partition, unification, nation: imagined moral communities in modernity. || whose will be done?...

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Whose Will Be Done? Nation and Generation in a Macedonian FamilyAuthor(s): Keith BrownSource: Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice, Vol. 42, No.1, PARTITION, UNIFICATION, NATION: Imagined Moral Communities in Modernity. (March1998), pp. 110-131Published by: Berghahn BooksStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/23171745 .

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SOCIAL ANALYSIS ISSUE 42(1), March 1998

Whose Will Be Done? Nation and Generation in a Macedonian Family

Keith Brown

Introduction

Since the break-up of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, the identity of Macedonia and

its inhabitants has been the subject of both political and scholarly debate. In keeping with anthropology's eye for the details of individual lives, this paper presents

different accounts of past actions and motivations in a single Macedonian family

whose current members are citizens of different states and claim membership of

different nations. The focus is on the different ways that the past is recalled and

Macedonia is defined within a family separated by a national border and, in 1992, by

national sentiment. It is in this respect, then, that the paper describes partition.

This partition, though, is not the product of a relocated border or a redesignation

of territory but is rather established and maintained by members of a single extended

family in their interpretations of decisions made by a previous generation. The

partition is one of consciousness within a kin group whose existence is recognized

by all of its members, yet between whose members emerges a fundamental

disagreement over the identity of the national or ethnic community to which they

belong.

On the basis of the break-up of Yugoslavia and the turbulent twentieth century

history of Macedonia, it might be predicted that such a situation contains the seeds of

violence. Yet the members of the different branches of the family are not at war, nor

do they call for any kind of war. They do not cast their counterparts as traitors, nor

do they cast them as dupes, or victims of false propaganda. On both sides of the

national border, then, members of this family live with compromises of the kind that modern totalizing nation-states are at times presumed to have made unthinkable.

This paper seeks to explore the bases for this accommodation and to argue from this

example that local and competing accounts of history and identity do not, in and of

themselves, generate conflict. Indeed, these competing accounts can be argued to

have the potential to remind people of the common cultural codes that they share, in

which agency, or 'will', plays a paradoxical and contingent role in the establishment

and maintenance of national difference.

110



Scholarly Contexts

Since the break-up of Federal Yugoslavia, disputes over the ownership of the name

"Macedonia" have been prominent. Of the four republics that sought to secede at the

end of 1991, the Republic of Macedonia, until the time of writing, has been the site

of the least violence. It has nonetheless faced questions over its right to be

qualitatively different from those of the other former republics turned sovereign

states. The various details of the dispute are described in works that document the

clash of meaning highlighted by the attempt to create a nation-state with the name of

Macedonia, when that name also designates a region of Greece (Danforth 1993,

1995; Karakasidou 1993a, 1997; Poulton 1995; Schwartz 1996; Sutton 1997).' In the fullest analysis yet published of narratives involved in the recent

Macedonian conflict, Loring Danforth sets out an analytical distinction between

three modes of referring that the term 'Macedonian' has in different accounts:

national, ethnic, and regional. He argues that a characteristic of what he dubs

'Greek' accounts is that 'Macedonian' has only a regional sense — making it the

hierarchical equivalent of, for example, Cretan, Peloponnesian, or Thessalian. In this

schema, Macedonia is an essential part of the larger national body of Greece. In

contrast, what he describes as 'Macedonian' accounts grant the term either ethnic or

national reference, so that it is the counterpart of, for example, Greek, Bulgarian, or

Serbian. It is the peculiar quality of the term 'Macedonia', whereby it can be used as

any of the three modes in a manner that few other terms can, that underpins

contemporary disputes.2

Danforth (1995) links these analytical differences in level of reference to a

privileging of two different modes of solidarity invoked by his respondents.

Identifying in their narratives metaphors of blood and law, in the analysis of which

he explicitly acknowledges Schneider's (1984) considerations of kinship, Danforth

draws additionally on established dualisms in the literature of nationalism, which

juxtapose universalistic and particularistic programs, or inclusive and exclusive

modes of belonging. Plamenatz (1974) identified these poles as "civic" and "ethnic"

nationalism, and it is Danforth's conclusion that the "Macedonian" accounts he

encountered, which grant the term what appears to be an ethno-national meaning, favor a rhetoric of primordialism, tying it to what Geertz calls the "assumed givens" — language, blood, and "folk" customs (Geertz 1973; Shils 1957). "Greek" accounts by contrast, according to Danforth, which grant "Macedonian" only a

regional meaning, invoke a more constructed and consensus-based vision that recalls

the project of Hellenism from the early 1900s and centers around metaphors of

church and political unity. A similar division in the rhetorics of nationhood, as provided by individuals,

appears to underpin Karakasidou's analysis of identities in Macedonia (1993a, 1997). In both Assiros and in the Fiorina region, she draws a distinction between the

status of different ethnic identities claimed in the present. What she terms "Slavo Macedonian" identity is, in her analysis and that of local activists who identify

Ill



themselves in this way, linked to practices and beliefs considered as local, contrasted

with those attributed to the progressive activity of the Greek state. One impression

left with reviewers of her work is that she claims for Macedonian ethnicity a

longevity that she denies Greek nationality, and thus that she erects a somewhat

similar dichotomy of blood-based and state-based solidarities, in which the former is

imbued with authenticity.3

Both Danforth and Karakasidou are scholarly activists who recognize and abhor

the toll paid by individuals and communities to the greedy institution (Coser 1960) that is the modern nation-state. They have worked at sites in Northern Greece where

identity has been politicized, in part as a product of their own intervention. Both

emphasize the fictiveness of national narratives and the influence that they have on

local people, whether they are contradicted or embraced. In this respect they have

both been faithful to their stated positions as anthropologists and humanists, and

have mobilized ethnography to represent otherwise muted, suppressed or margin

alized voices and to bring fresh perspectives to discussions over the relationship of

ethnic, national and regional categories of identity, and the historical processes of

state formation and intervention that have shaped their development. Describing

adversarial relations, their work has its own adversarial quality, in which one can

trace a sympathy with and for those who have sought to oppose the progress of the

nation-state, represented by Greece.

The existing anthropological literature on Macedonian identity in Greece, then,

draws attention to issues of minority status, and to the relationship of state power and

categorical asymmetries. This paper emphasizes instead the common cultural inter

pretive ground taken by members of a single family now living in different locations,

drawing on narratives of the two branches of the family in what is identified as the

family's home village, in Northern Greece, and in Skopje, the capital city of the

Former Yugoslav Republic(FYR) of Macedonia. Although blood, in the sense of

family ties, and law, in the sense of state intervention, both feature in narratives of

belonging in both locations, so too do questions of motivation, choice and agency

which may all be subsumed under the term will. As I hope to demonstrate, this

broad category and its implicit deployment in explanations of the past constitute a

further site on which to consider the phenomena of disputed belonging and

alternative histories. Underlying apparently adversarial local versions, I will argue,

is a common cultural code which preserves an awareness of a fluid relationship

between levels of agency that the national project seeks to draw into alignment, and

the scholarly project at times delights in pitting as irremediably separate.

State Versions of History

FYR Macedonian and Greek Macedonian accounts of the region's modern history

diverge, but both depend upon popular agency and initiative as key components of

the past. FYR Macedonian versions grant a central historical role to the Secret Mac

edonian and Adrianople Revolutionary Organization (TMARO), which was founded

112



in 1893 and orchestrated the Ilinden Uprising of 1903. Where Greek historians dismiss TMARO as either a loose affiliation of brigands, or an instrument of

Bulgarian foreign policy, it has been represented in FYR Macedonia as a popular

movement for autonomy, which set up a 'state within a state' based on a network of

local cells and mobile bands or chetas, and including an attempt to establish a code

of law. With its clearly defined vision of a geographical Macedonia, its claim to

exert supreme sovereignty within that area, and a membership of activists, TMARO

appeared to some Western observers of the time to fulfil the criteria of a modern

polity, which deserved the mantle of national recognition.4

The emergent political unity of any such region, though, was dispelled by the

eventual cooperation of the old rivals of Greece, Bulgaria and Serbia, as well as

Montenegro, against the Ottoman Empire in 1912 and by the Balkan Wars that

followed. At the end of the fighting a new nation-state, Albania, existed in the

Balkans; Turkey in Europe was a fraction of its former size; and borders divided an

area loosely defined as Macedonia between Greece, Bulgaria, and Serbia. In desc

ribing the period from 1913 onward, it has been customary to talk of three

Macedonias: Aegean Macedonia, in Greece; Vardar Macedonia, first in Serbia and

since 1991 an autonomous state; and Pirin Macedonia, in Bulgaria. In each case, the

area is defined by reference to geographical features: respectively a sea, a river and a

mountain range.5

Both Greek and Former Yugoslav discourse take the Balkan Wars of 1912-1913

to mark the end of one period of Macedonian history and the beginning of another.

For those who hold that Macedonia is a natural part of Greece, 1913 marked the

realization of at least one part of the Great Idea, which sought to unite all Greeks

within the Hellenic state. The advance of the Greek army into the area is thus

liberation of a Greek population, and unification of co-nationals. For those who treat

Macedonia as an entity in and of itself, the same process was one of partition. The

area incorporated into Greece, including the cities of Thessaloniki, Kastoria, and

Fiorina, had been a significant recruiting ground for the Macedonian Revolutionary

Organization. The Greek army's movement into this area could thus be cast as

colonization and the beginning of an oppressive and brutal campaign of forced

assimilation or 'ethnic cleansing' vividly described in Greek soldiers' letters of the

time, published in the Carnegie Report of the League of Nations (Kennan 1993).

It could also be argued that the contrasting views of the wars of 1912-1913 have

served as organizing tropes for the writing of subsequent history. Greece's portion of

geographical Macedonia was equal in size to Serbia's and Bulgaria's combined, while Serbia's was four times the size of Bulgaria's. In 1919, the borders changed slightly, as Bulgaria lost a small border region, including the city of Strumica, to the

new kingdom of the Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. Between the two World Wars all

three states took measures to integrate what were still considered new territories, in

which inhabitants had connections with relatives, former neighbors, or friends that

the respective states would seek to have them classify as foreigners. In both the First

and Second World Wars, and in the activism of Bulgarian based terrorists against

113



Serbian police in the 1920s and 1930s, the possibility that international borders

might be altered remained a threat. While each state sought to ensure that their own

frontiers did not move inward, it was less concerned when its neighbors faced

trouble in the area. The peculiar mix of pressures and uneasy alliances that this

produced made the region a battleground for the dominant ideologies of interwar

Europe, fascism and communism, each of which sought to shape local nationalism in

its image and to its ends.

The result, in terms of the last eighty years, has been an ongoing dispute over the

definition of Macedonia. The international borders in the region that were created in

1913, and revised only slightly in 1919, remain in place. Their reign was interrupted briefly during the Second World War, when Bulgaria took control of large parts of

the region of Macedonia, and people there took up arms in a struggle that was at least

three cornered, between pro-Bulgarian comitadjis, pro-Greek antartes and pro

Yugoslav partizans (Hammond 1991; Rossos 1994). Communism wove in and out

of the sympathies of people of the region, as it had throughout the interwar period,

both among Slav speakers and those new Greek citizens who had come from Turkey

in the 1920s after the Greek defeat in Asia Minor. It was this background that contributed to northern Greece being the theater for much of the serious fighting

during the Greek Civil War. After the confrontations in southern Greece had come

to an end, support from the neighboring regimes of Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and

Albania played a role in enabling Communist forces to continue the battle against

what they termed the "monarcho-fascist" government forces, which were in turn

supported by Britain and, later, by the United States.

Scholarly Reflections

In his account of the Greek Civil War, C.M. Woodhouse (1976:7) noted that

Macedonia's past had already seen seventeen mass movements of population by

1925. It is this complex history of mobility, compelled and free, that so baffles the

historian in search of master-narratives and generalizing statements regarding the

area. For if one feature of the region is acknowledged by all those writing about its

modern history, it is this dimension of continual mass movement. In this realm,

differences emerge not so much in the raw physical data of movement but in the way

it is narrativized. This is true of the movements of the 1920s, when large numbers of

Asia Minor refugees, identified as 'Greeks', were settled in the region and those who

identified themselves as 'Bulgarians' left to settle in Bulgaria. In terms that put a

strain on the connection of the local and the national, such displacements or

uprootings come to be labeled as 'repatriation'. An alternative version in recent

writings in the Former Yugoslavia would highlight the former as colonization and

the latter as retrospectively-identified ethnic cleansing.6

With regard to the disputed events and consequences of the Greek Civil War, a

similar bifurcation can be documented. Danforth (1995) highlights the incompat ibility of different accounts of the past in what he calls Macedonian and Greek

114



versions. Writing in the voice of those he refers to as "ethnic nationalists" — a

courageous strategy that unfortunately makes it possible for people to quote him

selectively and thus rob his words of the irony that emerges from their context — he

juxtaposes incompatible accounts of history. A key example of the differential recall

is the movement of people, or more specifically the impetus behind their movement,

from Greece to Yugoslavia and beyond in the years following the Second World

War. Danforth, in deliberate parody, records two dominant and oppositional

versions. In a "Greek nationalist" voice, he writes:

With the defeat of the Communist forces in 1949, 35,000 "Slav

Macedonian deserters" left Greece for Yugoslavia and other countries in

eastern Europe.

.... In one of the most tragic episodes of the period, generally referred to

in Greek as the pedhomazoma (literally a "collecting of the children"), 28,000 Greek children were abducted by the Communists and settled

against their will in the Communist countries of the Eastern bloc

(1995:42, emphasis added). At the close of the same chapter, in a section where he presents the "Macedonian

nationalist" view, he reports:

.... in 1949, with the defeat of the "democratic forces of Greece" by the

"promonarchist bourgeois forces" of the Greek government, .... (f)ifty

thousand Aegean Macedonians were forced to flee their homes and

escape to Yugoslavia in order to avoid persecution. In one of the most

tragic episodes of this period 28,000 Aegean Macedonian children, known as "child refugees" (deca begalci) were separated from their

families and settled in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union in an attempt

to save them from the terror, slaughter, and bombing inflicted on Aegean

Macedonians by the Greek government (1995:54; emphasis added).

In these two descriptions, taken from different sections of the chapter, Danforth

sets up "conflicting claims". The emphasized phrases demonstrate the extent to

which both accounts explicitly refer to will, volition and choice in history and treat

movement as a striking departure from the norm. In the first version, the adults who

left are, by virtue of leaving, deserters; the children who left were abducted and their

will or power of choice overridden by their Communist abductors. In the second, the

adults have no wish to leave but are compelled to do so by Greek government

pressure. The governments of Eastern Europe and Russia had no desire to separate

children and parents but, again, found themselves forced to do so for humanitarian

reasons in the face of Greek governmental action which put them at risk. Danforth's

careful language itself demonstrates the way in which the facts, or apparent facts —

the movement of 28,000 people of an age where their own agency is not effective —

are incorporated differentially into larger narratives. In one adults making the same

journey are deserters or traitors, while in the other they are unwilling refugees or

victims.

115



Danforth's own 'independent' version of Macedonian history that follows this

chapter presents an informative contrast to these versions. Regarding adults, he

appears to mark movement as reflective of emergent allegiance. Those who had

sided with the Bulgarian occupation were "forced to flee across the border to

Bulgaria with the retreating Bulgarian army in 1944", while "many of those who had

come to identify themselves as Macedonians left Greece and settled in the Republic

of Macedonia in Yugoslavia and in other countries of eastern Europe" (1995:73, 76).

In this easy collapse of migration into either an expression of commitment or a

result of previous commitment, there is no place for the child refugees, and it is

perhaps for this reason that Danforth's own version makes no reference to the

movement of children from Greece to Yugoslavia in the 1940s. They reappear in

Danforth's work only in their guise as refugee children, ordeca begalci, but full

grown and defiantly willful adults, petitioning for access to their Greek birthplaces

(1995:120f). Their absence in earlier life is a natural consequence of the privileging

of a familiar position in the anthropology of ethnicity, which emphasizes self

ascription and ascription by others in the determination of national affiliation. This makes the realm of ethnicity and nationalism one in which the theorist must look to

choice-making actors with the power to act on those choices or to recognize and

remember how they were prevented from doing so.7

Danforth's omission of any attempt to disambiguate the causes and consequences

of the 'tragic' relocation of children could be said to be exemplary, in that it gives no material for exploitation by either side seeking moral capital from historical events.

This stance has predecessors. Geoffrey Chandler, in his memoir of activity in

Greece, states that by September 1949, 25,000 children had moved elsewhere

"willingly or unwillingly" (1994:196). The parallel effect of the omission, though, is

to suggest that there is no alternative to embracing or endorsing one side's

representation over the other. It thus presumes the success, at every level of society, of the totalizing narratives of states, and implies that individuals and families bend

their own narratives to fit with one vision or the other. The privileging of this level

of imagined solidarity and opposition, in the long run, contributes to the

phenomenon that Danforth himself, as well as Anastasia Karakasidou (1993a, 1997) and Jane Cowan (1997), have described as the politicization of culture. As the

people of Northern Greece find their practices and beliefs politicized by states, so, argue theorists, they come to engage in political activity.

The Civil War in Northern Greece

The following account inverts the order of priority that has at times been assumed in

the analysis of the relations of states and individuals towards history. Instead of

examining the ways in which states describe the actions and motivations of individuals and families, I focus instead on the ways in which members of a family narrativize state involvement in their own history. The key moments in that history are 1948, when the Greek Civil War was far from resolved, and 1956, when the

116



fighting was over. The data on which this paper is based were collected in 1993

during residence in Skopje in the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, and

from visits to villages in northern Greece to interview relatives of Skopje residents

who are Greek citizens.8

An account of the course of the Civil War lies outside the scope of this paper.9 What is clear from the various sources, journalistic, biographical and historical, is the

immediate impact the war had on lives throughout the north of Greece (Chandler

1994; Eudes 1972; Gage 1983; Karakasidou 1993b; Richter 1985; Stavrakis 1989).

Following Markos' formation of the Democratic Army of Greece (henceforth DA)

on 28 October 1946 to continue the communist struggle against the British and

American-backed Royalist forces, Aegean Macedonia began to be a major theater of

operations. In 1947 the government had begun to evacuate villagers and settle them

in camps around towns in order to deny the guerrilla forces of the DA access to

supplies and to hinder further recruitment. After March 1948, following the

resolution of Comintern countries at the Belgrade Youth Conference to host children

from the war zone, the Communist forces began to take younger children from those

villages still inhabited to be brought up in Eastern European countries. The

increasingly tense and complicated relationships between Greek communist leaders,

Tito, and Stalin were reflected in local shifts in policy. Following the major split

between Tito and Stalin in 1948, the notion of a United Macedonia, preached on Free

Greece Radio and espoused by Bulgaria had become policy and threatened the

integrity of Yugoslavia (Banac 1995; Chandler 1994:195a; Stavrakis 1989:180). The Yugoslav-Greek border was finally closed in late July 1949, denying to Greek

anti-government forces what had been a principal training ground, place of retreat

and source of supplies. The war ended in September 1949.10

In the period 1946-1949 villagers in northern Greece, whatever their sympathies, were caught between two fires. If they stayed in their villages to take their chances

with the communist forces of the DA, their families would be fragmented. If they

obeyed the instructions of government forces, they would have to abandon their

homes for a precarious future on the outskirts of an already overcrowded town. In

effect, villagers who did nothing and awaited their fate would find their choice made

for them, depending on the affiliation of the first force that reached them.

What emerges, from some accounts at least, is an awareness of the pressures that

were building up, and a continuing attempt to accommodate and preserve some

degree of control in the future. Activist narratives conceal this kind of compromise

and partial solution because they privilege the individual and nation-state as the key

levels of agency. If, however, an extended family is taken as the unit of analysis, it

becomes clear that ambivalence and future possibilities could be retained. When

actions taken are considered as accommodations rather than the expressions of hard

edged moral positions, what emerges is a local picture of nuance and fluidity.

117



One Family's Story

In the summer of 1948, in a village just south of the Greek-Yugoslav border and on

the edge of the shrinking sphere of the DA, a family faced a difficult decision. The

significant actors in what appears to have been a patriarchal unit were four brothers,

all between forty-five and fifty-five years of age. The first three brothers were

resident in the village; the youngest was away serving with the government army.

Of the three brothers in the village, the middle one had served in the Greek army in

Asia Minor in the 1922-1923 campaign, and in Albania in 1939. In 1948 he was

village president. His oldest son was away fighting in the DA on Grammos, the

communists' stronghold close to the Albanian border, and died there in 1948. Two

of the president's nieces, the eldest daughters of the third brother, were of

marriageable age and were already in Yugoslavia, probably sent there to avoid

recruitment into the DA." In early summer, soon after the Comintern's countries'

decision to host children from Greece, the president's two youngest sons had been

taken away by the communists but had contrived to slip away from the column and

return to the village.12 As what was called Free Greece came under increased

pressure, a government column visited the village and threatened to return and burn

it and to relocate the inhabitants to a city.

In this climate, where the village found itself at the eye of a storm, the family

members in the village elected, along with almost all of the village's inhabitants, to

seek temporary refuge in Yugoslavia. The decision suggests a slight inclination, in

the village as a whole, to the left. That said, it should be recalled that other families

may, like this one, have had members fighting in the Government army. All three

brothers, their wives, and seventeen of their eighteen children fled at this time. The wife of the youngest brother stayed behind, as did the eldest brother's oldest

daughter, who was married to a man from another village.13

Crossing the border, the villagers had most of their possessions taken by

Yugoslav guards, who assured them that they would soon return home. They were

then sent to Erdzelija, a village near Sveti Nikola some 80 kilometers southeast of

Skopje. There they were housed in what had been stables, which would be their

homes for the next six years. In common with other refugees from Greece, they were from the beginning identified as 'EgejcV

— that is to say, people from the

Aegean —

by residents of the newly declared Socialist Republic of Macedonia.

There were tensions between this new group and previous residents: in the course of

the family's residence at Erdzelija, there were three major confrontations with the

local population in which knives and clubs were used.14

After the closing of the Yugoslav border in 1949 and the defeat of the

Democratic Army, the Egejci became something of an embarrassment in the

republic. Included in their numbers were militant revanchists, and Yugoslavia,

isolated at this point from the Soviet bloc, could not risk confrontation with Greece.

In this period, then, the Egejci suffered certain restrictions. They were issued dis

tinctive identity cards and were not permitted to travel further than fifteen kilometers

118



from their place of residence. Colonies inside Yugoslavia, but in different republics,

were set up to move potential troublemakers further from Greece; among these

colonies were Krushevlje and Gjakovo in the Sombor region of Vojvodina.15

Treatment like this only increased the refugees' sense that they had left Macedonia

behind, and arrived in an area that they thought of as Yugoslavia or Serbia.16

The family members who had settled in Erdzelija had established lives for

themselves and had finally been allowed to build their own homes when they faced

their first life crisis. In 1956, the youngest of the three brothers there died. His

widow was left with seven children, and their futures seemed precarious. The Civil War in Greece was over, and the youngest of the four brothers had survived service

in the government Army and had returned to the village. With his assistance, the

widow sought and received permission to return with her children to the village in

Greece. The others all remained in Yugoslavia, and as the children grew up, they

moved to larger towns and cities and became more integrated into society.

Contemporary Accounts of National Identity

By 1993, most of the twenty children of the four couples from the village had

children of their own. The woman widowed in 1956 was in 1993 still alive, and

lived with one of her sons in the village in Greece from which she and her husband

had left. Her younger brother-in-law, who had served in the government army and

stayed in Greece throughout, died in 1992. Her grandson, whom I shall call Dimitri,

studied at the university in Thessaloniki and works as an accountant. He is bilingual,

speaking Greek and the local Slavic dialect fluently — the latter learned from his

grandmother, who still does not speak Greek."

Across the border, in Skopje, one of the two youngest sons of the village

president in 1948 now lives in Skopje. He married a woman from Sveti Nikola, a

native of the republic, and in 1993 both were still working as teachers. They have

two sons, the elder of whom I shall call Philip, who is second cousin to Dimitri. A

student at the University of Skopje, he was, at the time I knew him, becoming

monolingual; although in the days of Yugoslavia Serbo-Croatian was apparently

regularly spoken in Skopje, he used only literary Macedonian, which was formalized

after World War Two (Friedman 1989). Dimitri identifies himself as Greek and Macedonian: the first he explains as his

national identity, the latter as a regional one, equivalent to Cretan or the like. Thus

far he appears to demonstrate the stereotypical "Greek" view laid out by Danforth

(1995). In each case he uses a notion of territoriality to explain his identity. For

him, Macedonia is an area of Greece, and Macedonians are Greeks; north of the

border is Yugoslavia and Serbia. In this respect he has the same views as his

grandmother, who spent seven years in Erdzelija. Indeed, his grandmother refers to

Dimitri's aunt, Philip's mother, who is from Sveti Nikola, as the Srbinka — Serbian

woman — for that very reason, identifying her, too, by reference to territory.18

119



With regard to those blood relatives — great uncles, great aunts, and first cousins

once removed —• who stayed in 1956, Dimitri still identifies them by place of origin.

They are, he says, Greeks. When his grandmother and her children returned to the

village, it appears that in his view they did the natural or correct thing. Their return,

then, needs no explanation. Instead, his narrative focuses on the forces that kept

other family members behind. They stayed, he says, for money and call themselves

Macedonians today for the same reason. Tito, he said, was their godfather; he

christened them for his own political reasons.

Questioned in a similar vein, Philip, Dimitn s second cousin who lives in Skopje,

identified himself as Macedonian and not Greek. To justify this he appealed mainly

to a historical perspective described by Danforth (1995), which has the Slavs in the seventh century mixing with the autochthonous and non-Greek descendants of

Alexander the Great's Macedonians to produce what is called the Macedonian narod,

a Slavic word with resonances that parallel those of the Greek ethnos." Philip is

certain that his own birthplace (Skopje) and the territory of the Former Yugoslav

Republic of Macedonia are on Macedonian soil. Indeed, he is prepared to argue that

Albanians, however long they might have resided in the area, are not autochthonous

and therefore have less right to live there than Macedonians. He thus embraces the

national and ethnic unity of an area that he calls Macedonia, again along the lines

identified by Danforth (1995) as "Macedonian". His father, the cousin of Dimitri's father, was somewhat less dogmatic. He

acknowledged that, in the language of that period, when his family came across the

border in 1948 they left Macedonia and entered Yugoslavia. Confronted by

Dimitri's definition of him as Greek, he recognized the logic of the position, acknowledging, too, that his own father stayed in Yugoslavia in 1956, in part,

because his children were doing well in school and to return to Greece then would

have been to turn them back into farmers.20

None of this, though, prevented Philip's father from calling himself and his

relations in Greece 'Macedonian' in a sense that precluded their being Greek. To

support this view, he emphasized that his aunt, Dimitri's grandmother, has never

spoken Greek and calls the language that she speaks Macedonian. He noted also that

her return to Greece was not undertaken as soon as possible, but that she applied for

permission only when her husband died. He argued that her motives were therefore

economic self-interest. Her kin in Yugoslavia, newly arrived, did not have the

resources to help her that those in the village, who were able to dispose of all the

family's property, did. And there in Greece, he added, she and her descendants have

been economically rewarded for declaring themselves as Greeks: according to him,

every household has at least three tractors.

Analysis

So much, then, for the opinions of the family members on both sides of the border.

Certainly territorial origin, historical descent, and mother tongue play a part in the

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definitions offered — that is to say, they are deployed to buttress the picture of

national reality that each individual holds. What neither version can ignore, though,

is that choices were made by individuals in both halves of the family and that those

choices have led directly to the national affiliation of the younger generations.

Under the pressure of events in 1948, those choices converged, when all but the

youngest of the four brothers left the village and crossed the border. In 1956,

though, it was otherwise. Everyone in the family agreed that at that time the

possibility existed for all of them to return, just as, theoretically, they could have all

stayed.21

In each individual case, then, the existence of some material and individual

motivation is acknowledged. But the contemporary family members, both 'Greek'

and 'Macedonian', each discount the value of benefits received by their own direct

descendants, and thus dismiss the idea that those individuals' choices were made out

of economic self-interest. Thus Philip's father, in Skopje, emphasized the hardships that the refugees in Yugoslavia faced; they were often discriminated against, and had

to compete with other citizens. Not only that, they did so at a disadvantage, as they lacked the same resource base of extensive kin and personal ties — vrski — that

other Macedonians had, and which remain an important element in everyday life

(Ford 1982). Similarly, Dimitri reported that in contrast to the islands, northern Greece has been underdeveloped since the civil war. In each case, the government to

which the individual's direct descendants owed allegiance is portrayed as offering no

incentives in the process that led to those descendants' decisions. Individualistic and

self-interested choice does not feature in accounting for their own branch of the

family's history, in which, rather, any economic prosperity is presented as triumph

against the odds.

Only when family members on either side of the border talk about the other

branch of the family does a materially beneficent state, and individual economic

calculation, play an important part in history. In Skopje, therefore, Philip's father

talked about the tractors given to the Egejci who returned to Greece, while in Greece

Dimitri spelled it out still more specifically, saying "Tito gave them money to call

themselves Macedonians". The former claim makes a general statement that makes

investment in regional development an inducement to loyalty. In the latter

formulation, the undisputed financial and moral support offered to the fledgling

Republic of Macedonia by federal Yugoslavia is metaphorically rendered as a

personal relationship between each citizen and the head of state. From the narratives

of each branch of the family, then, emerges a sense that the loyalty felt and claimed

by their opposite numbers owes something to material and transactional

relationships. In the different emphases that people lay on aspects of past decision-making lie

clues to understanding the nature and strength of the national consciousness that both

these Greeks and Macedonians feel. What is apparent is that individuals on both

sides of the border speak far more about the calculations and motivations of their

foreign relatives than they do about their own. They talk about these motivations in

121



specific and concrete terms — in terms of individual psychology and of material re

wards and incentives offered by states to individuals. The effect of this rhetorical

move is to exclude from the picture any idea of a consensual collectivity, as they

seek to highlight as the bases of the 'Other solidarity an aggregate of individual

choices in response to the calculated generosity of some central state agency. The

'Other' group's historical membership in a narod or ethnos is thereby denied, and

presented instead as entirely conditional upon, and manufactured out of, worldly

considerations.

The descriptions of the choices made by their own national forebears are quite

different. For here, people on both sides of the border expressly deny that choices

were materially rewarded and discount the involvement of any state. Indeed, the

very notion that any choice was made is in some sense dismissed. No psychological

set of motivations is offered for individual action: instead, the individual's

membership in a collectivity is taken for granted and the fact of membership alone,

tout court, given explanatory force in accounting for his or her actions. The

individual's choice is thus presented as a faithful reflection of a natural and

transcendent state of affairs, locating him or her within the community where he or

she naturally belongs. Here, then, in the assertion of the insignificance of material

profit, the existence of a collectivity which effectively displaces individual choice is

maximally visible and the narod or ethnos, in silence, triumphantly affirmed.

Locals as Theorists: The Logic of Nationalism

It could be argued that these two different emphases in the narration of disputed

belonging reflect two trends in the literature of nationalism, expressed in the two

'classics' of 1983 by Benedict Anderson and Ernest Gellner respectively. In the case

of their own forebears, these people accord the nation the status that it enjoys in

Anderson's work, whereby it takes its place among kinship or religion, or other

phenomena in the cultural sphere of the taken-for-granted. Anderson's (1983) use of

the term "imagined community" owes much to Geertz's (1973) "assumed givens",

and similarly sidesteps the micro-politics of whose imagining prevails in situations

of disagreement. In contrast, in the case of their relatives, all of these people treat the

nation as it is treated in the works of theorists like Gellner (1983), who, working with a hard-nosed concept of reality, find themselves dismissing or reducing all

sentiments and expressions of national belonging as rooted in material interest or

state manipulation.

Whereas theorists seek, ostensibly at least, to subject all national allegiances to

the same analysis, what these individuals do is treat differently the two nations that

are competing for their own membership. The nation that has accepted them, and

which they accept, they acknowledge as having the sacred and beyond-question

qualities that Anderson describes. However, with regard to the nation that has

accepted their relatives, and which their relatives have accepted, these qualities are

denied. In this case, a Active or, perhaps more accurately, contingent nationhood is

122



seen as the product of manipulative states and calculating individuals. In the one

case, their own, to paraphrase Anderson (1983:13), chance has been turned into

destiny so effectively that it was never anything else. In the other, the attempted

alchemy is detected in process, and the authenticity of its product therefore gainsaid.

It is the deployment not of one or the other of these analyses, but of both in

parallel, which can be argued to lie at the heart of the expressions of nationalism

presented here, and to make them identical in their underlying logic. What appears

salient in the accounts of this particular family is a common pattern in the metaphors

of each side, which deal specifically with the notion of will. In each case, three

realms can be distinguished, which can be defined as those of individual,

state/government, and ethnic collectivity — narod or ethnos. The first two realms

are characterized as overlapping to some extent, and as occupied by individual and

willful choice-makers; of necessity, in these realms there are also constrained

victims. These realms are also characterized as realms of transaction. In both the

narratives that I have sketched out above, it is in these realms that the current

outcomes of past actions on the other side of the border are located. These realms,

and outcomes located within them, are secular and contingent. In this respect, most

importantly, they are wholly unlike the third realm, that of the ethnic or national

collectivity. In this realm inducements and constraints alike have no determinative

or explanatory force. Indeed, the very notion of choice appears to slip out of focus,

as the deep certainty or, in Geertz's (1973) apt phrase, "assumed givenness" granted

by the realm itself casts other considerations as less powerful precisely for their

association with calculating agents. It is into this realm of will that, in each case,

people in the present claim their own forebears entered.

It is in the narrative manipulation of these genres of will, then, that these

contemporary Greeks and Macedonians distinguish the validity of their own claims

regarding ethnic and national identity from those that their relatives make. In this

case at least, blood and law are resources that are equally open to both sides.

Although each member of the contemporary extended family interviewed stressed

that they were all of the same blood, they all appeared to recognize that this could be

taken to prove that they were 'really' what their counterparts claimed they were. In

order to deny the importance of that blood relationship in defining their own identity,

while granting it absolute force in defining their relatives', they had first to establish, to their own satisfaction at least, that the 'will' operative in their own case was of a

qualitatively different kind than in the case of their counterparts.

Conclusion

Anthropologists of Macedonia have been anxious to reject national narratives of

collectivity and to restore local, human agency to their accounts of the past. In so

doing, though, they have perhaps overpopulated the past with wilful individuals who

act in accordance with their intentions, so that, for example, the movements of

people across the Greek-Yugoslav border in 1948-49 and afterwards are argued to

123



index their national loyalties. Such accounts, though, cannot easily deal with cases

like that of the thousands of children who made the same journey, but to whom the

same motivations cannot plausibly be ascribed. Nor, perhaps, do such accounts do

justice to the range of individual motivations that might exist within, for example, a

village community that elected to flee across the border with no real shared sense of

how long they might be away. These cases call for a different analysis, and what this

paper set out to illustrate was that all such movements acquire the power to signify

largely in retrospect. They certainly offer, en bloc or in highlighted cases, fodder for

those who seek firmly to establish opposing camps, and identify oppressors and

victims in the past to buttress narratives of solidarity in the more stable present.

However, what the paper tries to indicate is a path by which the history of such

movements can be studied without embracing the views that such history has come

to serve.

Nationalists apply different analyses of nation in different cases, and the

narratives recorded in this paper show how this combination of different modes of

analysis can be seen at the local level. In the examples given, people confident of

their own national inheritance do not interrogate the motives of those people in the

past whose actions suggest they shared the same identity; indeed, they are at pains to

suggest that such people suffered as individuals for those actions. Instead, they focus their explanatory energies on those whose actions led to their being classified

as members of a different nation. In those cases, they look for individual and state

initiative. This different emphasis can be thought of as a privileging of a double standard,

in which people in the present do not subject all actors in the past to the same

scrutiny. Will, which appears so central in accounts of national activism, turns out to

operate differently in the past depending on its future consequences. Far from being

granted equal salience for different individuals in the past, it takes on different moral

shading depending on its alleged realm of operation. Although I have drawn

analytical distinctions above, it is clear that decisions in the past can be interpreted as

falling within more than one realm, and this slippage seems an integral part of

nationalist narratives which also honor individual initiative. It is only by an aggre

gation of individual wilful actions that a nation's existence is perpetuated, and yet when its existence is asserted, it erases the individuality of those actions.

Conversely, close attention to any of those individual choices robs them of their

ability to contribute to any such national will, by locating self-interest at a sub

national level, wholly separate from any collectivity.

It might be said that the two branches of this family, living in two different nation states, are victims of partition. That, though, is not the way that any of them

narrate their own fate, or that of their families. Although they do not agree as to the

family's relationship with a larger national or ethnic collectivity, this disagreement does not in and of itself create conflict or friction. It is possible that their lack of

outrage at rival versions of family history stems from a recognition that their own

accounts have more to do with present conditions and contingencies than past

124



certainties. Their views of the same events in the past are nonetheless the means by

which a partition reproduces the conditions of its production, by injecting into

disputed histories the timeless, paradoxical demands of the nation.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This article is based on a paper delivered in 1993 at the Modern Greek Studies

Symposium in Berkeley California, entitled "When Ink Trumps Blood: Nation and

Identity in a Greek and Macedonian Family". I would like to thank the panel organizer, Anastasia Karakasidou, and the other participants, Loring Danforth and

Peter Allen, for their generous support and encouragement. I would like also to

thank Nikiforos Diamandouris for a probing question in the discussion that followed. A version was also presented at the University of Chicago Europeanist workshop in

1997. I would like to thank George Angelopoulos, John Comaroff, Jane Cowan,

Victor Friedman, David Sutton, Riki Van Boeschoten, Emily McEwen, Eliza

Watson, Marko Zivkovic and, especially, Gautam Ghosh, for their various comments

on various versions.

NOTES

1. Poulton's (1995) provocative title "Who are the Macedonians?" presumed a

conventional bewilderment in the face of a complex history. Other recent work on the

resurgence of the 'Macedonian question' has focused on issues such as minority rights

and the establishment of civil society in the Balkans, and anthropologists in particular

have become activists for a liberal and -humanist agenda of multiculturalism and mutual

tolerance. Much of this intervention casts cosmopolitanism as morally superior to

nationalism, which is often located in the Balkans, often with the sobriquet 'ethnic'. This

has at times led to a curious dilemma over the place of the native's point of view, so

much entrenched in modern anthropology, and yet, in the case of Macedonia, so often

seen as iniquitous and divisive.

2. The distinction between regional, ethnic and national modes of reference has been

entrenched in professional discourse concerning identity since the beginning of the

century. It was a feature of much of the writing on Macedonia in the first decade of this

century, when the 'Eastern Question' was hotly debated.

3. The critiques of Karakasidou, which followed her influential article (1993a) and to

which she responded vigorously (1994) could be argued to replicate those which attribute

"primordialism" to Clifford Geertz, where what he did in fact was identify the phenom

enon. Just's review (1998) of Karakasidou's monograph (1997) noted the possible irony

of Karakasidou's claiming for her own conclusions, regarding the complex and multi

stranded history of nation-building in Assiris, a truth that contrasts with fictions or

125



secondary rationalizations offered by those informants who stoutly affirm their trans

cendant and timeless identity as Greek.

4. See Brown (1995). It should be added that this picture continues to be disputed, often

on the evidence assembled in two excellent English-language surveys of the various

struggles in Macedonia, based mainly on Bulgarian and Greek sources (Dakin 1966;

Perry 1988; see also Fischer-Galati 1973).

5. Greece and the Former Republic of Macedonia continue to dispute the final name that

the state will bear. Although the name Vardar Macedonia appears to represent a compro

mise, it carries with it the legacy of a partition that, so far as many Greeks are concerned,

never occurred.

6. Yugoslav historiography is critically reviewed in Kofos (1994). It should be noted

that research into the fate of the Slavic speakers of northern Greece has been a major

focus of historical research in the Republic of Macedonia since the creation of the

Institute for National History in Skopje in the late 1940s.

7. This formulation is drawn from Just (1989), quoting Ardener (1976). It should be

noted that some historians and journalists writing on the Greek Civil War have been

prepared to include their own conclusions in their narrative. Dominique Eudes, for

example, is clearly sympathetic, if not to the hard-line communists, at least to the World

War II resistance fighters who took up arms again for the Democratic Army. She quotes

from English and French sources that claim there was no evidence of any attempt to

indoctrinate these children nor that any expressed any unhappiness with their lot

(1972:317-318). As such, she can be seen as favoring an interpretation that Danforth

might call "Macedonian". Nicholas Gage, in contrast, writing a very personal account of

his mother's execution by the communists, describes the evacuation as the ultimate evil

(1983). Clearly influenced by his comparatively well-off mother's commitment to

protect her children from such a fate, his account resembles what Danforth describes as

"Greek" narratives. Reading an earlier draft of this paper, Riki Van Boeschoten pointed out that these views can also be distinguished in more familiar political terms of leftists

and rightists. For a level-headed account of the reporting of the plans of both royalists and communists to remove children from the battle-zone, see Baerentzen (1987). A

recent analysis published in Greece represents both sides's positions (Lagani 1995). 8. Writing on the reactions of individuals in Northern Greece to the politicization of

Macedonian history, Piero Vereni (n.d.) has emphasized the analytic distinction that can

be drawn between what he terms History — a matter of states and powerful individuals

— and history —

composed of families and localities. He suggests that local accounts

subvert the primacy of the former by taking its conventions and applying them to the

latter.

9. I am particularly indebted to Riki Van Boeschoten for a close reading of an earlier

version of the following section.

10. Tensions remained high between Yugoslavia and Greece. In October 1950, Greece

continued to block the passage of U.S. relief from Thessaloniki to Yugoslavia, until Tito

made an official statement in November 1950 renouncing all claims to Greek territory.

126



11. Eudes (1972:306) attests to the presence of young women in the ranks of the

Democratic Army. The Daily Mirror of 11 November 1947 contained a picture of gov

ernment horsemen carrying the heads of women fighters. During 1949, according to

Nachmani, the 30 percent average of women in Democratic Army units rose in some

cases to 50 percent (1990:22).

12. This was recalled by one of the two brothers.

13. Like many of the villages in northern Greece, there is an 'upper' and a 'lower'

village. Current accounts claim that all those from the upper village fled, whereas the

inhabitants of the lower village pledged loyalty to the Greek government and remained.

14. The Macedonian dialect of Sveti Nikola belongs to the northern group of Macedonian

dialects, and is thus relatively distinct from the dialect spoken by the villagers from

Greece. This may have increased the sense of difference that both locals and Egejci felt.

I owe this point to Victor Friedman. The information regarding the Egejci is taken from

interviews with members of this family, as well as other survivors. I have also used

written sources which their author described as a cross between memoir and fiction

(Biceski 1993) and a newspaper published between 1951 and 1956, Glas na Egejcite

(Voice of the Egejci). This last source paints a rather different picture of the conditions

under which the refugees lived. What it confirms, though, is the contingency of life for

this group of people, many of whom had fled what they thought was a temporary

disruption of their lives. I also used as source material the accounts submitted by Egejci

to the new government of Yugoslav Macedonia in the early 1950s, in their applications

for llinden pensions (Brown 1995:219-260). This testimony, of course, may be subject to

revisionist memories. However it should be stressed that it did not generally partake of

the demonizing character of narratives that cast 'Greeks', 'communists' or any other

broad spectrum group as villains. The stuff of these narratives was, for the most part, the

small scale prejudices of prospective parents-in-law: the minutiae of poverty and root

lessness, and, at times, a rather familiar (to Americans) refrain of hard-work bringing its

own reward. This last theme is a self-stereotype that persists among second or third

generation Egejci, who emphasize their own distinction from other citizens of Yugoslav

Macedonia in this way. Although Egejci are here presented as a singular group, it is for

ease of reference only. Interviews with a number of self-identified Egejci point to a range

of experience which may, as Malkki (1995) noted in a different context, have led to the

formation of distinct modes of historical consciousness.

15. Banac (1995:266) reports that there were, by early 1948, already 8,000 refugees from

Greece in these villages, which he notes were formerly German.

16. See also Vereni (n.d.).

17. Traveling in Northern Greece in the summer of 1993, and again in 1998,1 frequently

heard Slavic spoken. In most cases when I asked, I heard it described in Greek as

"slavika" or in the language itself as "nash" that is, "ours". In Aetos, on the Edhessa

Kastoria Road, a group of old men told me that it was quite different from the language of

Skopje, which they did not understand; but I was speaking that language and they

understood me, which suggests that they believed this was a claim they should make.

127



Most people told me that these days they used the Slavic dialect freely and without fear,

choosing it if, for example, they wished to have a private conversation in the presence of

Greek monoglots. Most, again, were happy to speak it with me, although on one

occasion in 1998, my switching into Macedonian was met with a mixture of fear and

hostility. Older people generally reported that the younger generation understand it but

do not like to speak it. They only use it with grandparents who do not know Greek.

18. The argument from territorial origin is "historically misleading" (Just 1989) because

it derives its force from an idea of the eternal existence of nation-states which, in the area

under discussion, were formed in the nineteenth century and only extended into Mace

donia in 1913. The argument, nonetheless, is in use in Greece and ex-Yugoslavia; in

Bitola, fifteen kilometers north of the Greek border, some self-identified Macedonians

use the fact that Bitola has never lain inside the borders of a Greek state to justify their

claim that no one who is 'really' from Bitola could 'really' be Greek.

19. Just (1989) describes such genealogies, characteristic of ethnic triumphalism, as

"fuzzy edged". It is hard to say whether this argument of descent is any more fuzzy

edged than that of modern Greeks. It does at least begin to acknowledge the common

sense notion that some mixing must have occurred between the different linguistic and

cultural groups that have camped in the Balkans over the last two thousand years. This is

a notion that many modern Greeks, whatever language their grandparents spoke and

wherever they spent their lives, resolutely reject.

20. Philip's father reported his delight in finding himself and his brother mentioned as

model students in Glas na Egejcite. He claimed that, in the village, refugee children

consistently outperformed locals, and that this contributed to the antagonism that existed

between the two groups.

21. Regarding the territory belonging to the family in the village, no one made any mention of its having been confiscated. This runs counter to the situation reported by Danforth and by many of the Macedonian activists of the Fiorina region, who report that

Civil War refugee-exiles could be stripped of their land, even when their relatives

remained on the land (Danforth 1995:7). In other cases, return was not possible as it was

for members of this family (Van Boeschoten, personal communication).

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