User:PavlovicS

Srdja Pavlovic, Ph.D. Department of History and Classics, University of Alberta (http://www.uofaweb.ualberta.ca/historyandclassics/spavlovic.cfm)

Born June 25th 1961 in Zabljak, Montenegro. Educated in Podgorica, Belgrade, Ulan Bataar, and Edmonton.

Areas of specialization: nineteenth and the twentieth century European history with the emphasis on Central, Eastern and South Eastern Europe; political and cultural history of the Balkans, with particular interest in nations and nationalism; history and theory; cultural studies.

Founding member of the Stone Soup Literary Magazine.

Co-founder and member of the editorial team of the Spaces of Identity (http://www.spaceofidentity.net).

Executive Committee Chairman - Independent Production Group OBALA (Montenegro).

Member of the Executive Committee of the Movement for Changes (http://www.promjene.org). _________________________________

Building Civil Society in Montenegro: Autocracy in the Making*

Excerpts

  Since the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the European countries of the former communist block have been in the process of economic and political transition. The speed and the depth of such changes vary from one country to another. Today, the map of the former communist eastern and southeastern Europe looks like a chequerred Jeopardy panel, with lights on in the countries considered great examples of success in transition and building of a civil society. With the exception of the so-called Visegrad countries, much of this panel is still in the dark. This is particularly true for the Western Balkans. Regions west and southwest of the Slovenian capital Ljubljana remain zones of uncertainty when it comes to civil society building. Defining a success story of civil society building and transition process is clearly anchored within the western understanding of politics and economics as well as tradition and culture. The unfortunate thing, however, is that the complexity of the local colors of a transition paradise in many of the countries of the Western Balkans is not always fully understood or appreciated by the creators of the model.  
  When it comes to the Western Balkans in general, and Montenegro in particular, the international community continues to shy away from fully opening up this political black box. While a position of a good-intentioned advisor might be a comfortable one for the EU administration, the effects of its lack of will to engage more on the local level in monitoring how the process of reforms actually takes place proved unproductive and even counterproductive in Montenegro. Looking inside the black box and investigating the nature of the Montenegrin political landscape and the internal dynamics of the domestic political and economic processes are indeed arduous tasks, but are also necessary for a fuller understanding of the underpinnings of the power relations in civil society. Such understanding could, in turn, shed a somewhat different light on the complexity of the processes of economic and political transition in this country. Appreciation of the Montenegrin local specificities might even justify a slight revision of the standard EU requirements when it comes to economic transition and civil society building in the Western Balkans.  
  It would seem, however, that the EU and the international community concern themselves mainly with the overall picture and with the final outcome of the process while less attention is paid to the manner in which the process manifests itself on the ground. That is why it is called “a transition” – emphasizing a predetermined destination, i.e. liberal democracy and market economy. Transitologists seem to be blind to the possibility that by ignoring ‘the local manifestations of the process’ they may never reach a desired destination. As the case of Montenegro will demonstrate, so long as the elite in power maintains the Europe-oriented political rhetoric and swears by the canons of civil society, the international community does not interfere much with their methods of implementing change.  The national leaders who emphasize their pro-European orientation are indeed rewarded and encouraged to continue their work.
  Meanwhile, the system of governance in Montenegro displays many elements of a hybrid regime of a proto-democratic type. Those familiar with the situation on the ground recognize a deep fault line separating the political rhetoric of the ruling elite and its “adherence” to concepts of rights, liberty, equality or justice, and the shady institutional, technocratic, and autocratic practices that indeed undermine those same concepts. Of course, the world of politics was always complex and filled with dilemmas, party politics, trade-offs, and backroom deals. The Montenegrin politics is no exception. I am not denying the fact that political changes of such magnitude like transition from planned to market economy or from a one-party state to democracy inevitably rest on the readiness of the local elite to engage in the process and lead it. Following what Michael Kennedy said about the inevitability of transition, I am aware that the question is not if but when. Unlike many western transtitologists and politicians, I am also concerned with the question of how. Because of such a concern, the aim of this text is to point out instances of abuse that occur due to the absence of any kind of control mechanisms (either local or international). On a more general level, the experience of transition in Montenegro brings to the forefront the question of the viability of the liberal market economy and questions the nature of its relation to democracy. It is interesting to note that while some Western scholars argue that liberal economy has failed, such a model is still fostered in the countries in transition. Moreover, I am hopeful that in time the international community would recognize the long-term negative consequences of its current approach to the Western Balkans in general and Montenegro in particular. This, in turn, might result in encouraging the emerging of alternatives to the existing economic and political practices as well as to the existing power structure in Montenegro. After all, the civil society concept is based on decentralization, pluralism, ability to chose between several options, and above all on the existence of public agency.  One hopes that building such pillars of democracy would be insisted upon even in a country of only six hundred thousand people such as Montenegro. This is not to suggest that the international community remained idle when it came to civil society building in Montenegro. Some changes indeed took place. It is, however, important to put strong emphasis on the question of how. When donors decide to shift their focus to fully developing civil society in Montenegro, as they did in other countries in transition, the how question gains further prominence because of the widespread corruption in the country. It is very likely that donors will bring a specific and ‘technically minded’ Western approach to civil society building. This will, in turn, marginalize if not all together ignore the local traditions of civic engagement partly because such traditions are viewed as segments of the old order that needs reassembling.

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My Beloved Landscape: Naming the Self in the Balkans

Excerpts

  The title implies conflict and a subtle but nonetheless ever-lasting struggle between spaces and identities, between our immediate surroundings and us. It spells out peoples’ desire to own, and it also highlights contested nature of our claims to the highest spot in a hierarchy of belonging, which could be summarized by the proclamation: We were here first! It is all about the orchard and an apple tree, and the obligatory presence of a serpent. It is all about a field from the Old Testament where Cain’s psalm rules. 
  It could also be argued that such conflict is a figment of imagination and that things are the other way around: that relationship between identities and spaces, which I am decoding as contentious and confrontational, is in essence harmonious and interconnected. Because of this interconnectedness, each step we take and each time we move, space demands that we conceptualize ourselves in relation to it. We cannot exist without locating ourselves, and simultaneously subjectifying and positioning ourselves. In spite of the fact that we have first to learn the rules of space /territory and adjust to them, before we act on our impulse to change it and /or appropriate it, some might even say that it is people who are defining space by naming it, thus, it is us who have the upper hand. Vanity and the will to possess seem to be main features of human history.  
  Indeed, a name is a description with historical connotations, personal meanings, and cultural resonance drawn from our conscious environment but reflective of our subconscious selves. Every space /place has its own story of spirits, demons, tribal fires, and ancestors, which through enfiguration we mould into history. While naming space we are appropriating such a story and locating ourselves within history, thus, claiming ownership of all three: space, story, and history.  
  In naming, whether everyday usage or idiosyncratic messaging, we express both the power of the past and the importance of our present activity. In naming, we are free to choose (are we really?) to be the same as others in our world or to be different. The question is how are we to use such a choice, and through what language it should be expressed? Should our choice be an expression of our memories about the past and our sense of belonging to the collective, or should our approach to space / place/ territory / landscape and our relationship with it always remain an experience of the first kiss: new, unique, and detached from the past? Should we resort to a native tongue, or should we use Latin to tell the story, and name the space insula nova undecesimo die Junius nubibus revelata?

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