Category Archives: Yugoslavia

by | 12 October 2025 · 8:57 am

Battle of Caporetto, 1917

From The Other Trench: The WW1 Diary and Photos of a German Officer, by Philipp Cross and Alexander Pfeifer (True Perspective Press, 2024), Kindle pp. 266-267: (The following passage is by the junior author, who supplies many backgrounders to help readers better understand his great-great-grandfather’s war diary.)

The recent and upcoming series of events are today known as ‘The Battle of Caporetto’ (The 12th Battle of The Isonzo), one of the most significant chapters of the Great War. When Italy declared war on Austria-Hungary in May 1915, they did so while influenced by the dreams of territorial conquest; and the desire to conquer the Italian-speaking areas around Trento and Trieste along their northeastern border. However, the Italian army had become fatigued towards the end of 1917. Insignificant progress had been made on its frontlines at the cost of severe casualties and a breaking economy. After 11 battles for the Isonzo in just over two years, the Italians anticipated a period of rest during the winter of 1917, but this did not happen. There were growing rumours of an attack by the Austro-Hungarians, and the Italians worked towards strengthening the mountainous combat areas around the town of Caporetto, today known as ‘Kobarid’ in Slovenia. Caporetto is positioned on the western side of the Isonzo River, with the frontlines lying six to seven miles east of the river as of October 1917. Due to the supposedly weakened Italian defence there, Caporetto had been chosen by the Central Powers as the main target for this significant offensive. The offensive, initiated on the 24th of October, would be seen as a complete disaster for the Italian army, also causing devastation nationwide.

In the early morning of the first day of the battle, the Italian trenches were smothered with poisonous gas, which left many occupants dead and caused others to flee. An intense artillery barrage would later follow, as well as mines being detonated beneath Italian strongpoints — Then, the infantry assault. The attacks were led by specialised stormtroopers who made full use of their light mortars, flamethrowers, machine guns and hand grenades. The Italians were in a state of complete disarray and fell into retreat due to this rapid and astonishing breakthrough. The attackers advanced up to 25 kilometres towards Italy on the first day without much resistance. By mid-afternoon, the command centre of the Italian army was still oblivious of the magnitude of this offensive, and Luigi Cadorna, Chief of General Staff, would not realise to what degree his troops were suffering until later in the evening — Munition shortages, wavering commanders, communication breakdown and lack of information — all working against the few trying their hardest to suppress the German and Austro-Hungarian assault. We know how these events unfolded from Alexander’s perspective, but just what exactly was it like through the eyes of someone on the other side?

Colonel Francesco Pisani was the acting general of the Foggia Brigade, who was present at Caporetto on the first day of the offensive. With orders for parts of the brigade to reinforce other units under pressure from the assault, the left-over troops headed towards Caporetto while passing the retreating men telling horror stories of the battles ahead. Pisani was to defend the Eiffel Bridge over the Isonzo with his troops, with a retreat soon after being ordered. The control of the town was then handed over to the Foggia Brigade. This is how he afterwards describes this series of events in his post-battle debriefing:

“There was total confusion. The road was almost entirely blocked by a mass of troops, carts, horses, trucks, artillery pieces, mules, and supplies. Officers’ cars were unable to make any headway, and it was very hard to execute or even transmit any orders. At this point, the various components of the Brigade became separated in the chaos, the freezing fog, and the rain. We also tried to organise transport for the wounded, many of whom had been abandoned in the road. We could hear them groaning through the fog, and it was imperative to move them since their presence was demoralising the defenders of the bridge.”

This battle will continue until late November 1917, and will eventually lead to enormous Italian losses and setbacks. They will lose over 5000 square miles of territory, over 40,000 dead and wounded, and hundreds of thousands of soldiers left scattered who will either be captured or will have deserted. The Italians will not just be subject to losses of soldiers and land. More than 10 million ration sets and over 6 million tins of fish or meat will be seized by the attacking forces, as well as hundreds of tonnes of dried pasta, cheese, and coffee; and 5 million litres of wine. Many thousand pieces of clothing, bedding, boots, artillery pieces, machine guns, horses and mules, and vehicles will be abandoned and lost — a huge loss for Italy considering the shortage of these vital supplies before this setback had even occurred.

The potential reasons for this disaster, and later defeat, already caused political quarrels within 48 hours of the first assault. Blame was placed on all sides of the political spectrum, as well as other factors. General Cadorna, who was already unpopular before the battle, blamed the Austro-German breakthrough on: “The inadequate resistance of units of the Second Army, cowardly retreating without fighting or ignominiously surrendering to the enemy”. However, this has been viewed as an unfair assumption by many, as the Foggia Brigade’s experience of poor defensive positioning, inconsistent orders, and scarce supplies represented the entire situation. Several descriptions indicate that the Italians fought courageously, for as long as they had ammunition and officers. However, as soon as these crucial needs were no more, and their enemy gained more momentum, it was hard to maintain an overall positive attitude.

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Filed under Austria, Germany, Hungary, Italy, military, nationalism, war, Yugoslavia

by | 11 December 2024 · 2:15 pm

Yugoslav Heresies in the 1950s

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 563-565:

In 1953, the question of what socialism would be after Stalin was not purely theoretical because Yugoslavia’s Communists had been experimenting with new models since Stalin’s break with them in 1948. The rupture was not about ideology (that is, about how to build socialism or to structure the party): it was about obedience to Stalin personally. Tito and his comrades had enraged the Soviet leader by failing to seek permission, for example, for their policies toward the other Balkan states. For the time being, references to Tito were anathema in the Soviet Bloc; as recently as December 1952, top Czech Communist leaders had gone to the gallows for association with Titoist heresies. But now Stalin’s successors sought peace with Yugoslavia, leading to full restoration of relations by the summer of 1955. When the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev denounced Stalin the following winter in a secret speech, many Hungarian and Polish Communists, as well as workers, thought the Yugoslav way might become their way.

The best-known component of this Yugoslav path to socialism was worker self-management, enshrined in law in 1951. It grew out of a struggle of leading Yugoslav Communists for orientation after their expulsion from the Cominform. Tito had been so tightly bound to the Soviet party that he later recalled the first days of estrangement as a “nightmare.” Yet Yugoslav Communists had no doubt that they were in the right; their victory in the Partisan struggle, with little Soviet help, showed that history was on their side. The question was where the Soviets had gone wrong.

Yugoslav Communists located the causes of the Soviet deviation in the Communist Party itself and its untrammeled power. Tito’s lieutenants Milovan Djilas and Edvard Kardelj reasoned that power in the Soviet Union lay not with workers and peasants but with bureaucrats. For example, managers and not workers controlled Soviet factories. Like capitalists, they determined what men and women on the factory floor produced, and like capitalists, they had the privileges of higher salaries. In effect, exploitation of the working class continued. This was a vital recognition and critique for a political order that claimed to embody emancipation of all human beings. Soviet reality was not socialism but “state capitalism.”

Somehow Soviet leaders had failed to heed Marx’s warnings about “usurpers” who might derail the revolution. Indeed, the very idea of a strong state, as the Soviet one undoubtedly was, had seemed anathema to Marx.

…

Djilas and Kardelj, along with the Slovene Boris Kidrič, reread these lines from Marx’s and Engels’s Communist Manifesto, and during a chat in a limousine outside their villas in 1949, decided that this vision of workers’ power held a solution to Yugoslavia’s predicament of being a socialist state cut off from the socialist motherland. They suggested it to Tito, and he quickly recognized the promise, exclaiming: “Factories belonging to the workers, something that has never been achieved!”

…

The party elite now took central planning out of its straight jacket and introduced some flexibility, for instance, giving firms tax breaks for better production. Though Yugoslavia was far from being a market economy, it became possible for managers to seek marketplace advantages and make higher profits. At the same time, firms were not required to act according to market rules, and bank credits became available to cushion them against budget shortfalls (that is, noncompetitive performance). After 1953, partly aided by Western credits, the Yugoslav economy—and living standards—improved markedly. One sign of this was growth in personal consumption, which went up by 45.8 percent between 1957 and 1961.

A transformation took place from a “distributive model” of the early postwar years, whose aim had been to remedy deprivation, to one in which the needs and preferences of consumers guided the production of the country’s enterprises. From the late 1950s, Yugoslavia thus embarked on the path to a “consumer society,” and the Yugoslav economic reforms of 1965 would be the most ambitious market-oriented changes seen anywhere in the Communist world before 1989.

Yet for all the heady experimentation in the economic realm, the Yugoslav way soon gave evidence of its limitations, and oddly, that involved its founding thinker, Milovan Djilas. Marx had been radical in his belief that the state must die under socialism, and so was Djilas. From October 1953 to January 1954, Djilas published articles in the party daily Borba attacking the power of the Yugoslav Communist bureaucracy. His views had evolved…. The more the party succeeded in building socialism, the less it was needed. Yet in reality, the party-state in Yugoslavia was becoming ever more entrenched.

In one of the last articles he was able to publish in socialist Yugoslavia, Djilas doubted whether that country was still in the throes of a “class struggle.” The bourgeoisie had been destroyed. What then was the need for a Communist organization of any kind, no matter what it called itself? Already alarmed, Tito moved to silence his former lieutenant, proclaiming that, yes, there would be a withering of the League, but the process would be protracted, because there were still many class enemies afoot. Djilas himself was evidence of this fact.

Djilas was now removed from the Central Committee and denied permission to publish. But he continued to give interviews with Western journalists, and in 1956, he published a book arguing that the party had become a new class. For the crime of “conducting propaganda hostile to Yugoslavia,” Djilas was sent to prison.

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Filed under democracy, economics, labor, philosophy, publishing, USSR, Yugoslavia

by | 8 December 2024 · 1:58 pm

Communist Takeover in Prague, 1948

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 535-538:

At the Cominform’s founding, [the Soviet leaders] urged the radical Yugoslav faction to publically humiliate French and Italian Communists for sharing government with imperialist forces, and Czechoslovak Communists understood they were implicated as well. At that time, they were sharing a coalition with Catholics, Czech National Socialists, and Social Democrats, and were gearing for parliamentary elections in 1948. On returning to Prague, Party General Secretary Rudolf Slánský informed his Politburo that the time had come for a decisive act to place the country on a direct path to socialism. That implied a rupture with existing policy: the previous year, party leader Gottwald had still been speaking of a “Czechoslovak road to socialism,” without a dictatorship of the proletariat or violence on the Soviet model.

In February 1948, Czech and Slovak Communists used their huge cadre base and control of the military and police to stage a rapid seizure of power. Though backed by overwhelming force, the coup was bloodless. They took advantage of an embarrassing mistake by the National Socialist and Catholic politicians, who were tiring of the sundry illegalities of their Communist coalition partners. In November 1947, Communist authorities in Prague had staged a purge of the police force. Believing the population would support them, the Catholic and National Socialist ministers resigned in protest on February 21, thinking that the president would now dissolve the government and immediately call for elections. But they miscalculated: the Communists and their Social Democratic allies still had a majority of seats in the government, and simply replaced the ministers who had resigned with politicians of their own choosing. Then they summoned party cells across the country to form “action committees” that would purge every institution in public life.

The leaders got more than they bargained for. Within a few days, mostly young and impatient Communists had ousted directors and managers from newspapers, state administration, sporting clubs, political parties, schools, and cultural institutions such as theaters. Then they began firing people the next level down. The purge was so thorough that party chief Gottwald had to restrain students, who believed that they had advanced into a new stage of history. Charles University was expecting guests from across Europe to celebrate its six-hundredth anniversary, and the young radicals had just unseated the rector, causing several Western universities to withdraw their participation and spoiling the event’s propaganda value. Gottwald got on the phone to the student leader in charge and asked whether he and his comrades were thinking with their heads or “their behinds.” He did not object to the purges that students were carrying out in their own ranks. Opposition leaders were simply arrested, but the rest of the student body was required to appear before “verification commissions,” which expelled more than one-fifth of them. These “class enemies” were usually sent to do heavy labor, often in mines, and thus were erased from Czechoslovak cultural, economic, and political life.

A final stage now occurred in salami tactics. Having sliced off independent peasant, nationalist, and Catholic politicians, the Communists devoured their Social democratic partners whole. This was a regional trend. In the summer and fall of 1948, these more moderate Marxist parties were compelled to form “unity” parties with the Communists. The result in Hungary was the Hungarian Workers Party and in Poland the Polish United Workers Party. In East Germany, the Soviets had forced the merger of Communists and Social Democrats in April 1946, producing the Socialist Unity Party of Germany. In all these cases, the joint cadre base of the new party was much larger than when the Communists stood alone; the challenge was now to subject Social Democrats to Leninist discipline. Czechoslovakia’s Communists dispensed with the pretense of a new name, however, and after absorbing the smaller Social Democratic party, they remained the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia.

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Filed under Czechia, democracy, economics, education, Hungary, labor, migration, nationalism, philosophy, Poland, Slovakia, USSR, Yugoslavia

by | 22 November 2024 · 3:36 pm

East Central Europe Under the Nazis

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 463-464:

By 1941, three zones of influence had emerged in Nazi-dominated East Central Europe. The first included areas where Germany destroyed states and left no native administration, itself taking rudimentary control. The second comprised areas where it destroyed states and replaced them with its own political entities, misleadingly called “independent states.” In the third zone, states remained under control of native political elites, but they came under irresistible pressure to become German allies. Only Poland belonged to the first category.

The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia fit between the first and second zones: it was occupied and destined for absorption into Germany but valued as a place that produced high-quality industrial goods. Its population was thought to be racially valuable (50 percent of the Czechs were considered assimilable; only 10 percent of the Poles) and was permitted its own heavily supervised government, with a Czech cabinet and ministries, and even a tiny armed force. Serbia was similar, a rump, embodying nothing a Serb nationalist could be proud of, with a Serb head of state who had been a Royal Yugoslav general but was under direct Nazi oversight. As we have seen, in contrast to Bohemia, a desperate underground struggle raged, extending from Serbia across Yugoslav territory, pitting German, Italian, and Croat forces against Serb nationalists and Communist internationalists.

The second zone was made up of the “independent” states of Slovakia and Croatia, called into life by Berlin with the expectation they would be loyal, co-fascist regimes; and they matched expectations, to say the least. Their ultranationalist leaders were eager to demonstrate—above all to themselves—their personal achievements for “the nation” by becoming even more racist than the state that had created them. In 1941, a Slovak newspaper boasted that the strictest racial laws in Europe were Slovak; at the same time, the brutality of the Ustasha anti-Serb actions shocked even the SS.

The final zone consisted of states that technically remained sovereign members of the international community, yet whose leaders could see from the fate of Yugoslavia and Poland the consequences of defiance. Still, unlike the puppets Croatia or Slovakia, the Hungarian, Bulgarian, and Romanian states did not owe their existence to Nazi Germany, and everything Germany wanted from them had to be negotiated. The lever for Germany in gaining compliance was territory: though less rapacious than Nazi leaders, East European elites also hungered for Lebensraum. Bulgaria hoped to recover ground lost at Neuilly-sur-Seine and wrench away disputed lands from Greece and Yugoslavia. Hungary wanted back everything it had lost at Trianon. Romania desired the return of lands it had lost in 1940, when parts of northern Transylvania went to Hungary in the second Vienna award (at the insistence of Hitler and Mussolini), and Bessarabia and Bukovina fell to the Soviet Union. These three states knew that Germany as the regional hegemon could make their aspirations become a reality.

Yet from 1941, German diplomats increasingly insisted that the governments of East Central Europe must fulfill a prime wish of their state. They should identify and segregate their Jewish populations, place them under racial laws, and deport them to German-controlled territories in Poland for a fate loosely described as “work in the east.”

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Filed under Bulgaria, Czechia, Germany, Hungary, Italy, labor, migration, military, nationalism, philosophy, Poland, religion, Romania, Slovakia, USSR, war, Yugoslavia

by | 10 November 2024 · 6:33 am

Interwar Croats vs. Yugoslavia

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 377-379:

The elections of 1919 produced stunning majorities in Croatia for the Croat Peasant Party, led by the mercurial, charismatic, popular, and erratic but principled Stjepan Radić, who decided to boycott the meetings that drafted the new state’s constitution. He told other Croat politicians before they rushed off to join the Serb Kingdom in 1918 that they were acting like “drunken geese in fog,” having learned nothing from the fall of Emperor Wilhelm in Germany a few weeks earlier. Like the fallen emperor, they were in a hurry to impose power on the people, rather than fostering self-governance by involving the people. No one had asked Croats if they wanted to belong to the new state, and that was an irrational, imprudent, and as time would show, self-defeating act.

Radić then led Croats in boycotting Yugoslav political institutions, and was arrested frequently, once for seeking support for Croat independence in Moscow (an act considered seditious). The other major political forces in Yugoslavia—Serbs from the old kingdom (Radicals), Serbs from Habsburg lands (Democrats), Muslims from Bosnia, and Slovene Catholics—thus ruled the new state without the Croats. Things seemed to change for the better in 1925, when Radić suddenly agreed to take a post as education minister and King Alexander made his first visit to Zagreb. Yet because of incompatibilities of the leaders, this relative harmony only lasted for just over a year.

The differences between Serbs and Croats in political vision proved unbridgable. Croat leaders insisted that Croatia must be guaranteed local autonomy in recognition of centuries of Croatian state’s rights that had been respected even under Hungarian rule. Yet Serbs had no tradition of federal rule. Having borne the costs of liberating Yugoslav territory from the Austrians—while Croats were fighting for Austria—Serbs claimed a moral right to rule the new state from the center. The determination to rule was reflected in a stranglehold Serbs established on institutions of state that lasted until 1941. Yet Serbs also argued compellingly that Yugoslavia had not been a Serb idea in the first place, and their political elite had acceded to unity in response to the urgent wishes of Croat politicians, first at Corfu in 1917, then in Belgrade with the delegation that appeared the following December. Without Serb backing, much of Croatia would have been divided between Hungary and Italy.

Nikola Pašić, the respected leader of the Serb Radical Party, died in 1927, and the parliamentary deputies in Belgrade sank into a routine of lobbing insults across the lines of ethnicity. In June 1928, Radić called Montenegrin deputies “apes,” and the next day, the Serb Radical Puniša Račić shot Radić on the floor of parliament along with two other Croat deputies. The two deputies died immediately, but Radić held on for several weeks, finally succumbing to complications from an operation in early August. The king reputedly offered to separate Croatia from Yugoslavia, but Radić refused, perhaps anticipating the difficulties of separating Croats from Serbs in the old military frontier (krajina) in Croatia and fearing Italian domination of the rump state that would be left.

In the end, Radić also acknowledged the basic need for a state that could secure the peaceful coexistence of the peoples on Yugoslav territory. Yet in contrast to Serb elites in Belgrade, his hope, and the hope of his deputy and successor Vladko Maček, was a federal Yugoslavia, perhaps even a Serb-Croat sharing of rule akin to the 1867 agreement between Austria and Hungary. One sign of hope was that since 1926, his Croatian Peasant Party worked in coalition with the Independent Democrats, a mostly Serb party from former Habsburg areas led by Svetozar Pribićević, also a target of the assassination in June 1928.

But with Radić’s death, the king felt a compulsion to act, and in January 1929, he declared a royal dictatorship, hoping simply to keep the state together. Parliament had proved a “hindrance to any fruitful work in the state” and to permit it to continue its work would expose Yugoslavia to the predations of its neighbors.49 In a modernizing frenzy meant to force Yugoslavia to become a state, Alexander made historic borders irrelevant and divided the country into nine banovine, or districts, named after rivers and with little relation to any district that had ever existed. Bosnia and Croatia simply disappeared from the map. In the army he abolished all insignias and standards that were attached to historic Serbia, thus alienating many Serbs. The country was now officially Yugoslavia and no longer the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes.

Perhaps the king’s scheme was not so outlandish. After all, the very idea of a united South Slav state went against all prior history, and to some extent all interwar Eastern European politics involved creation of new units in disregard of old ones. And he was not a nationalist: far from a tool of the Serb bureaucracy, Alexander acted to reduce Serb predominance. (As we will see, like the region’s other intemperate centralizer, Joseph II, he failed in almost everything he attempted.)

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Filed under Austria, democracy, economics, Hungary, language, nationalism, religion, Yugoslavia

by | 7 November 2024 · 11:40 am

Romanianizing “Greater Romania”

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 347-349:

Superficially, Transylvania had much in common with Slovakia and Croatia. Here, too, troops and administrators arrived from a neighboring kingdom (in this case, Romania) intent on swallowing new territories and including a population with whom they had never lived in a common state. But ultimately, the union succeeded without major problems.

Romanians in east and west shared the same language and alphabet, and for the most part, the same Orthodox religion, whereas beyond the basic Štokavian form of Serbo-Croatian which they happened to speak, most Croats and Serbs were separated by alphabet, religion, and regional language. Disputes lasted from the beginning to the end of Yugoslavia about whether Croat or Serb variants of the common tongue would be standard, and in our day, the separate states are cultivating what they call separate languages. In “Greater Romania,” however, everyone took for granted that the standard Romanian language extended from Moldavia into Transylvania. And religion united rather than divided: in December 1919, Orthodox bishops from the old kingdom (the Regat) as well as Transylvania formed a common synod and elected the Transylvanian Miron Cristea as their leader. In 1925, he became the first Patriarch of the Romanian Orthodox Church.

Like counterparts elsewhere, the Romanian state-builders claimed that unity was natural; they were returning to the arrangement of 1600, when Michael the Brave acted as ruler of Transylvania, Wallachia, and Moldavia for several months. Their agenda of unity had been part of Romanian political discourse for generations, extending back to the 1840s, when one Transylvanian spoke of the stages in which transformation would be completed: democratic, social, and finally, national. Each stage depended on the others: without a social revolution in which they received land, peasants would remain slaves of a “few individuals.” The new state responded quickly to this need by instituting the most radical land reform in Eastern Europe, aided by the convenient fact of land ownership by alien groups. In Transylvania, Romanian peasants got land that had belonged to Magyars and Germans.

Romanianizing what had been Magyarized space proved the deepest source of common purpose for Romanians from the Regat and Transylvania. State administration as well as schools had to be made Romanian, and then schools had to be employed as vehicles of upward mobility for Transylvania’s Romanian intelligentsia. A condition of becoming literate and professional was no longer becoming Magyar.

Yet a smoldering low-level dissatisfaction set in because the new state was ruled centrally from Bucharest. The December 1918 mass meeting at Alba Iulia had demanded inclusion in Romania but had also asked that Transylvania’s rights be respected in a federal arrangement. Complaints soon multiplied that policy makers in Bucharest were not respecting this agreement, because, like counterparts in Belgrade, Prague, and Warsaw, they regarded the divisions of federalism as inadmissible. Transylvanian Romanians felt in some ways they possessed a distinct and superior political culture, were proud of having drawn leaders from the common people and of supposedly belonging to a more honest and competent “Central European” civilization, whose practices stood in contrast to those of their theatrical and “Mediterranean” compatriots in the Regat. The Transylvanians also objected to the appointment of officials from across the border who had grade-school education at best, complained of acts of humiliation and persecution, and of previously unknown corruption. By the 1930s, the flooding of administrative posts with nonnatives caused locals to speak of “colonization.”

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by | 5 November 2024 · 5:35 am

Evolution of Polish Nationalism

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 287-289:

In much of East Central Europe, landowners or bosses were of a foreign nationality, and nationalists exploited a sense of economic oppression to spread national consciousness to the masses. For example, in the Czech lands, owners of factories or manors tended to be German, and the Czech movement accordingly defined Czech identity as anti-German. In Bosnia, the landowner was Muslim; in Slovenia, German; and in much of Croatia, Hungarian. In 1800, Prague and Brno, but also Budapest, Bratislava, Ljubljana, and Zagreb, were German-speaking cities. The German was an enemy against whom the self was clearly defined and who was then displaced from culture, business, politics, and all traces of the new standard version of the national language.

In central Poland, the landowners as well as peasants were Polish-speaking. The cities and towns, however, had mixed populations, mostly Polish, but there were also many Jews, who spoke their own language and pursued walks of life that were distinct: trade, commerce, money-lending, and small crafts. Jews often bought cattle and grain, made credit available to peasants, or ran the local inn. Nationalists thus had an opportunity: they could use anti-Semitism to convince village folk that Jews were foreign, and that as ethnic Poles, the villagers belonged to the same nation as Polish townspeople and gentry. They told poor villagers that their problem was not lack of land, education, or farming implements but the “alien” Jewish presence in nearby towns. As restrictions on Jewish ownership eased from the 1870s, Jewish families began competing with small farmers to buy up the land of impoverished gentry, and by 1912, they controlled 20 percent of the agricultural land in Galicia. Arguments that presented these inroads as unfair Jewish advantages in the economy convinced peasants that they shared a common identity with Polish landlords.

Gradually the national idea caught on among peasants, even those who had been alienated from all talk of nation and felt that the court in Vienna was their protector. Beginning in the latter decades of the century, peasants participated more actively in local self-government and took a stronger role in national life, and that also meant heightened circulation among them of nationalist arguments. Catholic priests contributed a debased and opportunistic reading of their faith to serve the cause. One wrote that a Pole who was not an anti-Semite “has no right to call himself a good Catholic or a good Pole, and cannot be a good patriot.” The Polish national movement created “Christian” institutions to strengthen “Polish” ownership in the economy (the equivalent of the Bohemian nationaler Besitzstand was polski stan posiadania), and soon there were Christian shops, Christian lending institutions, and Christian pubs, all of which had the function of linking Poles across classes in village and city and promoting upward social mobility for co-ethnics.

But even so, the inculcation of Polish nationalist narratives in the village was not easy. Before World War I, many peasants still uttered curses when the name Poland was mentioned because they associated Poland with the “lords.” And when they embraced national consciousness, peasants and their political movements claimed to do so in a way all their own, saying that national culture was unspoiled in the villages, in contrast to the towns, where the gentry had absorbed foreign ideas about states and laws. In the early twentieth century, leading Polish intellectuals bought those arguments and developed their own cult for the genuine Polishness of villagers, even seeking peasant brides.

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Filed under Bohemia, democracy, economics, Germany, labor, language, nationalism, Poland, religion, Romania, Slovakia, Yugoslavia

by | 2 November 2024 · 11:13 am

Down the Danube: Serbia

For two weeks in September-October this year, the Far Outliers took a Viking cruise down the Danube River from Budapest to Bucharest. Here are some impressions from each of the countries we visited. A photo album from the trip (Danube 2024) is on Flickr.

Our first stop in Serbia was the capital city, Belgrade. It wasn’t Budapest, but it was a very pleasant surprise: lively, bustling, and well supplied. We opted for the Viking “included” (at no extra cost) excursion that focused on three attractions: the white limestone-walled Fortress that gave the city its name; the spectacular Church of St. Sava on the pattern of Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia (without the minarets); and the Bohemian quarter of the Old Town (with break dancers). The Fortress, now a city park, housed two unusual displays: a dinosaur park and a display of artillery. Our group’s guide was the best of our whole trip: a onetime professional singer who was now a professor of art history and a wonderfully wry storyteller. He demonstrated the acoustics in St. Sava by chanting liturgy at a central spot. On the church grounds was a statue of Nikola Tesla, born in what’s now Croatia and buried in what’s now Serbia.

Our fondest memories of Belgrade were not the architecture, the food, or the shopping, but the music. Later that Friday afternoon, when we climbed up the steep steps to the Old Town on our own, we chanced upon a crowd waiting outside a church for the wedding party to emerge. We stayed around long enough to enjoy the music and take video. In our ship’s lounge that evening, we enjoyed a Serbian troupe performing Balkan folkloric music and dance.

When we woke up the next morning, we were at Golubac, site of an old castle on a steep hillside protecting the Danube border. After touring it and slowly climbing to the top, we boarded a bus for a hillside overlooking the Iron Gates, the site of the sunken Turkish fortress island of Ada Kaleh, and Romania across the river. On the sun deck in late afternoon, we listened to the cruise director’s narration as we navigated through the narrow gorges and past the huge Decebal statue. We passed through the locks of the hydroelectric dams after dark.

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Filed under economics, language, military, music, nationalism, Romania, travel, Turkey, Yugoslavia

by | 31 October 2024 · 6:41 am

Down the Danube: Croatia

For two weeks in September-October this year, the Far Outliers took a Viking cruise down the Danube River from Budapest to Bucharest. Here are some impressions from each of the countries we visited. A photo album from the trip (Danube 2024) is on Flickr.

Our first stop in Croatia was at the Slavonian border city of Vukovar, site of the bitter Battle of Vukovar, attacked by Serbs in 1991 and held until 1998. Many buildings still bore the scars of the heavy shelling from that battle. Our guides expressed considerable bitterness about those times, but also acknowledged the many atrocities committed by Croatian Ustaše allies of the Nazis in World War II.

Several Croats expressed nostalgia for Tito’s Yugoslavia, when travel abroad was possible and economic benefits were more evenly distributed. Many Yugoslavs also emigrated during those days. I remember from my visit to Australia on the way to Papua New Guinea in 1976 that many Greeks and Slavs were immigrating there at that time. That’s where I first learned how to say ‘thank you’ in Greek, after I bought a gyro sandwich from a Greek shop. A few of my PNG friends had been to Australia, and were shocked to see white people doing janitorial work, as many immigrant Slavs did in those days. I asked our Croatian hosts which part of Croatia had the highest emigration in those days and they said the Dalmatian coast, where economic opportunities were limited before it became such a tourism hotspot.

The only excursion we signed up for was to Osijek, where we split into smaller groups for home visits, then visited the ornate Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul, where a singer with an angelic voice sang for us.

Unlike Hungary, Serbia, Bulgaria, and Romania, Croatia adopted the Euro, so many of the overwhelmingly American passengers on our Viking cruise used the ATMs to stock up on Euros, which were more widely accepted than U.S. dollars by most vendors in those countries for small cash purchases. Credit cards are also widely accepted.

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by | 25 October 2024 · 5:58 am

Serbian & Bulgarian Peasant Leaders

From From Peoples into Nations: A History of Eastern Europe, by John Connelly (Princeton University Press, 2020), Kindle pp. 261-263:

Though an underproductive agricultural regime also dominated the economies of Serbia and Bulgaria, a relation developed between elites and people in these countries that was more reminiscent of the Czech case, with national leaders drawn not from the gentry but rather from the common people; there was no native class of large landholders. Though like Romania, Serbia was a former Ottoman possession, where the overwhelming majority lived in the countryside, and socioeconomic development lagged, as in Bohemia, the medieval nobility had been destroyed. Also similar to the Czech areas of Bohemia, the emerging national elite was of peasant origin, and in the following generation, like the Czech lands, Serbia produced no significant native fascism.

In Ottoman times, spahis had held the land and produce of peasants in return for service, and then came janissaries, who later degenerated into marauding raiders. But although the right to extract dues and tributes remained in Turkish hands, unlike rural populations in Hungary or Romania, Serb peasants were not enserfed. When the Serb principality took form in the decades after 1817, the Turkish landholders gradually left, and the Serb leader Miloš Obrenović refused to permit the emergence of large landed estates, fearing they might dilute his power (he became fabulously wealthy). Thus, he left Serb society mostly of one class, a highly undifferentiated peasantry. Besides him, none of the few power holders who emerged after the 1840s had more than a few hundred hectares of land, and no one was tempted to trace a grand lineage to noble or racially superior forebears.

The Serb state at first seemed to rule by liberal principles. The constitution of 1868 provided for a legislature, and beginning in 1880, political parties developed. There were three centers of power: the bureaucracy, the politicians who had success in electoral politics, and the prince. Like Romania’s king, the prince constantly interfered, preventing the emergence of a bona fide democracy. The most important political movement was the Serb Radicals, co-founded as a peasant party in 1881 by Nikola Pašić, a peasant’s son who fell in with socialist circles during engineering studies in Zurich—a crossroads of East European Marxism—becoming Serbia’s and then Yugoslavia’s uncontested political leader until his death in 1926.

But rather than act in the peasants’ interest by promoting rural development, the Radicals evolved into an establishment political machine, advancing the state’s power and wealth by focusing public resources on the army, bureaucracy, railroads, and diplomatic service, fostering virtually every civic project short of the needs of peasants. In 1908, the Ministry of Agriculture received only 3 percent of the annual budget, while 23 percent of that budget went directly to the military and 28 percent to debt services (mostly interest on loans for railroads and the army). The justification for these expenditures was to spread the Serb state into areas considered ethnically Serb.

Yet because that agenda was broadly supported, the Serb Radical Party never sacrificed the loyalties of the peasantry, and indeed used the education system to stoke irredentist feeling. It helped that the per capita debt burden on the peasants decreased in the decades before World War I. But the Radicals also had good fortune in timing: they had claimed peasants’ loyalty from the first days of independence, through the semi-populist program of Pašić’s friend and mentor Svetozar Marković, Serbia’s first socialist, who promised to lessen state intervention into peasants’ lives. Although the Radicals were an establishment party, its intellectuals and professional politicians never lost contact with the villages, where they kept networks of supporters. When necessary, they could speak perfect peasant vernacular. Society and government thus remained cohesive, even if the competing wings of the Radical party vigorously debated politics and went in and out of government from 1892 to 1900.

Bulgaria was similar in terms of the landholding regime. When the Bulgarian national renaissance began in the mid-nineteenth century, the country was almost completely rural, run by Turkish landlords. After independence in 1878, the Turkish landowners were ejected, leaving Bulgaria a place of smallholding peasants who produced for subsistence. The most coherent institution, as in Serbia, was the state, which grew beginning in the 1870s, becoming a kind of “class” in itself and filling a social vacuum. But as we will see in Chapter 11, in contrast to Serbia, a major peasant movement emerged here—the Bulgarian Agrarian Union—with an original political philosophy that challenged the liberal state machine and irredentist nationalism as well as the monarch who pursued it.

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