Category Archives: Eastern Europe

Bulgarian Wrestlers versus Democrats

I regret having to dump a tub of icewater over our (or at least my) enthusiasm for the “Black Sea Mafia” in Japanese sumo, but a “differently informed” perspective on the origins of these wrestlers needs to be considered. The following passage begins the chapter titled, “Wrestlers versus Democrats,” in Robert D. Kaplan’s book Eastward to Tartary: Travels in the Balkans, the Middle East, and the Caucasus (Vintage, 2000).

Within twenty-four hours of crossing into Bulgaria by train from Romania, I had begun hearing two words over and over again: wrestlers and groupings, with an emphasis on Multigroup, the Orion Group, and the Tron Group. “They run the country,” I was told, or at the least were as palpable a presence in people’s lives as the elected government. In early May 1998, a few weeks after I left Bulgaria, Anna Zarkova, a local journalist who had exposed these groups in her articles for the daily Trud, was doused with sulfuric acid hurled at her face at a bus stop. Zarkova, the mother of two children, lost her left ear and the sight in one eye as a result of the attack. For this reason, I cannot name the private citizens who gave me the following information without endangering their lives.

In the Communist era, Bulgaria had a great Olympic wrestling tradition. When the regime favorites lost their subsidies, many of them went into racketeering–with the help of their friends from the security services–and amassed tremendous wealth during the power vacuum that followed the regime’s collapse. A close friend, a Bulgarian woman in her mid-twenties who specializes in human-rights cases, told me:

“The wrestlers are all big and tough, with cell phones, fancy cars, Versace suits, and young girls on their arms. All their girlfriends look alike: thin, with blond hair and vacuous expressions, and adorned with gold. At a restaurant where a meal cost more than most Bulgarians make in a month, I heard one of these girls repeat over and over to her wrestler boyfriend, ‘This is so cheap. I can’t believe how cheap this is….’ The wrestlers and their girls go to expensive nightclubs with loud music, where go-go dancers sing cheesy lyrics, like ‘I love shopska [peasant’s] salad.’ We all know that our cars will be stolen if they are not ‘insured’ with one of the wrestlers’ insurance companies. Another name for the wrestlers is the moutras–the ‘scary faces.’ We are all repulsed by their behavior, but we have to deal with them. This is a country where people have put their life savings into sugar and flour because of inflation [and where the monthly salary is $140], yet there is a criminal class with stolen Audis and Mercedes.”

I saw the wrestlers frequently in Sofia. A late-model high-performance car would screech to a halt, muscular men in fashionable clothes would emerge with cell phones, wearing enough cologne to be noticeable from fifteen feet away. The boss would occasionally have two beautiful women with him, one on each arm. It was both frightening and pathetic. Their expensive homes, on the slopes of Mount Vitosha, above the haze of pollution that hovers over Sofia, were surrounded by two-story-high brick walls and punctuated with satellite dishes. Nearby sprawled a vast Gypsy settlement of muddy shacks, growling dogs milling about.

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Molvanîa: A Land Untouched by Modern Dentistry

Molvanîa, “a land untouched by modern dentistry” according to the Jetlag Travel Guide Molvanîa, urgently needs to enter into a bilateral free trade agreement with an exporter of dental products like, say, Liechtenstein.

(Brobra to polyglot polydont pf, from whose blog this tooth of wisdom was extracted.)

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The Vanishing Breed of Transylvanian German Writers

On 11 February 2004, the Culture section (premium content by subscription only) of Transitions Online carried a feature by Anca Paduraru of Deutsche Welle Radio’s English service about a Transylvanian German writer who has stayed in Romania.

BUCHAREST, Romania–“The commotion of summer 1990 inspired me. Then, ethnic Germans left Romania for Germany in droves, and I was left on the railway station platform helpless and perplexed to witness it.”

Eginald Schlattner, 70, is talking about the experience that prompted him to write two novels in his retirement, bringing him success in the German-speaking world and both recognition and notoriety in his native Romania.

The fall of communism produced at least one unhappy result in Romania: After some 800 years of living together with Romanians and other nationalities in this East European country, ethnic Germans began returning to their ancestral homes.

Statistics tell the story. In the last communist-era census, taken in 1977, 350,000 Germans were recorded in Romania. By 1992, their population had dropped by two-thirds. By 2002, it stood at 60,000–just 0.3 percent of the country’s 22 million people.

“It was indeed an exodus lethalis [deadly exodus], this final exit of Germans from Romania, which produced the last twitches we see in Schlattner’s books,” says George Gutu, a professor of German literature at the University of Bucharest.

Helping Schlattner’s success was the controversy surrounding the subject matter of his novels and his alleged part in sending five of his fellow Romanian-Germans to communist prisons.

Schlattner’s authorial debut, five years ago when he was 65, was Der gekoepfte Hahn (The Beheaded Rooster). His second book, Rote Handschuhe (Red Gloves), came out two years later. They have been reprinted several times and reached the best-seller lists of German-language books. The Beheaded Rooster appeared in Romanian translation in 2001, and Red Gloves is being readied for publication in Romania.

Schlattner says his first book “looks at only one day in our history to describe the situation of the Saxons [Germans] here and their pledge to Hitler.” That day was 23 August 1944, when Romania switched camps to join the Allies.

The second novel, which Schlattner says is autobiographical, “shows the two years of my imprisonment in Stalin City [Brasov]. In this one, I put all my cards on the table and explained what happened during those never-ending police interrogations. I was very tough on myself.” …

LOST LANGUAGE

… Germans in Romania lived in a context that allowed them to preserve their identity, Schlattner says. “As I told [German Interior Minister] Otto Schily, … Romania never forbade us from speaking our language, not even during the last eight months of the war it fought against Germany. So much so that at 12, my only Romanian words were, ‘I don’t know Romanian.’ ”

Schlattner’s praise of Romania for its ongoing publication of ABC books in 12 languages for the minorities within its borders does little to assuage Gutu, who is also head of the association of professors of German literature in Romania. While Gutu acknowledges that the demise of a form of literature is inevitable in the absence of a population to support it, he argues that Romanian and German cultural leaders do little to preserve German-language teaching in Romania.

Once, German-language literature in Romania was placed alongside works from East and West Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Its reputation was boosted by the less-extreme treatment meted out to Germans in Romania compared with those in Czechoslovakia or Poland, millions of whom who were expelled after the Second World War.

But now the community structure has been disrupted in Romania, and German-language teachers are scarce.

“Germany directs its efforts and funding only to the German-language schools for the Germans still living in Transylvania and completely disregards the demand for learning the language coming from Romanian children and their parents outside the Carpathian arch,” Gutu says.

Marina Neacsu, cultural projects coordinator at the Goethe Institute in Bucharest, which is funded by the German state, agrees. She says the government has no specific plans to support the editing of books in the German language.

In 2003, though, Romanian authorities gave 16.6 billion lei ($520,000) to the German community, says Ovidiu Gant, undersecretary of state in the Ministry of Public Information. As part of an across-the-board increase in funding to minority groups, the community’s state support more than doubled over the previous year.

In addition, according to Lucian Pricop, a programs coordinator at the Ministry of Culture, more than 1 billion lei ($31,000) has been spent to edit 14 German-language books, support the cultural supplements to the Carpaten Rundschau (Carpathian Observer) and Banater Zeitung (Banat News) magazines, and help public libraries acquire German literature.

Yet Gutu says Romanian and German authorities are ignoring the demand from Romanian parents who realize that Germany is Europe’s economic powerhouse and see knowledge of the German language as indispensable to their children’s professional success.

As for the future of German literature in Romania, Gutu sees none. “As much as I would wish to be wrong, a literature needs a population base to thrive, and 60,000 people are too few and bound to be less.”

Schlattner shares that skepticism.

The local Lutheran bishop, Schlattner says, “is just here to perform burials. This is what we have come to: a deserted house, emptier than the holy stable of Bethlehem. But that one was soon to be filled up with living beings and gifts as the news of Christ’s birth spread into the world. Our stable is not going to witness that.”

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Romania’s Unsettled Szeklers

In its compilation of news for the week of 20-26 January 2004, Transitions Online reports that the Szeklers, a minority within the Hungarian minority in Romania (see map), are making another push for autonomy. (Access to TOL archives is by subscription only.)

It may have no chance of success, but the call for a Hungarian autonomous region reveals how deep the rifts now are between Romania’s Hungarians as well as with Romanians….

The document appears not to have the slightest chance of becoming a bill, let alone law, as the majority of even Democratic Alliance of Hungarians from Romania (UDMR) parliamentarians have clearly stated that they do not back the idea. The proposal will be sent to the Romanian parliament in early February….

Territorial autonomy for the Hungarian minority has, in the past year, become one of the most disputed issues in Romanian society. And the demands seem to be becoming more and more radical with each passing day….

Szekler is another name for the East Transylvanian Hungarians. Originally, the Szeklers were a Turkish group, brought in by Hungary’s kings around 1200 to guard Transylvania’s eastern borders.

Over the centuries, they lost their language and almost all their traditions. Even their names are now pure Hungarian. But, to this day, they carry their separate origin as a badge of pride….

According to the 2002 census, there are 1,434,377 ethnic Hungarians in Romania (6.6 percent of the population). This makes them the country’s largest ethnic minority according to official figures. Almost 99% of them live in the western reaches and center of the country, in Transylvania, and the regions of Crisana, Maramures, and Banat.

Other sizeable minorities are the Roma (officially 535,250, although most estimates are at least twice that figure), Ukrainians (61,091), and Germans (60,080).

Hungarians are the majority population in two of Romania’s 41 counties, more than a third of the population in another two, and in another two account for over 20 percent.

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Szekely Armenians, Armeno-Kipchaks, Zipsers, and Other Odd Minorities in Eastern Europe

Language hat has a fact-, factoid-, and fun-filled comment thread in response to a post about a fine poem “A Dish of Peaches in Cluj” by Maria Benet on alembic. Here’s a sample:

“Csangos, the Hungarian minority in Romanian Moldavia, usually have Romanian names for their villages, so you have Saboani for Szabofalva (Tailor Village) or Faroani for “Forrofalva” (Boiling Village), but these are rarely on any map since the mere existence of the Csangos is still a controversial theme in Romania.” …

“You know the Redneck Hillbilly family characters who occasionally appear on the Simpsons? Imagine them speaking Hungarian, eating raw bacon and potatoes, drinking quarts of wood alcohol, and chewing coffee beans. Székelys.” …

“Ah, the Zipsers! I presume they came from Spisz / Spis / Zips / Szepes, one of my favorite multilingual Eastern European place names.” …

“The Armenians entered in the late 1600 via the Ukraine and Volynia. There were already communities of them around the black sea but the Jelali Revolts in eastern Turkey around 1610 caused a flood of Anatolian Armenians to flee to the Ukraine, and thence to Moldavia (There are still some in Iasi and Suceava).” …

“Radio Erevan [call-in] jokes … –Can bedbugs make a revolution? –In principle, yes, for in their veins flows the blood of peasants and workers.”

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Romanian Leopard Changing Spots?

A right-wing political leader known for his extremist views has unveiled a statue of assassinated Israeli leader Yitzhak Rabin. Are his motives political or peaceful?

BUCHAREST–On 15 January, the people of Brasov, a Transylvanian town 170 kilometers north of Bucharest, witnessed an unusual event: the dedication of a statue of former Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin in a local park. But the most unusual aspect of the event was identity of the man behind the new monument: Corneliu Vadim Tudor, leader of the extremist opposition Greater Romania Party (PRM), founder of the incendiary Greater Romania magazine, well-known anti-Semite and extreme right-winger, had commissioned and paid for it.

Tudor, a senator in the Romanian parliament, is well known for views that glorify former Romanian rulers–including Nicolae Ceausescu–subscribe to a pure race of Romanian people, and promote racist ideology. Phrases like “international Jewish-Masonic complot,” “camps for Gypsies,” and “Hungarian state terrorism” are sprinkled throughout his magazine and speeches. He has denied that the Holocaust took place in Romania, where hundreds of thousands of Jews were killed during World War II.

At the statue’s unveiling, the man who is often compared to Russia’s Vladimir Zhirinovsky, France’s Jean-Marie Le Pen, and Austria’s Joerg Haider insisted that he has had a change of heart. “You cannot be a Christian and hate Jews,” he declared. “They gave us the Bible.”

Tudor’s critics, and there are many, call the statue a stunt aimed at winning support for his next presidential bid. In 2000, Tudor was the runner-up in the presidential elections….

One thing is certain: with general elections 10 long months away–on 28 November–the Romanian political drama is just getting started.

SOURCE: Transitions Online, 13-19 January 2004

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Home, by Stefan Baciu (1918-1993)

Home (Patria)

Home is an apple
in a Japanese grocery window
on Liliha Street
in Honolulu, Sandwich Islands
or a gramophone record
heard in silence in Mexico
–Maria Tanase beside the volcano Popocatepetl–
home is Brancusi’s workshop in Paris
home is a Grigorescu landscape
on an autumn afternoon in Barbizon
or the Romanian Rhapsody heard on a morning
in Port au Prince, Haiti
and home is the grave of Aron Cotrus
in California
home is a skylark who soars
anywhere
without borders and without plans
home is a Dinu Lipatti concert
in Lucerne, Switzerland, on a rainy evening
home is this gathering of faces
of events and sounds
scattered across the globe
but home is
especially
a moment of silence.

This is home.

Stefan Baciu was born in Brasov, Romania, on 29 October 1918, and died in Honolulu, Hawai‘i, on 7 January 1993. Here’s a short biography in Romanian of Baciu the “poet, eseist, memorialist, ziarist, critic de arta, traducator, diplomat, profesor universitar” posted by Transylvanian German exiles in Bavaria.

In an article on Romanian exiles, Constantin Eretescu says that Baciu “wore his exile the way soldiers wear their war wounds: striving not to let them show”–at least until he arrived in Honolulu (“at the end of the earth”), where “the New Ovid arrived in paradise” (Noul Ovidiu a ajuns in paradis). (Ovid was exiled to the Black Sea port of Tomis, now Constanta, in present-day Romania–hardly paradise, either then or now.)

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Medici fara frontiere

According to an article from the Romanian newspaper Evenimentul Zilei translated in the wonderful Czech resource Transitions Online:

Between 10 and 20 percent of Romanian doctors under 35 years of age are leaving their home country every year, according to an estimate by the Romanian Doctors College (CMR), the country’s main professional medical society. They head chiefly to the United States, but in the past several years increasing numbers have chosen France and Germany, countries that are opening their hospitals to foreign workers due to the lack of local specialists….

Paul Doru Mugur, 34, a native of Romania’s second-largest city, Constanta, has been working as a doctor in New York since 1996. He heads the oncology and hematology department in a public hospital. In 1991, during his fourth year of university, he left Romania for France on a Tempus scholarship awarded by the European Community. He finished his studies in Paris.

“I’ve had the opportunity to get to know three medical systems very well: the Romanian one–a tribal system characterized by influence, bribes, and the mentality that the doctor is a small god; the French one–a bureaucratic system characterized by a rigid administration where the doctor is a clerk; and the American one–a business-based system where our patient is our client and the doctor is a businessman,” Mugur said.

In 1983-84, when a single pack of Kent cigarettes could magically change a bureaucratic nu to a da, doctors required a whole carton–or a bottle of imported whiskey, or a kilo of imported coffee, or the like. The only people who actually smoked the Kents received in bribes were said to be doctors or security officials. Everyone else just used them to bribe someone else up the line. Once, an older man who had struck up a conversation with me during a long train ride offered me a cigarette from his open pack of Kents. I didn’t have to ask who he worked for.

Fortunately, those days are long gone. Bribes are now in convertible currency rather than in bartered goods.

In Romania, as a beginner, you’re not allowed to touch the patient because then the patient doesn’t know which doctor he should give the envelope with the cash to.

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Farflung Christmas Memories

1971 – I was only weeks away from my Army ETS date at Ft. Gordon, GA. My brother had just finished his first semester at Berea College, KY. The rest of the family was across the Pacific, so I took the Greyhound bus up to Berea so we could have our own minireunion. The transfer terminal at Corbin, KY, still sold the old small bottles of Coke for 5 cents. The few Berea students who hadn’t been able to go home for the holidays were consolidated into one dorm to save on heating. Most seemed to be Asian students living on ramen noodles, but I was determined to take my brother to the nicest (well, the only nice) place in town, Boone Tavern Hotel, where he worked as a bellhop, using up far more Brasso in one day on the old elevator cage doors than I used up in my entire 996 days in the Army. Berea College, which U.S. News ranked #1 in the South for 2004, charges no tuition but requires 100% of its students to work for the college and its assorted enterprises (for rather meager wages, it’s true). Unfortunately for us that Christmas Day, Boone Tavern required not only a coat-and-tie, but advance reservations. Nowhere else within walking distance was open, so our elegant Christmas dinner turned out to be individual-sized frozen pizzas from 7-Eleven.

1976 – I was nearing the end of my language fieldwork in a tiny village on the north coast of New Guinea between Salamaua and Morobe Patrol Post. There was a special Christmas service. Most of the village kids were home from their boarding schools. (The village was too small to have its own school.) A young pastor from the village had returned. Most of the church services–and all of the hymns–were in Jabêm, the church language of the German Lutheran mission from Neuendettelsau in Bavaria, but this pastor was determined to reach the younger audience by translating the sermon into Tok Pisin, the English-based pidgin that is the de facto national language of Papua New Guinea. Like so many Christmas services, this one had a children’s pageant. But, unlike most, this one featured swineherds guarding their swine by night rather than shepherds guarding their sheep. When the kids who played the swine began snorting and squealing like real pigs, the village hunting dogs went berserk.

1983 – After a rather grim autumn in Bucharest, Romania, Mrs. Far Outlier and I bought roundtrip train tickets to Budapest and Vienna for Christmas. Unfortunately, the CFR (Cai Ferate Romaniei [= Chemin de fer de la Roumanie]) foreign exchange cashier had sold us only one ticket for the two berths in our sleeping compartment. When the car attendant discovered this, he was very distressed until I paid him in Romanian lei for the second berth and threw in a complimentary pack of Kent cigarettes, the universal foreign exchange medium bribe in Romania (the universal cue being Avets Kents ‘Do you have Kents?’). At the first stop, in Ploiesti, a passenger got on, schlepped his luggage down the hallway, looked into our compartment, saw two people occupying it, and uttered, in English, “Oh, shit.” The car attendant no doubt earned a second pack of Kents that night. Compared to Bucharest, Budapest seemed like heaven–clean and orderly, with real coffee, well-stocked store shelves, and even pedestrian-crossing buttons at intersections. But, compared to Budapest, Vienna was even more heavenly, but also more expensive. We sampled mulled wine at the Kristkindelmarkt, saw Die Fledermaus at the Staatsoper on Christmas Eve, and heard (but couldn’t really see) the Wiener Singer Knaves on Christmas Day.

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