [1997], Andrews (Peter Alford), ed., Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey, Wiesbaden : Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1989 [1992]. 9. Igsız (Aslı), « Memleket, Yurt ve Cografi Kardeslik : Arsivci Kültür Politikaları » (Motherland, Homeland and Geographic Kinship : Cultural Politics of Archival Protection), in Özyürek (Esra), ed., op. cit., pp. 153-182 10. As a controversial authority on the subject, Justin McCarthy defines Ottoman Anatolia as « [s]treched from the Iranian border in the east to the Aegean and Marmara Seas in the west and from the Black Sea in the north to the Mediterranean in the south » (McCarthy (Justin), Muslims and Minorities. The Population of Ottoman Anatolia at the End of the Empire, New York / London : New York University Press, 1983, p. 1). 11. Pre-Republican censuses reflect the theocratic-bureaucratic nature of the Ottoman state broadly categorising its subjects according to their religious denomination. Subsequent demographic research during the Republican era also refers to Muslims as a unified group. This phenomenon goes hand in hand with the re-ethnicised the Muslim population of Anatolia as primarily Turkish. For futher debate on this issue, see Bora (Tanıl), « Turkish National Identity, Turkish Nationalism and the Balkan Problem », in Ozdogan (Günay Göksu), Saybasılı (Kemali), eds., Balkans. A Mirror of the New International Order, Istanbul : Eren Yayıncılık, 1995. 12. Karpat (Kemal H.), Ottoman Population 1830-1914. Demographic and Social Characteristics, Wisconsin : The University of Wisconsin Press, 1983, chapter 4.

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13. Behar (Cem), The Population of the Ottoman Empire and Turkey. 1500-1927, Ankara : State Institute of Statistics Publication, 1996 ; McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., p. 7 ; Davison (Roderic), « Nationalism as an Ottoman Problem and the Ottoman Response », in Haddad (William W.), Ochsenwald (William), eds., Nationalism in a non-National State : The Dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, Columbus : Ohio State University Press, 1977, p. 29. 14. McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., pp. 114-115, tables 6.1 & 6.2. 15. Davison (Roderic), loc. cit., p. 35. In the 1330 statistics provided by McCarthy, there is a category of “Others” listed under each vilayet, which most likely refers to heterodox Christian and crypto-Muslim communities. Their numbers amount to a total of 31 604 (McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., p. 115). 16. One reason for the wide-spread diffusion of Greek and Armenian communities was the changing politico-economic structure of the Ottoman Empire particularly during the nineteenth century. As a result, there was considerable rural to urban migration and a move towards coastal cities and newly emerging trade centers (Kasaba (Resat), The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy. The Nineteenth Century, Albany : State University of New York Press, 1988 ; Keyder (Çaglar), State and Class in Turkey. A Study in Capitalist Development, London / New York : Verso, 1987). Meanwhile, the experience of marginal groups such as Syrian, Chaldean and Nestorian Christians was different in the sense that they were concentrated in the southern/south-eastern vilayets of Adana, Bitlis, Mamuretülaziz, Diyarbakır, Van and Erzurum and traditionally stayed isolated in their original settlements. 17. By 1922 « 3,5 million Anatolian Muslims, Greeks and Armenians, and uncounted Nestorians, Chaldeans, and others, had lost their lives--more than one-fifth of the population. Another 1,8 million had emigrated to other lands (...). Centuries of Anatolian Christianity had come to an end » (McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., p. 139). 18. Akar (Rıdvan), (Demir) Hülya, op. cit. ; Bahceli (Tozun), Greek-Turkish Relations Since 1955, Boulder, Co. : Westview Press, 1990 ; Alexandris (Alexis), The Greek Minority of Istanbul and Greek- Turkish Relations 1918-1974, Athens : Center for Asia Minor Studies, 1983. 19. Well into the later part of the nineteenth century, statistical information pertaining to the unified category of Muslims in Ottoman documents is regarded reliable due to the need of accurate recording of Muslim males for conscription. The administrative initiative to have an accurate count of non-Muslims for purposes of higher taxation became a growing concern only towards the end of the Ottoman reign (Karpat (Kemal H.), op. cit.). 20. Marashlian (Levon), Politics and Demography. Armenians, Turks, and Kurds in the Ottoman Empire, Cambridge, MA. : Zoryan Institute Publications, 1991. 21. McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., pp. 145-147. Comparison with later censuses of Republican Turkey reveals that the 1927 census undercounts the total population. 22. McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., p. 159. 23. For a contextual analysis of the term “compact minorities”, see Itamar Rabinovitch's classical study (Rabinovich (Itamar), « The Compact Minorities and the Syrian State, 1918-1945 », Journal of Contemporary History, 14, 1979). 24. Comprehensive analyses of the Ottoman legacy across Southeast Europe became available only recently. For decades, Kemal Karpat's work on the legacy of the millet system (Karpat (Kemal H.), An Inquiry into the Social Foundations of Nationalism in the Ottoman State : From Social Estates to Classes, from Millets to Nations, Princeton, N.J. : Princeton University Center of International Studies [Research Monograph No. 39], 1973) and S. D. Salamone's comparative analysis of Turkish and Greek nationalism (Salamone (S. D.), Hellenism and the Nationalist Crisis in Greco-Turkish Historiography, New York : Council on International Studies [Special Studies No. 141], 1981) remained as the main references for those who were not Ottoman scholars. Publications such as Faroqhi (Suraiya), Approaching Ottoman history. An Introduction to the Sources, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1999 (1984), Barkey (Karen), von Hagen (Mark), After

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Empire : Multiethnic Societies and Nation-Building, Boulder, Colorado : Westview Press, 1997, Todorova (Maria), Imagining the Balkans, New York : Oxford University Press, 1997, Brown (Carl), ed., Imperial Legacy : The Ottoman Imprint on the Balkans and the Middle East, New York : Columbia University Press, 1996, Kafadar (Cemal), Between Two Worlds. The Construction of the Ottoman State, Berkeley, CA : University of California Press, 1995, Faroqhi (Suraiya), Berktay (Halil), eds., New Approaches to State and Peasantry in Ottoman History, London : Frank Cass, 1992, constitute a notable if still overlooked challenge to the general adversity towards the legacy of the Ottoman rule in the Balkans. They also embody the closing of the gap between studies on Ottoman Middle East, Ottoman Turkey and the Ottoman Balkans. 25. Baram (Amatzia), « Territorial Nationalism in the Middle East », Middle Eastern Studies, 26, 1990 ; Rabinovih (Itamar), Esman (Milton), eds., Ethnicity, Pluralism and the State in the Middle East, Ithaca : Cornell University Press, 1988. 26. Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire, 2 vols., Princeton, New Jersey : Princeton University Press, 1982. 27. Karpat (Kemal H.), op. cit., 1983. 28. Ibid. 29. Karpat (Kemal H.),« Millets and Nationality : The Roots of the Incongruity of Nation and State in the Post-Ottoman Era », in Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit. « Nationality, in the sense of ethnic-national identity, drew its essence from the religious-communal experience in the millet, while citizenship--a secular concept--was determined by territory. In effect, the political, social and cultural crises which have buffeted the national states in the Balkans and the Middle East since their emergence can be attributed in large measure to the incompatibility of the secular idea of state with the religious concept of nation rooted in the [Ottoman] millet philosophy » (Ibid., p. 141). 30. Bardakjian (Kevork B.), « The Rise of the Armenian Patriarchate in Constantinople », in Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit. 31. Kastoryano (Riva), « From Millet to Community : The Jews of Istanbul », in Rodrigue (Aron), Ottoman and Turkish Jewry. Community and Leadership, Bloomington : Indiana University [Turkish Studies 12], 1992. 32. Karpat (Kemal H.), op. cit., 1983. 33. Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit., pp. 11-12. 34. « In Muslim law and practice, the relationship between the Muslim state and the non-Muslim communities to which it extended its tolerance and protection was conceived as regulated by a pact called dhimma ; those benefitting from it were known as ahl al-dhimma, people of the pact, or more briefly dhimmis. » (Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit., p. 5) 35. Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit., « Introduction ». 36. Needless to say, when a common interest was concerned, non-Muslim communities would cooperate. For instance, Augustinos gives the example of Greek Orthodox and Armenian communities working together in the Anatolian town of Aydın to change the market day so that it won't coincide with their sabbath (Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit., pp. 203-204). However, such cooperation was event-based rather than being strong enough to provide a united-front of shared interests. Instead, the leadership of each non-Muslim community strived to take care of their own immediate interests and made individual agreements with the Ottoman authorities. 37. Kushner (David), The Rise of Turkish Nationalism, London : Frank Cass, 1977. 38. The institutions of religious minorities were to be run in accordance with the Vakıf law passed in 1935. Vakıfs are non-profit institutions which derive their revenues from contributions by the members of a given community. They are autonomous in their administration and in their decision-making process concerning the functioning of the institution itself. Since 1960, however, Vakıfs have been limited in their expenditure in areas related to the renovation of religious sites and buildings as well as acquiring new acquisitions such as land, school buildings,

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etc. (Kastoryano (Riva), loc. cit., p. 260). This had a direct impact on the way non-Muslim minorities organized their daily lives and communal activities (Akar (Rıdvan), (Demir) Hülya, op. cit.). 39. Helsinki Watch Report, Denying Human Rights and Ethnic Identity : The Greeks of Turkey, Human Rights Watch Publications, 1992. According to Article 39, « [N]o restrictions shall be imposed on the free use by any Turkish national of any language in private intercourse, in commerce, religion, in the press, or in publications of any kind or at public meetings. Notwithstanding the existence of the official language, adequate facilities shall be given to Turkish nationals of non- Turkish speech for the oral use of their language before the Courts ». Also see Article 40, « Turkish nationals belonging to non-Moslem minorities shall enjoy the same treatment and security in law and in fact as other Turkish nationals. In particular, they shall have equal rights to establish, manage and control at their own expense, any charitable, religious and social institutions, any schools or other establishments for instruction and education, with the right to use their own language and their own religion freely therein » (, Section III. Protection of Minorities, cited in Helsinki Watch Report on The Greeks of Turkey 1992, Appendix D). 40. For instance, Riva Kastoryano states that « The passage from the pluralistic Empire to a Turkish nation state, far from leading to the assimilation of its minorities, has paradoxically led instead to the relative closure of the Jewish community » (Kastoryano (Riva), loc. cit., p. 254). Similar arguments are found in Alexis Alexandris' work on Greek communities of Istanbul (Alexandris (Alexis), « Imbros and Tenedos : A Study in Turkish Attitudes Toward Two ethnic Greek Island Communities since 1923 », Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora, 7 (1), 1990). Meanwhile, not all non-Muslim communities remained numerous enough to choose relative isolation. The Armenian communities as well as smaller unorthodox Christian groups are known to have diminished in size during the Republican years to such an extent that they almost reached a point of total disappearance in 1990s. One should also note that since there is no longer a category of religious or linguistic origins in the census data after 1965, the estimated numbers for the population of these communities are primarily provided by their own religious and communal registries. 41. Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit., pp. 186. 42. Geographically, Greek national revival was articulated in terms of an open space of urban and coastal commercial centers as well as ancient rural communities across the territories of the Ottoman Empire (Clogg (Richard), Goncidas (Dimitri), eds., Ottoman Greeks in the Age of Nationalism, Princeton, New Jersey : Darwin Press, 1999 ; Clogg (Richard), ed., Anatolica.Studies in the Greek East in the 18th and 19th Centuries, Variorum : Aldershot & Vermont, 1996). 43. Clogg (Richard), Goncidas (Dimitri), eds., op. cit. ; Kitromilides (Paschalis), Enlightenment, Nationalism, Orthodoxy. Studies in the Culture and Political Thought of South-eastern Europe, Varioum : Aldershot and Vermont, 1994 ; Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit. ; Jusdanis (Gregory), Belated Modernity and Aesthetic Culture. Inventing National Literature, Minneapolis / Oxford : University of Minnesota Press, 1991 ; Herzfeld (Michael), Ours Once More : Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modern Greece, Austin : University of Texas Press, 1982. 44. Referring to the Tanzimat reforms, Augustinos argues that « Under the cold light of a new political era the peoples reacted by viewing the imperial government and the Muslim population in ever darker ethnic terms » (Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit., p. 189). Following the Millet Reform of the Tanzimat era in the Ottoman Empire, ethno-religious distinctions were transmuted into solid lines of ethnic differentiation along with growing political and cultural mistrust among communities. Under such circumstances, anti-Greek sentiments among the other non-Muslim Ottoman communities protesting the Greek superiority within the Orthodox Church furthered the Greek communities' awareness of their cultural difference. 45. Clogg (Richard), ed., op. cit. ; Clogg (Richard), « The Greek Millet in the Ottoman Empire », in Braude (Benjamin), Lewis (Bernard), eds., op. cit.

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46. Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit., pp. 191-192. 47. By the 1870s, Greek intellectuals and elite, whether in the kingdom or in the Ottoman or Russian Empires, developed a common appreciation of their past through a coherent narrative of national history (Clogg (Richard), Goncidas (Dimitri), eds., op. cit. ; also Clogg (Richard), loc. cit.). 48. Jusdanis (Gregory), op. cit. 49. Clogg (Richard), loc. cit.. 50. Pamuk (Sevket), The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy (1820-1913), Cambrigde : Cambridge University Press, 1987. 51. Augustinos (Gerasimos), op. cit. 52. Ladas (Stephen P.), The Exchange of Minorities : Bulgaria, Greece and Turkey, New York : MacMillan, 1932, p. 16. 53. Greek Census of 1928, cited in McCarthy (Justin), op. cit., p. 131. These figures do not include the number of deaths between 1922-1928 that occured within the refugee communities. McCarthy suggests that when the deaths are included, the total amounts to 850 000 (Ibid., p. 132) 54. Imvros (Turkish name : Gökçeada) and Tenedos (Turkish name : Bozcaada) are two small islands in the northeast corner of the Aegean sea, near the mouth of Dardanelles. Part of the Ottoman Empire since 15th century, they were captured by Greece in 1912 during the Balkan Wars. The islands were reverted to Turkey in 1923 due to security reasons. In 1920, Imvros was inhabited almost entirely by Greek Christians and Tenedos had close to an eighty percent Greek Christian population. Taking into consideration these demographic factors, Lausanne Treaty of 1923 established a special status for both Imvros and Tenedos concerning the rights of the Greek communities for local administration, the nature of the local police force and the protection of persons and property (Helsinki Watch Report, op. cit., pp.27-32). Furthermore, the Greek residents of the islands were entitled to remain on the islands and they were thus protected by the minority provisions of the Lausanne Treaty (Alexandris (Alexis), loc. cit.). For more on Imvros, see Tsimouris (Giorghos), « Reconstructing “home” among the “enemy” »(this volume). 55. Helsinki Watch Report, op. cit. 56. Akar (Rıdvan), (Demir) Hülya, op. cit. 57. Again on the islands, between 1960 and 1990, an estimated number of 200 churches and chapels have been abandoned or destroyed (Helsinki Watch Report, op. cit., p 28). 58. Helsinki Watch Report, op. cit., p. 9, footnote 12. 59. Ibid. 60. Helsinki Watch Report, op. cit. ; Alexandris (Alexis), loc. cit. According to Alexandris, the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate estimated that during 1920s there were close to 250 000 Greeks in Istanbul in 1923, approximately 150 000 of whom left during the population exchanges. 61. Akar (Rıdvan), (Demir) Hülya, op. cit. 62. Bali (Rıfat), « Toplumsal Bellek ve Varlık Vergisi » (Collective Memory and the Capital Tax), in Özyürek (Esra), ed., op. cit. 63. Benjamin (Walter), « Theses on the Philosophy of History », in idem., Illuminations, New York : Schocken Books, 1968, p. 255. 64. For a critical re-evaluation of the relationship between history and myth, see Ginzburg (Carlo), Clues, Myths and the Historical Method, Baltimore : John Hopkins University Press, 1989. 65. For further debate on the relationship between history, tradition, and memory, see Lewis (Bernard), The Emergence of Modern Turkey, Oxford : Oxford University Press, 1975. Although Bernard Lewis’s attempts to limit the effects of myth-making to “colonial or Islamic cultures” only are alarming, his depiction of how myths work in the context of history-writing is lucid.

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INDEX

Mots-clés : Déplacements de population, Migrations, Réfugiés Index géographique : Asie mineure, Grèce, Turquie

AUTEUR

NERGIS CANEFE Research Associate, The European Institute, London School of Economics and Political Science

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De l’historicité à l’ethnicité : Les Egéens ou ces autres Macédoniens

Miladina Monova

1 Lorsque l’ethnicité se place au fondement de l’organisation sociale et politique de la société, elle développe également une capacité créatrice : celle de produire de nouvelles identités collectives “à part”, alors même que ces dernières se reconnaissent comme appartenant à la même nation. Tel est le cas de la catégorie “Egéens”, identifiant la population slavomacédonienne ayant fuit entre 1946-1948 la Guerre civile en Grèce.

2 Avec leur installation en République yougoslave de Macédoine, les réfugiés sont engagés dans deux logiques d’identification différentes. L’une, institutionnelle, qui repose sur la volonté politique d’intégration de l’Etat fédéral qui les accueille en tant que Macédoniens ethniques, reconnus sous le nom de « Macédoniens de la partie égéenne de la Macédoine »1. L’autre, que l’on observe dans les rapports au quotidien, se décline sur le mode de la différence pour produire de l’exclusion. De la rencontre de ces deux usages a priori contradictoires de l’ethnicité naît l’attribution catégorielle ou ascription2 “Egéen” ( Egejci). Nom d’usage entre Macédoniens d’origine locale, à connotation péjorative, il implique pour les Macédoniens d’origine égéenne une dénégation de leur appartenance à la nation macédonienne.

3 Dans cet article, nous allons tenter d’analyser le parcours social et politique des Macédoniens égéens à partir de leur établissement en République yougoslave de Macédoine. Un exemple d’enquête menée dans la ville de Prilep viendra illustrer le processus de transformation du lien social entre Macédoniens “locaux”3 et Macédoniens égéens, qui va de l’exclusion à l’acceptation par et dans le groupe dominant, notamment pour les individus de la seconde génération.

Une question de départ

4 Le nom de Egejci en tant qu’identité attribuée par la société d’accueil ne désigne pas seulement le lieu d’origine du groupe de réfugiés, la Macédoine d’Egée. Il est avant tout marqueur d’un événement fondateur : l’exode de la population slavomacédonienne,

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provoqué par la Guerre civile grecque. Pourtant, nombreux sont les Locaux âgés de plus de 50 ans dont un grand-père ou une grand-mère sont originaires de la Macédoine d’Egée et se sont établis en Macédoine du Vardar lors des guerres balkaniques. Mais dans le langage courant, appeler Egejec un aïeul originaire par exemple de Kukuš (Kilkis), et arrivé en 1915, semble maladroit et l’informateur se fait corriger par l’auditoire : « Il était de la Macédoine d’Egée mais il n’était pas Egejec. Les Egejci, ce sont les gens venus avec la Guerre civile ».

5 De telles observations conduisent l’observateur à s’interroger sur le contenu historique et politique du nom Egejci, alors même que ce groupe fait partie d’un ensemble dont les membres se considèrent comme Macédoniens ethniques.

L’événement fondateur : la Guerre civile en Grèce

6 C’est dans la région de la Macédoine égéenne du nord, à forte présence slave, que la Guerre civile sévit le plus. Les combats opposent l’Armée Démocratique Grecque (ADG), sous le contrôle du Parti Communiste Grec (PCG), et l’armée gouvernementale défendant le régime de la droite monarchiste instauré à Athènes et soutenu par les alliés occidentaux. Le régime en place puise sa légitimité anticommuniste dans les accords de Yalta, qui placent la Grèce dans le camp occidental.

7 Dès l’année 1947-1948, les effectifs des forces communistes diminuent progressivement et le combat se transforme en guérilla. Les forces gouvernementales secondées par les alliés britanniques et américains sont plus puissantes et Staline ne soutient pas l’initiative solitaire du PCG. Ce dernier s’appuie essentiellement sur le soutien politique et logistique yougoslave4.

8 La guérilla se maintient surtout dans les parties montagneuses de la Macédoine grecque, proches des frontières yougoslave et albanaise. Dans ces régions, les partisans déclarent “zone libre” des groupements de villages situés entre le lac de Prespa et le nord des villes de Florina (Lerin), Kastorja (Kostur) de Edessa (Voden). Ici se trouve la plus largement représentée la minorité slave qui avait fait l’objet d'un échange de populations entre la Bulgarie et la Grèce au lendemain de la Première Guerre mondiale5. Lors de la Guerre civile, celle-ci est reconnue au sein du PCG comme “slavomacédonienne” et elle est représentée par une institution politique et militaire, le NOF (Front de Libération Nationale). En Macédoine d’Egée, les forces communistes s’appuient essentiellement sur les combattants du NOF6. Du point de vue de l’historiographie macédonienne, la minorité macédonienne en Grèce rejoint le combat du PCG au nom des libertés qui lui seront accordées à la suite de la libération du “monarcho-fascisme”7. Tout au long de son existence et malgré la méfiance des dirigeants communistes grecs, le mouvement slavomacédonien s’inspire du projet macédonien yougoslave et parmi les dirigeants du NOF, nombreux sont ceux qui souhaitent une unification de la Macédoine grecque avec la Macédoine yougoslave8. Le dirigeant yougoslave Tito, jusqu’à la rupture avec Staline, ne cache pas lui-même ses aspirations territoriales en Macédoine grecque. Le PCG n’a pas l’autorité suffisante pour imposer sa propre solution à la question macédonienne, étant, de surcroît entièrement dépendant de l’aide yougoslave.

9 Pour toutes ces raisons, comme le remarque l’historien Andrew Rossos, les partisans communistes grecs et les partisans du NOF étaient des “alliés incompatibles”9. Fondamentalement, leurs objectifs divergent dès le début. Pour le PCG, il s’agit d’un

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combat idéologique contre le pouvoir répressif de la droite monarchiste qu’il vise à renverser. Pour le NOF, il s’agit essentiellement d’un combat national qui ne cherche pas à dissimuler son intention de rattacher un jour la Macédoine grecque à la Macédoine yougoslave.

10 Après la défaite en août 1949, le PCG doit déposer les armes et justifier sa ligne idéologique “slavo-communiste”. Une large partie de la société grecque lui reproche d’avoir trahi la cause nationale grecque en reconnaissant une minorité slave. Les partis de droite réclament la vengeance. Comme le remarque A. Karakasidou, être à la fois “communiste” et “slave de Macédoine” signifie aux yeux des autres Grecs être “sécessionniste”10. Les combattants du NOF et leurs familles, menacées de représailles, n’ont pas d’autre choix que de passer la frontière11.

11 Comme le souligne l’anthropologue L. Danforth, pour cette partie de la population slave en Grèce qui se battait du côté des communistes, la période de la Guerre civile est une période “cruciale”12 pour le développement de leur identité nationale macédonienne. Pour beaucoup de familles séparées de part et d’autre de la frontière, le clivage politique est devenu aussi national. Les “communistes” fuient la défaite en Yougoslavie et rejoignent ainsi le projet national macédonien. Quant aux soldats slavomacédoniens qui combattaient du côté de l’armée gouvernementale, ils se sont généralement reconnus dans l’appartenance nationale grecque.

12 Jusqu’en 1954, la Macédoine yougoslave accueille avec “enthousiasme”13 les réfugiés et sa priorité est de les établir dans des logements neufs. D’après les rapports des diplomates français, cet enthousiasme des autorités politiques de retombe brusquement à partir de cette date. En outre, les queues devant le Consulat grec témoignent de la volonté de retour des “Slaves macédoniens”14. Les amnisties promulguées par les différents gouvernements grecs ont ramené les combattants communistes “grecs ethniques” mais elles n’ont jamais été appliquées pour ceux qui se déclarent comme “Macédoniens” et revendiquent une identité slave. En République de Macédoine, ces derniers constituent aujourd’hui la première génération de “Macédoniens de la partie égéenne de la Macédoine”.

13 Une autre catégorie importante de Egejci, au parcours différent, est composée de ceux qui se nomment encore de nos jours les “enfants-réfugiés” (deca-begalci). Au début du mois de mars 1948, plus d’un an avant la fin de la guerre, quelque 25 000 enfants sont évacués en Yougoslavie par les partisans. Le projet des communistes était de les transférer dans les pays kominformistes jusqu’à la fin de la guerre afin de les protéger des bombardements. D’autre part, l’éloignement des enfants dans une zone de sécurité rend entièrement disponibles les parents, hommes et femmes, pour participer aux combats. Pour le gouvernement grec, au contraire, il s’agit d’un “rapt” ou un enlèvement (paidomazoma), dans la tradition turque des janissaires.

14 Ces enfants séjournent plusieurs années dans des centres d’accueil en Yougoslavie, Pologne, Tchécoslovaquie, Roumanie, Hongrie, sous le contrôle de cadres dirigeants des PCG et du NOF. A la fin des années 1950, une partie des deca-begalci macédoniens rejoignent leurs parents réfugiés dans le Nouveau Monde - aux Etats Unis, en Australie et au Canada. La majorité retournent avec leurs parents proches en Yougoslavie et en République de Macédoine. L’éducation reçue dans les pays d’accueil a transformé ces “enfants” d’origine rurale en une élite essentielle au développement de la société macédonienne. Le statut de deca begalci est profondément intériorisé par ces derniers

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qui commémorent tous les ans leur exil. Leurs associations et organisations sont particulièrement actives15.

Le contexte politique macédonien

15 En République de Macédoine, les réfugiés slavomacédoniens sont accueillis comme des patriotes macédoniens. Dès leur arrivée en Yougoslavie, ils font l’objet d’un traitement particulier par rapport à l’ensemble des apatrides d’origine grecque. Ceux qui séjournent dans les villages en Voïvodine sont triés en fonction de leur narodnost (nationalité) : les “Grecs” dans le village de Buljkes, les “Macédoniens” dans les villages de Gakovo et Kruševlje16, près de la frontière hongroise. Au mois d’août 1949, un an après la rupture entre Staline et Tito, les communistes grecs basés à Buljkes, eux-mêmes victimes des purges de type stalinien au sein du Parti, quittent le territoire yougoslave pour les pays alignés sur l’URSS. Les leaders slavomacédoniens en revanche gardent leur quartier général en Yougoslavie.

16 Dans les centres d’accueil pour enfants de réfugiés qui continuent à fonctionner en Yougoslavie après la rupture entre Tito et le dirigeant du PCG Zachariadis, les enfants identifiés comme grecs sont sous l’autorité directe du PCG, les enfants macédoniens sont sous l’autorité du NOF17. En Tchécoslovaquie, Pologne, Hongrie et Roumanie, les controverses politiques entre dirigeants du NOF et représentants du Comité central du PCG conduisent également à la séparation progressive entre enfants “grecs” et enfants “macédoniens” dans les études de la “langue maternelle”18. Cependant, pour les enfants slavomacédoniens, la langue grecque reste obligatoire au moins une heure par semaine. Jusqu’aux années 1960, les enfants de langue grecque sont pour la plupart rapatriés en Grèce alors que les enfants de langue macédonienne partent pour la République de Macédoine.

17 Officiellement, à partir de la fin des années 1950, Athènes autorise le retour de l’ensemble des apatrides. En réalité, sur le total de réfugiés slavomacédoniens, rentrent uniquement les familles de ceux qui ont combattu du côté de l’armée gouvernementale et qui sont restés en Grèce. Dans ce contexte, la loi de 1954 sur « la confiscation et la répartition des biens appartenant aux ressortissants grecs immigrés », apparaît aux réfugiés slavomacédoniens comme élaborée expressément à leurs dépens19.

18 Dès leur établissement en Yougoslavie, les anciens dirigeants du NOF exigent la reconnaissance d’une minorité nationale macédonienne en Grèce et certains ne cachent pas leurs prétentions territoriales vis-à-vis de la Macédoine d’Egée. Pour la Grèce c’est un prétexte justifiant son hostilité au retour de l’ensemble des réfugiés “slaves” auxquels elle refuse toujours le visa. Mais pour la Yougoslavie, dès 1953-1954, la réconciliation avec la Grèce devient également une priorité20. En 1954, à la suite des protestations grecques adressées directement à Belgrade contre les “agitateurs de Skopje”, les autorités yougoslaves interdisent le journal La Voix des Égéens, au contenu jugé excessivement nationaliste. De même, le “Club égéen” rassemblant des anciens du NOF est dissout. Le souhait de la Grèce de voir les “fuyards communistes” éloignés des représentations politiques yougoslaves est, d’après les rapports des diplomates, également respecté.

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La figure du Combattant

19 L’arrivée dans la République yougoslave de ces Macédoniens égéens, au lendemain de la Guerre civile, apporte de nouveaux arguments au discours national macédonien. Ils vont dorénavant incarner par leur présence même l’identité ethnique macédonienne de la Macédoine d’Egée. Dans l’imaginaire national, ils vont constituer le chaînon entre l’Histoire mythique de tous les Macédoniens et le présent politique d’un Etat fédéral. L’histoire nationale macédonienne se réfère à un nombre important de personnages originaires de la Macédoine d’Egée lorsque celle-ci faisait partie de la Turquie d’Europe21. Les Macédoniens de la partie égéenne de la Macédoine représentent ainsi les descendants des héros mythiques de l’Insurrection de la Saint Elie (Ilinden), qui eut lieu en 1903 dans l’ensemble de la Macédoine géographique, alors territoire ottoman.

20 Les Macédoniens ayant combattu dans les rangs de l’Armée démocratique grecque deviennent les héros de la nation macédonienne contemporaine, mais aussi les détenteurs presque exclusifs du statut de “Combattant”22 (borec). Leur catégorisation au sein de la société actuelle en tant que “combattants communistes” de la Guerre civile en Grèce est un élément qui contribue à la différenciation entre Macédoniens égéens et Macédoniens du Vardar.

21 Ainsi, l’histoire macédonienne officielle prend en compte les deux événements : la lutte des Macédoniens de la Macédoine du Vardar contre “l’occupant fasciste bulgare et italien” pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale d’une part, et la lutte des Macédoniens de la Macédoine d’Egée contre le fascisme pendant la Résistance et lors de la Guerre civile d’autre part, comme relevant du même mouvement macédonien de libération nationale.23 Le mouvement englobe ainsi le NOF (Front de Libération nationale) de la Macédoine du Vardar lors de la Seconde Guerre mondiale et le NOF de la Macédoine d’Egée pendant la Guerre civile en Grèce. Dans les deux cas, il s’agit toujours d’un mouvement général appelé Lutte de Libération Nationale ou en macédonien le NOB (Narodoosloboditelna Borba). Le combat est mené à la fois contre le fascisme et contre la nation dominante assimilatrice : respectivement bulgare et italienne en Macédoine du Vardar, grecque en Macédoine d’Egée24.

22 Dans ce contexte, la figure du “Combattant contre le fascisme et le capitalisme et pour la libération nationale” est d’une importance essentielle pour l’élaboration d’une histoire commune, à la fois “ethnique” et “communiste”, au sein de l’Etat fédéral macédonien. En effet, pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, la Macédoine du Vardar n’a pas connu un fort mouvement de résistance organisée. Ceux qui ont collaboré avec l’occupant bulgare fuient en Bulgarie, les autres rejoignent l’armée de libération de Tito en 1944. Dans ce contexte, les Egéens viennent combler un vide à la fois sociologique et idéologique. Cette distinction apparaît aux yeux des Macédoniens de la Macédoine du Vardar comme un privilège, alors que les réfugiés y voit une reconnaissance de la part de leur Etat. Dans les relations sociales, le statut de Combattant (qui apporte aussi des revenus supérieurs) éveille des mémoires différentes et disputées entre Macédoniens égéens et Macédoniens du Vardar les uns et les autres se voulant les champions de la “macédonité” (makedonstvoto).

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La citoyenneté impossible

23 En étudiant les pratiques institutionnelles et juridiques d’intégration de la population de réfugiés d’abord au sein de l’Etat fédéral yougoslave, ensuite au sein de l’Etat macédonien indépendant (1991), on observe l’importance de la langue comme fondement de l’identification nationale. Ce qui unit les Macédoniens, ce sont les noms des personnes, les toponymes des villes et des villages écrits en langue macédonienne sur la carte d’identité et le passeport. Mais cette pratique d’identification intégrative a un effet important d’exclusion : les Macédoniens égéens ne peuvent encore aujourd’hui se rendre en Grèce ou alors ils doivent modifier leurs passeports et renoncer aux anciens noms slaves des villes et villages en Macédoine grecque.

24 Observons dans l’ordre chronologique les paradoxes de l’identification ethnique alors même que celle-ci fait consensus (les réfugiés sont des Macédoniens ethniques comme les autres) et la citoyenneté en est déduite. Lorsque les réfugiés arrivent, à partir de 1948-1949, sur le plan de l’identité civile, ils sont considérés tout d’abord comme des “apatrides grecs”. A partir des années 1950, dépossédés de la citoyenneté grecque par leur pays d’origine, ils acquièrent tous la “carte d’identité pour étranger” (lična karta za stranec) avec la mention bez državijanstvo ou “sans citoyenneté” 25. Or, les autorités politiques yougoslaves reconnaissent leur appartenance ethnique comme macédonienne, et à l’intérieur de la République de Macédoine les apatrides macédoniens peuvent jouir de droits sociaux identiques à ceux des Macédoniens yougoslaves.

25 Sur tous ces papiers d'identité différents les noms et prénoms des Macédoniens égéens sont inscrits en langue macédonienne. Il en va de même pour les toponymes des villes et villages d’origine, également inscrits dans leur ancienne version slave ce qui est une véritable offense au dogme national grec26. Rappelons que les noms de personnes comme les noms des lieux ont été hellénisés dès 1913 et en particulier durant le régime répressif du général Metaxas (1936-1941). Ce dernier interdit le “parler local” sous peine d’amendes, de prison et de punitions corporelles. En République de Macédoine ces nouveaux papiers représentent pour les réfugiés un véritable acte de restitution de leur langue maternelle et par conséquent une victoire politique et identitaire. Or, pour la Grèce, cette pratique est la raison concrète de son refus de laisser rentrer sur son territoire ceux qui remettent en question l’identité hellène d’un territoire grec.

26 Pour ceux qui acquièrent la nationalité yougoslave27, la situation vis-à-vis de l’État grec n’est pas régularisée. Les noms et prénoms restent toujours en langue macédonienne ainsi que les toponymes. Identifiés ainsi, les Macédoniens égéens ne peuvent toujours pas espérer l’obtention d’un visa au Consulat grec de Skopje. Egaux en droits des autres citoyens macédoniens, devenus des Macédoniens de Yougoslavie, les Egejci sont les seuls qui ne peuvent se rendre en touristes dans le pays voisin.

27 Avec l’institution de la Macédoine en Etat indépendant, la catégorie “apatride” disparaît. Les “Macédoniens de la partie égéenne de la Macédoine” qui n’avaient pas demandé la nationalité pendant le régime yougoslave l’acquièrent aujourd’hui pour la première fois. Cette redéfinition de l’identité civile macédonienne dans le cadre du nouvel État ravive la polémique entre autorités politiques macédoniennes et associations égéennes qui accusent leur gouvernement d’avoir céder aux conditions posées par la Grèce. Celle-ci exige que dans les nouveaux passeports des Macédoniens nés en Grèce, le lieu de naissance soit inscrit dans sa version grecque. Mais les

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associations de Macédoniens égéens, soutenues par certains dirigeants politiques refusent d’abandonner ce qui incarne tout leur combat. Supprimer les toponymes écrits “enlangue maternelle” signifierait le renoncement à l’identité “macédonienne ethnique”, de la Macédoine égéenne, une identité reposant essentiellement sur la référence linguistique.

28 Depuis 1997, quarante-neuf ans après l’exode des Macédoniens égéens, les nouveaux passeports font apparaître un curieux compromis politique : si le nom du lieu de naissance reste en langue macédonienne comme dans les anciens papiers d’identité, la mention “né en Grèce” disparaît. L’objectif est d’assimiler le Macédonien égéen à un natif de la Macédoine ex-yougoslave. Mais il y a aussi une autre possibilité : pour ceux qui en font la demande individuellement, la mention “village” ou “ville” d’origine peut être supprimée, et la seule indication du lieu de naissance sera : “Grèce”. Dans le premier cas, à la frontière, les douaniers grecs reconnaissent le nom slave de la ville ou du village d’origine et refusent à la personne le visa d’entrée sur le territoire. Dans le second cas, effectivement, la personne peut enfin se rendre dans son pays d’origine.

29 Une majorité des militants de la première génération de réfugiés contestent cette réforme qui les discrimine à l’intérieur de leur Etat. Pour eux, la question se pose de savoir pourquoi il existe deux catégories de citoyens inégaux en droits. Les Macédoniens originaires de la Macédoine du Vardar peuvent se rendre en Grèce sans difficultés alors que ceux qui sont originaires “de l’Egée” (od Egej) et qui ont marqué les noms de leurs villages en “langue maternelle” sont condamnés à ne plus jamais pouvoir y retourner. Pourquoi, dans le compromis négocié pour faciliter le retour, le Macédonien égéen doit-il se contenter de la mention “né en Grèce” alors que le Macédonien de la Macédoine du Vardar garde dans son passeport la mention complète de son lieu de naissance28 ? Pour les acteurs politiques macédoniens, il ne semble pas envisageable d’inscrire sur les passeports les toponymes grecs des lieux de naissance des Macédoniens égéens.

30 Sur le terrain, on observe beaucoup de personnes qui, contraintes par leur âge avancé, optent pour cette solution pragmatique, afin de pouvoir rendre visite à leur famille restée du côté grec. Ils font, depuis 1997, la demande de suppression de la mention “lieu de naissance” pour garder uniquement la mention : “né en Grèce”. Mais qu’implique, pour la personne cette solution, pour ainsi dire individualiste du problème juridique égéen ? Durant plusieurs décennies, les Egéens furent considérés par l’Etat comme un tout, comme un ensemble homogène qui assume une part importante de l’Histoire nationale macédonienne. Aujourd’hui, celui qui se rend au guichet de la Préfecture de Police pour demander la suppression de son lieu de naissance se trouve seul face à son choix, face à sa mémoire “égéenne” que la société d’aujourd’hui lui restitue, car elle n’en fait plus une priorité.

Les Macédoniens égéens et l’exercice du politique

31 Un aspect révélateur du statut ambigu du Macédonien égéen est la faiblesse de l’exercice du politique aussi bien dans la période yougoslave qu’aujourd’hui29.

32 Pendant la période communiste, les dirigeants yougoslaves interdisent les revendications politiques des associations de réfugiés concernant la Grèce, et durant un demi-siècle ils tiennent à l’écart des hautes fonctions de l’Etat les Macédoniens égéens. Cependant, à l’intérieur de la République, ces derniers peuvent organiser et développer

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une activité associative. Celle-ci a un contenu essentiellement culturel, folklorique et artistique, les réunions ayant pour vocation de célébrer l’identité ethnique macédonienne de la Macédoine d’Egée. Aujourd’hui, les militants estiment que même s’ils sont nombreux dans l’élite scientifique, universitaire, culturelle, ils ont été tenus en dehors du champ d’exercice du politique et, depuis l’indépendance de l’Etat, ils espèrent être représentés plus largement en tant que catégorie de citoyens dôtée d’un statut spécifique.

33 Au cours des premières années de l’indépendance (1991), avec la démocratisation du débat politique, le discours nationaliste macédonien s’épanouit autant dans la presse que dans les manifestations des partis politiques et des associations. De nombreux militants politiques demandent à la Grèce, à la Bulgarie, à l’Albanie30, la reconnaissance d’une minorité nationale macédonienne. Les liens avec la diaspora sont particulièrement encouragés par les autorités publiques et cette dernière est en grande partie égéenne31. Les leaders politiques macédoniens participent aux manifestations de ceux qui incarnent les idées d’une partie non négligeable de l’électorat.

34 Au sein du tout premier gouvernement macédonien se trouvent des personnalités symboliques pour les militants des organisations égéennes. Dimitar Dimitrov, originaire de la région de Voden (Edessa) est ainsi le Ministre de l’Education nationale. Historien et intellectuel d’origine “locale”, Blaže Ristovski32, vice-Premier Ministre au lendemain de l’Indépendance (1991-1992), est connu aussi pour son action en faveur de la reconnaissance à part entière des Macédoniens égéens au sein de la société macédonienne.

35 Mais à partir des années 1996-1997, le gouvernement social-démocrate (SDSM) au pouvoir se montre distant vis-à-vis du discours des patriotes égéens. La logique d’État les oblige à prendre en compte les voisins et l’irrédentisme de certaines personnalités médiatiques est utilisé par la Grèce pour bloquer le processus de reconnaissance du nouvel Etat par les institutions internationales. Les dirigeants des associations de Macédoniens égéens se plaignent d’être de nouveau hors du domaine politique. Les subventions pour les rencontres annuelles sont difficilement négociées et les hommes politiques font des passages éclairs lors des rencontres de réfugiés.

36 Ainsi, le 19 juillet 1998, le Président de la République Kiro Gligorov se rend à la « Deuxième rencontre internationale des enfants-réfugiés de la part égéenne de la Macédoine » se déroulant à Skopje. Mais cette année n’est pas comme les autres, les “enfants” commémorent les 50 ans de leur exode (exodusot) et autant d’années sans retour possible dans leur pays d’origine. Au terme d’un long discours qui ne fait aucune allusion au sujet même de la rencontre, le Président Gligorov conclut par l’expression : « un jour votre problème sera résolu ». Aussitôt, le débat public relève le mot votre. Cinquante ans après leur arrivée en République de Macédoine, le problème des Égéens reste-t-il seulement le leur, et n’a-t-il jamais pu devenir celui de tous les Macédoniens ? 33

37 Pour les organisations militantes égéennes, l’arrivée au pouvoir du VMRO-DPMNE, le grand parti de l’opposition, devait représenter un tournant dans la politique nationale. Le nouveau gouvernement allait être également le leur, celui des Macédoniens chassés de leur patrie. Il devait défendre leur droit de se rendre en Grèce, exiger la reconnaissance d’une minorité nationale et la restitution des terres et des biens confisqués par la loi de 1954. Mais une fois au pouvoir, le VMRO-DPMNE, à son tour, adopte une logique d’État. Sur la scène internationale, face au poids de la Grèce dans

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l’Union européenne, il doit mesurer ses propos. La réconciliation avec la Grèce est une exigence essentielle pour la stabilité et la bonne image du pays qui veut se distinguer par ses bonnes manières politiques des républiques dlancienne Yougoslavie. Ainsi, le VMRO-DMPNE signe-t-il des accords avec la Bulgarie et la Grèce sans évoquer les revendications “historiques” macédoniennes : la Bulgarie qui a reconnu l’Etat ne reconnaît toujours pas officiellement la langue et la nation macédoniennes, et la Grèce, quant à elle, ne cède pas sur l’utilisation du nom de “Macédoine” qu’elle considère comme appartenant exclusivement à son histoire hellène.

38 Les militants égéens, comme l’ensemble des milieux nationalistes, ne tardent pas à crier à la trahison. Les analystes qualifient le parti ultra-nationaliste VMRO-DPMNE de “pro-bulgare”, “bradeur de l’État” aux intérêts économiques grecs. En 1999, D. Dimitrov, cette fois-ci Ministre de la culture, est accusé par l’opposition d’être “pro- bulgare” (bugaroman) et il se voit obliger de démissionner. Les journalistes font référence aux origines égéennes du Ministre pour expliquer son comportement. Les Macédoniens égéens, remarque le journal Forum, « n’ont-ils pas, pour des raisons historiques connues, toujours eu un penchant pour la Bulgarie ? »34.

Sur le terrain, les rapports entre Egéens et Locaux

39 Dans cette partie, nous partons d’un constat empirique : alors que le nom de “Macédonien de la partie égéenne de la Macédoine” est d’usage officiel (discours politiques, manuels d’histoire) et revendique l’identité entre le groupe de réfugiés et la population locale, dans les relations sociales celui de “Egéens” (Egejci) met l’accent sur la différence avec ceux que l’on ne considère pas comme étant des nôtres (naši). Parmi les Macédoniens d’origine locale, le nom de Egejci est largement courant en l’absence des concernés. Du point de vue des Macédoniens égéens, ce nom est une “invention” (izmislica) des Macédoniens du Vardar (Vardarci) pour que ces derniers apparaissent comme les seuls “vrais” (vistinski) Macédoniens. Il y a donc un contraste entre le discours produit par les institutions officielles et les représentations sociales observées dans les rapports au quotidien. En ce sens, l’exemple d’un groupe particulier nous permettrait de restituer le regard des acteurs sur leur propre histoire et l’image que les Macédoniens locaux leur renvoient35.

Le cas du groupe T dans la ville de Prilep

40 Le groupe T, (c’est ainsi que nous allons l’appeler), représente un ensemble de 80 maisons de familles de réfugiés originaires du village T, aujourd’hui établies dans un quartier excentré de Prilep. Par rapport à d’autres groupes de réfugiés les T ont une spécificité notoire : ils forment un ensemble compact d’environs 10036 familles en tout, dont la majorité réussit à se réunir, dès les années 1950, dans le quartier V.

41 Le groupe T est originaire de la région du Meglen située au Nord de la ville de Edessa, en Macédoine grecque. Le village est perché sur le versant sud-ouest de la montagne Kožuf qui, à cet endroit, trace la frontière entre la République de Macédoine et la Grèce37. Lors de la Guerre civile, le village fait partie de la “zone libre” contrôlée par les partisans communistes et la plupart des hommes du village sont mobilisés par l’Armée démocratique, sous l’autorité du PCG. Ceux qui à ce moment-là accomplissent leur

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service militaire combattent du côté de l’armée gouvernementale, car, d’après mes informateurs, « ils ne pouvaient pas faire autrement ».

42 La majorité des familles du village fuit le 31 janvier 194838. Beaucoup d’hommes, aussi bien du côté de l’armée régulière que du côté des forces communistes, se joignent aux fugitifs dans les jours qui suivent. Les T voyant arriver les forces de l’armée gouvernementale se réfugient tout d’abord dans les montagnes. Effrayés par les bombardements ils décident de passer la frontière. Ils évacuent également tout leur bétail.

43 Le projet, d’après mes informateurs, fut de se mettre à l’abri des bombardements, de l’autre côté de la frontière, “pour quelque temps”. Mais dès les premiers jours en Yougoslavie, leurs troupeaux leur sont enlevés dans le cadre de la collectivisation de l’agriculture et de l’élevage en Yougoslavie. Pour les T, c’est un événement bouleversant, certains se demandent s’ils n’ont pas commis une erreur en fuyant de ce côté de la frontière. Après un séjour avec d’autres réfugiés au monastère de Saint Georges près de Negotino, ils sont conduits, au début du mois de février 1948, en Voïvodine au village de Gakovo, près de la frontière entre la Yougoslavie et la Hongrie.

44 La Voïvodine, dans les récits, apparaît comme un épisode difficile. Avec des milliers d’autres, les T sont installés dans les maisons des Souabes (Švabi), paysans germanophones autochtones, chassés ou massacrés par les partisans de Tito.

45 Ici, les réfugiés craignent d’être remis entre les mains des dirigeants communistes du PCG qui les sollicitent vivement pour retourner sur le front. Par ailleurs, ils se méfient des autorités yougoslaves qui leur proposent de s’établir en Voïvodine. Pour eux, cette “terre riche” (bogata zemja) est un refuge provisoire « en attendant la fin de la guerre pour revenir dans nos maisons. »

46 Un an plus tard, en mars 1949, ils sont acheminés en République de Macédoine vers la ville de Prilep. Les T affirment qu’ils ont eu le choix entre plusieurs villes d’accueil, toutes éloignées de la frontière grecque. Ils ont choisi Prilep « parce que c’était la plus proche de chez nous, de notre village » et ils pouvaient « rentrer à pied ».

47 La Guerre civile s’achève au mois d’août 1949. Les T se retrouvent dans le camp des perdants, celui des forces communistes : « Un village en zone libre, c’était un village communiste », me dit-on. Au début des années cinquante, une trentaine de personnes rentrent en Grèce. Ce sont principalement les femmes et les enfants de soldats de l’armée gouvernementale restés en Grèce qui ont déposé une demande de rapatriement des leurs. Pour les autres, toute demande de retour auprès du Consulat grec à Skopje reste sans suite.

48 A leur arrivée dans le quartier V, les réfugiés sont répartis par famille dans les maisons des habitants locaux. Dès les premiers jours, ils sont employés en tant que journaliers dans les coopératives agricoles, les usines en construction ou dans les exploitations de tabac. Progressivement le groupe se spécialise dans la culture du tabac. A la fois paysans cultivateurs et ouvriers à l’usine de tabac, ils parviennent en quelques années à économiser suffisamment d’argent pour acheter les maisons de ceux qui quittent le quartier pour s’installer à Skopje ou ailleurs.

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Dans l’attente du retour : la pratique du mariage à l’intérieur du groupe

49 Au cours de la première étape de leur intégration dans la ville, le groupe T construit sa stratégie collective en fonction du projet de retour au pays. Hommes et femmes travaillent pour survivre et payer leur loyer, les familles vivent au jour le jour. Alors que le gouvernement mène une politique facilitant l’acquisition et la construction de logements pour les réfugiés, les T refusent les offres et préfèrent rester locataires dans les maisons des Locaux. Plus tard, ils n’acceptent pas l’offre des maisons turques, quittées par ces derniers en 1958 et vendues à très bas prix. Aujourd’hui, les T estiment avoir été “très naïfs” et se comparent aux autres groupes de réfugiés : « les gens de la région de Kajliari, ont acheté tout de suite, ils avaient bien compris que nous ne rentrerons jamais ».

50 Comme l’ensemble des réfugiés, le groupe T est dépossédé de la nationalité grecque par le gouvernement d’Athènes. Des anciens cadres du NOF font dès le début des années 1950 le tour des centres d’accueil en Yougoslavie et leur conseillent de demander la nationalité yougoslave et de s’installer dans le pays. Pour les T, ce fut à cette époque inacceptable. Demander la nationalité macédonienne yougoslave, cela signifie renoncer au retour “à la maison” (doma). Dans leurs récits de vie, une fois de plus, ils se comparent aux autres Egéens qui « n’ont pas perdu leur temps » et qui ont rapidement demandé la nationalité.

51 Il est bien sûr difficile d’évaluer l’effet social d’un sentiment d’espoir de retour. Sans doute celui-ci varie t-il en intensité en fonction des individus ou des familles. Certains attendent dix ans avant d’acheter une maison, d’autres moins de cinq ans. Cependant, cet espoir de retour (se nadevavme deka ke se vratime) incite à des pratiques et à des comportements collectifs que nous sommes en mesure d’observer, d’autant plus que les T sont fortement apparentés entre eux et agissent dans une logique où le collectif, “notre village”, prime sur l’individuel et / ou le familial39.

52 C’est pourquoi le projet de retour dicte également le comportement matrimonial du groupe T à Prilep. L’échange matrimonial40 peut en effet servir de marqueur pour mesurer le degré d’appartenance ou d’exclusion du groupe égéen au sein de la société locale. Les aînés, détenteurs de l’autorité, interdisent pendant plusieurs années les mariages avec des Locaux : « Cela n’avait pas de sens de prendre ou donner avec des Locaux (zemanje, davanje so ovdešnite), puisque nous allions rentrer, pensions-nous ». Ainsi, la génération âgée de 14 ans et plus lors de l’émigration, se marie-t-elle à l’intérieur de son groupe d’origine. Cette pratique endogame pour cette tranche d’âge sera un des arguments discriminants aux yeux des Locaux qui y perçoivent un refus d’échange explicite.

53 Dans le même temps, pour les Locaux, toute alliance avec les nouveaux arrivants apparaît comme socialement dévalorisante. Les réfugiés sont pauvres, ne possèdent pas de biens, et même lorsqu’ils s’installent définitivement dans la ville, ils seront longtemps exclus des échanges matrimoniaux pour ces mêmes raisons. « Les gens d’ici ne nous donnaient pas une bru », disent les T.

54 De plus, les T apportent de leur village d’origine une pratique d’échange matrimonial spécifique qui n’est pas traditionnellement autorisée dans le contexte orthodoxe local. Il s’agit de la tolérance du mariage entre “troisièmes cousins” (treti bratučedi)41. A

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Prilep, les hommes d’Eglise estiment qu’une telle pratique est incestueuse, car les “troisièmes cousins” sont des parents. Se marier à ce niveau de parenté n’est pas acceptable pour “de vrais chrétiens”42, m’affirme un pope. Même si cette forme d’endogamie n’a duré que les premières années43, c’est elle que les Locaux citent aujourd’hui pour montrer la différence entre “nous” et “eux”. A ce sujet, d’autres Egejci de la région de Edessa (Voden) m’ont affirmé avec empressement qu’ils ne sont pas “comme les T” et que dans leurs villages d’origine ils suivaient “la règle” (po pravilo) qui est de se marier hors du champ de la parenté et “obligatoirement à l’extérieur” (obavezno nadvor) du village.

Le statut social dans l’exclusion : les femmes égéennes à l’usine

55 L’ascription “Egéens”porte également les stigmates de la condition économique des nouveaux arrivants. Aujourd’hui, les réfugiés se souviennent comment ils ont été traités de “Tsiganes”44 (Tsigani ou Gjupci), du fait de leur pauvreté. Dans le contexte balkanique c’est en effet l’insulte majeure. Les femmes semblent plus particulièrement visées. Par exemple dans la rue, « les gens d’ici faisaient peur à leurs enfants avec nous : Si tu n’es pas sage je te donne à l’Egéenne », racontent les T. Dans cette expression répandue, la figure de l’Egéenne semble se substituer à celle de la Tsigane.

56 L’identité professionnelle de la femme égéenne est un facteur particulièrement important dans la représentation que les Locaux construisent de l’Egéen. Cela est dû à un phénomène nouveau, introduit par les réformes économiques du régime yougoslave : il s’agit du travail de la femme dans le secteur industriel étatique à égalité avec l’homme. A Prilep, parmi les Macédoniennes, ce sont les femmes égéennes qui assument les premières cette transformation sociale et culturelle. « Au début, racontent les femmes, il n’y avait que nous et les femmes tsiganes qui travaillions à l’usine de tabac. » Elles estiment être parties ainsi de “très bas” (od naj dolu), pour avoir partagé le même statut social avec la Tsigane.

57 En effet, dans le contexte traditionnel local, la femme se doit de rester “à la maison”, elle représente une main d’œuvre pour l’économie familiale et le domaine “privé” (privatno). Elle plante, cueille et traite le tabac dans l’espace familial. Mais lors de l’étape de l’acheminement de la récolte séchée à l’usine, c’est l’homme qui intervient. Le travail passe de la sphère privée à la sphère publique dite “étatique” (državno). L’usine Monopol combinat symbolise l’extérieur, le travail “en public”. La femme sortie “dehors” (nadvor) est une femme publique au sens propre et figuré.

Stratégies d’établissement et transformation des pratiques sociales

58 La deuxième période dans le parcours du groupe de réfugiés correspond à l’abandon du projet de retour. Au bout de 5-6 ans, les T se rendent à l’évidence qu’ils ne peuvent rentrer chez eux. L’alliance par mariage avec les Locaux est pour cette étape également le marqueur révélateur. Nous observons, par exemple, que les hommes et les femmes âgés de moins de 12 - 14 ans dans l’année de la fuite (1948-1949) se sont mariés avec des Locaux à la différence de leurs frères et sœurs aînés. Par ailleurs, pendant ces quelques années, la position sociale et la situation économique du groupe change de manière sensible.

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59 Avantagés à l’embauche par un décret de 1952, ils occupent tous un emploi d’ouvriers pendant l’hiver et de cultivateurs en été. Parmi les plus âgés, certains perçoivent des “retraites de Combattants” (borečki penzii) importantes. Ces acquis sont perçus comme un “privilège” par les Locaux. Précisément, à cette étape, on observe un certain ajustement de la situation économique entre les deux groupes. Ils sont tous deux propriétaires d’une maison ou appartement et d’un lopin de terre, tous comptent des membres de leurs familles qui occupent des fonctions dans le secteur public. De plus, à partir des années 1970 les femmes d’origine locale sont de plus en plus nombreuses à travailler dans les nouvelles usines ou dans l’administration.

60 Enfin, dans un troisième temps, concernant la période contemporaine, les rôles semblent s’inverser. Les individus issus de la seconde génération se confondent avec les Locaux et les mariages sont devenus mixtes. Le groupe T à l’instar des autres groupes de réfugiés, acquiert la réputation de disposer d’un revenu supérieur à celui des Locaux, d’être devenu économiquement le plus fort. En effet, alors qu’au sein de la population locale les femmes ouvrières étaient une catégorie rare, les familles égéennes ont pu jouir d’un double revenu et donc aujourd’hui de deux retraites. Stigmatisé autrefois, le travail des femmes dans le secteur public est devenu une marque de prestige et d’émancipation.

61 La maison représente le symbole de la réussite sociale. A Prilep, celles des Egéens sont désignées comme étant “les plus belles” et “les plus grandes”. Cependant, cette nouvelle situation produit de nouveaux discours stigmatisants. L’Egéen est “plus riche” parce qu’il « nous a pris notre travail, le pain de la bouche » (ni ja zedoa rabotata, ni go zedoa lebot od usta), parce que « l’Etat leur a tout donné ».

62 Les Macédoniens du Vardar se conçoivent comme les fondateurs de l’Etat national macédonien et les Macédoniens égéens comme les orphelins d’une “terre-natale” (rodna zemja) perdue, celle de la Macédoine d’Egée. Pour les Egejci la matica, “la matrice” c’est“l’Etat de Macédoine” (državata Makedonija) qui les a reconnus et acceptés. Mais la “patrie” (tatkovina) est “en bas”, (dolu) en Macédoine d’Egée. La contradiction entre l’identification à l’Etat macédonien comme “sien” (naša) et la réalité du traumatisme de la perte pour toujours de la “terre natale” et de la rupture avec une partie de sa famille traverse chaque discours des témoins de cette époque.

63 L’Egéen en tant qu’identité collective à part est une figure de l’altérité qui se maintient dans l’imaginaire national macédonien. Cependant, avec les nouvelles générations, les conflits de mémoires disparaissent, la “frontière ethnique” s’estompe car elle n’a plus de sens organisationnel. L’appartenance nationale étant définie de manière identique pour l’ensemble des acteurs, ce n’est plus que l’expérience des anciens qui fonde le discours sur la différence. Le présent ne réunit-il pas les uns et les autres dans la même peur de voir disparaître le seul Etat qui est le leur.

NOTES

1. Makedonci od Egejskiot del na Makedonija.

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2. Voir sur ce concept et ses différentes acceptions, Barth (Fredrik), Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, Boston : Little, Brown, 1966. 3. Le terme “Locaux” (ovdešni/tukašni) désigne du point de vue du groupe de réfugiés la société d’accueil qui est celle des Macédoniens originaires de la Macédoine du Vardar (Vardarci). La configuration Vardarci / Egejci pourrait être également examinée comme une relation Established / Outsiders dans la perspective de Norbert Elias, à savoir le rapport entre une population plus anciennement établie et une population plus récente. 4. Sur le rapport entre communistes slavomacédoniens et communistes grec au sein du PCG, pendant et après la Guerre, voir par exemple, Kirjazovski (Risto), Makedoncite i odnosite na KPJ i KPG : 1945-1949, Skopje : Kultura, 1995 ; Makedonskata politička emigracija od Egejskiot del na Makedonija vo iztočnoevropskite zemi po vtorata svetska vojna, Skopje : Kultura, 1989 ; Rossos (Andrew), « Incompatible Allies : Greek Communism and in the Civil War in Greece, 1943-1949 », The Journal of Modern History, 69 (1), March 1997, pp. 42-76. 5. Après la signature du Traité de Neuilly en 1919, c’est en tant que “Bulgares” que la Grèce échange environs 100 000 slavophones de Thrace et de Macédoine contre près de 25 000 “Grecs”, c’est à dire grécophones de Bulgarie. 6. L’historien macédonien R. Kirjazovski, selon des sources grecques, évalue à 14 000 le nombre de combattants macédoniens au sein de l’Armée démocratique vers la fin de la guerre, et ce, sur un total de 35 000 soldats. Voir Kirjazovski (Risto), op. cit. p. 5. 7. Voir par exemple, Kiselinovski (Stojan), Egejskiot del na Makedonija (1913-1989), Skopje : Kultura, 1990. 8. Rappelons ici que de 1946 à 1948, la Bulgarie reconnaît une minorité nationale macédonienne en Macédoine bulgare (du Pirin). Le dirigeant G. Dimitrov accepte de transférer en Yougoslavie les réfugiés non seulement de la Guerre civile, mais aussi ceux de la Seconde Guerre mondiale. (Voir Michev (Dobrin), Makedonskiat vapros i balgaro-yugoslavskite otnoshenya, 9 septemvri 1944-1949, : Universitetsko Izdatelstvo St Kliment Ohridski, 1994). 9. Rossos (Andrew), loc. cit. 10. Karakasidou (Anastasia), « Fellow Travellers, Separate Roads : The KKE and the Macedonian Question. », East European Quarterly, 27, 1993, p. 453. 11. Il n’existe pas de statistiques officielles sur le nombre exacte de réfugiés qui s’installent en République de Macédoine. D’après R. Kirjazovski, plus de 50 000 Macédoniens égéens ont été « obligé de quitter leur terre natale » pour l’ensemble des pays du bloc soviétique. (Voir, Kirjazovski (Risto), op. cit., p. 261). D’après les sources des historiens grecs, les réfugiés slavomacédoniens comptent entre 30 000 et 40 000 tout au plus. Voir par exemple Kofos (Evangelos), « The Making of the Yugoslavia’s People’s Republic of Macedonia », Balkan Studies, 27, 1962 ; Karakasidou (Anastasia), loc. cit,. p. 12. 12. Danforth (Loring), The Macedonian Conflict. Ethnic nationalism in a trasnational world, Princeton : University Press, 1995, p. 74 13. D’après les rapports fournis par les différents Consuls de France à Skopje, entre 1948-1954. Archives Nationales, Ministère des Affaires Etrangères - Nantes. 14. D’après les rapports du Consul français présent à Skopje en 1954, les demandes de rapatriement adressées au Consulat grec s’accumulent, surtout à la suite de la loi sur « la confiscation et la répartition des biens appartenant aux ressortissants grecs immigrés ». Il cite le chiffre de 2 000 personnes autorisées à revenir en Grèce « dont il a été reconnu qu’elles n’avaient auparavant jamais appartenu au PCG ». 15. Au sujet des deca begalci voir l’étude détaillée de Brown (Keith), Macedonia’s Child- Grandfathers : The Transnational Politics of Memory, Exile and Return, 1948-1998. 16. Dans les récits de vie, les réfugiés estiment le nombre de Macédoniens dans ces deux villages de 7 000 à 9 000. Dans plusieurs publications Kirjazovski parle de 8 000 personnes mais ne cite pas de sources.

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17. Voir l’ouvrage à la fois littéraire et autobiographique de Vodenska (Marija), ancien “enfant- réfugié” à Bela Crkva, (près de Novi Sad) : Belomorka, Skopje : Makedonska kniga, 1991. 18. Après la rupture du PCG et par conséquent du NOF avec le “titisme”, à la demande des dirigeants grecs une nouvelle “langue macédonienne” est conçue pour être enseignée aux enfants slavomacédoniens dans les pays kominformistes. Elle s’inspire de dialectes égéens, mais son alphabet et le vocabulaire se rapprochent du bulgare ce qui démontre le nouveau choix politique du PCG dans l’approche de la question macédonienne. Sur ce sujet, voir par exemple les historiens macédoniens eux-mêmes anciens enfants de combattants : Nakovski (Petre), Makedonski deca vo Polska, 1948-1968, Skopje : Mlad Borec, 1987 ; Robovski (Nikifor), Makedoncite od Egejskiot del na Makedonija vo Čehoslovačka, Skopje : Naša Kniga, 1988. 19. Sur ce sujet voir aussi Mojsov (Lazar), Makedoncite vo Egejska Makedonija, Okolu prašanjeto na makedonskoto nacionalno malcinstvo vo Garcija,Skopje : Misla, 1989. 20. C’est une priorité également pour les diplomates occidentaux, à en juger par les rapports des Consuls de France dont le langage révèle le souci et même l’impatience de voir le “problème égéen” résolu au sein de la République macédonienne yougoslave. 21. Par exemple Goce Delčev fondateur du mouvement révolutionnaire macédonien au XIXème siècle ou Krste Misirkov un des pères-fondateurs de la langue macédonienne littéraire. 22. Cela s’observe dans la composition des associations d’anciens combattants qui sont en grande majorité des Egejci. 23. Elle prend en compte également l’action des communistes macédoniens en Macédoine bulgare (du Pirin) entre 1946-1948. 24. Pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, la Macédoine grecque orientale est occupée par l’armée bulgare et allemande et la partie occidentale est sous contrôle italien. 25. L’expression signifie littéralement “sans Etat”. 26. Par exemple : né au village de Sborsko, Vodenska okolija (département de Voden), Garcija (Grèce). Selon les autorités grecques, il faudrait dire : né au village de Pefkoto, département de Edessa, Grèce. 27. Nous n’avons pas d’estimations statistiques officielles sur ce sujet. Dans l’enquête que j’ai effectuée, la grande majorité des personnes, hommes ou femmes, n’avaient pas demandé la nationalité yougoslave avant les années 1970. 28. Le compromis est positivement perçu par certaines orgaisations égéennes comme celle des “descendants (potomci) des Macédoniens de la part égéenne de la Macédoine”, créée en 1996 et basée à . (Voir l’entretien avec Goce Petrovski, dans le journal Nezaborav, n°10, Skopje, décembre 1996, p. 6.) 29. Et lorsqu’il y en a un comme Vasil Topurkovski ou Dimitar Dimitrov il est aussitôt stigmatisé en tant que tel. 30. Actuellement l’Albanie reconnaît une minorité macédonienne dans la région de la Prespa. 31. Au sens géographique du terme. Le Nouveau monde accueille depuis le début du XXème siècle des travailleurs immigrés (pečalbari) des régions de Florina, Prespa, Kastoria. La majorité a toujours maintenu des liens avec les villages d’origine. 32. Voir son article, Ristovski (Blaže), « De l’émergence de la nation à l’affirmation de l’Etat », dans l’ouvrage collectif dirigé par Chiclet (Christophe), Lory (Bernard), La République de Macédoine, Paris / Montréal : L’Harmattan, 1998, pp. 33-37. 33. Voir par exemple, les articles de la revue, alors d’opposition, Denes, datée du 23 juillet, 1998 : Bardžiev (Naut), « Poslednoto egejsko odminuvanje », pp. 27-28 ou, dans le même numéro, Bardžieva-Kolbe (Kica), « Dijaspora vo sopstvenata zemja », pp. 59-61. 34. Entre le mois de juillet et le mois de septembre 1999, la presse dans son ensemble offre des débats quotidiens sur le sujet des “bugaromanes” ou “serbomanes” dans l’élite du pays. Ces arguments font partie d’une rhétorique populiste toujours efficace en période préélectorale. Voir par exemple le journal hebdomadaire Forum, n° 42, septembre 1999 : Bojarovski (Zoran), « Skica

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za edna ostavka ». Depuis la déstabilisation de la Macédoine, provoquée par la rébellion albanaise, la question de la survie de l’Etat s’est imposée comme plus fondamentale. 35. Pour une étude anthropologique sur les familles séparées entre la Grèce et la Macédoine et leur capacité à négocier les mémoires individuelles et familiales alors même que leurs États respectifs font apparaître ces mémoires comme incompatibles, voir Brown (Keith), « Whose Will Be Done ? Nation and generation in a Macedonian family », Social Analysis, 42 (1), 1998. 36. Une vingtaine de familles est établie dans le centre-ville de Prilep. Il y a également quelques familles de T à Negotino et à Kavadarci. 37. Durant la Première guerre mondiale, le village T se situe sur la ligne de front. Sa population est déplacée par l’armée bulgare à près de Niš, région alors sous contrôle bulgare. A la fin de la guerre, la plupart des familles rentrent à T. De la période de 1913 à 1920, environ 100 familles fuient et s’établissent définitivement en Bulgarie. 38. Environ un an et demie avant la fin de la Guerre civile, et trois mois avant la procédure d’évacuation des enfants par les partisans. Les dernières familles du village partent à la fin du mois d’août 1948. Ils sont installés dans des campements de réfugiés dans la région de Ovče Polje, en République de Macédoine. 39. Ce n’est pas le cas de réfugiés d’autres villages dont les familles sont séparées de part et d’autre de la frontière. 40. L’expression d’usage est : od tuka tuka, c’est à dire marier un fils ou une fille “d’ici à ici” ou dans le village. 41. En principe, l’Eglise orthodoxe interdit le mariage entre parents jusqu’au 7ème ou 9ème “genou” (koleno) ou degré. Cette règle difficile à respecter en milieu rural, se trouve détournée par la pratique du changement du nom de famille ou du sobriquet à chaque 3ème génération par un ou plusieurs fils qui quittent la maison du père pour créer leurs propres lignages. Dans le cas des T ce mariage de troisièmes cousins se pratique, « à partir du moment où l’homme et la femme ne portent pas le même nom ». 42. Le point de vue de l’Eglise ne correspond pas, bien entendu, à la législation de la Yougoslavie socialiste. 43. Les enfants issus de ces mariages sont aujourd’hui eux-mêmes mariés à des Locaux. Même s’ils sont aussi appelés Egejci, ils ne portent pas, aux yeux de la population locale, les stigmates de leurs parents. 44. Ils sont « comme les Juifs en Occident » (kako Evreite na Zapad), me dit-on à Skopje, dans un milieu intellectuel, à propos des deca-begalci, revenus des Pays de l’Est les années 1950-1960. « Ils sont partout à des postes importants, parlent des langues et s’entraident beaucoup. » On s’aperçoit effectivement de l’importance du statut social dans la construction de l’Egéen comme Autre ou comme étranger.

INDEX

Index géographique : Grèce, Macédoine Mots-clés : Guerre civile grecque, Réfugiés

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AUTEUR

MILADINA MONOVA Doctorante, EHESS Paris

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Understated, Overexposed Turks in Bulgaria - Immigrants in Turkey

Petar Krasztev

Arnavutköy – Küçük Çekmece

1 I estimated that the trip from Arnavutköy, the favorite place to stay as well as place of amusement of foreigners living in Istanbul, to Küçük Çekmece, where a refugee camp from which the inhabitants refused to budge had been bulldozed a few days ago, was going to take two to three hours. Close to the station, directly under the Pan- Mediterranean-style facades sluggish anglers hung on their lines and kept pulling out their tiny, wriggling prey from the water full of garbage and jelly-fish. I got on the roundabout line, since there was no more room on the direct line. We left Ortaköy - once inhabited by Jews, but now having an entirely Greek atmosphere - with its baroque-like mosque and hidden synagogue, the giant hotels of Beşiktaş, the eclectic Dolmabaçhe Palace, built in the last century by the last Sultans for themselves and their populous harem, because it was embarrassing for a “European” ruler to live in the Topkapı, which was about as comfortable as a tent in a Turkish medieval military camp ; then we turned up the hill by the Inönü¸ Stadion and crossed the Soho-like, bustling streets of the Şişli district, finally we stopped on Taksim Square. I hopped on a single-track tram - probably the same make and the same year as those in Lisbon - running down Istiklal Street, which is like a swollen Váci Street in Budapest, flanked by an Armenian Gregorian and Italian Catholic church on either side and interspersed with international brand name shops and cafés which become brothels by night. From the end of the street I walked down to Galata Bridge. « Welcome to Asia », muttered to myself at the next block, at the sight of loitering Arnauts, gray-faced and mustached, with their women hidden under veils - their ancestors had moved into the abandoned houses of Greek merchants once living there. On the other side of the bridge Kurds were pulling at my sleeve to buy tobacco from them, fresh from “Kurdistan”, on my right the Egyptian Bazaar ; peeling myself away, I took the fast tram up to the monuments of imperial glory, away from this frantic business center where tourist are milked, and then, leaving Aksaray, dashed through Vatan Avenue which is a miniature

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Gorky (now Tverskaya) Street, or so the Russian sign-boards and the ethnic proportions seem to indicate. I hitched a microbus from the immense, muddy and filthy parking-lot of the Topkapi, and off we go again, through the housing estates and the satellite towns, passing Atatürk Airport, passing Avcılar, famous for its casinos, and all the while I keep myself amused imagining that it is not a real tour of a real city, but rather a road movie, edited in counterpoint to make some deliberately didactic point about our Europe sweeping down on Asia, about the frantic fight going on here, between thousands of traditions, between the past and the present, between the secular / profane and the religious / sacred - though in fact this is not at all what the history of the place is about, the projected celluloid tape manipulates the spectator by creating the illusion of temporality: any continuity is mere appearance.

The Cast

2 There are about three hundred thousand dramatis personae in the following story : the exact number of Turks who emigrated from Bulgaria after 1989 will remain a matter for debate until the parties involved tire of the argument. The question is unanswerable and, perhaps, in the end not that important. The collective misfortune of these migrants is to have lived their lives in two states, as a minority group in one, as an immigrant group in the other, and to have been treated in both as human raw material for experiments in the realization of an “ideal society”. As a minority group in Bulgaria, not only were they generally at the mercy of the majority, which is not uncommon in our part of the world, but they were specifically chosen for sacrifice to an increasingly pathological obsession with a nation-state by those in power. And when, in 1989, they emigrated to Turkey en masse, with tourist passports in their pockets, the tables were turned : the rulers of the host country too reckoned that they owned the lives and fates of those who had found a new home there, and that through these new migrants they could influence political developments not only at home, but also in Bulgaria.

3 Seven years have passed since the “big trip”1. According to the long-term émigrés, this is enough time to judge whether newcomers have successfully adapted to the new society or live life on its fringes. A series of events – their collective experience – has become history. A discourse about the past, accepted by tacit consensus of the community, has been established. Theirformer identity as a minority group has also been re-shaped and arguably strongly influenced by “discourse-creating factories” which placed the immigrants under their own guardianship immediately after their arrival.

4 Between October and December 1996 I visited cities in Turkey where these immigrants have settled down in droves. I talked as informally as possible to several hundred people, without a dictaphone or obvious note-taking. I sought to grasp the moment when personal grievances are sublimated into a story, when the experience of an individual becomes the history of a community and the sense of banishment and strangeness is replaced by the comfort of familiarity and permanence. In many cases this was not at all difficult – the struggle for survival and even progress, if successful, has invested former humiliations in Bulgaria with a meaning. Those immigrants who have not succeeded can still comfort themselves obliquely that those stuck at home are not doing any better. Yet the trauma will remain. There is no definitive cure: only a

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continual treatmentwhich demands a continual reconstruction of memories, although there is no remembrance.

Authorities I

What matters is the direct personal experience that somebody has, rather than their formal position.2

5 Apart from Petar Stoyanov, the Bulgarian president, and a few inveterate human rights activists, I’ve never met a Bulgarian who would admit to being ashamed of what had happened in the country between 1984 and 1989, or who regarded the genocide against the Turkish and the Pomak (Bulgarian Muslim) minorities as anything other than a minor stylistic error. The evacuation of Turks from Bulgaria started immediately after the end of the Russian-Turkish war in 1878. By the end of World War II, approximately five hundred and fifty-five thousand Turks had left Bulgaria. But this is a mere trifle compared to what began after the Communist take-over, when the Turkish minority, like all the others, was placed under the guardianship of the state. Following the first stage beginning in 1948, one hundred and fifty thousand people fled to Turkey in 1951 from the persecution of kulaks and from nationalization. The next period, up to 1960, can be characterized as a period of “tolerant disintegration”. This was a time when Turkish-language culture in Bulgaria flourished and when it was practically preferable for a Turk to be Turkish rather than attempting to integrate into the majority society. Then came the miserable 60s, the era of “intolerant integration”. Ethnic schools and theatres were closed down, Turkish newspapers were banned, and listening to Turkish folk music in public places was prohibited. After the signing of the Bulgarian-Turkish agreement in 1968, two hundred thousand Turks emigrated, and this was of a quite different nature to the economic emigration of 1951.

6 According to a friend of mine, a former Bulgarian diplomat in Ankara, the “valves” (i.e. the borders) were opened from time to time in order to keep the number of “rapidly breeding” Turks constant. But from 1973 on, the concept of a “unified Bulgarian nation” gained overwhelming currency in the Bulgarian press, indicating the beginning of an era of “aggressive homogenization”. The Turks were increasingly absented from ethnic and geographical descriptions of the country ; the names of Pomaks were forcefully Bulgarianized, mosques were closed down and it was prohibited to wear a salavari, to celebrate Muslim festivities, to organize traditional weddings and funerals, to keep in touch with the motherland or to use the language. Historical novels about the Turkish occupation appeared, which emphasized that nobody but Bulgarians have set foot on the holy Bulgarian soil for thousands of years until the Turks invaded to convert the Christian Bulgarians to Islam or put them to the sword. In 1984, the “rebirth program” sought to eliminate “history's mistake” by changing the name of “Bulgarians with a Turkish name”. And eventually in 1985, a sigh of relief was heard : « there are no Turks in Bulgaria ». You do not exist, O'Brien answered3

7 Oddly, even highly educated immigrants were incapable of giving a sensible answer when asked why they thought they had been forced to change their names. They mentioned rumors, they mentioned Zhivkov, party politics, the unified nation-state idea that the Bulgarians suddenly wanted to realize. They tried to explain the whole thing away. They searched for reasons, but they obviously had no ready answer. Even

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well informed Bulgarians, some of whom were exceptionally sensitive to the issue, could give no reasonable explanation to the re-naming. My diplomat friend, for example, spins yarns of secret agents, suggesting that in the early eighties the idea that Turks were conspiring for autonomy was invented by big shotsin the Bulgarian secret service in order to patch up their reputation with leader Zhivkov. He was by then fed up with the international scandals they had created, through the murder of the author Georgi Markov in London ; and the bungled attempt to murder the Pope. In this theory, then, the Turks were simply the victims of “the survival strategy of an institution”. Unfortunately, the story has a weak point - even this admittedly dreadful secret service could not be so incompetent as not to supply at least one stooge to confess to a plot for Turkish autonomy. But the story illustrates the mentality of those close to power - if it takes the defamation of a few hundred thousand people to humor the boss, so be it.

8 Yet defamation was clearly not the sole aim, considering that those at the top maintained the pretence that the Turks actually had been eradicated (by the name- changes). “Ex-Turks” were then drafted into regular army units just like any Bulgarian, something unimaginable beforehand, because according to official phantasmagorias the Turks were internal enemy, and could therefore (with the natural exceptions of party members and the descendants of partisans) be enlisted only for unarmed service. An example is Ibrahim from Istanbul, in his thirties. He was wondering how come he was kicked out of Bulgaria so easily - he who as an electro-mechanical engineer had training which involved personal, strictly confidential information shared by perhaps three other people in the country. Then in 1989 he was suddenly given a passport and sent away to Turkey.

9 Some writers go as far as to say that the USSR uses Bulgaria to test a new policy before applying it to her own people. According to the late A. Bennigsen, the forced change of names imposed on the Turks of Bulgaria may be the experimental prelude to a similar policy contemplated by the USSR for the Muslims living there4.

10 It is not surprising that Western commentators were at a loss to interpret these events and settled on the usual Eastern-bloc conspiracy-theory, but it is curious that Karpat, who is biased and cavalier with facts, but consistent nevertheless, quotes his Western counterparts apparently uncritically. His duty as a historian ought to have been to differentiate between empire and nation-state, but this statement actually undermines the thesis of “continuity” that he, among other people, represents. According to my unofficial sources, the material sent by the Bulgarians to the USSR for consultation did not even reach the top Soviet leaders. At the time their energies were consumed by the need to replace the Party Secretary as well as by the alcohol ban, and it was some mid- level apparatchik who sent the Bulgarians a message to do whatever they wanted.

11 There was perhaps only one person I talked to, Kasim – a guy from Istanbul who had lived a very active life and had a peculiar kind of education – who considered it obvious that the “rebirth program” had started much before the early eighties. He was the only one to answer reflexively that it had happened because « there was national-socialism in Bulgaria – literally ». Besides him, Mehmet, the tea-shop owner in Istanbul said that he had had misgivings as early as in the mid-seventies, when he was the regional party secretary’s chauffeur. He was sitting at a big meeting and was suddenly called up to read a speech about the atrocities committed by the Turks in Bulgaria. He emigrated as soon as he could, in 1978.

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12 The general loss of memory is not to be explained solely psychologically ; it is not simply childhood amnesia. Rather it is social amnesia - memory driven out of mind by the social and economic dynamic of this society5.

13 The period immediately prior to the most severe trauma – the re-naming – is obscured in the pink haze of “happy, peaceful times” in the mind of practically all emigrants to Turkey. They were earning little money with little work, but they made a living. Their work was appreciated, and they were not made to feel like strangers. Moreover, they had Bulgarian friends, visited one another, went to parties, and enjoyed themselves. And then all at once, in 1984, the landscape changed drastically. Friends were no longer friendly. Nobody would look them in the eye, people even preferred not to address them, because using either their former Muslim or their current Slavic names involved taking a stance. All in spite of the fact that they were, so they claim, thoroughly Bulgarianized by now. Their children barely spoke Turkish, they had neglected their religion and lived like “everybody else”. When I asked them if they realized that they had been gradually deprived of their human and minority-status rights in the previous decades, they returned the question and asked me how on earth they could have known that they had human and minority rights. Under communism nobody spoke to them about such things. In Istanbul's Pendik district Ayten, a female teacher, defended her vision ofcheerful Bulgarian multiculturalism so vehemently she drew the “Turkish yoke” into the picture, which got a laugh from her audience. Is that what they say ? Well, they are wrong. Economically, perhaps, everything was fine, but otherwise... This is mere nostalgia : old times, stuff like that, everybody wants to be young again, this is the only explanation. Besides they are incapable of thinking things through...6

14 Yet gradually, different memories also emerged, about what it was like living in a village where the relationship between the two ethnic groups had been functioning according to centuries-old norms, and usually without particular conflict.

15 Aseniye, who presently lives in Bursa, begins by talking about her thorough assimilation, but then suddenly remembers that when her family moved to a new home, several people reported them to the police because they spoke Turkish in the family. It was only after she had rescued the son of a hostile neighbor, an army-officer, from a hit-and-run accident that they were accepted. Züleiha in Istanbul is also struck by a sudden memory. When her son won an international pavement-art competition an offended Bulgarian mother had shrieked that a Turkish kid cannot be better than hers, returned to the square that night to cross out the “Bulgaria” under the kid's name and write “Turkey” instead. Ali, an Istanbul-based engineer, remembers a guy at his university who refused to share digs with a Turk, although he said he had never met a living Turk before. They eventually became friends, and the guy invited him to his parents' village, where they enjoyed an evening's merriment. But later on his friend confessed that he had not slept a wink at night out of fear that one of his drunker family members was going to assault their guest.

16 Neyran, a businesswoman from Ankara in her mid-forties positively refused to let me interview her at first. It turned out that she had never spoken about the past before, and admitted frankly that she did not wish to revive painful memories. She was perfectly assimilated in Bulgaria, had no contact with Turks and enjoyed a privileged position in a large company in Shumen. When she emigrated, she had to start from scratch, but now she manages her own, relatively prosperous company. She was very

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uneasy for the first ten minutes of our conversation as she spoke about the full life she had led up until 1984, when she suddenly « found herself in a vacuum », « everything was suddenly upside down », her presence at the office was unwelcome, and so on. I could see her trembling, her arms covered with goose-bumps - as she spoke. She realized that the opposite of what she had said to herself all these years was true. Eventually she said, « We lived together, but there was no real sympathy between us - the antipathy they were brought up to feel for us could not be eradicated ».

17 Almost everyone had a true horror story about the re-naming period. I met people who refused to resign themselves to being re-named. Some would not accept their new documents and chose imprisonment instead, or transportation to the punishment camp on Belene Island. These were the resistance fighters and there were about a thousand of them. They were beaten up by the police, but had - as Mücettin, the waiter in Avcılar told me - the good fortune of the freezing Spring weather, which meant their open wounds did not fester in the unheated tents they were given for accommodation. They were re-settled in ethnically pure Bulgarian villages but, as Sabri in Ankara pointed out, would never have learnt otherwise that there were Bulgarians without racial prejudices. They were imprisoned for years, but - as Zeynep told me - would never otherwise have met that woman who was in for eighteen years for smacking a policeman on the head when her three-years-old son was hit by a tank on the street, and who had to remain silent at visiting hours when her husband came because she spoke no Bulgarian and was not allowed to speak a “foreign language”.

18 The re-naming, though it was apparently well organized and methodical, was probably administered by the local forces without central reinforcement unless they asked for it specially. All those who had “foreign” names were given a list with names to choose from. Seliha's entire family chose Russian-sounding names and when she was asked why, she replied : « so that when the Russians come in a few years I would not have to choose a new name again ». Armed security guards surrounded the neighborhood and the lists were handed around, from apartment to apartment. Some people went into hiding but emerged sooner or later, because their old names prohibited them from working, withdrawing money from the bank or driving a car.

19 In certain areas, the local “elite” were gathered at random - shepherds and pharmacist alike - and removed to a camp where they were made “politically conscious”, forced to dig several kilometers long trenches and live it rough, shown the more shadowy side of life. Then they were given their newdocuments and, after signing statements that they would never speak of whathad happened, allowed to go home. That was the first their families heard that they were still alive. Most of the university graduates could only get manual work afterwards, but at least they were finally Bulgarians – and the only cost was jettisoning the potential protest they might have made in their last days as Turks. One who did not do so immediately was Recep, a guy I met in Bursa who chose an unusual form of passive resistance. When it became obligatory for ticket-inspectors on the train to wear nametags in 1985, and his brand new name was on display throughout the country, he secretly began to believe in Allah. Perhaps somewhere in the depth of his soul he had always wanted to be different…

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The Road to Hell

A narrow gate was set up in the waiting-hall of the station. Policemen stood on either side while masses of emigrants queued in front of it with those who came to see them off. On the other side only those whose passport had been checked. Everyone was allowed as much luggage as they could carry on the way through, because there was no return. I loaded up the children. One of them was twelve years old, the other sixteen. They passed, and then it was my turn. I tried crosswise and lengthwise but did not manage, so I put down one of the suitcases and eventually got through. It was only afterwards that I noticed that I had left the water-can on the other side of the gate. I was not allowed to go back for it or to ask somebody to give it to me. Then we traveled five days in the sweltering heat to the Turkish border.7

20 On the occasion of the great exodus in 1989 the Bulgarians reinvented hell again. I did not meet a single emigrant who received decent treatment on the Bulgarian side of the border. Yet the majority of them did not leave in euphoria or of their own accord. Many of them were handed their traveling papers in their homes, others were cordially sacked from their jobs or steadily harassed by keen party members until they asked for their passports, and there were also those who were frequently visited by bored functionaries from the Ministry of the Interior until they reconsidered. Most of those I interviewed say they left because others were leaving - hardly anyone answered that they had always wanted to live in Turkey. For they knew very little about life on the other side of the border besides what official Bulgarian propaganda was spreading about it – filth, famine, cannibalism, lice, leprosy, crime, and oppression (I have childhood memories about this process of conditioning) – and the views of their parents: that Turkey must be loved no matter what it was like.

21 As it is remembered, the road to hell was paved with misgivings, despite occasional murmuring to the opposite effect. The emigrants knew precisely that with a tourist passport, they were only allowed fifty dollars per head plus their personal belongings – which were restricted to whatever they could carry. Bilal, for example, told me that his Zhiguli for which he had paid six years earlier had just come through, but on showing his ID the car was withdrawn again immediately. There are several versions about how Turks with a purely Bulgarian name were still recognized for a Turk after five years. Some suspect there was a hidden mark in the documents, others opt for the outstanding empathy of Bulgarians. But there are some who explain the “shop discrimination” with the Turks' bizarre-sounding new names. Two more emigrants, friends of mine in Istanbul, were barred from shopping in a neighboring town. Their favorite anecdote concerns the devious methods they concocted to avoid having blankets confiscated from them at the exit of the supermarket where they had just bought them. Neçmi from Yalova, a former electrician in a Varna hospital complains that when he started for the border, his colleagues reported him to the police for not having returned his equipment. The policemen pulled him out of the long line of cars and took him back to Varna where he arranged his affairs and was back at the border three days later, where he got back in line. The man behind him was keeping his place for him – they were advancing surprisingly slowly.

22 There was no inferno awaiting them on the far side of the border, despite the assertions of the Bulgarian authorities to the contrary. The emigrants were welcome by helpful border police and the Red Crescent had a kitchen and accommodation set up. Intelligence officers asked everyone individually, though briefly on account of their

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great number, whether they had temporary accommodation with relatives and those who did not were transported in daily convoys to various cities where they were put up in empty schools and barracks. Rumor has it that the fate of the emigrants was more or less decided on the spot. Active resistance fighters and ex-prisoners were reportedly given special privileges, though it is hard to imagine how the authorities were able to take account of such details in the turmoil. But I did not meet any emigrants who claimed they had opposed the authorities in Bulgaria and who were not compensated for their resistanceinTurkey. They were given apartments or comfortable state jobs : I am sure, though, that their protests had been driven by their own consciences rather than any external encouragement or promise.

23 What also emerges from the stories, although unacknowledged in the official Turkish version of events, is that immigrants unable to name relatives willing to put them up were settled in distant regions of Anatolia, inhabited by Kurds. Perhaps the idea was to populate war-torn zones with grateful settlers who would be loyal to the government and whose presence might serve to “civilize” the inhabitants by their presence and different way of life. On the other hand, they could pacify their own people, for whom the state did less in their whole lifetime than for the immigrants in a week. Seven years later, the idea seems to have failed ignominiously - not one immigrant finally settled down in Diarbakir or around the Van Lake, the Kurds continue to be who they always were and the locals keep crying giaour at the newcomers as ever.

24 The stories of the border-crossing sound like long, miserable, paranoid dreams where it takes days to cross the few kilometres to the border, loved ones are lost en route, messages are eagerly sought amongst myriad scraps of paper on the walls of Edirne station, and where people wait for a superior power and resign themselves to fate. Still they believed, in their lucid moments, that whatever happened it would be better than the Hell they had just left, because they themselves would at least be able to decide where to live, where to work and for how much, and, not least, what they were to be called and what language they would speak. These are the stories of those who never returned to Bulgaria after the “big trip” - for those who returned the dream may have entirely different colors.

25 Edirne station and the camp beside it were the gateway to many things besides Hell - the final horizon that our heroes were obliged to cross. This is where the common past ends : afterwards it there are only individual tribulations in different places in a world which is familiar yet strange, where they are served their own food, but the order of the courses is different, where they were accepted as brothers and sisters but are referred to as heathen göçmens.

Küçük Çekmece - Arnavutköy - Arnavutköy

26 Şabanaccompanied me to the road on my way back, worried that the dolmuş-microbus might be too expensive for me. He hugged me and said that he would call me as soon as he had a phone to call from. It was already eight o'clock in the evening. It takes an hour for the microbus to struggle through the traffic jam. I calculated another half an hour in the tram to Eminä¸, from there at least an hour by bus to Arnavutköy, where I would look for a pub to watch the second half of the Valencia- Beşiktaş match. At half past nine I was still by the Aksaray. I got off, because I saw people running, I thought they were probably running to find a place in a pub where the coded transmission could be

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watched. I followed them, but it turned out that they were catching a bus on which the sign said “Arnavutköy” in big black letters. It was just leaving. I was sweating like hell, but happy to have discovered something – a new itinerary – which was perhaps shorter than the coast road. If so, then I could actually get there in time for the second half. There was no traffic on this road. The bus dashed along and when it stopped, which was rarely, only men got on – mustached, dark-skinned men in worn-down shoes, shabby trousers and uniform leather jackets bought in the bazaar. I just started at a book by Isabel Fonseca, happy that I would get home quickly, even taking a detour, because in this monster of a city you never know where you are, you just realize suddenly that you are there, even though you feel that you are going in the opposite direction. When we left the ugly industrial buildings behind, the bus did not stop at all any more, and I started squirming in my seat, put Fonseca in my pocket, took out my map. The Arnauts standing around me started to grin and gesticulate at this - and appeared less and less like people who were heading for my cosy, elegant Arnavutköy. None of them knew how to read a map, of course, they just kept saying “Arnavutköy”, but I could tell from the way they pronounced the word that there was some trouble ahead : either I was completely disoriented, or this bus was not going to get to Arnavutköy before the morning. It was about eleven o'clock when I got off, and they kept gesticulating and saying, here you are, this is Arnavutköy, but there was neither sea nor lights there. There wereonly these horrid little distant suburbs, a slice of Asia wedged in Europe— the real Arnavutköy, literally the Village of the Arnauts. I tried my luck with the only taxi around. The driver, who knew how to read the map, muttered and showed me that we were not even on it. The radio roared, I asked him how the match was going, he said that it was probably going swell for me, for the Beşiktaş was losing. I looked at him, genuinely offended, and said in my best body language that I was a Beşiktaş fan and wanted to watch the match. We had hardly gone three hundred meters when he stopped by a tea-shop - it was probably his regular hangout -, four hundred square meters with a population distribution of five mustached guys per square meter, all staring at a single screen. Two guys jumped up immediately, the others made some room in the fourth row and they bought me three cups of tannin-tasting tea one after the other, because the driver had explained to them that this Europid knew the names of the entire Beşiktaş team, including the coach. The taxi driver sat loyally through till the inglorious end of the match and then, for a small fortune drove me back to glamorous Arnavutköy. To Arnavutköy, which is exactly as far from Küçük Çekmece as from the other Arnavutköy. It took three quarters of an hour, so I amused myself with the idea that if two neighborhoods can have the same name, in or around a city, and still be diametrically opposed to each other both in terms of architecture and population, then everything in this country can be duplicated without it bothering anyone. Because everybody knows their place there can be two capital cities, two identities, two conceptions of the state, two histories, words and gestures can mean completely different things. Doublethink, Orwell would say, in the terms of which each decision can be implemented in two different ways or glossed over, there can be two stories behind each event, or a story can tell two events at the same time, and this is how it must be, for this cleverly edited film, this road movie is not for broadcasting, only for being spread out, it is no more than a celluloid strip which can be held in the hand and the cuts stuck side by side can be looked at, and thus the illusion that anything follows anything in time can be carefully avoided.

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Authorities II

In a way, Atatürk was the first göçmen here: he was also from the Balkans, then he came here and made a country out of this utter chaos... And now we are here...8

27 In February 1997 the Turkish authorities threatened the world with the expulsion of four hundred thousand Bulgarian Turks. By mid-March they realized what an idiocy it was and called off the action. Although they backed off, the threat is still in the air, creating an atmosphere of constant theoretical and practical danger for the heroes of our story.

28 The most conspicuous thing is the offhand manner in which the present decision- makers in Ankara handle the results of the statistical and sociological surveys of the Bulgarian immigrants. It must be acknowledged as a mitigating factor that no two sources publish identical data. Kemal H. Karpat, for example - referring to non-official but reliable sources - estimates the number of “Muslim, especially Turkish” inhabitants in Bulgaria forcibly re-named in 1984 at three million9, whereas the Bulgarians claim that before the great emigration wave of 1989, just 847 584 Turks lived in the country10. The two numbers cannot be reduced to a common denominator, even if we assume that Karpat included Pomaks and Muslim Gypsies in his calculations, since all these together could still not have been more than 800 000 people. The only uncontested point is that 369 839 Turks left Bulgaria in a single year, but even then Vasileva claims that 154 937 people returned within one year11, whereas according to Karpat, 8 000 people did so12. When the Movement for Human Rights and Freedom (commonly called the “Turkish party”) received seven per cent of the votes in the first free elections in Bulgaria, it became clear that talking about millions is absurd. But even Vasileva does not mention in her otherwise thorough study that at least half of those who had returned re- emigrated to Turkey, and the migration has never really come to an end.

29 Yet even this statistical mess does not give an adequate explanation of the 400 000 immigrants lined up for deportation by the Turkish authorities. If the contingent to be expelled did not include the approximately 250 000 Bulgarian refugees who had received Turkish citizenship in 1989-1990 (and who knows if it did or not ?), and we use Vasileva’s figures for that total Turkish population in Bulgaria before 1989, then we could infer that barely 200 000 Turks were left in Bulgaria. How is it then possible then that according to the latest surveys the “Turkish party” still expects five per cent of the votes at the upcoming elections ? That would mean at least four hundred thousand Turks are present in Bulgaria, since this party is supported only by ethnic Turks and perhaps Pomaks, among the minorities many people vote for other parties.

30 The most probable interpretation of the February statement is that it was nothing more than a message, an awkward Oriental code intended for the West, which is apparently more and more repulsed by the idea of letting Turkey into a united Europe. The meaning of the gesture must be something like this : if the West desires to bring about political changes in post-socialist Bulgaria, then they can count on the cooperation of the Turkish government, now as ever. The deportation of 400 000 poor people will almost certainly finish off the neighboring country and accelerate the process of “re- democratization”. It would be the role of Turkish politics again to help the country towards the right direction - say towards the victory of opposition democrats -, just like in 1989, when Özal, the head of state, opened the Turkish-Bulgarian border for potential émigrés, and thus started the “avalanche of political changes” in Bulgaria. I

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heard this from Vedat Ercin personally, who at that time used to hold the office of Deputy Secretary of State dealing with Turks abroad and who otherwise seemed like a nice guy, utterly incapable of inventing such an impossible idea by himself. Turkey would be willing to do the West this favor even now, despite the fact that the West keeps admonishing Turkey for its bad human rights record, the entrenched corruption of those in power, the Mafia presence and countless other things so familiar and everyday that the local power elite can not fathom why they are considered problems. The fact that this grand gesture involves playing with the life of 400 000 human beings is not regarded as a problem either - preserving “manpower” was never a chief virtue of this state.

The Principles

31 This time, however, Erbakan and Çiller – this duet of prime ministers working in rotation – had crossed a line. The lives of ethnic Turks were at stake and they are – according to republican, Kemalist principles and traditional Islam thinking – entitled to refuge in the motherland any time. The idea of expelling brothers in blood and faith had never occurred to anybody in the history of Turkish statehood, and the only thing that could explain it now was the crisis of a state ideology, which has had schizophrenic tendencies ever since its beginnings.

32 The late president Özal's decision to receive several hundred thousand Bulgarian Turkish refugees in 1989 was very fortunate. Although still disputed, it had positiveideological, political and economic impact. By initiating the emigration process, he was suddenly given credit by the West for playing a catalytic role in the Bulgarian political upheaval. Human rights organizations were also impressed, first because in the face of such mass emigration the Bulgarians were compelled to admit that there was after all a Turkish minority in their country, and second, Turkey demonstrated that it is not only militant and exclusive, but also tolerant and receptive to those who are deserving. The West rewarded this new image with plenty of aid and support for building projects, thirty per cent of which - according to Ismet Sever, president of the Union of Balkanian Turks and others besides - was used as intended. The rest trickled into the enterprises of government officials.

33 Perhaps most importantly, by admitting the Bulgarian Turks Özal temporarily reconciled Islamic and Kemalist tradition, the two poles between which the country has been wavering for decades. Kemal Atatürk, the first President of the Turkish Republic reckoned that all Turks should live in Turkey. Today, whether we admire or revile him for this quite unoriginal idea, whether we curse him as a bloody-minded dictator or respect him as an ardent military leader and founder of a state, it can not be denied that few similar dreamers managed to put the ideal of the modern nation-state so perfectly into practice. And furthermore, he achieved this in such a seemingly unpromising land as Asia Minor, whose diverse population was, as Canefe suggests13, hardly an obvious candidate for the national idea. Atatürk did no less than invent “the Turk” - he adapted L. Börne's 1830s slogan for the Junges Deutschland (“we want to be free Germans”) to local conditions, which, mutatis mutandis, sounds something like : « let us all be Turks so that we could be free ». The only thing he added - in thought if not in word - was « and I am going to determine what a Turk is - a European image, women without veils, Latin script, lots of alcohol and sex and as little bowing towards

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Mecca as possible ». Albanians, Armenians, Kurds, Greeks and sons of many other nations, whose names are not easily made to sound Turkish were all victims of his conception of the state, but other elements of his conception were only partially realized.

34 Özal's 1989 decision did not ruffle many feathers even in Islam circles, which were otherwise not very well disposed towards him. In their conception, hijra is a holy duty for each Muslim. Hijra or hegira is quite a flexible notion, its archetype is the flight of Mohammed from Mecca to Medina, that is, metaphorically, from the place which is not desirable for practicing the Muslim faith to a place where there are no obstacles for the believer. It has three main interpretations : the hijra is a spiritual escape from the profanity of reality, an actual escape from the place where atrocities are committed against the Muslim population (this was the interpretation in the case of the Bulgarian Turks), and finally an exodus from a place of destitution and poverty. Turks, who are mostly believers, unfortunately did not realize that the vast majority of the immigrants were inveterate atheists. Therefore they could regard their exodus as perhaps an unconscious, blood-driven hijra.

Those Who Have Made It

The migration of peoples always has a good effect on the economy, because a lot of energy is liberated, which is then transferred into work. Just take a look around - here in Turkey it is mainly the immigrants who are making it.14

35 Sami, Sabahatin and Turgut are three brothers who run a family enterprise: they sell building material and whatever else is needed in Russia. After they immigrated, they spread around and worked on constructions. It was a hard life, but they gradually made their way onto the social ladder through hard work. They were offered state jobs and apartments for which they had to pay some money, but only a nominal amount. They were promoted to technical manager, then company manager, until they eventually launched their own company with the money they had saved up. Today each of them has a car and a house. But they have retained their state-owned apartments as well, since they have got used to them. They dragged me proudly from one of their customers to the other - here everybody respects them, they say, they have credit, they do not have to pay for everything immediately; here the first thing is work, everything else follows, money makes things happen here. They explained the basics of business to me as if I had just wandered out of Communism for a management-training course. It took them two or three years to find their feet here, but everything has been going smoothly ever since. They are beginning to forget their Bulgarian ; even their Russian is better. They invited me to their place in Pursaklar, to the housing estate that the government had built for the immigrants, and showed me the small but comfortable apartment. Sami introduced me to his wife who also works – I had already met the daughter who worked as the company's secretary. This was the only way to make a living, he continued, to have all the family work, otherwise they would become like the locals who would not let their wives go to work under any circumstances, and would rather « starve along with their million kids ». They were grateful to the state and would always remain so for allocating them the apartment - the locals are able to live their whole lives in digs, but never attain anything. Thus it happened that I met the ideal socialist family while the wildest capitalism was raging “outside”.

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36 There must be hundreds of stories like that of Sami and his family amongst those who live on the Pursaklar housing estate. The main motifs are repeated by everybody I talked to : the first years of hardship and toil, the determination to stay, the helping hand of the state arriving just in time, work, permanent income, subsidized apartment, the women starting to work, only a few children in a family, so their education need not be spared, the cooperation in the family ; the lazy, uneducated locals and the hard- working, highly-educated Bulgarians who are quick to adapt and who have learned how to earn money that they immediately re-invest, mostly in goods and real estate. The opening up of the Russian market came in handy, because the knowledge of the language became a valuable asset.

37 Thus, the immigrant is nothing more and nothing less than the Kemalist ideal of a human being - at least according to the self-interpretation of those in Ankara.

38 TIKA is a company founded by young and ambitious immigrants. They counsel first- time entrepreneurs abroad, mainly in Central Asia, about acquiring capital for a particular project. The conversation tends to be mostly in Russian, but the boys speak several foreign languages. Deniz, the blond, hardly thirty-year-old young man completes Sami's story with the general and theoretical particularities of the immigrant's life. He reckons that immigrants are successful precisely because they are rootless in the country, and therefore cannot count on anybody but themselves. This increases their potential, he thinks, because they want to integrate and to prove that they have a place in this society through hard work. The state has helped a lot, it must be said - their entrance exam into the university was easier than the regular one. They were given free food and accommodation, all of which he is grateful for. Although the locals are often jealous, employers tend to prefer immigrants, because they do not steal or shirk and do the same job for less money. Consumer society came to Turkey at the same time as he did - that was when privatization began, when bank services started to develop, and he, along with the locals, learned what a credit card was. Four or five years later he felt completely at home, his thinking switched to local concerns—that is, all he thought about was business. He bought a decent apartment in town and ceased to be frustrated about being a mere immigrant. Of course, there are great losers among the immigrants, he says – for example older people or agricultural workers. Because the land is private here, everybody cultivates his own without help. Those who could not get used to living in an apartment in the city and working in industry or commerce went back to Bulgaria. Those who manage to make a living are saving up to buy a plot of land and, if necessary, spend years building a house, brick by brick, with a little garden where they can grow some vegetables for their jars of pickle.

39 The Turkish authorities, according to hearsay allocated apartments and state jobs in Ankara to those who had “earned” them in their previous lives, that is, to resistance fighters and informers to the Turkish intelligence, while the official version has it that the apartments were allocated by drawing lots. As a matter of fact, it is hard to tell how certain people were appointed to their present positions, because they had certainly not been trained for them. I met a guy in one of the outskirts of Istanbul who told me (after his fourth raki) that he had been loitering around in Turkey for a year and a half when he was found (he did not mention by whom) and questioned as to whether he had been really imprisoned in Bulgaria, and when it turned out that he had refused to accept his new name, he was immediately allocated an apartment – that other immigrants had to pay for – because he was a former resistance fighter. Still, knowing

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the people in Pursaklar, this cannot have been the only criterion, especially because the number of apartments built in Ankara by far exceeded the number of Turkish rebels in Bulgaria during the forty-five years of Communism. The Ankara community seems homogeneous not because people with similar pasts and educational backgrounds, and of similar age and social groups were gathered here (although these things were probably taken in account : the Turkish state, being an ardent supporter of “natural selection”, did not bother to aid the uneducated and the elderly ; they also took great care not to let Gypsies who pretended to be Turks enter the country), but rather because everyone here lives in one great communal narrative. The stories about the immigrants' life in Bulgaria were as varied as those about the life in Turkey were similar - lives which were hard, but in the final analysis successful - a precisely measured balance which makes it impossible to interpret the contempt for the locals as an antipathy for the country. I felt all along that whatever one of them was saying could have equally been voiced by any other - as though they were narrating one other's lives, giving voice to each other's ideas.

Settlers and Settlements

40 The inhabitants of Pursaklar love the place, but they would leave it immediately if they could. They are attached to it in the same way as you are attached to a second-hand jacket - you feel it would be a betrayal to get rid of a piece of clothing which served so well at its prime, but you do not feel like wearing it in front of others. Objectively speaking, Pursaklar is a bizarre place indeed: five thousand people live in sixty-two blocks on top of a hill in the midst of a wasteland about ten kilometres from Ankara and two or three kilometers from Pursaklar village. Apparently that was the only place where the government could find land for sale. None of the immigrants living in the capital city believes that they wanted to lock them up in a ghetto. There are no mosques here, only a loudspeaker in the bus stop, from which the voice of the muezzin from the neighboring village can be heard. There are no pubs, no cafés, clubs or restaurants. « Why should there be », asks Sezer, my faithful guide over this period. « People only come here to sleep, and if I go out, I do not mind spending ten dollars for the taxi to take me home ». There are some stalls, however, selling alcohol, soft drinks, tobacco and basic food. I talked to some of the owners of these, who are satisfied with the business, but « if the wife could get a better job », says Ibrahim, who only covers for his wife over the weekends, « I would hand in my license immediately ».

41 During the day potatoes are sold from trucks, the old ladies in salavaris and shawls - pensioners - stand in queues with patience they learned in the old days. One third of the inhabitants of Pursaklar are pensioners, supported only by the families, because they do not get a pension from either the Turkish or the Bulgarian state : the former does not even have a stipulation to do so, whereas the latter will not remit the three or four dollar allowance per month out of pure spite. Should they attempt to go to Bulgaria and fetch it themselves, they will be compelled to wait in offices for months, spending several times the amount of their pension on food and accommodation. Many of them try to cultivate the land between the buildings, trying to grow vegetables on the pebbly soil, more, it seems, for the sake of working in the garden than with any genuine expectation of success. « You will never see the locals do that », Sezer points at the gardens, « they've never even held a hoe in their hands ».

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42 The settlement in Yalova and the Kestel neighborhood by Bursa are not very different from Pursaklar. In Yalova the immigrants' territory is separated from the outside world by a fence. The place has a decent entrance opposite the tea-shop, which constitutes the only local spot for community life. There used to be a pub, but it was locked up by the gendarmerie, because, Ilyas tells me, on one occasion some locals turned up, got drunk and called the immigrants to account for why they got everything free. It ended in a fight. « The locals do not even know how to drink - they get drunk immediately, and then have to prove themselves », he adds with contempt.

43 The inhabitants of Kaĝithane, one of the immigrant settlements built in an inner neighborhood of Istanbul have no doubt that the wire fence is not merely a symbolic but a very real defense against the locals, who jealously call the place a “resort”. They came to bully our kids the other day, but our kids are in much better condition than theirs and they don't like to be called giaours. We complained to the police that they kept coming here to disturb us, and the policeman told us - not officially, of course - to knock any intruders on the head, then he would take the matter in his hands and stitch the thing up. Only those we invite, he says, get beyond the fence, everybody else is an intruder or a burglar. This will not happen of course, but it is not hard to understand our people : they are more irritated, not only because they live a hectic life, but because the place itself is oppressive.

44 The problem with the settlement is not that the buildings are not standard (the ceilings of the apartments are low, the rooms are confined), they are still alright to live in and the immigrants are happy to have anything at all, but the buildings are built so close together that the only space between them is a corridor-like alley. There is no public lighting, a punishment from the Islamist local government for the immigrants from whom they got merely three votes at the previous elections. « We are living in a ghetto, the families just maintain contact with each other - our culture is just too different from theirs », Ali remarks finally. But by night, even in the darkness, there is a bustling social life, light streams from the open doors of pastry-shops, the children amuse themselves by playing leapfrog, badminton and football, boys chat up girls, adults stand in groups, talking in the shafts of light, travelers sell cheap brandy, cigarettes and dry pork sausage smuggled in from Bulgaria.

45 Mehmet, the owner of the tea-shop urges me to enter the store-room of a food store which is on the ground floor of a half-constructed building. We sit down with the others, drinking thin Turkish beer and chewing greasy, thick-cut Bulgarian salami to go with it. Eight of us are listening to Sali, who is telling stories about the Chanti and the Vogul he worked with on a construction site in the Soviet Union, earning relatively good money, but then how he left everything behind in Bulgaria. He could not get used to the cramped apartment he was given, so he decided to build a house for himself here in Kıraç, a distant suburb of Istanbul. Whatever the cost, he would like to restore to his family the standard of living that they were used to “back home”. He saved up some money, bought a plot of land, and then spent a week digging the foundations and putting up the walls with the relatives. They finished a room, moved out, rented out the apartment, and ever since he has been buying building materials with the rent, and building a little more each weekend. In two years the house already has a roof - two or three more years and everything will be in its place.

46 There are several hundred immigrants living like that in Kiraç, in the one completed room of their house, designed to be a palace. No days of rest and recreation – they subordinate the entire life of the family to a single cause. Those who were able to even

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got their parents move into the single room with them : more rented apartments, less expenditure, faster progress. Some others whom I drank beer with, in the storeroom that doubled as a speakeasy, were also wearing denim tainted with lime and oil-paint, the company changed completely three times till the evening. They quickly finished up their working hours in the city, then after a two-hour trip back and a quick beer, got stuck into working on their house.

47 And when the house is finally ready one day and they have a road and light and shops and pubs, they will have built another city within the boundaries of Istanbul, the inhabitants of which are now re-creating the world from which they fled seven years ago, or rather a world that existed only in their memories. The world must change here or we will never adapt to it in our lifetimes.15

48 In Istanbul and in the cities of the Western coast of Asia Minor I realized how the content of the word göçmen had changed over the previous years. Ali, the well-to-do computer engineer from Istanbul lived in the Kaĝithane camp together with several hundred other families for two years after he immigrated, in a site building made of plywood and tin. In spite of the miserable conditions they lived a cheerful life in the camp, Ali recalls. In the evenings they sat together, talked, listened to music and danced - they were a real community and he made some true friends. Economically I integrated quickly - I found work immediately, because I knew a hundred times as much as the best local computer engineers, but I will never manage to adapt culturally. We came from a country where everyone was equal and we did not have to bow in front of someone just because his position was higher, whereas the locals cannot think of anything but their position in the hierarchy.

49 In his opinion, the göçmens are openhearted and never say yes if they mean no. They do not play roles, they are not hypocritical – their aim is not to cheat the other. The locals are used to living in misery and have no special needs, whereas the göçmen considers it very important to have an apartment, a house and a plot of land. He would never mix with these people, because there is nothing to talk about with them. When he goes abroad or to conferences, Ali talks only to Bulgarians and does not pay attention to his new countrymen. He recently read in a newspaper that the immigrants were not really Turks, yet the state gave them everything. « It was probably written by a Kurdish bastard », Ali commented, « who wants to lick the ass of the Refah party and be more Turkish than the Turks ».

50 Levent, the medical student from Istanbul asked me in absolute seriousness, if I really thought it possible that they – the immigrants – belonged to the same gene pool as the natives. Historically, Bulgarians considered the prohibition against ethnic and religious mingling as more imperative than the prohibition against incest. They laughed even at Kemal Atatürk himself for proposing to Dimitrina Kovacheva, the daughter of a Bulgarian minister in the years before World War I, when the later founder of the Turkish state was serving as a military attaché in Sofia. I responded by bringing up the Jews living in the Chinese diaspora, who do not differ from the locals in color or the shape of their eyes, yet are just as Jewish as their Ethiopian co-religionists who happen to be black as tar. It does not therefore, I concluded, seem to be a good idea to bother too much about the origins, because no good has ever come of it. « Still, being a Jew would be different », the guy said meditatively, « at least I would not have to identify with such riffraff ». « Wouldn't you marry a local girl if you fell in love with her ? » I

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attempted, unsuccessfully, to provoke him. « That is absolutely out of question, that would be unhealthy », he said without thinking.

51 I addressed Nazme, as I did everyone, in Bulgarian. We met in Kestel, by Bursa. He introduced himself - his name was Sergei. That was what he had been called in the last few years and he liked it. He used to be the manager of a restaurant in Kirjali. He was untouched by the re-naming, and he thought it was fair enough that only the official language was allowed to be spoken within the territory of a certain state. Kurds are not allowed to babble in Kurdish in Turkey either. The only reason he was stupid enough to move out here was this mass psychosis that affected them all. So he rushed out after his relatives and did not know that he would be transported immediately to the Wild East among the Kurds, because the state had this idea of sending them all over the place. I came to slowly : it was as though the road movie had been cut for a moment, and a Bulgarian propaganda film, unmasking the sly machinations of the Turkish state, was being broadcast in its place by mistake. Nazme talked about the locals as Gypsies and beasts - they ought to look in a mirror before they call us giaours, he said, « they reckon all göçmens are thieves and their women whores, because they do not cover themselves in veils. But if these people knew what morons they were, they would hide for shame ». « We were Turks in Bulgaria and are giaours here : as soon as I have paid off my debt to the state I will buzz off from here immediately... »

52 Nazme-Sergei drove me back to the city, cursing the Arnauts all the way - they had paid for their driving licenses with sheep, but had never learnt how to drive. He also told me that here in Bursa, the most European Turkish city, which had started to prosper after the arrival of the firs immigrants from the Balkans at the end of the nineteenth century, unskilled and elderly göçmens were left to their fate. The “human market” was full of them every day early in the morning and you could get a woman for the whole day for ten dollars. They did hard physical labor for pennies, lived in dumps and starved, but could not return, because there was nowhere to return to.

53 When I arrived at the human market in Bursa at six o'clock, there was already a lot of bustling. One area was swarming with old women in salavaris and young, but run-down women, the other was full of stubbled men wearing torn overalls. It was a weird hunt : every so often a truck would grind to a halt and a crowd would mill around it pushing and shoving - the chosen ones jump up on the truck, the crowd disperses and nobody gets angry at anybody else ; they offer each other cigarettes and carry on loafing. Some employers make their choice within seconds, others get out of the truck and eye the candidates for several minutes, making a big fuss and enjoying the chaos, playing for time, almost touching their future employee's biceps and belly muscles. As the daylight increases so does the crowd, lining up on either side of the road, some of them crossing from time to time to see whether business is better on the other side today. The transactions take place absolutely dispassionately, according to a set of pre-practiced gestures and strategies, without overbearing emotions. When nothing is happening they are willing to talk to me - there is hardly anybody who does not speak Bulgarian. They ask me if I have any news about their native village - I must, if that is where I have come from. They cannot understand how someone who speaks the language is not Bulgarian. Şaban comes from a village close to Kirjali - nobody wants to employ him full time, because he is too old and not trained for anything except tobacco-growing, which is no good to him since he hasn't got a plot of land.

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54 Ali, a young man of twenty-five or so is also unskilled. He has tried his luck in several jobs, but did not succeed at any of them and earned practically nothing. Now he rents out a room with his wife and two children and comes out here every day. Somehow they managed to get by. None of them have social insurance - this, he says, is a way of life - no worse than having a regular job. Here everybody is boss for one day, you are not obliged to do anything you do not want to, and if you do not feel like working you simply don't come out. And what's more, nobody can sack you. « I get work every single time I come out here - these guys know that we work much better than the locals », he said, finally giving voice to his göçmen identity.

The Dernek

55 The Balkanian Turks' Union for Solidarity and Culture, or, the Dernek (Union) as it is better known is an independent organization for the protection of civil interests. It was established in 1983, but only started to function legally in 1985, when those in power realized that it was worth paying attention to the warnings they were receiving that something was about to explode in Bulgaria. Bulgarians have always considered the Dernek as a branch office of the Turkish secret service and the military lobby, which may even be true – the Dernek world-view is undeniably reminiscent of that of the Kemalist soldiers and the armed forces. However, if that is the case, it is hard to explain how the organization dared to defy the late President Özal - a latter-day Atatürk - in 1989, advising that it would be better not to let all those people enter the country, and that the question of emigration would be better settled by a treaty between the two states. « Now you can see what it has come to », Ismet Sever, the president of the Dernek explains impetuously, three hundred thousand people at the border, a tumult, a chaos - anybody who wants to enter the country can find a way to do so. The problems should have been solved there, locally, but instead, they shifted the responsibility onto Turkey, and this state is simply incapable of solving problems.

56 Listening to Mr. Sever it sounds as though someone even more powerful than the government must be behind him – it would be more than irresponsible to gives voice to one's disdain for the Islamist government so spectacularly and boldly. But then again, his opinion of the previous regime is no better - they unscrupulously stole the foreign money that was intended for building apartments. He estimates that barely five per cent of the immigrants received the apartments they were promised. At least three hundred thousand people entered the country illegally since then, just as they had predicted. It was only reasonable to expect that many families could not put up with being torn apart.

57 As we talked the impression grew on me that this rather offhand treatment of information concealed political ambitions. The Dernek, although it does not receive any budget subsidy, is rapidly expanding. They currently have their branches everywhere except in Ankara, they have opened offices also operating as clubs and cafés in almost every district of almost every town of the West coast. In half-built Kıraç, for example, they have already opened an office, while the Dernek in Yalova is the most dazzling building of the neighborhood, designed with guest rooms on the top floor. Its café also serves as an employment agency. The membership fee covers full-time agents who meet regularly in the center of Istanbul, in my friend Mehmet's tea-shop.

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58 The organization in Bursa publishes its own paper. I had a long conversation with the editor-in-chief, Sami Kocao lu a retired army officer, amateur poet and journalist. Mr. Kocao lu said exactly the same things as Mr. Sever, perhaps the only difference being that he estimated the proportion of those immigrants who received some aid from the government at ten per cent. The rest were hard hit by the transmigration, he says, the old people found themselves in the void and those who could make it, owe their existence exclusively to their own abilities and skills. Finally he says a few words about Atatürk. The Balkanian immigrants are the repositories of Kemalist traditions; it is with them and through them that the dream of the founder of the republic, a European Turkey, can be best realized. There are lots of göçmens in this neighborhood. This is where we had Mrs. Çiller elected, because her parents were also immigrants from Dobruja. In the beginning she worked well, but then she had a row with Mesut Yılmaz, the president of the Kemalist party, and hitched up with Erbakan's Islamists. Here the MP will be whoever we propose. Now we are about to give a push to Yılmaz, because we are really fed up with the rest here.16

59 However, it seems that the governing parties are fed up with the göçmen-discourse spreading as rapidly as the Dernek offices. One of the activists took me to the camp in Kaĝithane, where refugees have been living for seven years. Water and “French loo” in the courtyard, each family lives in their narrow box. There are some vegetables planted in the area between the barracks, as usual, but otherwise there is mud and filth everywhere, the stale odor of misery inside, and sheep grazing beside the buildings. « The first thing we built for ourselves was the mortuary », my guide says, pointing at a green building, « because the older folks couldn't put up with these conditions, even though they were given free medical care ». It soon turned out that in the Pendik district, in the Asian part of Istanbul the apartments of forty or fifty families had been ready for two years, all except for the public utilities. The only people who visit the place nowadays are officials from the Kemalist Anap party, to reassure the locals that everything would be alright the moment they get into power. But this does not depend on the göçmens : the only moral they could draw from politics so far is that if they do not vote Refah, i.e. the Islamists, they won't have water and will have stay where they are, in the camp.

60 In the beginning it was hard to understand why the Anap spent so much energy taking care of the souls of Balkanian immigrants, since the number of göçmens who arrived in the successive waves cannot have much exceeded two million, even taking account of their direct offspring - a small proportion in a country of sixty million people. They do not even try their luck in Ankara - in Pursaklar nobody has ever heard about the Dernek, and further to the east the Kemalists have no chances in the present climate. However, the continuing loss of credibility of the governing Islamists is creating new hopes that they will be able to compensate for their loss on the national level on the West coast of Asia Minor and the European areas at least on the more limited level of the local governments. Experience to date has demonstrated that the political elite elected in Istanbul or the surrounding area generally comes to possess the real power in Ankara sooner or later. The republican myth has it that this region serves as a model for the Asian territories and – according to the Islamist myth – Istanbul continues to be the spiritual capital. Therefore in the struggle of possession of this territory and the mythological consciousness that accrues to it, the göçmens' vote could actually be crucial.

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Küçük Çekmece

61 This was not the first time I had visited the ruined camp in Küçük Çekmece. The night before I had stumbled along the concrete debris in the moonlight, a somewhat bizarrely romantic scene, with the sound of the waves in the background : again, hardly the scenery fit for a road movie - more reminiscent of a low budget disaster film really.

62 The light was on in Mehmet's hut but nowhere else - God knows where he got the electricity from. One of the kids is sickly, he says, the wife could not go to work as a result and the biggest daughter has just got a job as a secretary. The two smaller kids were already asleep. The older girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, relatively neat and with make-up on. They shifted up on the bed for me. In the tin stove, they were burning the drift-wood found on the seashore. We haven't been able to leave the camp, although we were warned half a year ago that they would pull it down. We have paid the installments for the apartment, but we have not been allocated one yet, and we have no relatives in Turkey. If we had any, we would have gone to them straightaway in '89.

63 The wind blew through the gaps in the walls of the hut, Mehmet tried to stick a piece of newspaper into one of the gaps in the tin roof. When they came with the machines, nobody believed that they would bang into the huts while people were living in them. But they did. We were told to get out - that everybody could take whatever they were able to carry. The furniture, things like that, were left inside.

64 An hour later it started to rain, the water was trickling down the inside of the wall. It seemed impossible to insulate those walls. Then we collected a few doors, straightened a few tin plates and set up our house on a large concrete block. With the kids, we cannot live like Mustafa, who just lies down on his bed under the big blue sky and covers himself with a few cardboard pieces. He is there now, you can look at him.

65 I looked at him. Mustafa was sleeping under the rubble on some kind of mattress, the rain was pouring down on him, but the nylon sheet he had over the paper kept his den dry. « We were told that the camp had to be pulled down because of the city-planning, you know, it used to be military barracks before and it was not very pretty here, on the seaside. But for us it was OK, we had a room, heating and water. »

66 The next day, on the day of my long trip, I met Mustafa and his buddy Özer personally. Özer had more self-respect, he had built his hut closer to the sea and kept a portrait of Atatürk in it. They had just arrived from the market where they had picked out the best of the leftover rotten vegetables and fruits. They had also gone to the butcher to pick up whatever was left after the dog-owners had been. « We were too old for them, we weren't accepted for any jobs. When the camp was pulled down, they told us that we could go fuck ourselves. » Among the ruins six or seven people haunted the place, hoping to find something, anything. A few hundred meters further two Gypsy families put up their tents, reckoning that they would also find something under the panel pieces. « We cannot even hope to get an apartment », Özer says, « because we didn't even have the money to pay the first installment. But as a matter of fact », he grins, « those who paid didn't get it either ».

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67 Şaban, at whose place I spent the rest of the afternoon, was approaching me with a bucket full of mushrooms. « I just picked them, they grew real big after the rain yesterday. » Above the hut there was a Turkish flag on a pole several meters long. In the beginning he mingled lots of Russian words in his Bulgarian, he had not spoken the language for years, as he explained. Originally he worked as an electric mechanic, then as a leather merchant. He had two shops in town, but his friend and business partner who happened to be a Kurd, ruined him unwittingly. One day armed people came and said that they would shoot the guy in front of his eyes, because he had deserted their terrorist group. Şaban signed a check with which he bailed out the guy, but to cover it he had to sell the shops with the goods within an afternoon. In the meantime his wife left him and moved to another camp with the child. He bought some leather on credit and went off to sell the stuff in Georgia, but the moment he crossed the border, two mafias clashed for his leather, they kept him in custody for four months, then finally he escaped back to Turkey with the help of a Georgian girl after a thousand adventures. The whole thing is like the script of an action film, sometimes I myself find it hard to believe that it happened. But the nervous breakdown I had afterwards was very real. While I was in hospital, the girl who had saved my life several times in Georgia became a whore, and ever since she's been walking the streets around Aksaray.

68 Then he went to find a job in a factory. He had to pass an entrance exam in connection diagrams, the last time somebody asked him about such things had been at the age of fifteen, but everything went all right, up to the moment when they realized he was a göçmen, then they said sorry, but they couldn't employ him. He could not be familiar with the local terminology, he was told. « Anyway, I am happy to be alive, it is like a gift », he said, and invited me to taste the mushrooms he had cooked in the meantime. But I had to get on. I had to look for a pub to watch the second half of the Valencia- Beşiktaş match...

Amnesia and Solidarity

69 According to Richard Rorty « Orwell's vision was of a world in which (...) human solidarity was - deliberately, through careful planning - made impossible »17. The people I talked to recalled, almost without exception, that after the re-naming none of their former friends expressed their sympathy, or if they did, it was without words, only by a look in their eyes. Yet even the most radical of them did not speak about their former neighbors, friends or colleagues with hatred. They understood their fear and exonerated them of the charge of betrayal. It had to do with party politics, because the Turkish population was underdeveloped in every sense. When they heard “Ahmed, Hassan, Mehmet” - nobody paid attention to them, but as soon as they had a Bulgarian name, nobody noticed that they were Turks. This was party politics, so that we wouldn't feel that we were slighted.18

70 They felt instinctively what Rorty tries to prove over several hundred pages, that people are what “the mass of small, contingent facts” make them. In the critical times there were no “fellowship-inspiring descriptions” - as the American moralist says - on the grounds of which some people could have taken a stand for them. And they always wanted to differ, if not consciously (« in a few years we would have been absorbed », almost each of them said), at least involuntarily, like Recep, therailway worker mentioned above, who after the re-naming suddenly started to believe in Allah.

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If you want to get ahead here, forget what you had there.19

71 The fact that the immigrants unconsciously protest against the idea that they were continually deprived of their civil rights, idealize conditions before 1984, and refer to the forceful re-naming as a sudden eruption of madness or “an event outside the system”, is a typical example of communal amnesia. This usually happens after a fatal shock – those memories which are authentically told begin after the shock, everything that had happened before is merely “a memory about the memory”, a subsequently reconstructed picture, which, by embellishing the past, grants self-justification to those who had suffered the blow but could not take a stand against it. Yet at the same time, the process in which the minority identity is replaced by göçmen identity could not have taken place without this amnesia. The borderline between “us” and “them” is no longer drawn according to ethnic particularities, but rather according to a supposed “level of civilization”. The distinction “we Europeans” - ”those obscure Asians” must inevitably be accompanied by a sense of community, andin certain exceptional cases, by an identification with Bulgarians in whose environment they “grew up” to become Europeans. But in order to feel this way they must dispense with the unfortunate fact that the Bulgarians did not declare solidarity with them in hard times.

72 I asked everybody who had visited their birthplace since they had emigrated how they felt when they saw the first Bulgarian policeman at the border, or met that functionary in their native village who had conducted the re-naming. Only those who went back one or two years after emigrating reported a minor anxiety, the rest merely shrugged at the whole business. On the other hand, I heard numerous stories about prison officers, former party secretaries and propagandists that they met by chance. Either they refused to recognize each other or the Bulgarian joked cheerfully about how much good they had unwittingly done to the Turks when they had expelled them, because now they were living much better than their ex-countrymen. There was not one single case of calling somebody to account, of contempt or repressed thirst for revenge, however natural it would seem to an outsider. For the emigrants to Turkey now reappear invested with a completely different identity in the old place. They are no longer a minority group, the residuum of despised Asian hordes who had somehow got stuck there, but the champions of the European ideal in obscure Asia. Their life-saving instinct to differ has found new reference points in the meantime.

73 And this is precisely where the “moral development” of which Rorty dreams gets stranded. In their case, the sense of solidarity does not grow in a straight line, but more like the water level in communicating vessels : it has to diminish in one place so that it could increase in the other. The most shocking illustration is their inability to notice that the Kurds' deprivation of civil rights is parallel to their own former situation. If there is one community they all hate without exception and in unison, it is precisely this minority struggling - today by extreme means - for their rights, and their contempt for the locals also originates to a great extent from the fact that they unwittingly identify Anatolian Turks with Kurds.

74 And is there one politician who, in full consciousness of his vocation, does not feel the impulse to place these potential voters under his own guardianship ? Which Kemalist could resist the temptation to titillate the göçmens' vanity by claiming that they are the ones destined to complete the Master's creation ? And would these people, in constant conflict with the world outside, believe someone who said that they were

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chasing a century-old, cruel ideal of the state, the basic principle of which was opposition rather than solidarity ?

75 Şaban hoisted up the flag with the crescent high, so high it left me wondering where on earth he could find such a long pole in that heap of rubble. He does not blame the Bulgarians – whatever happened was due to the Communists. He has nothing against the Kurds – it was not them who robbed him, but their terrorists. There is nothing wrong with the locals – it is not their fault that their Islamists practice their split consciousness on the göçmens. The Georgians are also OK, because there were at least as many people among them who risked their lives for him as those who wanted to kill him. The Dernek, and göçmen identity ? - what for ? In this hut ? « I say it again : I hoisted the flag so that nobody would forget that we are all in Turkey here ».

NOTES

1. The ethnographic present of this paper is 1996, when the research on which it is based was conducted. 2. Thompson (Paul), The Voice of the Past. Oral History, Oxford University Press, 1988, p. 188. 3. Orwell (George), The Penguin Complete Novels of George Orwell, Harmondsworth : Penguin, 1983. 4. Karpat (Kemal H.), « Introduction : The Bulgarian Way of Nation-Building and the Turkish Minority », in Karpat (Kemal H.), ed., The Turks of Bulgaria : The History, Culture and Political Fate of a Minority, Istanbul, 1990. 5. Jacoby (Russell), Social Amnesia, Harvester Press, 1975. 6. Zeynep, Ankara, November 1996. 7. Züleiha, Istanbul, December 1996. 8. Neçmi, Yalova, December 1996. 9. Karpat (Kemal H.), loc. cit., p. 17. 10. Vasileva (Darina), « Bulgarian Turkish Emigration and Return », International Migration Review, 26 (2), 1992, p. 348. 11. Ibid. 12. Karpat (Kemal H.), loc. cit., p. 20. 13. Canefe (Nergis), « The legacy of forced migrations in modern Turkish society » (this volulme). 14. Sami, Ankara, October 1996. 15. Ali, Istanbul, December 1996. 16. Mehmet, Avcilar, November 1996. 17. Rorty (Richard), Contingency, Irony and Solidarity, Cambridge University Press, 1989, p. 189. 18. Kevser, Ankara, October 1996. 19. Sabahatin, Ankara, October 1996.

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INDEX

Index géographique : Bulgarie, Turquie Mots-clés : Migrations, Turcs (Bulgarie)

AUTEUR

PETAR KRASZTEV Senior Research Fellow at Hungarian Academy of Science, Institute for Literary Studies, Visiting Professor at the Central European University, Program on Gender and Culture, Lecturer at ELTE, University of Budapest, Department of Cultural Anthropology.During his stay in Turkey the author was granted an American Research Institute in Turkey - Mellon Foundation fellowship.

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Memories of Anatolia : generating Greek refugee identity

Alice James

The experience of the Asia Minor Greeks merits special attention, since it provides a unique, long-term case-study of adjustment and settlement in both rural and urban areas. Understanding social life in such localities may provide insights into some ways in which uprooted people cope with the challenges of survival, with material deprivation, with social and personal disruption and with the issue of identity.1

1 Greeks who fled from Asia Minor after 1922 and their descendants created a refugee identity that they have used as a strategy to cope with the trauma of forced displacement. Their memories of their lost homeland of Anatolia have played a major role in establishing their separate status as a refugee group within a population with the same language and religion.

2 All journeys between times, statuses, and places require interpretation to create a meaningful experience. Memories have helped to translate the refugees’ journey and give shape to the imagined community of Mikrasiates (Greek people from Asia Minor). The impact of memory has aided the refugees in the social construction of a common public and private identity.

3 The loss of their homeland might have led to loss of identity, but instead these refugees used the catastrophe of traumatic emigration to give profound emotional legitimacy to their existence as a people. Using memory as a tool, this displaced population created an imagined community of Mikrasiates attached to remembered and enhanced places of their homeland—the lost paradise of Anatolia. Once reproduced in art and artifact, the remembered places and the imagined community could be modeled, adapted, and transformed to give meaning to social life in the new location, Greece. The enhancement of Anatolia emphasizes the importance of real and ideal memories in laying a claim to a homeland and in the creation of a social identity as a people.

4 Recollections passed down through families of large estates and comfortable lives have been used to highlight the disparity between their past wealth in Anatolia and the deprivation that they have suffered as impoverished victims of “ethnic cleansing”. Many Asia Minor refugees escaped from their homeland with only memories of their

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former lives. Reports, such as those of Smyrna burning and the overcrowded, impoverished conditions on refugee ships and in camps in Greece, impelled the international community to mobilize aid.

5 Currently, remembrance is are enhanced by visual representations such as displays in museums, icons from Asia Minor in churches, collections of photographs in books, and exhibitions of film and photographs at city halls in areas settled by refugees. These visual images continue to propagate the memories that are used in the construction of a separate refugee identity.

6 The refugee experience and the construction of identity by the Asia Minor Greeks deserve special attention. Although it has been since the early 1920s that they were forcibly expelled from their homeland, yet they have survived as a community within a larger population with the same language and religion. It is possible to follow the social production of the Mikrasiates’ identity through four generations.

Historical Background

7 The Asia Minor Greeks were just one group of refugees in the Balkans in the first quarter of the twentieth century. Indeed, since the Ottoman Empire began to decline in the eighteenth century, and especially during its territorial collapse in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, many refugee groups, both Moslem and Christian, fled to escape the repression that accompanied the shift in the governing of territories.

8 Under the Ottoman Empire the various linguistic, ethnic, and religious groups had lived intermixed, often with their own community administrative jurisdiction by millet, under the control of the central Ottoman government2. During the nineteenth century, national movements gradually broke apart the old Ottoman Empire; the Greek national movement was the first, in 1832, to achieve full independence. The national independence movement in Greece caused much uprooting of local populations. A famous incident that mobilized Western European support for Greek sovereignty took place in the eastern Aegean on the island of Chios, the site of my field study. In reprisal for rebellion by local islanders, probably due to encouragement from Greek revolutionary agitators from the neighboring island of Samos, the Ottomans devastated this previously privileged island. They massacred 20 000 people, mostly men, and enslaved another 40 000, mostly women and children. A few thousand Chiotes escaped and founded refugee communities in London, , and Marseilles.

9 By the beginning of the First World War, on the European mainland only eastern Thrace was still Ottoman; the Russian and Austro-Hungarian Empires had increased their territories at the expense of the Ottomans. Over several centuries before that, responding to conflicts and border changes, refugees had moved across the Balkans. In 1690, for example, the Serbian Patriarch led tens of thousands Orthodox Christians north into Austrian territory, while almost two centuries later, a Russian offensive and the creation of a Bulgarian state sent Muslims streaming south and west into Anatolia and Macedonia. Such disordered migrations, motivated by fear, occurred again after the Greco-Turkish War of 1897 and the Balkan Conflicts of 1912-1913.

10 According to an international commission sponsored by the Carnegie Endowment in 1914, when the Balkan War fighting ceased, Greece had a population of 2,6 million, and 157 000 refugees. By creating yet more refugees, the Ottoman Empire pressured Greece

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to negotiate a treaty. They deported 150 000 Greeks from the Aegean coast of western Anatolia, and marched 50 000 more into the interior3. These refugees included people who had not been disturbed by the fighting of the Balkan War. Elsewhere in his study, Marrus holds that the treaty mandating the uprooting of peaceful populations clearly showed that the goal was to eliminate minority groups.

11 The transfer of populations was halted by the outbreak of WW1 in 1914, but refugees continued to roam the Balkan area as the new states attempted to achieve national cohesion, rid themselves of minorities, and add territory. This process was revisited in multicultural Yugoslavia in the 1990s, as some of its newly sovereign component parts engaged in “ethnic cleansing” and strove to establish the largest possible national boundaries. As Marrus argues in The Unwanted, the growth of the modern nation-state resulted in the expulsion of groups who did not fit the definition of “nationals”.

12 The concepts of the Greeks’ Megali Idea and Ataturk’s modern Turkish state, as well as World War I and nationalism, caused additional large-scale population displacement. The Megali Idea, or “Great Idea”, was the dream of the re-establishment of a Hellenic Kingdom that would include all of the territory that had previously been part of the . Greeks saw as inevitable the recovery of the capital of Byzantium and metropolis of the Greek Orthodox Church, Constantinople, where many educated, rich, and powerful Greeks still lived. This nationalistic desire to expand the Greek territory to include all ethnic Greeks, including the millions living in Asia Minor, brought Greece into direct conflict with Turkey4.

13 Turkish harassment of ethnically Greek villages and cities in Western Anatolia during WW1, and the conscription of able-bodied ethnically Greek men into Turkish labor battalions5 increased Greek desires to unite the ethnically Greek areas within Turkey with mainland Greece. So fervently desired, Enosis—Union—had recently been achieved with several eastern Aegean islands, including Chios in 19126.

14 With backing from Great Britain, France, and Italy, Greece invaded the Asia Minor port of Smyrna, called Izmir by the Turks, in 1919 in an attempt to annex the parts of Turkey that were substantially ethnically Greek. The Greek forces did well at first, advancing within forty miles of Ankara ; however, foreign support dried up and the mainland Greeks, weary of decades of war, voted out the pro-war government. In 1921 Turkish forces under Ataturk were finally able to halt the Greek army and by 1922 the Greeks were in panic-stricken retreat7. In September, Turkish armies broke into Smyrna looking for revenge. Hundreds of thousands of had gathered there, hoping for transportation out of Turkey. Tens of thousands escaped, but tens of thousands more were killed or captured8. Henry Morgenthau, chairman of the Greek Refugee Settlement Commission, estimated that 750 000 refugees escaped from Smyrna during the “catastrophe”. Many of these displaced persons sailed to nearby Aegean islands in small caiques and hundreds of thousands were transported to Athens, where Morgenthau witnessed their arrival : The condition of these people upon their arrival in Greece was pitiable beyond description. They had been herded upon every kind of craft that could float, crowded so densely on board that in many cases they had only room to stand on deck. They were exposed alternately to the blistering sun and cold rain of variable September and October. In one case, which I myself beheld, seven thousand people were packed into a vessel that would have been crowded with a load of two thousand. In this and many other cases there was neither food to eat nor water to drink, and in numerous instances the ships were buffeted about for several days at

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sea before their wretched human cargo could be brought to land. Typhoid and smallpox swept through the ships. Lice infested everyone. Babes were born on board. Men and women went insane. Some leaped overboard to end their miseries in the sea. Those who survived were landed without shelter upon the open beach, loaded with filth, racked by fever, without blankets or even warm clothing, without food and without money. Besides these horrors the refugees endured every form of sorrow—the loss of husbands by wives, loss of wives by husbands, loss of children by death or straying, all manners of illnesses9.

15 As Giannuli points out10, the abandonment of their wealth, necessitated by the hasty departure, impoverished the refugees and seriously impaired their ability to overcome hardships, as well as making a long-term detrimental impact on their financial and social status.

16 The disarray of the evacuation led to deliberate mistreatment of the refugees by some other Greeks. Greek sailors on the refugee ships charged for relief supplies and many people were unable to pay for provisions. This practice increased the mortality aboard the ships11. The report of the High Commission for Refugees of the League of Nations deplored the conditions of poverty of the refugees from the coastal areas of Anatolia12.

17 Following their enforced exodus, many refugees expected to be allowed to return to their homes; however, the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne, the Convention for the Exchange of Population between Greece and Turkey, put an end to their hopes of returning to their homes. Expectation of financial reimbursement for property abandoned in Anatolia was also futile. Some, such as Greek political historian A. A. Pallis, thought that the compulsory exchange of population was advantageous : Thus the exchange of populations, by regrouping the various frontiers of the states to which they racially belonged, has undoubtedly contributed to no small degree, to the final elimination (italics mine) of what had, from all time been the principal cause of friction and conflict in the Balkans.13

18 Desired by the Turkish government to prevent further problems from any minorities, the cleansing of Anatolia of ethnic groups, including the Orthodox Greeks, resulted in over one million Asia Minor Greek refugees pouring into Greece during 1922 and 1923. The Treaty of Lausanne, which ended the Greek-Turkish War of 1919-1922, set the conditions for population exchange and recompense for property lost. This treaty, ratified and carried out by the League of Nations, was the first of its kind : internationally negotiated and sanctioned compulsory exchange of minorities. Both sides utilized the Treaty of Lausanne to rid themselves of unwanted minorities. Turkey attempted to banish all non-Muslim elements, while Greece used the Treaty to Hellenize Epirus by expelling Albanians, Macedonia by expelling Bulgarians, and Thessaloniki by expelling Ladino-speakers. Some Anatolian Greek refugees were given property abandoned by the groups expelled from Greece, but generally compensation was not adequate to prevent widespread poverty.

19 The experience of being prosfyges (lit. fugitives) was devastating for those involved. The Anatolian refugees were mostly women, children, and old men, as men between the ages of 18 and 45 had been forced into labor battalions, marched into the interior of Turkey and put to work rebuilding towns and factories destroyed during the war. The refugees had few resources and little economic opportunity. Impoverished by years of warfare, Greece had a population of just over 5 million at the time ; the difficulty of absorbing an estimated 1,2 million Anatolian Greeks, while expelling 356 000 Turks,

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overwhelmed the economic resources of the country. Malaria, typhoid, and dysentery were epidemic among the refugees. According to a League of Nations source, mortality rates among the new arrivals climbed at one point to 45 percent14.

Refugees on Chios

20 Today, many of the survivors of the flight from Western Anatolia still live on the Eastern Aegean island of Chios, where I have been doing research since 1989. The events of the “Greek Catastrophe”—and especially of 1922 when the Turkish army broke into Smyrna, massacred large numbers of people, set the city ablaze, and destroyed it— are the defining moments of their lives and their memories remain vivid and compelling. Thousands managed to escape on boats and many ended up on Chios, the closest large Greek island.

Social Production of Asia Minor Identity

21 Although they have been living in Greece for over a quarter of a century, these people feel themselves, as Anatolians, to be different. They have constructed an enduring identity based on the memory of their origins. One 80-year-old refugee woman on Chios told me that « When we left Anatolia we were like the leaves from the trees when the wind takes them away and they blow right and left without knowing where they are going ». The refugees were no longer attached to their land, and only by producing a group identity could they feel grounded.

22 A complex array of factors has helped to create the separate identity of the Mikrasiates. Shared stories of harrowing escapes by boat from Smyrna or other coastal locations have created a sense of family survival against great odds. Relative material and economic deprivation, contrasting with memories of former wealth and large estates in Anatolia, have made them want to keep the past alive. The refugee families view themselves as more cultured, gentler, and “more kind,” as one 88-year-old refugee woman on Chios explained. They brought with them their opinion of the superiority of their traditions and this belief gave them resilience.

23 Refugees preferred to marry other refugees. As another woman explained, Anatolians marry Anatolians, so that « the people from Smyrna would keep the customs that they had there ». When pressed to explain further, she responded simply, « It is necessary for us ». This desire to keep the customs of Anatolia reflects of the two branches of Greeks that were formed at the time of the Greek Independence Movement of 1822-1833.

24 The Greeks that became independent from the Ottoman Empire looked to Western Europe for their frame of reference and to the classical past for inspiration. But the Greeks that remained a part of the Ottoman Empire looked to Byzantium for their grounding. Constantinople represented the center of their social and religious world. Many Greeks were influential, wealthy and powerful in the Ottoman Empire. Both rich and poor believed in their cultural preeminence. In Turkey this belief in their distinction as a group was reinforced by their upholding of the traditions of Christianity, thus emphasizing their separateness. Orthodox Christianity gave them their primary identity within the Ottoman Empire. They had had a degree of self-rule granted to them by the Sublime Porte and had lived in relative harmony for over 400

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years with the Turks as well as with Armenians and other minorities. Some Anatolian Greeks had been driven from their homes when the Ottoman Empire joined Germany in WW1, but they had been able to return at .

25 The Ionian coast, where most of the refugees on Chios are from, was wealthy from agriculture—figs, grapes, and tobacco—and from commerce. Cities such as Smyrna and Constantinople were major cosmopolitan centers; Smyrna was the primary port of the eastern Mediterranean. Once the refugees recovered from their most desperate situation, they were disappointed with the lack of sophistication of small provincial towns such as Chios city, and even of Athens and Thessaloniki. Never rich, mainland Greece had been impoverished by years of warfare : the Balkan Wars 1912-1913; World War 1, which Greece entered in 1917 ; and the Greco-Turkish war of 1919-1922. The refugees formed derogatory opinions about the lack of sophistication of the local Greeks and felt themselves to be more cultured. Refugees saw themselves as the successors to the rich traditions of Byzantium.

Memories of Anatolia

26 As prosfyges they were in a state of dependence, but as Mikrasiates they felt that they had a superior cultural endowment from the Byzantine heritage of their place of origin. The years of marginality, both social and political, reinforced their sense of separation.

27 Several aspects of refugee life served to give this group a sense of belonging, of preserving identity. Of these, with its strong Byzantine traditions, the Greek Orthodox religion is especially important to the people from Asia Minor. With its emphasis on miracles, Greek Orthodoxy is a unifying belief system for the Mikrasiates on Chios. For instance, there was a church dedicated to Agio Charalambo in the town of Chezme on the Asia Minor coast, just opposite Chios. Refugees collected money out of their earnings to build a new church for Agio Charalambo in a refugee quarter in Chios. They told me that their saint comes out during the night, performing miracles and walking around the church.

28 Other stories of miracles include one in which an icon of the Panagia—the Virgin Mary— protected some girls in Smyrna hiding under a bed from being seen by Turkish soldiers. This icon is now in a refugee church in Chios. Churches in the refugee quarters of Chios have many icons and relics brought from towns in Turkey. Belief in their miraculous powers reinforced the feeling of continuity with the past and imparted to the refugees the conviction that saints were and are active in their survival as a people.

29 Shared memories have allowed the refugees to reconstruct their lives, if not just as they had been, at least with continuity. As Renée Hirschon points out in her groundbreaking study of a refugee area near Athens, Heirs of the Greek Catastrophe15, Orthodox Christianity emphasizes the importance of memory. Every day has a Saint’s name attached to honor the memory of that saint. Rituals to remember the dead abound in Orthodox tradition. Memory is power in Orthodoxy and tradition gives the past its meaning. Through ritual, Greek religion links the dead of preceding generations with the living and the unborn. Orthodoxy emphasizes the mystery of regeneration, immortality, and continuity with the past. With very few exceptions, all Greeks are Orthodox, but their religion has special power for the refugees, as memory gives the Mikrasiates the means to construct their social identity.

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30 Preservation of memory is located in other places besides the church. Community centers in refugee areas have musical programs of rembetika, the music that grew out of the experiences of the refugees, and programs with films and old photos of Asia Minor. I have attended these programs and noticed an almost equal number of young, middle- aged and elderly people there.

31 In addition, voluntary associations, such as the Centre for Asia Minor Studies, the Pontian Society, and the Union of Smyrniots, have been formed to help preserve the memories. Publication of books by the Centre for Asia Minor Studies, such as the beautifully produced Refugee Greece16, and of the Centre’s Bulletin promote the retention of memories of the lost homeland.

32 Museums also reinforce the social production of refugee identity. One refugee quarter on Chios built its own museum by collecting a large amount of memorabilia, photographs and artifacts from families. Relics include items such as leaves from a tree in a garden in Anatolia; refugees had snatched the leaves as the family fled the Turkish army. The sense of longing for the lost homeland is pervasive. The programs, museums and churches give meaning to their journey as refugees, as have the cherished family photographs, which give recollections substance.

33 Generally, individuals use family photographs to document family history. Mikrasiates use family photographs as cultural documentation of memory as well. The visual images establish the reality of the past ; they are used as proof of the truth of the existence of the family in another place, at another time. Photographs of the family home in Anatolia, Smyrna as it was before 1922, and ancestors with the now elderly refugees as children, grouped together in comfortable surroundings, freeze time and reinforce the image and remembrance of the lost world.

34 The visual heritage of the personal record of the family, together with published or exhibited photographs, allows children and grandchildren to enter the past and share the experiences of life long ago. Photographs are used as catalysts for the conversation that passes on the memories of grandparents to younger generations.

35 Visual presentation enables the refugees to display, recount, and recall the cultural heritage of the family. As the family and group history is retold, it is preserved and enhanced. The photographs are a personal message from the past, providing visual reinforcement of the assertion that because of their cultural heritage their family is different from other Greeks. The past exists forever, preserved in prints, which bear witness to the reality of memories of life in Anatolia, where the traditions of Byzantium lingered on17.

36 The construction of refugee identity is sustained and nourished by reminiscences, which provide a chronicle of the ethnohistory of the Mikrasiates. Recollection documents the past and the past is interpreted through the remembered experience. Memory does not exist in a vacuum : the retelling of personal and public experience that augments its meaning surrounds it. Through the interpretation of memory, the past is reified and validated.

Conclusion

37 Memory reinforces the social production of a group with a separate identity. When Mikrasiates recount family history, their experience reinforces a sense of community

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and shared history. The memories illustrate the narrative of diaspora—the shared history of the refugees.

38 The story told by the Asia Minor refugees follows the master narrative of diaspora: they were forced to abandon their homeland, the lost paradise. They yearn for reunion, but reunion is impossible. In this politics of identity, the remembered past and the lost paradise—real or imagined—are used to create commonalities and community.

NOTES

1. Hirschon (Renée), Heirs of the Greek Catastrophe : The Social Life of Asia Minor Refugees in Piraeus, Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1989, p. 2. 2. See Augustinos (Gerasimos), The Greeks of Asia Minor : Confession, Community, and Ethnicity in the Nineteenth Century, Kent, Ohio : Kent State University Press, 1992 ; Kitromilides (Paschalis M.), Alexandris (Alexis), « Ethnic Survival, Nationalism and Forced Migration », Bulletin of the Centre for Asia Minor Studies. V, 1984-1985 ; McCarthy (Justin), Muslims and Minorities : The Population of Ottoman Anatolia at the End of the Empire, New York : New York University Press, 1983, for descriptions of Greeks as an ethnic minority under Ottoman rule. 3. Marrus (Michael R.), The Unwanted : European Refugees in the Twentieth Century, Oxford : Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 48. 4. See Tsolainos (Kyriakos P.), « Greek Irredentism », Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, CVIII, 1923, for a contemporary, personal view of the Megali Idea. 5. See Tanc (Barbaros), « Where local trumps national », this volume, for one example. 6. See Smith (Michael Llewellyn), Ionian Vision : Greece in Asia Minor 1919-1922, London : Allen Lane, 1973, for a discussion of Enosis. 7. See Smith (Michael Llewellyn), op. cit., Pallis (A. A.), Greece’s Anatolian Venture—and After, London : Meuthun & Co. Ltd., 1937, for a description of the campaign. 8. See Houspian (Marjorie), The Smyrna Affair, New York : Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Inc., 1966, for a well-researched description ; Oeconomos (Lysimachos), The Martyrdom of Smyrna and Eastern Christendom, London : George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1922, for an emotional report ; and Horton (George), The Blight of Asia, Indianapolis : Bobbs Merrill, 1926, for the first-hand account of the American consul in Smyrna. 9. Morganthau (Henry), I Was Sent to Athens, Garden City, New York : Doubleday, Doran & Co., Inc., 1929, pp. 48-49. 10. Giannuli (Dimitra), « Greeks or “Strangers at Home” : The Experiences of Ottoman Greek Refugees during their Exodus to Greece, 1922-1923 », Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 13, 1995. 11. Ibid ; League of Nations, Greek Refugee Settlement, Geneva : League of Nations, 1926. 12. See Ladas (Stephen P.), The Exchange of Minorities, Bulgaria, Greece and Turkey, New York : Macmillian, 1932, for a description. 13. Pallis (A. A.), op. cit., p. 169. 14. See Pentzopoulos (Dimitri), The Balkan Exchange of Minorities and Its Impact upon Greece, Paris : Mouton & Co., 1962, and Eddy (Charles B.), Greece and the Greek Refugees, London : George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1931 for a full description. 15. Hirschon (Renée), op. cit.

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16. Yiannakopoulos (Georgios A.), ed., Refugee Greece, Athens : Centre for Asia Minor Studies, 1992. 17. James (Alice), Smith (Barbara),« The Mirror of Their Past : Greek Refugee Photographs and Memories of Anatolia », Visual Anthropology Review, 16, 2000.

INDEX

Mots-clés : Réfugiés Index géographique : Asie mineure, Grèce, Turquie

AUTEUR

ALICE JAMES Professor of Anthropology, Department of Sociology and Anthropology, Shippensburg University.

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Reconstructing “home” among the “enemy”: the Greeks of Gökseada (Imvros) after Lausanne

Giorghos Tsimouris

Gökseada has been in the process of changing since 1964. New villages, new establishments and of course a new but developing community of islanders can be observed there1.

History matters

1 Gökseada (Imvros)2, located at the borderline between Turkey and Greece at the North Aegean Sea, represents conspicuously the turbulent relation of the two nation-states throughout the 20th century. It also reflects the antagonistic formation of nations in South Balkans and the lack of correspondence between state territorial borders and the cultural identities of the people defined by those borders. Moreover, the particular history of this community illuminates the shifting and at times ambivalent manner in which people subscribe to a particular national identity. It further reminds us of the durability of certain pre-national cultural markers long after the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire and the establishment of nation-states in the area.

2 Most importantly, the Greek inhabitants of Gökseada exemplify, in a tragic way, the fate of “minor” nationals, which have been treated as threatening anomalies to the homogenization and the purity of the host nation-state. As I shall explain later, this community of Greeks beyond the national territory may be seen as a “trapped minority”3—trapped between an oppressive host-state which grudgingly offered them citizenship, and an unfriendly Greek state which, despite a nationalistic rhetoric of inclusiveness, only reluctantly incorporated them in the national brotherhood.

3 Gökseada (Imvros), was annexed for the first time in Modern Greece in November 1912 during the Balkan Wars, after successful operations of the Greek Navy in the North Aegean sea. The Serbes Treaty (1920, Article 84) ratified this de facto annexation. However, the defeat of Greece in the war of 1922 by Turkey brought up anew issues

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surrounding status of the islands Gökseada and Bozcaada4. In the Treaty of Lausanne (1923) that followed, Gökseada was ceded to Turkey with a peculiar administrative status. Turkey introduced a special self-governing status for the large community of about 8 000 Christian Orthodox, self-identified as Greeks or Romii, who remained on the island5. This arrangement for the island provoked a stubborn reaction from the local Greek community which complained both to the Greek government and to the Western Powers6. The Greek community’s protest brought no intervention, and thus many among them, fearful of their future, decided to depart. However, local Greek authorities hindered their departure.

4 In the decades that followed, Greco-Turkish relations seem to have had a crucial impact upon the lives of this community of Greeks. Oral narratives and written records indicate that for the Greeks of Imvros the history of the island can be divided roughly into two major periods. The first extends from the Treaty of Lausanne until 1963 and the second from 1963 until today. The first period may be seen as a period of relatively peaceful coexistence between the 8 000 Romii (Greeks) and the roughly 300 Moslems, who were mostly representatives of the Turkish administration. Although written records refer to specific acts of discrimination which took place in that period, such as the expropriation of part of Church’s property, the settlement of the first immigrants from mainland Turkey and the exile of both Metropolitan and local authorities of Romii in Asia Minor, these are not mentioned in oral narratives.

5 Possibly, these events are heavily overshadowed by what followed. The first major disquieting signs appeared in 1963, a year of extreme political tension in Cyprus. From 1963 onwards, the Greeks of Imvros were subjected to intense and systematic discriminatory measures by the Turkish authorities. These measures included the closure of their schools in 1964, the progressive confiscation of the largest7 and most fertile part of their farmland during the 60s and the 70s by the state, and the establishment of “open prisons” for penal criminals in the early 70s. Turkish authorities classified the island as a “supervised zone”. This meant that one needed a admission permit by the Turkish authorities to visit the island.

6 Due to these intense and continuous pressures, less than three hundred elderly Greeks remain on the island today. Imvrii believe that these discriminatory measures were part of the long-term Turkish political project known as eritme programi (project of dissolution). They believe that the final goal of this project was their complete persecution from the island.

7 The closure of the Greek schools on 1964 forced people, especially those having children at school age, to move either to Istanbul or to Greece or even abroad. Simultaneously, the deprivation of their farmland made Imvrii realize that it would be hard for them to survive. Oral accounts report many incidents of compulsory expropriation of land by the Turkish authorities. Imvrii often resorted to courts in order to get their land back. However, their efforts to win a fair trial were rarely successful: “they got my olive grove in the price of the wood of one olive tree (…). When I made this complaint to the jury he responded that one needs a lot of work in order to sell the wood of one olive tree (…). I said nothing more ... what could I say?” an aged man reported bitterly to me when discussing this issue on Imvros.

8 The crisis in Cyprus in 1974 and the invasion of Turkish troops was a turning point in the collective memory of Imvrii. “The situation here changed overnight” several people stressed. “Turkish soldiers invaded our houses terrifying and raping”. Several episodes

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of rape and murder are reported whenever the issue of Cyprus “to Kypriako” comes up. “Even our Turkish neighbors and friends turned to look at us in a hostile way” oral accounts conclude. At the same time we were terrorized by the criminals of the open prisons; they invaded our villages stealing our properties, intimidating or even killing us. Here at Aghii Theodori, one of them attacked a woman (…) because she resisted the prisoner murdered her. At night, fear dominated the village (…) we were locked into our homes and we were afraid to exchange visits.

9 Such dramatic events prompted many Imvrii to abandon their homeland. The first massive departures from the island occurred after 1964, and were continued throughout the 70s and the 80s. Stories of flight are extended over a period of about 30 years and include a great variety of routes. Some families initially were settled in Istanbul and afterwards emigrated to Greece. Other people were compelled to transfer to a Central-European state in order to get a visa for Greece since they were not allowed to move directly to Greece. Young people left as fugitives to escape military service in the Turkish army. Numerous people left at night in small fishing boats for the nearby islands, Lemnos and Samothraki. Many of these families did not experience violence directly, but because of the climate of fear and insecurity they followed the wave of their fellow villagers.

10 Accounts of flight usually conclude with issues surrounding their reaching the final destination that in most cases was Greece. They usually stayed in police stations during the first days after their arrival. Given the absence of any settlement project at a national level, the months that followed usually are remembered as a hard and humiliating period. It was quite common for the newcomers to have arranged individually with relatives or friends their arrival in Greece.

11 Members of different generations strongly believe that Greek authorities demonstrated a blatant indifference to their cause both when they were persecuted from homeland and when they were settled in Greece. They complain that they were treated as an unwanted burden during their arrival: state officials, they say, were apathetic regarding the difficulties of their uprooting and rarely, if ever, advocated their concerns to international organizations. They also speak about reports addressed to the Ministry of Foreign affairs, which were swallowed by bureaucracy and never saw the light of the day again.

12 Another point of protest against the Greek state are the troubles which most Imvrii encountered in their attempt to get Greek citizenship. State authorities were reluctant to provide them with Greek citizenship, they argue, in order to force them to return to the island and prevent its de-. Their strong belief that Greece avoided risking a peaceful coexistence with Turkey at their expense may be summarized in the statement attributed to G. Papandreou who was prime-minister of Greece during the 60s: “Why jeopardize our relations with Turkey, only for the sake of a bunch of fishermen?”

13 Such stories drive Imvrii to conclude that for a long time their cause has remained unrecognized in the public sphere in the name of larger national strategic interests. This view seems to be justified by the nature of expulsion from homeland: notwithstanding its massive and violent character, it has not been registered as a persecution in the official, national and international records. It is rather a forced displacement carried out in a “peaceful” manner. For Imvrii, Turkish barbarity against

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them went hand in hand with Greek indifference over a long period of time. They argue that, “the devastation of the island would have been averted if Greece had acted in time”. The belated interest of politicians in their cause, especially nationalist politicians who seize at the opportunity to struggle for the violated rights of Hellenism, does not change their views: “if we hadn’t made our cause known on our own initiatives and struggled, Imvros would have been definitely forgotten. Politicians remember us only for their own interests (…), some of them are really dangerous for our purposes”, the leaders of Imvrian associations would claim—referring to nationalists.

14 Interestingly enough, the view that the Greek state faced with indifference the forced dislocation of Imvrii, is accepted in the public fora of the Greek state. In the summer of 1998, during an official visit to Lemnos8 President K. Stefanopoulos apologized publicly for the treatment of Imvrii by the Greek state. Discussing this issue with a young Imvriot I asked him to comment on the declaration of the president. He answered that “if this apology is enough for people like my father who lost everything and were expelled from their own homes, for me it is fine; but I don’t think that it is so”. Posing the same question to a young woman coming from Imvros she answered, “what has the official state done after this declaration?”, and she concluded that “it was just a declaration”.

Between Turkish violence and Hellenic indifference: theoretical reflections from the margins of the nation

Every human problem must be considered from the standpoint of time9

15 Despite the official rhetoric according to which Gökseada (Imvros) is the cradle of Hellenism since time immemorial, state policies and bureaucracies had difficulty “imagining”, in Anderson’s sense10, Imvrii as real Greeks. Several hegemonic considerations locate Imvrii at the margins of national purity: first, their long coexistence and close association with a hostile national other; second, the fact that some of them bear even today Turkish citizenship, since the Greek government was reluctant to provide them with citizenship11 . and third, their properties and homes are in Turkish territory. Fluent knowledge of the Turkish language, especially by the first generation members, may also be seen as an odd mark for a real Greek. These obstacles prevented the national imagination from shifting towards full inclusiveness and genuine incorporation. This complete inability of political elites to imagine Imvrii as real Greeks, although not acknowledged publicly, explains partly the profound resentment and revulsion of Imvrii towards official rhetoric and policies.

16 It has been noted in anthropology that margins are “sites from which we see the instability of social categories” and “zones of unpredictability at the edges of discursive stability, where contradictory discourses overlap”12. I deal with Imvrii as a minority trapped between a hostile host-state which reluctantly offered them citizenship, and an indifferent mother nation which relegated them to the geopolitical margins of national purity. However, as stated earlier, margins are not only sites of restriction, oppression or assimilation but also creative stages of rearticulation and resignification of those very hegemonic truths and categories, which peripheralize the existence of the group in the national culture.

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17 Communities constituted by “nationals” beyond the national borders keep us aware that nationalism is developed in discrepant ways among such groups, as a result of their specific situations. They enjoy different conditions of geopolitical and material existence; their relations with “significant national others”, are rooted in immediate experience, not state-mediated representation; and their ties to their “own” pedagogical national center are often loose. Communities of “nationals” like Imvrii, dramatically and reluctantly incorporated in the national territory and culture, thus challenge the timeless posture of the nation-state13, undermine its public rhetoric and rearticulate boundaries of “we-ness” in unexpected and, for the nation-state, undesirable ways. Most importantly, margins of the national imagination like Imvros push nationalist rhetoric to its limits and show in very sharp and illuminating ways the inconsistency between public statements of inclusion and relevant action towards “minor” groups.

18 Theoretical attention to identities articulated in the interstices of a transnational world that celebrates what Homi Bhabha calls “third space”14, or what Appadurai perceives as “global ethnoscapes”15 does not fit this case. This theoretical view has a limited value in the South Balkans, a geopolitical area in which, like many other regions of the world16, options for collective identity have become highly restricted in the public sphere. Not only transnational ethnoscapes but mainly nation-state landscapes matter in the construction of collectivities. While “transnationalism” may have some value for older Imvrii who were left behind, as I will explain later, it would be rather problematic to employ this concept for those who have been incorporated in Greece over the last decades.

19 In this regard, oral testimonies of Imvrii are framed and shaped by powerful hegemonic discourses 30 or 40 years after settlement in Greece. This may explain why discrepant or even contradictory discourses arise when they recall their past in their homeland. On the one hand, a sense of betrayal and resentment arises whenever Imvrii deal with their treatment by the Greek state. On the other hand, Turkish people in the island are remembered as quiet, peaceful neighbors and often-good friends while their own misfortunes are attributed to state policies. Nevertheless, often their troubles are recounted in explicitly nationalistic terms: “the Greek state should have done to Moslems of Thrace the same atrocities that the Turks have committed to us (…) while Moslems in Greece have dramatically proliferated, the Hellenism of Turkey has been wiped out”. In the same vein, occasionally their forced expulsion is equated with the persecution of Hellenism in its ancestral cradle, Asia Minor.

20 Gramsci’s concept of “contradictory consciousness” is particularly relevant in our attempt to explore these contradictory aspects of the same testimonies - which cannot be fully accommodated within nationalist discourse and yet cannot be understood by fully rejecting it either. It is more useful, perhaps, than the notion of a “transnational space” formed by Turkish violence and Greek indifference. In the words of Gramsci: One might almost say that he has two theoretical consciousnesses (or one contradictory consciousness): one that is implicit in his activity [or experience, I may add] (…) and one, superficially explicit or verbal, which he has inherited from the past and uncritically absorbed17.

21 This interpretive framework will also enable us to understand the discrepancy of views between those Imvrii who left and those who decided to spend the last years of their lives in the homeland. These two groups react differently to the “national narrative” of

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the Greek nation, and ethnographic evidence from both indicates also the tensions that each group experience over the idea of “homeland”.

August 15 on Imvros

Really, beyond any suggestions and theories, Imvros revives just one period of the year, thanks to the Greeks only. From the end of July to the end of August the immigrants Imvrii from abroad return together with those who live in Greece in order to participate in the festival of Panaghia (Virgin Mary) and at the same time to meet each other … They celebrate all together the symbolic return to the land of their ancestors (…) indeed, a return in doses (…) and a huge pilgrimage. (An immigrant)18.

22 Every year, around mid-August, between two and three thousand Imvrii from Greece and the wider diaspora gather on the island to celebrate the Assumption of the Virgin Mary (to panigyri tis Panaghias). While this religious festival has always been important for Orthodox Greeks in general, for Imvrii it now has particular significance. The first visits in the island were noted in the late 80s when expatriates first dared to hope that they could return to their homes without facing any trouble from the Turkish authorities. The first visitors were few and returned back to their villages with sentiments of fear and insecurity. The fact that these first returnees did not face any particular difficulties encouraged more people to visit the island. Young people in particular were more enthusiastic about celebrating the annual feast in their ancestral homeland. Progressively, the number of Imvrii who returned on this occasion grew remarkably. The main body of visitors comes from Greece but there are people from all over the world. Visits usually last from one week to one month, and around the feast day on the 15th of August it is hard to find a proper room in which to stay. Moreover, a few old visitors may stay on the island for months, since they alternate their residence between Greece and Turkey. Over the last decade, the festival has crystallized as the major event for the members of this displaced community, and attracted wider national interest: various famous Greek singers have performed on the island on the occasion of the festival.

23 Some exiled Imvriotes do not participate in these festivities. Intentional “forgetfulness” is quite common, especially among the elderly. I met people who never returned since they left. One of them told me that he wanted to keep the picture of the homeland as it was before. Another systematically avoids touching any of the many albums of photos that his daughter, an amateur photographer, has shot in Imvros. I often heard people saying on the island that this would be the last trip to the homeland. Nevertheless, the number of visitors on the occasion of the festival is increasing year after year. This is in part a result of the activities of associations of Imvrii in Greece and abroad. A primary goal for some leaders of these associations is to try and get back their properties: encouraging high attendance in the yearly festivals is a way to keep alive the history and the memory of the place and to transmit it to younger Imvriotes. One of the young members of the administrative council of the association of Athens argued that it will be important if we succeed in making Imvros a living place of memory and a place of pilgrimage for the young generation (…) otherwise we’ll start building dead monuments in Greece ossifying our memories (…) who knows (…) there are so many factors beyond our control.

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24 In a broader context, Imvrii make clear that for them this occasion is a remarkable and unique opportunity to return back home after a long time and to meet friends and fellow villagers. Indeed, in the course of the last decade or so Imvros has become the main meeting-point for a large number of Imvrii who left as fugitives under the most uncommon conditions. It is also a huge pilgrimage in which religious sentiments are inextricably confused with feelings of homesickness. Literally, to panigyri is a ritual of re-membering the place and the people, a painful act of putting together of the dismembered community. As a ritual, is a repetitive act that manifests the profound need to reclaim and to look back.

25 The broader political issues of the pilgrimage can be traced in the following interview provided for Imvros, the Journal edited by the Association of Imvrii of Athens: Wherever you look Imvros hurts you Like “the apostles coming from the ends of the world” we gathered this year again in Imvros, in our Mother Land, coming from the five continents, indeed half way across the world. Young, old, children, everybody reached homeland trying to become familiar with the new order of things. Once you see Imvros, from far off, tears run down from eyes. As the boat approaches the island everything appears different: so familiar and so strange at the same time. There is no obstacle able to stop one from traveling to this blessed and magic Island, nor old age. That’s why one encounters here people, marked by hardships and time, and full of the pain and the bitterness of foreign lands (xenitia) who, nevertheless, undertake the impossible as they reopen their houses and walk on the same streets where their ancestors walked innumerable times. They undertake the impossible as they enter the same church with a new feeling of piety, as they drink the water of remembrance and breathe the life-giving air. For all of us everything seems inconceivable, unprecedented, unique. Especially for those who are on the wane of their lives and who live every day as if it were their last … But we the rest, what we are doing? We run everywhere to touch, to recognize and cling deeply in our hearts everything that belongs to our homeland, whatever it might be. Unfortunately, whatever we touch we become witnesses of small and big changes. From one end of the island to the other, the activities of the Turks which aim to de- Hellenize the Island intensify, thus multiplying and deepening the island’s wounds. Every year the marks become more and profound. Certainly nobody does anything to stop them; neither Greece nor we. We don't know, we don't wish, we can’t (…) which one is the answer? All together? In any case one thing is certain: We allow ourselves, even today, to become spectators of our own disaster without being able at all to react effectively. We never managed to become masters of our own fate: neither individually nor collectively. We have never risen to the circumstances. Our acts are convulsive without depth and without perspective. Our efforts aim more to impress rather than to stop the evil. Perhaps we simply can’t conceive what is going to occur in the near future, when the end of illusions will come.19

26 For Imvriotes, as for other diasporas and displaced communities, homeland remains the village and the island of origin lost through violence, rather than the place they settled in Greece or abroad. This is made clear in the emotional description given above. Yet also included are fragments of a generic nationalist discourse, like the rhetoric of Turkish de-Hellenization of the island, alongside criticism of national policy. The juxtaposition of these elements reflect both the influence of state prescriptions for and restraints on the public articulation of collectivity, and the message that participating in a new national community is not enough to accommodate collective experiences of violence and loss.

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27 In this regard, the passage may be taken as demonstrating a form of the “contradictory consciousness” discussed earlier. The return to Imvros during the festival is seen as a moral, yet extremely painful task for young and old Imvriotes, generating profound feelings of bitterness and repulsion for the current condition of the island. Pessimism and ambivalence pervades their words whenever they discuss the future of their homeland. Many of those who visit the island do not have Turkish citizenship. This implies that they are not entitled to inherit their own homes and properties. Most people believe that very soon, when the elderly die everything will be definitively lost. I met a young man who told me that he prefers to sleep in his car rather than in his house. When I asked him why he gave me the following answer, “I can’t bear the condition of the house as it is and I don’t want to make any repairs (…) I know that I am going to lose it in a few years time”. Although some people have sold their houses or fields and never returned, I met others who are determined not to sell a square meter although they are convinced that they are going to lose their land. For them, not selling is a way to pay tribute to community members who have passed away. This argument also runs through the appeals of the Association of Imvriotes of Athens. It reflects a doggedly adversarial viewpoint towards the Turkish inhabitants, as well as a form of denial of what happened, and the implications of their changed citizenship status.

28 For many returnee visitors to the island, though, the point is to visit their villages, repair their homes, tend their fields, meet lost friends and acquaintances, and pay tribute to ancestors rather than engage in any nationalist rhetorical project of encounter with the “lost homelands” of Hellenism. The personal, family, or local community dimensions of people’s thinking about their return was clear in the accounts of a wide range of visitors, whose comments included the following statements. This is the first time that I have back come, after 23 years (…) one week before my departure I regretted it but it was too late (…)everything was arranged. We've sold everything here (…) fortunately I found our house in a very good condition. The Turk who bought it brought an architect from Istanbul to renovate it. I stay in the first floor and the Turkish proprietor in the upper floor (…) I arranged to stay next summer as well (…). What I couldn't bear was the picture of Shinoudi (…) it is horrible see all these houses without doors and without windows (…) like people without eyes (a middle aged woman from Athens). I emigrated in France on 1948 (…) I lost my Turkish citizenship and I can't live in my own house. I have to cross the border and reenter the country in order to be able to live here for another three months (a woman in her early sixties). I left in 1976 (…) I returned for the first time in 1979 for 11 months, and I came now 20 years later. I got a Greek passport just last year (…) I haven't done my military service but I got the passport. I deeply wanted to come earlier but I couldn’t. My father died in Athens (…) I wanted to meet him in Imvros (…) I walk by the coffee- houses and I start crying, I can't help it (…) I wanted to meet some people but there was no time to catch them up (a thirty year old man). When I am in Lemnos I look at Imvros when I am in Imvros I look at Lemnos. I am neither here nor there. I was born here [Imvros], my children were born there (…) the place where my children were born is a better homeland (a man in his forties). I have torn many trousers up on this stone [showing a certain corner in the square of the village]. Now I can't stay here any more (…) so far I was coming because my mother was alive (…) now she died and I don't want to come back anymore (a man in his forties).

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Before, the village was lively from the songs and the voices (…) now loneliness everywhere … this season the fields were lively, full of people (…) nothing has been left (a sixty years old man). I visited our field with the farm house. There is a walnut tree there and a spring (…) in the past we used to stay into this farmhouse during the summer time, I grew up in this place (…) as I approached I met Turkish soldiers (…) they stopped me and they asked me where I come from and what I wanted there. “I grew up in this farmhouse” I responded to them “and I want to drink some water (…) where do you come from guys?”. After that they softened up (a man in his late fifties).

29 For these Imvrii who return back, the island is the place in which they were born and grew up, the home, the field or the concrete stone of experience rather than an abstract, unredeemed Hellenic territory. As Clifford eloquently puts it “peoples whose sense of identity is centrally defined by collective histories of displacement and violent loss cannot be “cured” by merging into a new national community”20. Here as elsewhere21, trajectories of exile are narrated in fundamentally moral terms in which the politics of the mother nation remain open to question.

30 Yet some exiles, especially those active in organizations of Imvrii, make closer links between their own fate, that of their island, and international relations. Some find homely metaphors to capture the contradictions between the rather abstract Greek government discourse of their inclusion into the national polity, and the realities of their reluctant reception into their home country. As one young Imvrian put it, “We’ve been caught, in a way, in a sandwich between Turkey and Greece without having any other option”. While the Turkish state operated with few constraints to rid itself of an unassimilated and potentially disloyal community with cultural ties to its antagonistic neighbor, Greece’s policy toward these undomesticated members of the nation was more complex. Turkish repression and violence operated as the “constitutive outside” that strengthened their own solidarity after the 1960s. A profound sense of commonality with other Greeks emerged, which was based in large part on the Imvriot sense of self as Orthodox Christians, shared with a majority of the Greek nation. The terms Romii and Christians were widely used among the first generation of Imvrii as self-ascription.

31 When they came into contact with the Greek state, though, petitions couched in such terms were not always effective. In the “disemic” space of Greek national identity described by Herzfeld22, they highlighted wider pre-national Romeic collectivities rather than the Hellenic dimension associated with the official public domain of Greekness: as a result, the Imvrii refugees found themselves marginalized and underprivileged. By contrast, rhetorical invocations of Hellenism—references to “the cradle of Hellenism”, “the Hellenism of Imvros and Tenedos” or “Hellenic homelands”—were already commonplace in political and academic discourses, in which the exodus of Greeks from Asia Minor has often been narrated as a singular tragedy. Under a variety of influences within Greece, some exiled Imvrii came to foreground a sense of their ancestral community as suffering under the enemy of Hellenism. by thus incorporating themselves and their fate into the grand narrative of mass, violent expulsion by “the Turks”, Imvrii link their own fate to that of the wider Greek nation.

32 This nationalist perspective, representing “the significant other” as physically violent, barbarous and eternally hostile, can coexist with the personal, grounded descriptions of return offered earlier. It is compromised far more by Imvriot memories of peaceful coexistence with their Turkish, Muslim neighbors, especially until the 1960s. Where it

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is most directly challenged is in the experiences, and indeed the very existence of Imvrii who stayed behind on the island. They are almost exclusively old people, most of them in their late 70s and 80s. They are usually poorer compared with those who left, less educated and usually have fewer connections with Greece. Their families have often been separated, so that they do not have assistance from their children. They thus represent a form of survivalism, having endured the destruction of their community and lives of limited resources in an inhospitable environment.

33 Nationalist rhetoric paints these elderly Imvrii as outstandingly courageous Hellenes who stayed behind to protect a Hellenic homeland in alien territories. Evoking the Spartans who fell resisting the Persian invasion in 480 B.C., they are referred to as “the 300 [warriors] of Leonidas who guard Thermopiles” (i triakosii pou filoun Thermopiles). One might expect, as a result, that as a community they would play some symbolic role during the yearly festivities. Yet the following accounts reveal a rather different view of the events around the religious celebration every August, and points towards a different sense of belonging from that projected by the Greek state. Now that the festival is on our relatives are around and we are fine, but this lasts less than one month and we are too old to participate (…) during the winter nothing but the wind blows through this village and life becomes unbearable (…) some old women cannot move from their houses and there are no shops, no butcher no doctor, nothing. A doctor visits the place once a week and since he is in a hurry to leave there are people who don’t catch him either because they are not informed or because they can’t move (…) so we lock ourselves in our houses and weep. The old, especially those who have no relatives, are left at the mercy of private donations that don’t arrive always in their hands. Our youth is good only for la-la-la [meaning entertainment]. A woman from Greece asked “Why don’t you, the locals, participate in the festival?” The answer - Do you think that it’s easy for us to participate? We can’t even sit on a chair, we need our beds to lie on. They [Greek government agencies] remember us during the festival, and shower us with compliments and promises for assistance. But they forget everything as soon as they go away from Imvros.

34 Old people thus express their disillusion with regard to the resurgence of return: they see little by way of potential benefit for themselves, and thus cooperate grudgingly, at best, with the expectations of their Greek guests. An Italian visitor from Istanbul went so far as to venture the opinion that “the Romii who live here do not enjoy the festival; on the contrary they seem to be annoyed by it”.

35 Such refusal to participate in what has become a yearly affirmation of Imvros’ underlying “Greekness” appears to contribute to certain frictions between those who stayed and those who left. Elderly residents are sometimes treated with suspicion by Imvrii who return for the festival. Reasons of this suspicion are their close association and cooperation at various levels with the Turkish population of the island. Occasionally, suspicion takes the form of open accusations for betrayal: “they are traitors because they sold us to the Turks (…) they go to courts and bear witness that our houses and our fields do not belong to us anymore (…) so their friends (meaning the Turks) become able to appropriate our properties”. Another interlocutor stressed that “they have been kneaded [mixed up] with the Turks” (zimothikan me tous Tourkous).

36 On August 1998 after the end of the festival and just before my departure to Greece I visited Nikos23, who is a permanent resident of the island, in a coffee-shop, to say good- bye. He took me aside to complain about the insults addressed to him in front of me a

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few days previously by one of the visitors: “Why did he accuse me of not being a real Greek? My identity card states that I am [name and ], is this a Turkish name? Haven’t I been baptized into a Christian church? Don’t I bear a Christian name? What does Nikos mean? What did he want me to do? (…) I had to live here”.

37 Angry and bitter, he posed these rhetorical questions, not expecting any answer to challenge his own sense of self. The evidence on which he drew was cultural and religious: the fact that it was in part inscribed upon an artifact of the Turkish state was, for him, not relevant. In this regard, Nikos shared with other old Imvriotes of the island a certain neutrality towards states, whether Turkish or Greek. They do not denigrate Turkey—they must, after all, live there—and they do not view Greece with any particular romanticism. Their symbolic association with Thermopylae is of less interest to them than the failure of the Greek government to provide them with any material assistance in hard times.

38 The elderly who have remained behind stick stubbornly to their homes in spite of the extreme hardships of survival. Most of them have married children in Greece and repeatedly invited to move away so that the family can live together. However, this prospect seems unthinkable for many. In the summer of 1998 I met Kostas, a middle- aged man who was visiting the island twenty years after his flight. The main reason of his visit, he explained, was to take his mother, then in her mid-eighties and living alone, to Athens. To his chagrin, she did not want to consider this proposal at all, “I wish to stay here and to die in my homeland” was her final word.

39 Similarly Elpida, an old woman who recently passed away gave me the following account two years ago: Expatriation (xepatrismos) is a very hard condition for old people. Fortunately, it was my fate to return and die in my homeland in this old age. When I was been in Lemnos I used to wake up and ask myself in which dami (farmhouse) of the homeland I was, before I realized where I was. Then I would say to myself, I am still in Lemnos (…) when I am going to return to my homeland? She ended her narrative with the following couplet she used to say when she was in Lemnos: Tis xenitias ta vassana ego den eiha noise Tora xenaki egina kai toho metaniosei The suffering of the strange lands I had never felt Now I am in the foreign lands and I’ve regretted it.

40 Another permanent Greek inhabitant of the island pointed out: They ask me to leave the place (…) where to go? It’s those who don’t understand the worth of this place who speak like that. There is no place for me to make me feel in the same way. At Giougorlou the Turkish state settled refugees (…) they have been provided homes and fields because the Turkish state expropriated their land elsewhere for public interest (…) they know me and they treat me well whenever I go there (…) Mouhtis and other people always offer me a drink.

41 In the short period I spent in Imvros I never heard the permanent residents of the island speak out of themselves as heroic Hellenes in alien territories or as the “guardians of Thermopylae” that some people and institutions in Greece so desired them to be. By contrast, I often heard them complain about the mistreatment of their children in Greece by the Greek state and their own hardship of survival. In spite of the difficulties they face, it is out of the question for them to try and better their daily lives by emigrating to join their children in Greece is out of the question – an attitude that those children cannot understand.

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42 As Orthodox Christians or Romii who speak Greek and have kin in Greece, they are attached to Greek culture and the polity. As Turkish citizens inhabiting a Turkish territory and having Turkish friends – “they are wrapped up with them”, a visitor from Greece complained – they are attached to Turkish political culture. In spite of their ambivalent links with two antagonistic nation-states, one thing is certain: Imvros is unquestionably their own homeland, a place that they cannot bear to leave for Greece or elsewhere.

43 Some of their relatives or former neighbors who visit share similar emotions, but find themselves torn in different ways. Those who found refuge in modern Greece have often invested more energy and hope in that state, and some have sought to shape Imvriot identity in a Hellenic mold. Others retain a strong sense of their own unique and local heritage, and in the light of unhelpful exchanges with the Greek state, feel themselves as belonging nowhere, save perhaps for the duration of the yearly festival on Imvros.

44 These divergent experiences force us to recognize the ambiguities in definitions of “home” and “enemy” for Imvrii. Seeing Greek and Turkish old people dwelling together, playing cards in the coffee-houses and cooperating in the practices of daily survival, one is inclined to perceive them as hybrids and to accept that they inhabit a “third space” formed at the interstices of Turkey and Greece. However, when one talks to these locals, the seasonal returnees, and those former islanders who refuse to visit, one is forced to take seriously a range of anxieties related especially to the future of Greco-Turkish relations, and the interpretation of a traumatic past. This “third space” is then quickly revealed as highly vulnerable, and subject to continuous encroachment by the pressures of nationalizing and nationalized visions. Those “stuck” in the homeland as well as those who left and return perceive their Greek selves always as displaced or contested by homogenizing nationalist ideologies. This doubledness, and all the genuine discomfort it engenders, will endure for as long as their personal and family histories and fortunes are caught up in the territorial and symbolic disputes of nation-states.

ANNEXES

Table with the relevant articles of Lausanne Treaty

Article 14 The islands of Imvros and Tenedos remain under the Turkish occupation, they will have special government consisting of local elements and there will be all guarantees to the non Moslem natives as far as the local government organization and the protection

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of people and goods. Order will be maintained by the police consisted of the natives, and be kept under the control of the above mentioned local government. Article 40 Turkish nationals belonging to non-Moslem minorities shall enjoy the same treatment and security in law and in fact as other Turkish nationals. In particular, they shall have an equal right to establish, manage and control at their own expense, any charitable, religious and social institutions, any schools and other establishments for instruction and education, with the right to use their own language and to exercise their own religion freely therein.

NOTES

1. From the tourist guide I obtained in the island, edited by Erol Saygi. 2. Gökseada is the Turkish name of the island while Imvros is the Greek one. The latter term is used by the members of the community I refer to. Similarly, they use alternatively the terms Imvrii and Imvriotes for self-reference. I follow their practices of self-identification. 3. Rabinowitz (D.), “National identity on the frontiers: Palestinians in the Israeli education system”, in Thomas (M. W.), Hastings (D.), ed., Border Identities: Nation and state at international frontiers, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 156. 4. Tenedhos, in . 5. See appendix for relevant articles. 6. Alexandris (A.), O Ellinismos tis Imvrou kai tis Tenedou: I makraioni istoria ton dio Aigaiopelagitikon nision (The Hellenism in Imvros and Tenedos: The long-term history of the two Aegean islands), Epta Imeres: Kathimerini, 1996, p. 7. 7. According to according to Association of Imvrii of Athens 90% of their arable land has been confiscated by Turkish authorities. 8. A close-by Greek island where about two hundred people from Imvros took refuge and lived. 9. Fanon (F.), Black Skin, White Masks, London: Pluto, 1986. 10. Anderson (B.), Imagined Communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism, London: Verso, 1983. 11. People from Imvros see this Greek government policy as an attempt to compel them to stay in the island. By the late 80s, when the acquisition of a Greek nationality was made easier, the island lost almost its entire Rum Orthodox population. 12. Tsing (L. A.), “From the margins”, Cultural Anthropology, 9 (3), 1994, p. 279. 13. Hobsbawm (E.), Nations and nationalism since 1780: Programme, myth reality, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990. 14. Bhabha (H.), The location of culture, London: Routledge, 1994. 15. Appadurai (A.), “Global Ethnoscapes: Notes and Queries for a Transnational Anthropology”, in Fox (R.), ed., Recapturing Anthropology, Santa Fe: School of American Research Press, 1991. 16. Rabinowitz (D.), loc. cit.; Heyman (J.), Land, labor, and capital at the Mexican border, Flagstaff: University of Arizona Press, 1991. 17. Gramsci (A.), Selections from the Prison Notebooks, London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1996, p. 333. 18. Newspaper Imvros, edited by the Imvrian Association of Athens, Spring 1998, p. 4. 19. Imvros, Spring 1998. 20. Clifford (J.), “Diasporas”, Cultural Anthropology, 9 (3), 1994, p. 307. 21. Ballinger (P.), “Remembering the Istrian Exodus: Memory in a transtate context”, in Baskar (B.), Brumen (B.), eds., MESS Mediterranean Ehnological Summer School, Vol. II., 1998, p. 58; Malkki

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(L.), Purity and Exile. Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology Among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995, p. 54. 22. Herzfeld (M.), Anthropology through the Looking-Glass: Critican Ethnography in the Margins of Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. 23. The names I use in this text are not real names, according to the demand of my informants.

INDEX

Index géographique : Gökseada, Grèce, Imvros, Turquie Mots-clés : réfugiés, échanges de population, Traité de Lausanne

AUTEUR

GIORGHOS TSIMOURIS Panteion University, Athensen

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Where local trumps national : Christian orthodox and Muslim refugees since Lausanne

Barbaros Tanc

1 In this paper, I will focus on displaced persons’ life stories to demonstrate how the processes of displacement, deterritorialization and resettlement can shape the construction of national and social identity in the long term. Specifically, I will examine how and the extent to which individual experience of nationalism and national identity may differ from nationalism presented as a basis for state building. This exercise shares a common concern with Hobsbawm1, who indicates that the study or nationalism should be centered on the « views from below, i.e. the nation as seen not by governments (...) but ordinary persons who are the objects of their propaganda ». It also has certain parallels with Bastea2 who indicates that one should focus on the « individual actor who is part of the larger nation-building myth, but who is also able to resist or question this myth ».

2 My case study is centered on oral memories of two displaced and one local actor who experienced the process of population exchange between Greece and Turkey in 1923 - and its aftermath. One of the displaced persons found himself uprooted from his village in Turkey (Kaya / Livisi) and settled in Athens. The second displaced person was moved from Thessaloniki in Greece to Kaya / Livisi. The third person was and remained a resident of Kaya / Livisi. The evidence sieved from these people’s oral narratives indicates clearly that their individual experiences and their belonging to a particular space is not necessarily congruent with the ideology of nation building either in Turkey or in Greece. In addition, the oral narratives demonstrate that displaced people’s experiences of nationalism as a nation-building project was not a happy one: they were either excluded to some extent or their “fit” into the “nation in construction” was questioned. The oral narrative of the Kaya / Livisi resident lends support to the academic project which questions the validity of the nationalist argument concerning the homogeneity of the nation.

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3 The paper is organized in two sections. Section 1 begins with a brief explanation of the historical events leading to the population exchange of 1923. It then examines the debate on how oral narratives may challenge the official discourse and historiography of nationalism. Having thus provided a historical background and a theoretical framework for understanding the significance of oral narratives, I move to the presentation and analysis of the oral narratives in section 2. This section will demonstrate that the nationalist ideology in Turkey and Greece could not erase the memories of co-existence and belonging to space beyond the boundaries of the nation- state. Finally, I will conclude with some observations on the extent to which nationalism as experienced by individuals can be divergent from and richer than the official presentation of nationalism.

From population exchange to its narration : a historical and theoretical overview

4 The population exchange narrated in this study occurred in 1923, following the conclusion of the Population Exchange Agreement in January 1923. The agreement provided for the compulsory exchange of Turkish nationals of the Greek Orthodox religion and Greek nationals of the Muslim religion with the exceptions of the Muslims of Western Thrace and the Greeks of Constantinople. The Agreement also provided that all movable property could be taken and financial compensation would be made for immovable property3. As a result of the Agreement, one and a half million people were displaced. Of these, Greece received 1,1 million Christians from Turkey and Turkey received 380 000 Muslims from Greece

5 In a way, the population exchange of 1923 constituted the first negotiated exercise in “ethnic cleansing” in the region. Its negotiated nature, however, should not divert attention from the fact that it had been preceded by violent attempts at purging non- nationals or re-nationalizing once lost territories.

6 On the one hand, the Greek state had been promoting the Megali Idea, or “Great Idea”, since its independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1830. This irredentist attempt at unifying all Greeks was the main foreign policy for the newly formed Greek State. The Megali idea was based on rebuilding the Byzantine Empire, the Hellenization of Anatolia and the termination of the Ottoman Turks’ control in the Balkans and Asia Minor. On the other hand, Turkish nationalism began to flourish in reaction to nationalism in Greece and the Balkan region, which was part of the Ottoman Empire. One major conflict resulting from the clash of these nationalist projects was the fighting of the two Balkan Wars of 1912-1913, which created a large number of refugees, as Muslim Ottoman subjects known as Rumelians fled the Balkans to the Ottoman capital of Istanbul. Fearing reprisal, the Anatolian Greek population began to flee from Istanbul and the Aegean coast of Anatolia towards Aegean islands. The Balkan war thus had two groups of victims : the Rumeli Turks and the Anatolian Greeks4.

7 During this turmoil every state in the Balkans had to accommodate large refugee populations. For example, by 1923, Greece had to accommodate approximately 1,4 million refugees. The impact of this massive population movement on Greece was immense, given the fact that the population of Greece in the early 1920s was only 4,5 million and the Greek state was unstable. Many of the displaced people arrived with

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few possessions and some did not even speak the Greek language5. This is a striking fact considering that these people were supposedly part of the Greek nation. Similar processes happened in Bulgaria and Turkey where people with the same ethnic origin as those in the receiving country had to be accommodated.

8 Many orthodox refugees to Greece came from urban places in Asia Minor and were mainly merchants, ship builders, traders and civil servants. In contrast to this, 90 % of Turkish refugees from Macedonia who settled in Turkey had peasant backgrounds. These processes have changed the ethnic composition of these three states. The percentage of the Greek ethnic element within Greece rose from 80 % in 1920 to 94 % in 1928. While Bulgaria expelled almost the entire Greek minority, Turkey expelled the Christian population and became an essentially Muslim and Turkish state - with the exception of the Kurds who were considered to be “mountain Turks” and the Christian minority, mostly concentrated in Istanbul6.

9 During the population exchange, it was very difficult to control and organize the refugee movement in a humane way for various reasons. First, a successful departure agreement requires a trustworthy government that would comply with international agreements. However, both Turkish and Greek governments were unreliable, and both failed to keep the terms of population exchange agreements. Second, refugee flight cannot be organized in a humane way when the countries involved violate human rights. The narratives of many Greek and Turkish refugees demonstrate that the population exchange was implemented against their desires. These narratives question the validity of the arguments put forward by those who had been involved in the management of the population exchange. For example, some of those people quoted in Ladas7 argued that the organization of the population exchange was humane as people’s lives and possessions were saved. This line of reasoning, however, cannot conceal the fact that the human rights of the refugees were violated because the exchange was against their wishes.

10 Third, the implementation of the population exchange agreement did not run as smoothly as the international agencies quoted in Ladas8 had predicted. These agencies had assumed that the creation of homogenous nation states and the elimination of minorities would help to create peace in the Balkans. Therefore, they tended to turn a blind eye to both governments’ violation of the population exchange agreements. For example, the Turkish government confiscated the property of the displaced Orthodox Greeks and forced them to leave in a disordered way. Although Muslim refugees from Greece left in an orderly way, the property that they had expected to occupy (houses and land vacated by the Orthodox Greeks) had been occupied by other Turks or destroyed. Many refugees as a result found themselves without food, clothing and shelter9.

11 Given this historical background, the rest of this section will explore the way in which a group reconstructs, assimilates, and understands its identity. I will also examine the role of memory in the formation of the group’s contemporary identity and the way in which the group’s interpretation of history may not necessarily be compatible with the official interpretation.

12 The way in which refugee identity is developed makes the refugee an incongruent member of the nation he / she joins at a certain point in time. In other words, the refugee does not automatically become a natural part of the host nation for two reasons. First, nationalism is obsessed with territorialization, or the division of the

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world into territorial units that are “home” to defined peoples. As a result, the refugee who originates in a different territory is a candidate for exclusion. Second, refugees cannot but bring with them memories, cultures, and even languages that differentiate them from the host nation. Let us now examine the way in which these tendencies interact and generate results that put the refugee at a disadvantage.

13 Despite official arguments to the contrary, the population exchange created refugees and the refugee identity endured. In 1931, Charles B. Eddy hoped that “refugee” as a word would vanish in Greece10. This wishful thinking, however, was challenged by the continuation of the “refugee identity”, which had been formed within new host countries and documented in anthropological writing long after the exodus from Asia Minor. For example, Hirschon indicates that displaced Orthodox Greeks tended to identify themselves as “refugees” or prosfyges or as Mikrasiates, or Asia Minor people11. More strikingly, not only the original refugees but also younger people of the second and even third generation born in Greece identified themselves in the same manner.

14 The Greek and Turkish governments and the international refugee regime defined the refugee as a special category and contributed to the Asia Minor refugee and muhacir, or Muslim refugee from the Balkans, identity as a separate identity12. These results are related to what Malkki describes as « the national order of things »13, which conceives of the world as « composed of sovereign, spatially discontinuous units »14. This notion is built by nationalist ideologies, which uses a map with no “vague” or “fuzzy spaces” or “bleeding boundaries”15. The most important feature of the nationalist principle is “one state, one culture”16. In addition, the world is represented metaphorically by use of terms such as “roots and trees”, which help to essentialize and naturalize the unity of the society and culture17.

15 Although the Greek and Turkish nationalists present the population exchange as “repatriation”, oral accounts of refugees demonstrate the “patrie” was the place they had to leave. Cultural practices “brought from the homeland” and memories pertaining to it, have powerful emotional value and bear the marks of a another origin18. That is why an Asia Minor refugee from Livisi, on his / her visit to the “homeland”, kisses the soil. Similarly, Muslim refugees ask visitors to bring soil from their villages in the Halkidiki region of Salonica to sprinkle over their ancestors’ graveyard. These practices challenge the essentialist nationalist discourse, which expects the refugees to become a natural part of the nation within the new territory. As will be demonstrated below, refugee oral narratives further point out a different sense of belonging and identity. For the nationalists, this type of identity and belonging reflect “disorder” and damage the “national order”.

16 Yet the agency and creativity of the refugees should not be underestimated. These assets demonstrate themselves in the relationship between history and memory. What the refugee remembers must be seen not only in connection with their past but also as a primary indication of their present feelings of belonging. References to common suffering and to memories about the place of origin are significant indicators that their status in the host nation leaves much to be desired. The memory of ancestors and place of origin is a coded signal that can be unscrambled by careful study of oral history. The “experience” of the group of the people in the research project become central to oral history. The interpretation of oral history testimony enables the researcher to make sense of individual experience in relation to past events, relating it to public or national narratives which affirm or challenges the informant’s narrative identity as

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presented in the interview. In this sense memory is « a process used by both individuals and more institutional forces to connect the past with the present and future »19.

A refugee from Asia minor

17 In keeping with anthropologists’ deployment of life narratives to illustrate cultural practices and conventions, I offer three different accounts. All three are tied in different ways to the village of Livisi / Kaya koyu, which lies today in south western Turkey, 25 nautical miles from the island of Rhodes. It is something of a ghost town. In 1914 the population of the town was 6 500, mainly orthodox Christians sharing a single geographical space with neighboring Muslims. Today the population is 600 Muslim Turks, a mixture of long-term residents and more recent settlers. There are around 3 000 empty houses, most of them ruined, and a host of old public and commercial buildings : two big churches, around 20 chapels, an old school, a library, a pharmacy and many different type of shops. Many of these structures are now in ruins, and serve as a constant material reminder of the unmixing of the Ottoman past. That memory is also preserved by residents past and present. While I was doing my field work in Kaya koyu I heard from a second generation Salonican refugee who runs a café in the village, that he had met a Greek man born in the house where he now lives. When I went to Athens I set out to contact this man, born on February 2nd 1914 in Livisi, and resident in Greece since 1922, when he left as a refugee. His name is Nikandros Kepesis, and I found him living in a big block of flat opposite the KKE (Greek Communist Party) headquarters. He turned out to be one of my most valuable informants.

18 Kepesis had a distinguished career in Greece, where he grew up in Palaia Kokkinia and then moved to , where he finished high school. He embraced left-wing ideas at an early age, becoming a member of OKNE (the youth wing of the Communist Party) in 1930, and a member of the KKE in 1936. He studied Law before serving in the military in 1940-41 as a second lieutenant, then was a captain in the 6th Independent Division of ELAS (Greek Liberation Army) of Piraeus. Jailed after the war, he became a member of the Central Committee of the KKE in 1950, and retained this title until the 12th Conference of the Party on 1987. For his communist views and activism, he served a total of 21 years and 11 months of jail and exile. For his courage and active resistance, the Municipality of Keratsini and the German Republic honored him. Now he is Vice President of the Greek Union of Resistance Fighters (PEAEA). He was also a Communist Member of Parliament. As a writer he became known with the book The December which was written in jail and appeared in 1944. Other books followed : We will win (2nd edition), I remember, Piraeus in the National Resistance, My own and not only mine, In the Whirlpool of Events, And on the Peace on Land, From the depths of memory (for the lost countries) and Asia Minor Disaster.

19 Kepesis`s distinguished political and literary accomplishments reveal a life of leftist activism within the parameters of the Greek nation-state. Here, though, I wish to focus on the ways in which he draws on other aspects of his personal history to link past and present. His story, told through our conversation in 1999 and three of his books that deal with themes of expulsion and destitution, is no more typical or representative than any refugee narrative. Indeed it may be less so, in part because Kepesis complements his memories of his birthplace and early years with knowledge gleaned from wide reading of published materials about the village and the broader political

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and historical events of his youth. I was taken by surprise by some of his perspectives on the population exchange and his memories of the village. His narrative nonetheless constitutes a rich and vivid cultural resource which can inform the discussion around the formation and maintenance of personal and collective senses of identity.

20 When Kepesis describes his life in Livisi, he emphasizes the importance of family and the religious community. He also indicates the harmonious relationship between Christians and Muslims. In this regard, there are similarities between Kepesis’s perspectives and those of the Greek novelist Mrs Dido Sotiriou in The Dead Wait : both agree that at least until the Balkan Wars of 1912-1913, there was a good relationship between Muslims and orthodox Christians in the Ottoman empire.

21 An example of Kepesis’s positive image of coexistence is in his description of Easter celebrations at Tria Kavakia (Uc Kavaklar in Turkish), a very spectacular area on the way to Livisi’s nearby port, Makri. He gives an account from the point of view of Pindaraki, the name he gives himself in his published accounts. He describes feasting and dancing, and a special attraction called “balestra”, were the young men of the village were exposing their masculinity to impress the unmarried girls. This impressed Pindaraki, who was there only once. He also marveled that some Turks kept lemonade ice-cold to sell it at the feast. They had gathered snow from the mountains. Their presence was confirmation that Greeks and Turks used to go to each others’ religious festivities, and also did business with one another. Communication was easy, as most of Livisi’s orthodox Christians spoke Turkish. They went to the Muslim festivities of Bairam, while Turks would join in excursions to monasteries on Saints’ days, and even participate in prayers for rain before the icon of the Virgin Mary, in times of drought. Most of the Livisian orthodox were skillful tradesman and traveled around neighboring Turkish villages to work with leather, or as carpenters or masons. The children, recalls Kepesis, found the chance to play on the way.

22 Changes began as early as 1913, before Kepesis was born, and he records them as having a direct impact on his own family. He was the only son of Eirinis and Minas Hatziarguris. His father was early to realize, after the Balkan Wars, that wider war was soon coming. To avoid being recruited into a labor battalion in the Turkish army, as many Greeks were, he went to Alexandria of Egypt and then on to Piraeus and to the USA in 1916. Alexandros and his mother were sent into exile by the Turkish officials to Acibadem in Denizli (Turkey) as a punishment for Minas’ flight. When they returned to the village, they found that many families were in the same position. By 1922, indeed, most of the male adult orthodox inhabitants of Livisi had either left the country, been sent into exile, or were serving in labor battalions of the Turkish army.

23 This male absence made the events of 1922 more terrifying for those they left behind. The remainder of the town’s Orthodox population, mainly women, children or elderly people, were compelled to leave by Turkish soldiers, who marched them out of town under escort. According to Kepesis’s memory, there were only four men left in the village at this time : two were Turks, one was over eighty years old, and the other was lame. Resistance was impossible: some reportedly converted to Islam to be able to stay in their homeland. The rest all locked their houses, hoping that they would return, and left behind all their material possessions. As a local Muslim Livisian described the event « They left here with only food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs ».

24 In Kepesis’ memory, they faced one more ordeal, the Turkish customs, who would not let the Livisian women take anything of silver or gold. His nanny had a worthless silver

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pin to fasten her blouse, that had no buttons. The Customs removed it and didn’t let her take it with her. In all the panic and upheaval of the moment, Kepesis remembers his nanny’s desperate attempt to hold her blouse together. Then her daughter managed to sew it. The refugees from the village were brought by ship (200 families) to Tzia (Kea) - an island near the Turkish coast. Resettlement of the Asia minor refugees was a difficult task, especially as most of them preferred to stay together in the same areas. They were very creative in turning barren area to a place where they could settle. they called their place Nea- Makri, after the harbor town near Livisi, now called Fethiye in Turkey.

25 Kepesis’ narrative appears consistent with the conclusions of several anthropologists working with refugees, who have found that their cultural identities are strongly related to their past of who they were. In the words of the editors of a recent collection of essays, « The refugee’s self-identity is anchored more to who she or he was than what she or he has become »20. In his analysis of the people of Argaki, Peter Loizos notes that relationships in displacement have shifted, such that « Land disputes particularly are not worth pursuing when both parties have lost the land in question, and local “honor” disputes pale when both parties face a common “dishonorable” enemy »21. People form a new kind of identity on the basis of loss of home and they build close relationships with people who have had similar losses. Hirschon’s studies of Greek Asia Minor refugees from Turkey shows that the refugees new identity in Greece is connected with their past life and experiences and shared memories. She argues that The importance of shared memories for any uprooted group is obvious: in order to reconstitute their lives memory becomes a critical link, the means of a cultural survival, a kind of capital without which their identity would be lost. Indeed, the connection between identity and memory as a social and collective fact deserves some consideration, especially in the case of displaced peoples22.

26 Hirschon goes on to stress that as well as memory, religious background was a very important component of Asia Minor refugee identity-maintenance. The collective memories of the past were linked to a shared religious heritage. Living in a neighborhood in Piraeus where old practices of sociality, manners, and cuisine were continued, Hirschon shows how Asia Minor refugees developed regional identification of their past in their new environment. Even 50 years after their displacement people transported their old life style to the new environment—a phenomenon also noted by Voutira, who writes (The) varieties of insignia that were invented to denote the locality and origins of particular groups suggest the way in which the old “regional identities” became redefined in the new lands both through their organizational structure as associations and in the symbolic sense that refugee settlements were marked in space through the use of the term “new” [nea] as a toponymic prefix denoting the refugee identity of the settlement (for instance Nea Moudania, Nea Maditos, Nea Santa)23.

27 Anthropological analysis also indicates how refugees construct their identity in relation to their hosts. Asia Minor Greeks views of the indigenous Greeks are traced by Hirschon through statements like « They do not know how to behave ; they do not know how to speak », or « Before we came here they were nothing. We opened their eyes. They did not know how to eat or dress. They used to eat salt fish and wild vegetables. It was we who taught them everything »24. Refugee experiences and impressions of life in mainland Greece were not promising, especially in contrast to

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their recollections of their life in Ottoman towns and villages. In contrast to their own prosperity and sophistication, Greece was perceived as a small backward country.

28 This self-perception of themselves as being culturally superior is partly explained as a form of defense mechanism. For as refugees who had made the journey with nothing to show of their former wealth and self-sufficiency, they now found themselves at the bottom of the economic scale. They nonetheless saw native Greeks as uncultured and rough and named them “” (Shepherds), or country “bumpkins”. In this urban space locals were called people “from the mountains”. By thus casting themselves as cultured and educated and their “hosts” as isolated and backward, the Asia Minor Greeks constructed social boundaries. Integral in this process was the idea of their lost homelands, and the collective memory of the Ottoman past.

29 Yet the very strength of this attachment also fueled discriminatory impulses among native Greeks, many of whom conceptualized their relationship with the newcomers as one of competition for scarce state resources. Derogatory terms like Tourkosporoi (Turkish seeds), Tourkomerites (originating from Turkey) and yaourtovaptismenoi (baptized in yogurt) - are all manifestations of what can be called the nationalist impulse of territorialization, in which those from outside the state are seen as less legitimate citizens. Such epithets challenge the authenticity of the refugees’ Greekness by reading their pride in place of origin as signaling their impurity.

30 As a staunch leftist and undoubted patriot, one might imagine that Kepesis’s recollections would diverge from those encountered by Hirschon among her deeply religious interlocutors. He too, though, recounts that church and school were instrumental in promoting the consciousness of nationality among Anatolian orthodox Christians. Though Greece was a distant place, most teachers were trained there : other associations such as “The Organisation of Constantinople”, “The Association for the Propagation of Greek letters” and the Athens-based “Anatolia” also sponsored the Megali Idea outside the Greek State. What his memoirs also reveal is how history is embodied in material sites such as houses, land, mountains and churches. This active process of remembering is not only an expression of personal identity but the affirmation of relationship with other refugees.

31 His narratives of return and remembrance are freighted with emotion. All through his life, he relates, Kepesis thought about the town where he was born. Even it was painful to think about his lost home and destitution, it gave him strength to resist what he called oppression. He had always wanted to go back to see his house, and the church yard where he used to play : eventually, he made the trip with some of his friends, determined to overcome what he called the traumatic effect of the forced displacement. He described himself as standing “as if lost” in front of his house, after seventy-five years, remembering many scenes, and re-experiencing feelings mostly related to the few minutes of the exodus. « I remember my mum and nanny saying it was God’s will » he said, « and no one can go against it ». In his book as well as our interview he described his first visit to the church yard, standing in a trance, unable to move. He could hear his mother’s voice and his cousins.

32 In one passage in his writing, he stands before the debris that was there instead of his house. In order to remove the wooden floors, the Turks demolished whole houses—only single-story dwellings survived this, as there was no wood to be taken. Kepesis’s memory goes back to conjure the moment when his nanny was holding his hand and they were leaving Livisi. He turned around and looked at his dog Roza who stood there

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looking at him. The older Kepesis wants to burst into tears but he is not alone there so he tries to keep himself together. Then he walks to the church-Kato Panagia. The bell is missing, the church emptied of its icons. and transformed into a museum. His memory turns back again, and all his love about the church wells up. He is amazed that his birthplace has become a tourist site.

33 Even for this leftist intellectual, the physical remains of a childhood past conjure a strong sense of lost community. The social dimensions of memory, both in what is remembered and in the act of remembering, emerge as important in comprehending the individual ways in which how people make sense of their past. The past is not only history but connected to the present through individuals’ interpretation of their lives and the world around them. The narrator not only remembers the past, but is thereby linked to a larger social group. Personal testimonies convey the conscious and unconscious meaning of experiences as lived, but also reveal the influence of ideology and culture. Memory is thus not one-sided or mechanical : there is a dialectical connection between history and social groups’ memories, in which subsequent experiences, personal or shared, also play a role. And senses of belonging in the present can be transformed by encounters with the past—here with the result that a strongly self-reliant individual with decades of experience in a left-wing struggle, comes face to face with his own earlier membership in a very different kind of community, and his expressed self-identification comes to embrace both.

Muslim refugees

34 After the two Balkan Wars of 1912-1913, the First World War of 1914-1918, and subsequent Greek-Turkish conflict, Muslims living in the territories of the Greek state were feeling the psychological and physical consequences. Like Kepesis’ father in Asia Minor, many sensed that these state-level disputes would have direct effects in their lives. The resettlement scheme and exchange of populations was the ultimate realization of their fears. In theory, there should have been an abundance of land and property in Asia Minor, left by the departing Orthodox refugees, to provide for them. In practice, their resettlement proved more complicated, and generated considerable bitterness.

35 Much of the trouble in the practical implementation of the exchange lay in the significant time-lag between the flight of Orthodox Christians from Asia Minor, and the departure of Muslims from Greece. A majority of Asia Minor’s orthodox Christian refugees were forced to leave between the fall of Smyrna on 9 September 1922, and the Armistice signed in Mudania on 11 October 1922, which was then followed by the opening of the Lausannne peace talks on 1 December 1922. On 8 November, the Turkish government set up the Ministry of Reconstruction, Exchange and Settlement, with the duty of organizing the resettlement of Muslim refugees from Greece. According to Turkish Red Crescent documents, the first shipload of refugees left Salonica for Turkey only on 1 May 1923, and completing the transfer of Muslim population took approximately eight months25. The Muslims of Greece thus stayed several months, and sometimes as long as a year, after the arrival of their Orthodox counterparts from Asia Minor. They shared the same villages and, according to oral accounts, in some cases had to share the same houses. According to Pentzolopoulos, during this transition

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period the Greek government confiscated and redistributed Muslim properties and livestock to Asia Minor refugees26.

36 The Turkish Red Crescent, or Hilal-i Aymer Cemiyeti, gave assistance to Muslim refugees for transport and settlement, and incoming refugees were welcomed at the ports with music, dance and official celebrations. This masked underlying, unpalatable truths concerning the realities of their reception. Between 1922 and 1924, most of the properties abandoned by Christians were given to locals, or taken over by corrupt government officials. This scenario was played out all across Asia Minor, including Livisi, where the forced displacement of Christians before the arrival of Muslim refugees made it possible for government officials and locals to dismantle wealthy houses like that of the Kepesis family, plundering furniture and building materials, including doors, tiles, shutters, and even floor and joist timbers. They were either sold or used for construction.

37 Although the newcomers, known as muhacirs, often brought their land registration forms, hoping they would be given similar amounts of land, they were disappointed. The inadequate distribution of land and properties lies at the root of many refugee complaints. Another factor is the alleged lack of government foresight or even minimal consideration for logic. Many Muslim refugees were from peasant communities, in contrast to Asia Minor refugees who were often tradesman or merchants. The Turkish government was taken to task for ignoring the skills, means of livelihood, and economic situation of the newcomers : in parliament, Ministers were accused of forcing people from the plains to settle in the mountains, and vice versa. Relying on information collected at the ports during the arrival of refugees, government capacity to take proactive measures to address such concerns was limited. The state’s ability to allocate further resources to the problem was also restricted, in part by its failure to win the international credit it sought at Lausanne. The effect was to add further difficulties to the lives of nearly 500 000 Muslim refugees who had lost their homeland. Refugees were officially welcomed, automatically acquired Turkish citizenship, and were generally given some land and housing. Beyond that, though, they were left on their own.

38 These elements can all be seen in the resettlement of Muslim refugees in Livisi. This area of olive and tobacco production was chosen as the place of settlement for peasants from wheat-growing communities around Salonica. They were given abandoned Christian properties : however on their arrival they found not only that the climate was very different, but also that the houses and plots of land were farther apart than they were used to. The land they were given did not meet their needs, and they did not receive adequate start-up capital from the government. The locals weren’t very welcoming either. All of this only heightened their vain hopes that they would one day return home, and reduced their will to make new homes for themselves in this foreign environment. Over time, many left the village in search of a better places for their skills.

39 Many of these themes inform the following account, provided by Ahmet Yorukoglu. He is a Muslim refugee from Salonica who now lives in Livisi. Non-Muslims took our properties and lands : we were allowed to keep only half the harvest. We were gathered in Salonica to be sent away: in the Spring [1923] a big ship came and took us from Salonica with our animals and belongings, and dropped some of us in Izmir. The Turkish Maritime Company (Turkish : Vapurcular Birligi) transferred the refugees from Salonica to Turkey, and the Turkish government gave

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each household five hectares of field per person regardless of their sex and age, and a house per household. People from the same villages were sent to the same areas. We landed in Fethiye (Makri) and resettled in Livisi. However my father didn’t like it. We looked around the surrounding villages for a few weeks, and then tried to make a new life near Izmir. But we grew disillusioned, and were forced to return to Livisi. The locals called us derogatory names.

40 The form of intercommunal name-calling reflected different cultural practices. Locals called the newcomers “covered”, as all of the women used to cover their faces with thick woollen scarves. This was partly a function of Islamic devotion ; but was also a pattern developed in the cold Macedonian mountains. Such visible markers of difference, though, which endured for some time, served to reinforce segregation. Reportedly, the communities didn’t let their children play together, and didn’t visit each others’ houses. Refugees thus kept their distinctive identity as muhacir (migrant) or Selanikli (coming from Salonica). They were settled in old Christian houses, and their part of town was renamed as Muhacir mahallesi or the refugees’ neighbourhood. For nearly two decades, they were physically and socially segregated. They turned one of the churches into a mosque and worshipped separately from their fellow Muslim local neighbors. They went to different coffee houses. They all retained an enthusiasm for their former home in the Balkans. « We used to live in a big house in Doburlu (Nea Silata ), and we could grow anything there » remembers Ahmet Yorukoglu. A strong communal sense survived that Thessaloniki and its hinterland constituted their memleket, or homeland. In their refugee present the theme of lost homeland often resurfaces, salient in songs from the Balkans which they call “Rumeli Havalari”.

41 Even today, some locals still regard the descendants of muhacirs as outsiders. But the derogatory term has been internalized by the Muslim refugees as a sign of pride, marking a clear distinction between themselves and other migrants or refugees, such as Bulgarian Muslims, Albanians or Pomaks. The term Muhacir derives from Arabic roots : “h-j-r” denotes « to dissociate oneself, to separate, to keep away, to leave, to abandon, to give up, to emigrate ». In contrast to the widely known term Mujahidin, or “holy warriors”, the associated term Muhacir (Muhajirin) can be translated as « those who leave their homes in the cause of Allah, after suffering oppression »27. The Salonica refugees would say biz muhaciriz, fakat onlar gocmen – « We are Muslim migrants, but they are only migrants », thus demonstrating the importance of religious identity rather than national identity.

42 Muslim refugees in Livisi thus continue to use a range of symbols in their attempt to distinguish themselves from local Livisians. While Muslim refugees are typically depicted in national media and in national discourse as sharing the same language, culture and religion with other Turks, oral narratives such as that provided by Ahmet Yorukoglu make us aware that specific refugee communities distinguish themselves and are distinguished by other Turks as different. Likewise, many such groups place emphasis on the specific site of origins. Second generation refugees born in Livisi continue to identify themselves as Selanikli.

Local Livisians

43 In the official history of Turkey, there is little or no space to accommodate local stories of difference or hostility. Yet within Livisi such accounts flourish in an agonistic context. Muhacir narratives of local unfriendliness and governmental indifference are

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matched by local descriptions of complicity between new settlers and state officials in the destruction of their lived environment. Vesile Yorukoglu, a local villager who was the first to marry into the Salonican refugee community, offered the following interpretation of past events. The muhacirs burned the beautiful houses and destroyed the place while people from the surrounding villages and government watch them. Tax collectors and officials took all of the belongings of the orthodox Christians. We used to cultivate tobacco together, and everywhere there were beautiful grapes and figs. If Christians were still here, this place would be a paradise.

44 A still more vivid and personal account was provided by Mehmet Gokce, a local Livisian who was born in 1909, and comes from a family of 3 boys and 5 girls. His father was a gunsmith and all the orthodox Christians knew him. They used to cooperate with a Christian family in cultivating tobacco. « We used to lend each other money » he began, and then continued My sisters and our Rum (Orthodox) neighbors used to sleep in each other’s houses. We used to harvest together and visit each other in our religious festivities. There was trust then. The sound of the church bell was so beautiful you could hear from everywhere. After the exchange the government took it away and installed it on the Yavuz.28

45 Gokce thus expressed a memory of religious tolerance and respect, as well as a sense of loss for the passing of those values. He remembers how his parents and relatives wept with the orthodox Christians when they were escorted away by the Turkish Army for deportation. He did not emphasize economic differences between the two communities, but along with other older Livisians recalls an atmosphere of sharing and mutual benefit. Christian doctors, for example, treated their Muslim neighbors, and at times of crisis the town rallied in solidarity. Indeed, it is only when elderly Orthodox Christian refugees return to visit their homes that questions of economic standing surface. Gokce recalled one such visit in the following terms:

46 There were around twenty Rum who came back to see their places twenty five years after their deportation. They were surprised to see that most of the houses have been destroyed and are unoccupied. They asked « Why haven’t you moved into our big houses ? You are poorer than we left you. What happened to all our possessions ? » What they didn’t know is that all the big lands were taken by the rich landlords and their belongings were plundered by the neighboring villages and officials.

47 The theme of deterioration is very common in the everyday language of the locals. By this means they express resentment of the nationalist refugee settlement project, and their own sense of loss, as the material traces of a lively, thriving town with considerable contact between its religious communities has been gradually destroyed. For some, the refugees themselves are guilty by association, and this triggers resentment towards them. This can take the form of accusations that they are not “true” Turks, and are undeserving heirs to the land that they now occupy. Its former owners were perhaps even less Turkish, but this was nonetheless their shared homeland.

Conclusion

48 Of the forced displacements of 1922-1923, Bernard Lewis writes:

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What took place was not an exchange of Greeks and Turks but rather an exchange of Greek orthodox Christians and Ottoman Muslims. A western observer, accustomed to a different system of social and national classification, might even conclude that this was not repatriation at all, but deportation to exile-of Christian Turks to Greece and of Muslim Greeks to Turkey29.

49 I do not seek here to sign up to an idealized nostalgic vision of the Ottoman past. What this paper has tried to demonstrate is that before nationalist ideologies took effect, there was a harmonious relationship between Muslim and Christian communities in Livisi / Kayakoyu.

50 The national epic and refugee experiences were historically connected, but they did not therefore always fit easily together. There is a disjunction between recorded official national history and local narratives. In the official recorded histories of the modern Turkish and Greek nation-states, this past of intercommunal relationships and co- existence with other social groups is not represented. It is for this reason that research to recover the local, individual, voices of Anatolia is important.

51 Beyond this straightforward point, the refugee experiences of nation and nationhood, presented in these oral narratives, challenge established and cherished ideas of nation and nationalism. Even though such challenging voices have been silenced or excluded from official histories, refugee narratives nonetheless endure, and offer the basis to reconstitute alternative stories.

52 Finally, these different narratives emphasize the important role of memory, and in particular its link to the material remains of the past. The voices recorded here are all linked through a small village in Asia Minor, in which various processes of cultural identity-maintenance and transformation have taken place in the course of the last hundred years. For all the people in this story, their experiences and the ways in which they recall them serve to reconfirm the observation made by Samuel, that memory is « not merely a passive receptacle or storage system, an image bank of the past [but] historically conditioned, changing colour and shape according to the emergencies of the moment, so that far from being handed down in the timeless form of “tradition” it is altered from generation to generation ». Yet simultaneously, they demonstrate the powerful continuity not just of the ideas, but of the experience of “home”.

NOTES

1. Hobsbawm (Eric), Nations and Nationalism since 1780, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1990, p. 11. 2. Bastea (Eleni), « The Memory of Place », Paper delivered at University of Wales Symposium Intersecting Times : The Work of Memory in South-Eastern Europe, Swansea, June 2000. 3. Ladas (Stephen P.), The Exchange of Minorities : Bulgaria, Greece and Turkey, New York : Macmillan, 1932, pp. 787-794. 4. Toynbee (A.J.), The Western Question in Greece and Turkey, Boston : Houghton Mifflin Company, 1922, p. 139. 5. Ibid.

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6. Though see also Tsimouris (Giorghos), « Reconstructing “home” among the “enemy” », this volume 7. Ladas (Stephen P.), op. cit. 8. Ibid., p. 30. 9. Ibid., p. 20. 10. Eddy (Charles B.), Greece and the Greek Refugees, London : Allen and Unwin, 1931 11. Hirschon (Renee), Heirs of the Greek Catastrophe. The Social Life of Asia Minor Refugees in Piraeus, Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1989, p. 4. 12. Ibid. ; Voutira (Eftihia), « Pontic Greeks Today : Migrants or Refugees ? », Journal of Refugee Studies, 3, 1990 ; Tsimouris (Georgios), Anatolian embodiments in a Hellenic context : the case of Mikrassiates refugees, Unpublished PhD Thesis : Sussex University, 1997 ; Akgönül (Samim), « Les “nouveaux Turcs” », this volume. 13. Malkki (Liisa H.), « National Geographic : The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity among Scholars and Refugees », Cultural Anthropology, 7 (1), 1992, p. 32. 14. Ibid., p. 26. 15. Ibid. 16. Gellner (Ernest), Culture, Identity and Politics, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1986, p. 2. 17. Gupta (Akhil), Ferguson (James), eds., Culture, Power, Place : Explorations in Critical Anthropology, Durham / London : Duke University Press, 1997. 18. Tsimouris (Georgios), op. cit. 19. Evans (M.), Lunn (K.), ed., War and Memory in the Twentieth Century, Oxford / New York : Berg, 1997, p. xvii. 20. Daniel (Valentine E.), Knudsen (John Chr.), Mistrusting Refugees, Berkeley : University of California Press, 1995, p. 5. 21. Loizos (Peter), The Heart Grown Bitter. A chronicle of Cypriot war refugees, Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 205. 22. Hirschon (Renee), op. cit., p. 15. 23. Voutira (Eftihia), « Population Transfers and Resettlement Policies in Inter-war Europe : The Case of Asia Minor refugees in Macedonia from an International and National Perspective », in Mackridge (Peter), Yannakakis (Eleni), eds., Ourselves and Others. The Development of a Greek Macedonian Cultural Identity Since 1912, Oxford : Berg, 1997, p. 121. 24. Hirschon (Renee), op. cit., p. 31. 25. It was also in this period that all remaining orthodox Christians, excluding those in Istanbul, Imvros and Tenedos were transferred to Greece. 26. Pentzopoulos (Dimitris), The Balkan Exchange of Minorities and its Impact upon Greece, Paris : Mouton, 1962. 27. Qur’an 16:41. 28. The Yavuz had formerly been the German SMS Goeben, the battlecruiser which evaded British and French naval forces in 1914 to reach Istanbul. The Turkish government bought the ship, which became the pride of the Turkish fleet during World War I. 29. Lewis (Bernard), The Emergence of Modern Turkey, London : Oxford University Press, 1961.

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INDEX

Index géographique : Grèce, Turquie Mots-clés : Déplacements de population, Grecs, Musulmans, Réfugiés, Traité de Lausanne, Turcs

AUTEUR

BARBAROS TANC Portsmouth University

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