Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 4

Our last full day in Skopje, and we had our sights set on leaving the city limits. Following our prompt to the taxi driver yesterday, her enthusiasm for Matkasee drove us to wanting to visit even more. So we followed our usual morning routine, including packing a lunch, and left the apartment, heading for the Ramstore. Another still and warm day, ideal for an outdoorsy day within a ravine and amongst the forest.

We dipped in to the supermarket at the Ramstore and bought plenty of water. We didn’t know how long our trek would be, so wanted to be armed with enough liquid to see us through. Now, instead of calling the chirpy taxi driver from yesterday, we decided to go rogue and just call at the taxi rank. After a minute or two of standing on the opposite side of the road to the taxi rank, with faint hope of eyeing up a suitable driver that agreed with us (and that those who didn’t would have picked up custom and moved on), we inevitable had to get in the New York style cab of a guy who was there two minutes previous. I’m sure he was baffled by our indecision!

We communicated effectively enough for him to know that we wanted to go to the Matkasee, so off we sped. The air con was a godsend, filtering us with its chilling breeze as the sun shone forcefully through the untinted windows. We coasted along the main route west out of town, lined with 1960’s, post-earthquake brutalist constructions, and over the Vardar. Once over, we followed a road that ended at a junction. To the right was the main route eastward, north and around the city, to the left the road headed towards Tetovo. We turned left and ran parallel to small parades of shops on either side of the avenue. The suburb we entered was definitely distinct from the city centre. It was a lot more of a suburb, every road leading off the avenue leading to low-rise brutalist residential accommodation. I know this because we had to detour through the side streets as the main avenue was dug up for resurfacing. As we passed through, the sanguine effect of the sun was ever present on the residents. Lackadaisically, they ambled around, perhaps from a household chore or to the shops. It was the summer after all, and the temperature was rising.

As we skirted through the suburbs, we stopped off at a petrol station so the up-til-then silent driver could fill up the tank. Swiftly back on the road, and no sooner that we were back on the main avenue, we turned left down what I would call a country road. This was our route to Matkasee, off the beaten track. Originally, I had hoped we could have taken the bus, and that would have been cheaper and a rather more real experience. However, the further away from the city we travelled, the lesser the confidence grew in me as we entered unchartered waters. I was glad of a local to guide us through.

We entered a village called Saraj, the first that was evidently Albanian. This was the first time I had seen the Albanian flag being flown in what seemed a more official capacity. The village itself stretched about half a mile or so. It obviously suffered from a lack of investment. The road was bumpy, there were pavements for all of about 400 meters of the village, a bus stop that was basically a pole in the ground, and a public building that was either run down or was never completed. You could feel the resentment, and I would too, from the lack of attention from the Government. And this from a Government that had an ethnic Albanian party as its coalition partners. Romantically, I became fond of it as we travelled through. Once Saraj passed by, we drove along a flat, country road then started going up hill and into another even smaller village. This one was more tightly knit architecturally as the road whisked past the edges of peoples houses and near to their front doors. We finished climbing as we approached a small river, heading upstream as we were. We then entered a flatter floodplain, the road and river snaking along side each other. Part of the river was now more man-made, with kayaking facilities clearly visible, but also a gathering of individuals and families bathing and sloshing around in the river. We carried on.

We scaled another small hill and before us appeared the hydroelectric dam. Signs warned not to take pictures. I couldn’t fathom what the state secret could have been! As the dam disappeared behind us, we came to a halt. Our mute driver soon explained that we should walk 500 yards or so and that would be where our trail would begin. We paid him our rather cheap £9 for a 40-minute taxi ride, and walked up a narrow path into the mouth of the ravine. A couple of groups passed us walking in the opposite direction as we weaved along a narrow path that sheltered under hanging cliffs – a momentary respite from the sun.

As we turned a corner, we opened up from a bottleneck into an open expanse. To our right, the continuing path reached a canopied bar terrace and long stone building. In the centre was a turquoise green lake that stretched on ahead. To our left were what looked like scar-damaged, chalky white-gray cliffs that rose out from the lake like pyramids to the crystal-blue sky. As we approached the canopied area, it appeared the long building was a bar and restaurant. Before reaching there and ordering a drink, we noticed that we could hire kayaks to go up the lake.  A few visitors were ambling into them as we walked on, others beginning their voyage. We decided over our beer and cola to hire a kayak from the end of the trail, so that we could return in style after visiting some caves. There was a nice mix of people there – families, couples, groups of lads, tourists – but mostly locals of Albanian background, which cheered me immensely.

After our drink we decided to set off. I used the wifi to try and map our walk but, with little satellite mapping, only a limited amount could be done. After we passed the restaurant there was a large sign for walkers. Mostly in Cyrillic, but accompanied by pictures. The one that shone out for me was of a snake. Bloody SNAKES! Poisonous or not, I didn’t care. Their slithery bodies would freak the hell out of me anyway. Included in this collage were the flora and fauna of the canyon, as well as lizards. Surely I could deal with them. So our walk began with my heart rate at a rather higher pace than anticipated.

My movements through the rocky and dusty path were commando-esque. I flinched at any sound I heard, and recoiled at any movement that emanated from the steep hillside or rock face to our right. The only promising escape at times was a 50-foot drop into the lake. John just giggled most of the way at my paranoia and hysteria. The start of the walk was beautiful, the water twinkling in the sun, and the historic cliff faces showcasing scars from an age gone by. Kayakers paddled on by, with the odd accompaniment of a diesel powered boat chugging through. The first lizard really did make me jump. It was the more the realisation that it was there that scared me, not that it could do anything to me. On the contrary, it merely scarpered as it saw me. We continued.

After 30 minutes or so we started to question where the end was. After 45 minutes, we did so even more. After an hour, we asked people coming back the other way if the end was near. In patchy and unclear English, they said “Yes, not far” and pointed ahead. Thrilled that the end was near, we walked on with more of a spring in our step. 20 minutes later we reached the end - a green barrier, and a path that evaporated into the ether. An exhausted and exasperated look crossed our faces, similar to Wily Coyote when he fails to catch Roadrunner and the anvil lands on his head instead.  After holding our toilet break for over an hour, we climbed a few yards into the lizardy mountain and relieved ourselves. We could both see and hear the boats mooring nearby for the promised caves, on the opposite side of the canyon. No bridge or boat to connect us, and no boats for us to hire to take us downstream.  So now my thoughts turned to those wretched snakes, almost as if they had planned this trek, leading me to a dead end so that they could haunt me further on my return to sanctuary. My initial relief at reaching the end of the walking element of our exploration now turned into an even more insufferable return to a tortured path littered with imaginary snakes. As usual on a return journey, it seemed shorter. And so, I celebrated my return with a drink or two, John paying for a couple of rounds of beers to relive my stress.

Whilst there, and with access to wifi, I decided to FaceTime Michelle from the lakeside. A drunken call for 20 minutes went by in a blur. Back I went – now onto cocktails. 20-something Albanian lads occupied a rock jutting out into the lake partaking in camaraderie and diving into the lake. It then dawned upon me that I had no cash, and John had just spent his last on the drinks. No kayaking for us, although we had enough for the planned bus we planned to take back to Skopje.

So we departed, I slightly annoyed that we couldn’t go kayaking, but relieved that the organiser in me knew we had scant information on when and where to get the bus back to Skopje. We walked back where the taxi dropped us off earlier in tandem with other visitors now heading back home. We walked down towards the man-made kayaking facility as no bus stop seemed evident up to that point. A little further on, a busy car park was emptying slowly – cars doing u-turns and queuing whilst spitting up dust from the chalky road. We carried on past a couple of buildings, one housing a pedestrian bridge to the other side of the river, and onwards to a restaurant placed opposite an exposed, wooden hut. This may be our bus stop, as there were a couple of people there who looked like tourists. I persuaded John to go to the restaurant to double check. The waiter confirmed this.

It was getting late in the day, deceptively so as the sun was ‘setting’ behind the hills to the west. After 30 minutes or so, 4 young lads came to join the small but growing contingent in the wooden shack. After overhearing their conversation, we knew they were British. At a guess, they were 19 or 20. One asked if this was the bus stop, and John replied yes. This opened up conversation starting with the Matkasee and led on to our travelling plans. It seems that they were heading from Skopje to Belgrade by night train, then Berlin via Budapest, and onwards to Amsterdam. John and I affectionately called them the ‘In-betweeners’. They had the same characters in each of them – Briefcase, English ‘lad’, the dopey one, and average one obsessed with Carly. After 20 minutes a clapped-out old bus with no passengers onboard came from the direction of Saraj and passed us. In the immediate confusion of whether the bus stop was actually back up the road, one of the In-betweeners went off to explore just beyond the bend where the pedestrian bridge was. He came back and said that it was attempting to turn around.

A taxi soon passed by with the driver offering anyone a lift to Skopje for about £14. We declined and said that we would wait for the bus, to which he replied that it was broken down. We didn’t want this potential ruse to lure us into paying over the odds, so we declined again. No one else took up the offer. The In-betweeners were relying on the bus, as they hadn’t brought enough cash for a taxi. Our conversation with them soon drifted. After another 25 minutes of waiting, John unilaterally decided to take the next taxi – we could get cash on the way.

One passed by soon enough and John leapt into it, no doubt getting tired and restless. The taxi was metered and the driver suggested the fare would be about £12. We just nodded and off he drove. As we coasted along towards Saraj, we had hit upon a turned over truck in the road with a set of tyre marks veering off to the right. A black, expensive car was at the end of these marks, down a steep embankment. Clearly the car was trying to overtake the lorry but must have misjudged and ended up on a sort of car park area below. We skirted around the chaos, with the driver expelling grunts of disapproval. We sped on through the village and onwards to the main boulevard. As we merged onto a roundabout, a car to our left veered on to our lane and clipped the taxi. A near miss that sent our driver off on another tirade of grunts. We just wanted to get back, undamaged preferably.

A shattered John asked the driver to pull up at an ATM near the police station we registered at. He came back with a wad of cash, happy to be able to pay for the easier journey home. However, he got ten times as much cash out as needed. Instead of 10,000 denars he got 100,000 - £100. His tiredness was clearly showing. He found an exchange office and changed the rest into Serbian dinars ready for our bus journey north.

We headed back to the apartment, where we showered, changed and undertook some preliminary packing of our belongings. We had our last drink on the balcony as the sun was setting before returning to the police station. We had the police officer complete our small registration form to say that we were exiting the country in the morning, and he signed this off in his official book. We then returned to the main square and onward to Carpe Diem again for food. The halloumi with honey and sesame seed starter was to die for. As we had to get up very early, we finished up our food and wine and decided to get as much sleep as possible ahead of our mammoth trek tomorrow.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days - Part 2

We awoke in a daze, not only because of our previous days in Berlin catching up with us, but to the new surroundings in Skopje. Air con whirring in the corner of the room and sunlight peering through the curtains, signified a new day in new accommodation. A refreshing shower preceded our flight down stairs on to the main square in search of breakfast.

We traversed the square to a series of cafes and selected one at random. Our hunger was satisfied with a light continental breakfast and coffee. Although it may seem that we were eager to return to homely comforts, we were in the perfect location from which to observe passersby and wake up more agreeably.  Spritzers emitted a cooling mist from the canopy intending to cool us patrons, however a slow breeze turned it away from John and I, leaving a tumbler of water the only option to cool down in the mid-morning heat.

We had an appointment with our hostess’ father to take us to the police station at eleven o’clock. So we strolled back to our apartment, all 90 seconds away, and paid him a visit.

The one thing to know about Skopje is that it is basically a massive village – everyone knows everyone. Our hostess’s father (let’s call him Mr Airbnb) took us on the “ten minute” walk up to the police station. We arrived twenty minutes later, his popularity evident by the peppering of greetings to passersby along our route. Despite his self-admitted poor English, Mr Airbnb succeeded in pointing out prominent buildings and monuments along our walk.

I have never been fond of the grotesque mutilation of the modernist buildings in Skopje’s city centre. On my first visit here, in 2009, the main square was a stoic blank plaza, with either the Kale Fortress or Millennium Cross as its only backdrop. Over the years as I have revisited, additions such as statues, new government buildings, and even galleons on the Vardar, have all increased the sense that Skopje has become what many have called ‘Disneyland’. Its main square littered with poor representations of selected historic figures, the disappointment being that Macedonia has a much more varied and diverse history than that which the Government wants to present to its people and the world. Yet the resistance to these buildings and monuments, and by extension to the Government pursuing the vanity project, was all the more evident in daylight as we walked on. An ironic symbol of the vast waste of money being spent appeared as we turned a corner, the revamped Ministry of Finance, itself now the victim of the ‘Colourful Revolution’.

We entered the local police station, and John’s nerves piqued as he saw the ‘No Guns’ sign on the glass entrance door.  Several burly Macedonian officers were speaking in raised voices to and over one another, between an office to our left and a reception cubicle to our right. Being in a police station is usually an uncomfortable experience, a sense that you have done something wrong sweeping over you.  Our only comfort was Mr Airbnb being our bridge between sightseer and illegal alien. He picked up two documents, and explained that we had to complete them. After a couple of minutes, we completed our papers and returned to the reception desk to hand them and our passports over to the officer at the desk. He inspected our passports, to check that our details on the documents were identical, and then recorded our stay in a logbook. Evidently, government money had not been spent on IT equipment to register visitors.  Once we received our passports and a small docket that we had to keep on us, we departed. And so, after our first experience registering our stay in a country, we thanked Mr Airbnb and ventured off back to the main square.

As noon approached, I decided that we should do a little exploring. As the day was slightly overcast, we could spend a little longer outdoors than what we could if we had the sun and heat bearing down on us. We aimed for the Old Bazaar, having first to pass through a vanguard of kitsch neo-classical buildings on the rivers left bank, there seemingly to thwart curious visitors from proceeding any further.  The insinuation being that Macedonia was Macedonian, and its history had to reflect that. We carried on regardless, to discover another present and past that hid behind them.

The architecture of the Old Bazaar could not be more different to the modernist buildings occupying the right side of the river.  Faint yellow, single and double tier buildings, lined stone slab streets. Their terracotta roofs hinting towards their near Mediterranean location, yet the overall feel of the neighbourhood was primarily echoing its Ottoman lineage. Weaving narrow streets branched out uphill to our left, or onwards towards the main market space. Shopkeepers were making the most of the dry weather, sitting outside their cosy shops, almost as advertisements for the shops themselves rather than the wares contained within. After rambling along the main thoroughfare, we were met by the bustling general market. Located on a narrow strip of land, between the main road heading north into the Skopje suburbs, and the old town, the market was a hive of activity.

This was the heart of the predominantly Albanian part of town. Many of the stalls sold trinkets with the Albanian national flag, mirroring those flown on nearby buildings. The switch from Macedonian Cyrillic to Albanian Latin script in only a few hundred yards was keenly felt, though not altogether unfamiliar for an English speaker. Groups of older men sat with Turkish coffee and played dominos, whilst mothers and children nosed at the offerings on food stalls or those selling household items. It reminded me of my childhood in Wrexham.  Not the coffee and dominos.

We turned back on ourselves, and instantly took a right turn to begin walking up the hill. I knew that ahead of us was the one experimental modernist building in the neighbourhood – the Museum of Macedonia. I was aware of how empty the exhibition was from a previous visit, but the grounds of the museum contained an Ottoman building that I was curious to see.  As we turned a corner, we entered the concrete stone plaza that gradually rose to the museum further up the hill. We veered right to investigate the rundown Ottoman structure. Kurshumli An was an old caravanserai, or what we would call an inn. Although not open for us to have a look around, we studied the architectural style - rather byzantine in look, with the use of slim terracotta bricks. A hidden gem juxtaposed next to its modernist neighbour.  A group of 5 or so children played football on the weed-strewn plaza, indifferent to us whilst we took pictures. The marvel of these two buildings, and that they were not looked after, brought home the extent to which the governments – both city and national – fail to grasp the potential for tourism with the existing historical buildings and monuments. But a part of me also felt that it was an adventure was to seek them out, and an onslaught of tourists would begin to tarnish their untouched grandeur.

And so onwards we went, scaling the hill still further. After passing yet another small group of domino players in this quieter area, we saw one of the neighbourhood’s larger mosques peaking out above buildings ahead of us.  And this was the moment we were caught off guard. A smaller mosque we were walking past sounded up its tannoy to deliver the mid afternoon call to prayer. Then the main mosque ahead of us, evidently with a greater number of tannoys producing a roaring loudness, competed with the smaller mosque for attention. Then in the distance two or three more calls to prayer erupted.  Although I had experienced the call to prayer here previously, for John this was his first ever experience. An immediate fear – had we trespassed on to someone’s land, or was some other trouble imminent - immediately turned into marvel at the spectacle around us.  

As the calls receded, we continued our climb around past the main mosque, and up towards the Museum of Modern Art. From its grounds we had spectacular views of the city below and beyond. The Philip II stadium dominated the foreground to the south west, the river snaking around it towards us, and then swerving to pass us below. Southward, over and above the city, the Millennium Cross emphasised the Orthodox Christian population residing on the right bank of the Vardar. We descended the hill via the Kale Fortress. This was the first time I had managed to explore its grounds, blocked on my previous visits by ongoing excavations. The grounds contained very few standing structures, those being a number of guard towers on the perimeter facing the city. Aside from the walls of the fortress, the only things of note were the vaults that had been uncovered that resembled mere stone trenches.  We did a return trip along the fortress wall, gauging the drop from its ledge to the ground outside and pointing out possible past entrances Ottoman soldiers may have used.

The sun was starting the break through the overcast sky as we returned back to the city via the Stone Bridge. But I, with the strange copious amounts of energy I tend to have, was eager to point out further sights from my past visits. A burning desire to ‘show off’ Skopje came over me. John knew he had to keep up regardless. We followed the river towards the City Park to gaze upon the monument marking the Partisan take over of Skopje in 1944, in the grounds of the government building. Unhappy bedfellows I am sure. We toured the block that would lead us back in to the city, passing dated air con-pocked residential tower blocks resting next to the byzantine looking Cathedral of St Clement of Ohrid. Avoiding a return to the square, we turned south towards the City of Skopje Museum. This is housed in the former Skopje Railway Station. Only a third of the modernist 1920s building remains, but the simplistic clock still points to the time the devastating 1963 earthquake struck. The reason for a lot of the brutalist 1960s architecture rose out of the ashes of this disaster, mostly as gifts from an array foreign capital cities and countries. A nod to Yugoslavia’s then widely regarded non-aligned status.

A natural finish to the busy day led us next door to Ramstore Mall. I knew of a cheap supermarket in the basement where we could grab basics for breakfast and lunch. We did a shop to last us our stay, and strolled back to our apartment. Needless to say, by 5pm we had knackered ourselves into an afternoon nap. Air con naturally on.

Around mid evening time we woke up, just as the sun was beginning to set on the city. Our apartment came with a narrow balcony that overlooked the square, so we sat on the two campstools that were there to take in the transition to twilight. At the supermarket I was keen to get my hands on some wine from the Tikves region. M&S had only recently begun to stock it at £8 a bottle back home. Here, it was £3.50 for the priciest. I bought one to take back home with me, and another to enjoy now, as we soaked up the views from up on high. In the summer heat of Skopje, a glass or two of red from the region eased me into the relaxing evening that lay ahead.

Once refreshed and dressed, we went down to the busy square and were seated on an outside table at Pelister. An easy first choice for us to eat at, for it has an eclectic mix of local and pan European food to satisfy our tastes at reasonable prices. We could also people watch – our favourite pastime – as couples and families strolled around Alexander the Great and his horses. After devouring my risotto, washed down with a local crisp white, we departed the restaurant and walked along the riverside embankment strewn with cafes and bars where we earlier had breakfast. You had two sections to each bar; the main bar that protruded from the brutalist shopping mall, and across a pathway from it an outdoor part with seating, fans and TV screens. Beyond that, another pathway and then the river. We chose a particularly rowdy bar, unsure whether the night may develop into a club or party. Two strong vodka cokes, on par with Spanish resort levels, arrived at our table, so that we finished our busy first full day in Skopje sat outside taking in the mildly chaotic nightlife that Wednesday offered us.

Independence, the ‘Transition’ and the Road to Ohrid (2/5)

The communist period had no bearing on the wider discussion on social democracy in its development or present state, other than on the impact of communist legacies from this period, which is highly relevant and will be pursued. Avoiding to address the causes of the collapse of communism, as this event was in no way influenced by social democracy, allows us to look at this as an historical fact in its influence upon social democracy, in that the League of Communists transformed into the later named Social Democratic Union of Macedonia and so social democracy could have parliamentary expression. 

Kiro Gligorov - First President of the Republic of Macedonia

Enter Democracy

Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrott see that ‘democracy is a political system in which the formal and actual leaders of the government are chosen within regular intervals through elections based on a comprehensive adult franchise with equally weighted voting, multiple candidacies, secret balloting, and other procedures, such as freedom of the press and assembly, that ensure real opportunities for electoral competition.’ However, from this come many variables as to the practice of democracy, not just in Macedonia, but the world over. Further to this, these practices will, and often do, change over time. Hence there is a need to avoid applying non-communist democratization processes to post-communist states, as their experiences are starkly different. Dawisha and Parrott note these variables include the international discourse relating to democratization at the time, whether a state exists or needs to be created, the homogeneity of the population, the extent of political participation, the nature of the party and electoral systems, the legacies of communist elites in the new era, the functioning of political society and culture, and economic liberalization. However, for democracy to function an awareness of, and adherence to, the rules of the game is needed; a major component of this is the ability to accept defeat (Ghia Nodia). Yet, independence is linked to democracy via nationalism according to Ghia Nodia: ‘Whether we like it or not, nationalism is the historical force that has provided the political units for democratic government.’ Thus independence, even if only covering part of the Macedonian nation, fulfilled the political goal of nationalism, and thus provided a space for democracy to function. Nationalism has been said to be able to either unite or divide a country, but a state that has to cater for a sizeable ‘other’ nation within its borders creates problems in the configuring of that state.

A State for the Nation?

During the transition to multi-party elections a debate on how to define the constitution of the new independent Republic of Macedonia emerged. The choice was simple; either an ethnic state for the Macedonian nation, which nationalists wanted and even sought to extend its boundaries to their brethren in Greece and Bulgaria, or a push for a civic state of individual citizens. The balance was between group rights and individual rights, but fundamentally it was about inclusion and exclusion. President Gligorov had to balance the demands of nationalists on both sides of the ethnic divide who thought in group terms. However, the result didn’t appease either side and highlights the downside to democracy. Donald Horowitz states that ‘The problems of inclusion and exclusion do not disappear when new institutions are being adopted and put into operation. At these points, conceptions of the scope of the political community will limit the participation of some groups in the institutions of the new regime.’ Therefore the ethnic divide that derived from nation building prior to independence, acted as the cleavage with which to include and exclude people using citizenship, when debating the relationship between the state and the nation(s) in the constitution during democratization. 

However, ethnic conflict was avoided, unlike elsewhere in the former Yugoslavia. A model for explaining this from Gojko Vuckovic involves two dichotomies, the first are ethnic violence and ethnic accommodation, and the second are whether integration or disintegration results. The alignment of certain variables place states, at different times, within this matrix. Macedonia during the transition managed to resist ethnic violence and disintegration by functioning within a multiethnic state system through bargaining between the groups. Given that democracy is in essence competition, the management of these divisions expressed during competition is necessary in an ethnically divided society.

Development of the Electoral and Party Systems

The role of the electoral and party systems, which are interlinked, initially helped eased tensions because this is where groups or individuals engage in the democratic process. Yet set in an ethnic frame, these became institutionalized and thus hard to change in the future. The electoral system after independence elected officials via a two round system, it then moved to a mixed one with elements of proportional representation, to one of full proportional representation for the 2000 elections (Peter Emerson and Jakub Sedo). Although democratic in theory, the definition of democracy, as previously illustrated, was open to interpretation. The setting of constituency boundaries is one mechanism by which ethnic divisions and exclusion can be fostered, either by grouping ethnicities separately or by demographically engineering a mono-ethnic victory in a mixed area (Horowitz). Given the minority status of the Albanians, numbering 25.1% of the population in 2001, they could never achieve power at the national level alone. So it became an unspoken rule, then codified in 2001, that the winning ethnic Macedonian party would include Albanians in the coalition. However, this is assuming that ethnic groups vote for ethnic parties, which sadly was the case in the 1990s and beyond. There remains an element of ideological difference between the two dominant ethnic Macedonian parties, yet all parties were more or less led by identifiable leaders of an ethnic type. In summary, Lenard Cohen and John Lampe state ‘Questions of party ideology or socioeconomic cleavages between the two largest ethnic Macedonian parties have been less important. There has been considerable partisan identification by adherents within the two parties, and a low rate of voter movement between the two organizations.’

So what we have are two mutually supportive processes whereby an ethnically divided party system is supported by a proportionally representative electoral system that reifies ethnic difference and exclusion, which gradually come to institutionalize ethnic politics in the state. This consociational form of government, as detailed by Arend Lijphart, may not provide majority rule but it ultimately provides stability, and that is its purpose. This stability rests on the attitudes of the political elites along with the type of political culture and extant subsystem autonomy in action. Pessimistically, this insinuates that a move to an ideologically based party politics will be difficult because of this institutionalization. This I will approach further on. However, debates on minorities in the party systems have failed to address minorities within dominant parties in multi-ethnic societies.

The Conflict over Macedonia™ 

Since independence, disputes over the unique identity of ethnic Macedonians have fed both internal ethnic divisions and external foreign relations, leading to a test of the country’s stability. The perceived threats were to the cultural, historical and ethnic nature of Macedonian identity and thus seen as a threat to the security of the state itself.

Ulf Brunnbauer’s polemic on historiography in Macedonia argues that during socialism, the task of creating the Macedonian nation was ongoing, yet after socialism’s collapse it actually intensified. He believes that this is because there was a need to provide continuity, in the economy and administration, which included the sciences. The creation of myths aided by historians could not go against this continual nation building, so it progressed. But its foundations were in the very period mentioned earlier, immediately after the Second World War. So Brunnbauer argues that in the 1990s ‘Any Macedonian national narrative that wanted to present the events on the territory of “Macedonia” as Macedonian national history was bound to come into conflict with these older historiographies.’ Greece was the main threat to Macedonian nationhood. The disputes ranged from what the independent state should be called and the design of the flag, to the more recent claim to Alexander the Great in order to trace the history of present day Macedonians to ‘ancient Macedon’. From the Greek perspective, this highlighted Macedonian expansionist intent for northern Greece. According to Loring Danforth, underlying impacts such the suspension of economic relations by Greece in 1994, international recognition of the republic, and the situation of Macedonians outside its borders all added to Macedonia’s problems stemming from its identity crisis. Ultimately ‘the Macedonian Question is a symbolic conflict that centers on the construction (or production) of conflicting ethnocentric national narratives.’ (Roudometof). This links to Hobsbawm and Ranger’s thesis on the invention of traditions, and is built upon the definition of where Macedonia is and the historical origins of the nation, which I tackled in the previous chapter. 

An important point to note is that by the time of independence, everyone under forty five years of age had been born within this Macedonian national culture. So, irrespective of claims to the ‘creation’ of Macedonians, this is what people were socialized into, how they understood their history, and went about ‘existing’ as a nation with a state in the 1990s and beyond.

Ethnic Division and the Pull of Nationalism

As the 1990’s came to a close, along with the symbolic contest with Greece, ethnic tensions within Macedonia began to increase. During this period, UNPROFOR then UNPREDEP was in the country providing stability and peace at the request of the President. However, their departure in 1999 along with the humanitarian crisis in Kosovo led to a renewed politicization of the ethnic Albanians domestically. The binary of inclusion and exclusion were in evidence during this period and reflective in the processes and discourses previously outlined. Strikingly leaders didn’t want independence or incorporation into Albania. Instead they grew tired of the political system that had not answered their calls for Albanian rights. These issues included language and education rights, one important example being the request for a university in Tetovo taught in the Albanian language. The failure of the system, the political parties as actors within this system, and of events outlined, altered the variables that kept the peace, which led to a challenge to the state’s stability. ‘Feelings of insecurity and lingering threat perceptions also contributed to the Macedonian majority’s reluctance to respond favorably to Albanian demands for expanded rights in the areas of education, language and state employment.’ (Jenny Engström). The incompatibility of Albanian nationalist demands with that of Macedonian nationalism present in the state, as well as the feeling of inclusion and exclusion from the state and access to power, led to a security dilemma and conflict (Thomas Hylland Eriksen). The unrest was situated in the Albanian areas, and the guerilla forces were clashing with Macedonian state forces. A political solution was fashioned and agreed by the two ethnic Macedonian parties and two ethnic Albanian parties at the time in 2001. The deal fulfilled the demands sought by Albanians the previous decade involved in the parliamentary process, but had now been accepted after violent conflict, and resulted in the National Liberation Army leader, Ali Ahmeti, entering the formal political system. But of importance was the fact that the state remained intact and the decentralization of power was agreed as a solution to end perceived ethnic oppression. However, ‘the decentralization model in Macedonia did little to de-ethnicize political loyalties or transcend intergroup conflicts…’ (Cohen and Lampe)

During this period a political culture developed, but one that may not have been suited to the changing situations in the country. A delicate balance of factors and pressures meant that although nationalist sentiments could be observed in the politics of the country, ethnic conflict was avoided for a considerable period. It was when the equilibrium between these factors altered that led to conflict.

Thoughts on Ethno-Baroque by Rozita Dimova

This book has intrigued me for some years. Since writing my essay on spatial and temporal aspects to national identity and history in the Republic of Macedonia, I have seen and read more essays and books on the topic. This book I felt would add to my knowledge of the role aesthetics and materialism play in reshaping ethnic, national and social relations in Macedonia.

Rozita Dimova seeks to account for the changing roles and relations that have occurred during socialism and since the fall of socialism between, mainly, the Albanian and Macedonian ethnic groups in Macedonia. Her central theme revolves around the axis of loss and gain in the perceptions of members of both of these groups. This perception reaches back beyond the emphasis that is usually placed on the economic demise of Yugoslavia in the early 1980s, and instead looks to the 1950s and 1960s when consumerism became apparent in Macedonia and peoples experiences of it started to cement. These experiences accelerated once democratization ensued, and flowed in tandem with migrations from rural to urban settings.

Dimova’s anthropological research displays examples of how ethno-national ‘conflict’ can arise in the tamest and most innocent of circumstances. Reading the accounts, from both ethnic communities, you get a sense of how these people slowly realized their sense of loss, gain or entitlement based on their past experience and yearning for times gone by or for a better future. One example is a young Macedonian mother, Lela, who lives in an apartment block where she has to save for minor luxuries in life. The description of her deteriorated flat can be viewed as a metaphor for how the Macedonians’ feel about their place in present society. A family of Albanians moved into the upstairs flat, the constant noise of children and residue of bread making on the balcony, both creeping into the downstairs flat. This intrusion leads Lela to feel nostalgia for the past, a sense of a loss and a former entitlement because of the position her ethnicity led ‘her’ to have in the past.

Another story is of an Albanian father who is paying for her daughters wedding. His tastes reflect those of Macedonians, and underlines how Albanians are aligning their tastes to those of Macedonians. Among the Albanian community, the ability to purchase this ‘Baroque’ furniture elevated your social standing within your ethnic community. In relation to the Albanians’ standing with the Macedonians, they see it as one of eliminating the ethnic stereotype of being backward through the medium of purchasing commodities, as a way to show their advancement and economic strength. However, from a Macedonian perspective, the move towards similar tastes becomes a threat to their identity, with ‘us’ and ‘them’ becoming less distinct. Dimova believes that Macedonians don’t like the idea that Albanians want to be like them and get jealous of their commodities, but also don’t see why they would want what Macedonians like when they are richer than them and can afford other styles.

This theme of ‘us’ and ‘them’ is explored in relation to gender, especially in respect to Albanians, with an air of ‘nesting orientalisms’ about it from Dimova. Here she observes how women are seen as the carriers of Albanian national identity and outlines why Albanian men seek to keep their women ignorant and uneducated so that they wouldn’t contribute to the decline of the nation. Yet, Albanian men, particularly those who work abroad, have mistresses and are happy for them to be ‘loose’ women. This hypocrisy within Albanian masculinity arises because Albanian men fear Albanian women may prefer Macedonian men. This exemplifies loss on the Albanian side, as families in the past were rural, subsistence based, with the women uneducated and home based. A market economy and democratization works for Albanian men, and any extension to Albanian women is seen as a threat to the Albanian nation, hence Albanian men don’t want ‘them’ (women) to become like ‘us’ (men).

I see these examples highlight the importance of movement in what Dimova observes. Where there is movement, or a transition, then differing or opposing forces converge and conflict emerges. Conflict can only occur if there is a movement of peoples, commodities, customs etc, into spaces and times that haven’t experienced such movement or change. Conflicts emerge and are seen as ethno-national because the two ethnicities experience movement, or lack of movement, differently. For some Albanians it is the desire to have commodities similar to their Macedonian co-nationals; a market economy has allowed them to purchase it, and moving homes near to Macedonians meant they saw and wanted to acquire their ‘Baroque’ style of interiors. For Macedonians, they see their place as having slipped from the Yugoslav days to where they are now challenged in their dominance of the state. Former jobs pay less or are gone, and they historically didn’t need to be guest workers as their positions at home were secure. The free market has meant new neighbours and Albanians wanting to emulate them, although they now cannot keep up that same aesthetic pretence due to the last of money. Hence the basis of Macedonian or Albanian nationality is questioned. This doesn’t affect all people across Macedonia, and neither is there solely resentment or mimicry between ethnicities because it is also experienced within each ethnicity.

But Dimova delivers a fresh account of how low level ethno-national conflicts form part of people’s daily lives, and describes their attempts to rationalize their lot in life at present due to factors that are historical, cultural and economic.

Thoughts on Ger Duijzings’ Religion and the Politics of Identity in Kosovo

Although Kosovo is its locus, this book observes the developments of several ethno-religious groups in the region on a wider scale, with focus on different aspects of identity. Duijzings brushes off the carte blanche descriptions and nationalist narratives of the two dominant ethnic groups/nationalities, the Serbs and Albanians, to demonstrate a deeper and wider plethora of people's with a distinct yet shared history and territory in the late 1990’s. How identities play out, are flexible (then rigid), and the complexities of these on social/political and economic relations are what is threaded throughout his work. One example is Letnica and its Catholic minority, about how they lived there, looking at the overarching battles that narrowed to two national narratives that they could not identify with, and their moving to Croatia proper. The next is the example of the diffuse Muslim identity, initially viewed as a unified whole across Yugoslavia, with its splits between official and Sunni, beside unorthodox dervish practices and Shi'a tendencies. Whilst he delivers ethnographic accounts, he also provides historical overviews of how these identities, national and religious, formed; and explains how objective and subjective relations meant that some peoples were included and excluded in these group/social events and practices. Fundamentally he portrays an image of religions that co-existed, tolerated each other, and shared each other’s holy sites; yet witnessing a descent into isolation and confrontation. The concept of syncretism is applied to highlight how religious practices on the ground weren’t those imposed via orthodoxy nor a pure form dictated from above, especially when new religions came to the fore and needed accommodating. This mirror’s Tone Bringa’s work in ‘Being Muslim the Bosnian Way’, which looked at village life in a Croat/Muslim mixed village on the eve of the collapse of Socialist Yugoslavia.

One specific and novel group he (re)’discovered’ were the 'Egyptians', who were presumed to be a new phenomenon, although lots of ethnographic and linguistic work has been written on this group. Debates around their 'origin' play to perennial views on nations and national identity, but Duijzings critiques these and suggests that, even if one took the term Gypsy as the core of their identity, the current identity was pulled together from diverse historical fragments and forged into a generic 'outsider' label. But this also aligns with the 'nestling orientalism' thesis, whereby this group wants to disassociate themselves with those identities that others seek to place them with. So the Egyptians use classifications to say why they are not like Gypsies, socio-economically or culturally. And so this argument builds by looking at the process of Albanianisation of Muslim Gypsies, to show how one group of people (Serb and Macedonian authorities) claim they wished to assimilate and wanted no conflict, and those groups themselves who had no vehicle for official recognition up to the 1990s. In detailing this recognition vis-a-vis the census, he describes the group’s mimicry which led to them being unaccounted for. This ties in with themes in my previous book review, that of Christian Promitzer et al, of groups hiding or being hidden.

In tandem with this he looks at the timing 'of emergence', or more precisely, who were the political rulers at any particular time. He errs close to portraying a clientistic relationship, where state jobs are sought and thus identity alters or (re) appears to curry favour. But he fundamentally dilutes the 'invention of Egyptians' argument because identity traits must have resided locally anyway. It was timing and changes to the political discourse that allowed a space for these to come together on a wider, national space.

Yet by 1990, ethnic unmixing had already reached its goal, with communities having as little contact between them as possible. All have suffered, not just one side or another. It wasn’t ‘ethnic problems’ as such, but problems ethnicized by politicians and populations at ease to point the finger, and so one needs to see the problems from a politico-socio-economic perspective not an ethnic-national one. To resolve this, he declared that democracy and an opposition were needed in Serbia.

Although this prescription was a viable one when the book was being written, in the immediate years after publication the world witnessed the fall of Milosevic, and Kosovo was already being run as a UN protectorate. So events altered to hamper this path to de-escalation of the ethnic unmixing. Instead, secession and ultimately independence, seen as the answer, created new problems. As is the nature of nationalism, when a political boundary is newly defined, nations not happy with the delineation argue for a revision or for secession themselves. Hence the Serbs of the northern enclave of Mitrovica demanded their ‘right’ to leave Kosovo. And so the spiral continues. Thus the artificial maintenance of groups seen as ‘units’ continues, whether that’s on the ground as tangible relations (or lack thereof) between people, or merely from a theoretical point of view. And the myths used as a tool for unmixing leading to the solidification of these groups as units, seen by Duijzings as having a lifespan, continue to have a powerful negative impact, despite democratization in Serbia and independence of Kosovo.

So the return to a Venn diagram of ‘groupness’, as ethnographically accounted for by the author, is still a far way off. Yet, this does not underline and prove the nationalist argument that violence is the result of these differences in cultural traits. It is the conclusion reached from that very Western, enlighlightened, and rational notion of the nation-state.

What Duijzing’s provides us with is a deconstruction of the usual debate around identity in Kosovo. By ethnographically portraying the people within the area, he knocks down the binary of two, fixed identities of Serbs and Kosovans, as so typically seen by people in the West, and develops an overview of a diverse people whose path to unmixing stemmed from political and socio-economic factors ethnicised by political leaders. One could claim, however, that by unveiling ‘new’ identities in the region he is simply following the nationalist argument and identifying these groups as units. But I would agree with his assertion that there aren’t groups, but groupness. And what he portrays is a centre/periphery description of how one subjectively accounts for one’s own identity, and that the concentric circles of identity classifications that flow from the centre multifariously link up with identities’ of the ‘other’. So although the centres may not match, the lesser priority identity classifications may do so and create that common bond. The sharing of religious sites is a prime example of how this was done in Kosovo.

‘Skopje 2014’ – National identities, historiography, and cross border relations

The development project known as ‘Skopje 2014’, is a multi-million Euro transformation of Macedonia Square and its area either side of the river Vardar. Unveiled in February 2010, it leans heavily on a ‘classical antiquity’ style and comprises of buildings, statues, an arch and obelisk, as well as a new footbridge. Given the turbulent political context of relations with Greece, along with a volatile ethnic situation domestically with the Albanians, my objective is to analyse the varying factors that surround the present VMRO-DPMNE government’s attempts to strengthen Macedonian national identity through Skopje’s urban landscape.

Laura Kolbe (‘Central and Eastern European capital cities’, in Planning Perspectives, 2007) conducted fascinating research into the presentation of Eastern European cities to the West via websites, and how capital cities in post-Socialism are seeking to portray themselves in a ‘European’ manner. I seek to invert this thesis and argue that ‘Skopje 2014’ is a project led by the current VMRO-DPMNE government’s nationalist discourse to ‘nationalise’ the city of Skopje for its ethnic Macedonian, domestic audience. Two problems arise from this and are intertwined. Firstly, the symbolism of the project affects relations with Greece; therefore I will seek to address the conflicting claims to Macedonian history and its impact on Macedonian national identity in view of the contemporary relations between these two states. Secondly, the location of the buildings and the perspective the individual takes alters depending on ethnicity and location within the city. As such, I will address recent ethnic Macedonian and Albanian tensions, which centre on the question of nationality, and link these to how ‘Skopje 2014’ could further entrench negative perceptions of the ‘Other’.

To deal with the first problem, I will use Benedict Anderson’s thesis (Imagined Communities, 2007) where he proposed the ‘following definition of the nation: it is an imagined political community – and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign.’ In this sense, an analysis of Macedonian national identity needs to be understood in the context of the nation being a creation, albeit in constant construction, whose limits and sovereignties overlap on to other nations. And because, as Victor Roudometof (Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict, 2007) says, at ‘the heart of the dispute lies the thesis that the Republic is the official homeland of the Macedonian nation.’, one needs to trace the emergence of Macedonia as a republic from the mid to late 19^th century when national identities in the region began forming and interacting.

The geographical region known as Macedonia was mostly ruled over in its entirety, for over 400 years by the Ottoman Empire, up until the end of the Balkan Wars of 1912/13, albeit with a short spell in an autonomous Bulgaria in the 1870s. During this time, the communities that lived there identified more with their religious confession or language. However after the Treaty of Berlin in 1878 interest in the region grew, due to its strategic geographic position, from those national groups with coterminous state boundaries surrounding it, along with the Great Powers who dictated the terms of the Treaty. So, according to Jelavich and Jelavich (The Establishment of the Balkan National States, 1804-1920, 1977), Bulgaria, Greece and Serbia for ‘the last two decades of the nineteenth century […] entered into a regular battle for predominance. Their weapons were the competing churches, educational establishments and national societies.’ The resulting problem was a plethora of fluid national identities that included Bulgarian, Greek, Serbian, Ottoman and a nucleus of Macedonian in an area of conflicting claims over territory. After the two Balkan Wars in 1912/13, Macedonia as a region became split amongst 3 states. It was not until 1945 that the current territorial boundaries of the present day Republic of Macedonia came into being as a republic within Yugoslavia.

Victor Roudometof’s explanation of this period reads of ‘national narratives’ emerging prior to the Balkan Wars; yet for him the failure of inter-war Greek and Serb cultural homogenisation projects was the turning point for ‘Macedonian’ to be viewed as a ‘national’ identity instead of a regional one. In his view, the post-1945 period was the starting point for the articulation of a Macedonian ‘national narrative’, with the support of the institutions of the second Yugoslavia, geared towards nation building. So after 1945, people grew up and lived in a Macedonian national culture with a Macedonian national identity. In other words, a Macedonian nation only began to emerge after a territorial state was created to support the development of an exclusive ‘national narrative’. Ulf Braunnbauer points to historians and historiography as aiding the construction of this ‘national narrative’ because ‘Macedonian historiography had a nationalist perspective from the very beginning.’ This is because historiography was needed after 1945 to consolidate Macedonian national identity to counter perceived Bulgarian territorial expansion.

This constructivist observation of the development of Macedonian national identity leads to the current dispute between Greece and the Republic of Macedonia over the claim that the Republic is the home of the Macedonian nation. Evidently, ownership of Macedonian history is essential for one side to claim the nation (and thus identity) as their own, and this has been argued on both sides through claims to historical continuity. Loring Danforth (The Macedonian Conflict, 1995) believes ‘The view of history on which the argument for the Greekness of Macedonia is ultimately based is quintessential nationalist history that reifies both the Greek nation and Greek culture and seeks to demonstrate the unbroken continuity of the “Greek” race and “Hellenism” from the dawn of history to the present.’ Therefore Greece rejects the dual notion of a Macedonian nation within a Republic of Macedonia because they claim ownership of Macedonian history through continuity. Some Macedonians do try and counter this with their own version of continuity to antiquity, but most focus on the classic cultural reawakening of ‘Macedonian’ in the 19^th century that underpins modern Macedonian nationalist thought. Ulf Braunnbauer ((Re)Writing History, 2004) sees this as a continuation of the ‘national history’ paradigm, in to the post-Socialist era. This is due to the lack of funds which deprive researchers access to external ideas, a government that still monopolises research; and researchers who feel obliged to focus on a specific era (19^th and 20^th centuries) for fear of becoming unemployed for speaking out against their elders. Therefore Macedonians are still only able to focus on researching their ‘own’ national history so that they can continue to legitimize their national identity by adding to the Macedonian ‘national narrative’. So what we have are two states who have different claims to some elements of the same history, whilst simultaneously trying to deny the other’s claim.

So how does the ‘Skopje 2014’ contribute to this reification of nationalist history? If the Macedonian ‘national narrative’ is an ongoing phenomenon even in post-Socialism, then ‘Skopje 2014’ attempts to further consolidate national identity symbolically in the city. ‘Conceptualised as an attempt to reshape the capital’s outlook by adorning the city centre with numerous monuments […] the project has been criticized as yet another dimension of the overall endeavour to redefine the public space, to bring about historical revisionism and to effect the invention of traditions.’ This is how Ljubica Spaskovska (In Search of a Demos, 2010) observes the project. Even before this project was announced other symbolic gestures were made in and around Skopje to complement the renewed attempt to solidify Macedonian national identity through a nationalist discourse of history: the renaming of the city airport to Alexander the Great, the naming of the city stadium after Philip II, the construction of a Christian Cross to commemorate 2000 years of Christianity, the use of the Vergina Sun symbol on the Republic’s flag, and so on. One could even question the intent of building the Mother Teresa memorial house as an attempt to claim her for Macedonia, even though she was born into the Ottoman Empire. Therefore the additions to the urban landscape continue in this reification process: The Alexander the Great statue in Macedonia Square, statues of leaders of the Ilinden Uprising of 1903 and religious figures, buildings in ‘classical antiquity’ style including a museum and so on.

But one can’t place this in the urban landscape alone in space and time. Cities are constructs too, and are representative of the varying political, economic and cultural discourses that the city has gone through. Just as one can’t create a homogenous community motionless in time, a city is a collage of all that came before leading to the present. Nuala Johnson, in her study on ‘monuments, geography, and nationalism’ (‘Set in Stone’, in Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 1995), states that ‘geographers are just beginning to examine the relationships between memorialisation of the past and the spatialisation of public memory.’ These processes are being carried out with ‘Skopje 2014’. But problem the nationalist discourse has is that other histories are present that it has to compete with, such as the Socialist one and Ottoman one, in buildings that remain in the city. These include the Stone Bridge, Old Bazaar, Kale Fortress, Socialist apartment blocks, shopping centre – along side modern capitalist constructs such as the Rammstore. However the Macedonian Government still attempts to coerce its ethnic Macedonian citizens into collectively remembering their national history, by presenting the ongoing ‘national narrative’ of an imagined history through ‘Skopje 2014’. Furthermore this attempt is a deliberate provocation of Greece by trying to devalue their national identity through claiming ownership of a shared history.

In tandem with this reification and display of Macedonian national identity comes the distancing of Albanians from ethnic Macedonians within the confines of an independent Macedonian nation-state. I seek to narrow this to the two sides of the river Vardar where ‘Skopje 2014’ is placed, by looking at the demographics of the two municipalities that comprise it, Tsentar and Chair. The 2002 population census shows that in the Tsentar municipality of 45,412, 38,778 or 85% were Macedonian, and 1465 or 3% were Albanian. The 64,773 residents of Chair municipality comprised of 15,628 or 24% Macedonian and 36,921 or 57% Albanian. The rest of the population was made up of other minorities. Nationally the figure was 64% Macedonian and 25% Albanian. The conflict between these two groups was not based on a struggle over shared histories; instead theirs was a conflict over citizenship in the newly independent Macedonian state. Ljubica Spaskovska’s paper on citizenship and belonging presents a detailed narrative of how citizenship policy in Macedonia developed and contributed to the isolation of Albanians vis-à-vis their relations with Macedonians. The initial downgrading of their nationality in light of their position in the former Yugoslavia and inception of an ethno-national citizenship led to articulations of discontent and the desire for a new framework; in parallel to other factors accounting for Albanian discontent with the new state and its institutions. The Ohrid Framework Agreement in 2001 and the continued practice of consociational politics, just emphasise the differences between the two communities. So the relationship between nationality and citizenship can be expressed as the nationalisation of citizenship by the Macedonians, to the disadvantage of the Albanians. This feeds into insecurities that Albanians have regarding the rise of Macedonian cultural hegemony, and a lack of belonging to such a nationalized state.

Viewed in the post-socialist context of Skopje, one could see this as the pushing of minorities to the periphery or hiding them altogether. This is a mirror image of what Setha Low (‘The Anthropology of Cities’, in Annual Review of Anthropology, 1996) describes as a ‘Divided City’, the notion being that there are hidden barriers of race and class. The location of the buildings on the riverside is one example of how this idea can be linked to the spatial planning of ‘Skopje 2014’ in ethnic terms. If viewed from Macedonia Square, or read as a ‘Macedonian perspective’, then it blocks out the view of the Old Bazaar, and the Kale Fortress. Conversely, if one stands on the Albanian side of the Stone Bridge, the Albanian perspective is that of Alexander the Great on horseback striding towards the Albanians with the cross of Christ up upon the hillside behind. The former can be read as a wish to block out certain elements of non-nationalist history. This can also evident in the recent disputes over the renaming of city streets. The latter can be taken as an attempt to remind the Albanians of Macedonian cultural hegemony conjuring up an image of an historical leader ‘leading’ Macedonians across the river, as an attempt to rewrite history and to collectively ‘forget’ the presence of Albanians.

In conclusion, ‘Skopje 2014’ can be viewed as a continuation of 6 decades of Macedonian nation-building, in the form of urban planning and spatial development. On the one hand, it is an attempt by Macedonians to claim single ownership over Macedonian history against Greek attempts to do the same. This is present in the numerous symbolic processes undertaken and ongoing in the city of Skopje, in an almost ‘Andersonian’ attempt to (re)create an imagined Macedonian community. On the other, this attempt at developing a national narrative through ‘Skopje 2014’ is excluding the sizeable Albanian minority, already fearful of their place in the nation-state due to citizenship issue, compounded by their lack of presence in the present constructions of Skopje. This may be a matter of perspectives on the construction through the location of the individual in the city. So going back to Laura Kolbe, the Macedonian government is not looking externally to present the city to the world, but is looking internally to its domestic, Macedonian audience.

Addendum

Since writing this in early 2012, more constructs have occurred, and some political changes. The VMRO-DPMNE have recently won their third term in office, yet in the previous municipal elections they lost the Mayoralty for the area where the regeneration is occurring. This led to questions being raised about the hefty cost and  the possibility of halting the construction.

Further updates to the vista of constructions include galleons on the river, the ‘updating’ of commercial buildings on the square, and the transformation of the National Assembly building. All maintain the ‘national narrative’ of the ruling party. Yet, succour was paid to opponents both political and ethnic. Further statues were added recognizing socialist or communist ‘national’ heroes. Yet this just underpins the nationalist zeal with which the ruling party is imposing its version of history. It’s only of those it deems worthy of appearing in its nationalised public space.

In the Albanian area, a statue of Skanderbeg was allowed. But this reifies ethnic division on two levels. It allows Albanians to have ‘their’ own statue, but it is geographically placed outside of the arena where the other projects are occurring, thus symbolically isolating the Albanian community in the present. Yet it also isolates the Albanians historically as the choice of idol doesn’t fit in with the Macedonian ‘national narrative’, thus creating a separate (and deliberate) bridge between past and present for the Albanians. So the project has continued to pursue the path of division in the name of ‘a’ perspective of what being ‘Macedonian’ is meant to be.