Miha Kosovel, Assen Nikolov, Vladimir Mitev
On 6 June 2025 the Slovenian philosopher and promoter of the cross-border city Nova Gorica (Slovenia)-Gorizia(Italy) Miha Kosovel, the host of the Block 14 cultural space in Ruse and the founder of the Bulgarian-Romanian blog The Bridge of Friendship were on their way to Ruse after Miha Kosovel held a lecture in Giurgiu on how his cross-border city became European Capital of Culture. As the three were stuck for an hour on the Friendship Bridge, trying to enter Bulgaria, they recorded a video podcast, which reflected on cross-border cities, history, identity, future, change and culture as transformation.
Miha Kosovel’s lecture in Giurgiu, which he held before recording the podcast is here:
Intro
Miha Kosovel:
We are on the move, but right now, we’re in Giurgiu. Hello from the literary “Bridge of Friendship”! My name is Miha, and I’m here with Assen and Vladimir.
We are part of Vladimir’s project, The Bridge of Friendship podcast.
Vladimir Mitev:
We’re here because Miha has come to Giurgiu to give a lecture on cross-border experiences, cross-border cities, and how a small Slovenian-Italian community on the border between the two countries could become a European Capital of Culture. He brings valuable experience and insights, and I’m curious how he feels after giving his talk and now heading to the other side of Giurgiu.
Miha Kosovel:
It’s always a pleasure to come here. What’s fascinating is that we often talk about similar issues, but in very different contexts. Right now, we’re standing on this bridge that physically connects two cities—but we’re just standing here, not moving.
The transition from one side to the other still feels complicated. I thought that with the recent entry into the Schengen Zone, things would be smoother. But here we are—still standing. It feels strange.
Change, inertia and the EU of different speeds
Vladimir Mitev:
As a philosopher, do you think there’s a metaphorical border within the EU—between places that are dynamic and in motion, and those where a sort of stoic wisdom teaches people to stay rooted, to find meaning in stillness?
Miha Kosovel:
Yes, maybe. I think that kind of border has always existed in Europe. But more broadly, it reflects a bigger divide. Europe isn’t perfect, but compared to places like the U.S. or China, the EU offers a way of life that’s not only about economy and productivity.
It allows space for people to be active in ways beyond just “work-sleep-repeat.” So this dynamic vs. static contrast might reflect whether a region is more central or more peripheral within the EU. And yet, places like Bulgaria and Romania have shown incredible dynamism over the past 30 years—economic growth, infrastructure investment—so things are clearly changing.
But my question is: do people actually feel those changes?
Vladimir Mitev:
That’s a great point—and I think it applies to both of us.
Miha Kosovel:
Yes.
Vladimir Mitev:
If I may answer first: in our region, there’s a powerful sense of inertia. Even when we are moving forward, it feels like we’re doing so with great effort. The direction and speed of our progress are slow to change, even if the broader context has evolved.
For example, Bulgaria is moving toward adopting the euro. Romania has elected a pro-EU president. We’ve entered the Schengen Zone. These are objective signs of progress.
But subjectively, many people don’t feel this change. There’s inertia. Old patterns of thought and behavior persist. Do you think this reflects a self-centered focus—making it harder for us to notice or appreciate change?
Miha Kosovel:
I’m not sure, because I don’t have a very clear understanding of Bulgaria yet. But I sense there’s a growing global mindset—most strongly seen in “Putinist” Russia—that suggests we shouldn’t strive to improve our lives, that pride lives in not changing.
There’s this idea that if you try to be more open, more international, or even talk about domestic issues differently, you’re labeled a “globalist”—a word whose meaning is vague but often weaponized.
This mindset exists in parts of Germany, especially the East, and in Italy too. It promotes the belief that development isn’t worthwhile, and that we should cling to the past—even if it means continuing to do things poorly.
In that way, countries like Bulgaria might be more vulnerable to this line of thinking.
Assen Nikolov:
Here in Bulgaria, people who speak out against joining the Eurozone are much louder than those who support it. And honestly, no one is explaining the pros and cons clearly to ordinary people, especially those in rural areas.
As a result, the dominant message is that it’s a bad idea. We need both sides of the argument presented equally so people can make informed choices.
Vladimir Mitev:
Let me add something to what Assen said. I believe change in Bulgaria is largely positive—but many people react to it with sadness or discomfort, as if mourning the past.
Assen Nikolov:
Exactly. And that’s because there’s a lack of information. For instance, the nationalist party Revival (Vazrazhdane) is constantly saying this or that is bad, bad, bad. Meanwhile, the pro-European voices are too quiet.
They need to speak up more: to say, “Don’t worry, this will be okay. Here’s what we can expect. Here’s why it’s good.” Right now, there’s an imbalance.
Change, history, utopia and future in Southeastern Europe
Miha Kosovel:
These days, people almost feel ashamed to say anything positive about the EU—maybe because it’s imperfect. But everything is imperfect.
Assen Nikolov:
One of Bulgaria’s biggest issues is that whenever something happens, people assume someone’s getting rich off it.
Miha Kosovel:
That leads to a total breakdown of trust. No one believes in anything anymore—not God, not government, not other people. So Vladimir, let me ask you: is that cynicism, or is it skepticism?
Because there’s a difference. A skeptic still questions and explores. A cynic just dismisses everything—saying nothing matters because everything’s corrupt.
Vladimir Mitev:
Bulgaria can be disheartening if you approach it from an idealistic perspective. But you can’t change society without ideals or utopias.
One of our deepest issues is a culture of domination: the idea that one person or group is everything, and the other is nothing. It’s a deeply stigmatizing, hierarchical mindset—and I think it emerged during the transition period.
Slovenia may have experienced a milder transition. In Bulgaria, we lack solidarity—between relatives, between professionals. For instance, in journalism, loyalty often lies with one’s employer or private interests, not with professional ethics.
So we need mature ideals—not naive ones, but ones that help us grow. That’s the role of utopia: not as fantasy, but as direction.
People who embrace cultural exchange or cross-border experiences often become more well-rounded and fulfilled. It’s a kind of personal utopia that can slowly become real, if you have the “organ”—the spiritual ability—to imagine it and live it.
So with that, I’d like to turn the question back to you. Given what you know of Bulgaria and your experience with Nova Gorica and Gorizia—what can those twin cities offer?
Miha Kosovel:
I’d like to respond first to what you said about inertia and the struggle to imagine new ways of being. But I don’t love the word utopia. It makes serious people—politicians, economists—dismiss the whole conversation.
It’s not about utopia. It’s about the future.
Cynicism and inertia come from not believing in a future. They trap us in the eternal present. We lose sight of the fact that time changes everything.
If we think back 20 years, so much has changed—but we barely notice because we’re living inside the change. The same applies to the future: we must believe it will be different.
And that’s the issue with cynicism. It’s like being given seeds and mocking the idea that they’ll ever bloom. But the flower already exists within the seed—it’s not something foreign or impossible.
The same goes for cross-border towns. Their very structure is already a blueprint for future integration. They’re like seeds—full of potential. But just like seeds, they can die if neglected.
You need patience, care, and yes—faith. You have to work the soil, even when you don’t yet see the flowers. If you abandon the effort and move to Sofia or Bucharest or Berlin like everyone else, nothing will ever grow.
So yes, I think I did answer your question—at least, I hope so.
Vladimir Mitev:
Yes, because it was an orientation—you have to be grounded.
Miha Kosovel:
Exactly. You must be the opposite of utopian—you must be very topological. You have to be present, rooted in things. You must simply be there.
Utopia is a place without materiality. But when it comes to cultural work or achieving political goals—especially on the local level—you have to be grounded. You must be materially and physically involved.
Vladimir Mitev:
You know, people who study history in Bulgaria often say, “We must know our history, because a nation without history has no future.”
But I realize now that I’ve actually been very utopian by thinking the opposite: that those without history might actually have a future.
Why? Because people who study history tend to believe that things repeat. For example, since Bulgaria was historically aligned with Germany in the world wars, many people assume that Bulgaria must always oppose its neighbors—because those neighbors were on the other side.
So, studying history can lead to repeating old paradigms and prevent new experiences from entering our lives. That’s why I joked that to have a future, maybe we need to abandon history.
On culture as transformation and merits of Giurgiu
When you step outside this cycle of reproduction—so dominant in our region—you create space for something new, maybe even something more refined, to come in.
And that’s one reason I came to your lecture today in Giurgiu.
In my own experience, Giurgiu has always brought me more sophistication. People in Ruse often look down on Giurgiu because it’s the smaller city. But for me, it opened up new worlds.
For example, I discovered an Italian community theatre in the Tuscany region—focused on the commune theater—that gives meaning to the lives of locals without requiring them to move to big capitals. I learned about it because I was in Giurgiu some time ago.
Also in Giurgiu, I met a Bulgarian who is the director of a Serbian theatre in Novi Sad—a theatre for young people. Imagine that: a Bulgarian theatre director in Serbia! I’ve never heard this mentioned in Bulgarian media.
To my knowledge, there’s never been a Serbian director in Bulgaria—especially not one running a theatre. Not just directing plays, but managing the whole institution.
Examples like this remind me that the world is larger, that Bulgarians are also out there doing things—things I never knew about.
And now again, through you, I’ve had the chance to see myself and my culture from another point of view. Not from the inside, where we Bulgarians just repeat ourselves—but from the outside.
You may speak playfully or with irony, but I really appreciate this elegant, intelligent way of challenging my cultural assumptions.
Regarding Twin Cities—what you described in your lecture was a dynamic identity. Two places begin to notice and explore the dynamism in each other, they connect, interact, and through that interaction, transformation happens.
When you said that culture is transformative—of course I agreed. But that’s not a common notion in Bulgaria.
In Bulgaria, culture is often seen as something to enjoy after work—for leisure, for socializing. Few people go to cultural events to be changed by them.
But when I attend theatre in Romania—in Bucharest or even previously in Giurgiu—I feel challenged. Those experiences made me think.
They weren’t just for entertainment. They shaped me over time.
Maybe I’m jumping between topics, but we’re still reflecting on your lecture, and on this idea of the Bridge of Friendship.
To me, the Bridge of Friendship itself is a symbol of this dynamic identity. It might sound philosophical, even absurd—but people who’ve experienced it know what it means.
And I also thank you for mentioning the Bridge of Friendship in your lecture.
Miha Kosovel:
No, I think your metaphor—the Bridge of Friendship—is very powerful. I like to use it often.
A bridge is something you consciously create. It doesn’t just appear—you have to build it. And you can’t do it alone. It takes a collective effort.
A bridge allows each side to remain where it is, but opens up a space for dynamism. It’s not about one person crossing over and becoming the other—it’s about maintaining your own place while starting a relationship, an exchange.
Vladimir Mitev:
Yes, exactly.
Miha Kosovel:
And I was also thinking about your comments on history—that in order to make a future, you must not know history. I partially agree. I see it through a kind of Žižekian lens.
Vladimir Mitev:
Of course—Žižek loves to challenge everything with absurd theories!
Miha Kosovel:
I agree as well, in a way, because people often don’t understand the difference between analysis and prediction. When someone says something like, “Bulgaria has always been with Germany, and that’s why it can’t have good relations with its neighbors,” that’s not an analysis—that’s a prediction. They’re shaping the future with that statement.
These words and concepts, this kind of so-called analysis, are actually performative—they make the future. You’re not describing what will happen; you’re creating what will happen. The more we know history, and the more our analyses stick to that history, the more we tend to shape the future in a fatalistic way.
Instead of seeing the future as ideologically and radically open—something we create with our hands, our minds, our words, and our ability to challenge what’s happening—we see it as something preordained: “It’s always been like this, so it will continue to be like this.” That’s the trap. You fall into this historical paradigm, and suddenly you’re no longer thinking about contemporaneity.
So why do anything at all if everything is historically predetermined? That’s why I believe cultural work is transformative, even on a small scale.
Assen, I hope you’ll say something about Block 14. When you come into a city and say, “This will be the space, and in this space, there will be a program,” you’re already saying, things don’t have to be the way they are. You’re introducing difference.
People start moving differently. They encounter new things.
What do you expect from your future engagement?
Assen Nikolov:
We’ve talked so many times—asking ourselves, is there any reason to continue? I mean, for whom are we doing this? Why are we doing this?
And then, at the next event, someone new shows up—someone who enjoys it, who smiles, who experiences something different. Maybe that person comes again. Maybe they bring someone else. One person today, maybe ten tomorrow.
No one knows. We just do whatever it takes, without overthinking what the outcome will be. We just know—the future is now. We’re building it. That’s it. It’s not that complicated. We’re just doing it, from time to time.
The best way for us is simply to make something—to do something.
Yes, we talk about ideas like, “Let’s do this or that, let’s change this,” but most of the time, we’re just making, doing. Your hands have to move. You have to move—physically, mentally, entirely.
You have to grow, constantly, in your own way, no matter what’s happening. And if it’s for good—if you’re not harming anyone or promoting bad things—just do it.
Vladimir Mitev:
One thing that should be considered when doing cultural or media initiatives is the desire to get a response, to get resonance. But many people are disengaged. For example, someone once told me the reason my blog isn’t popular is because it’s difficult for people to figure out what my position is.
He said, “Are you on one side or the other?” And his logic was that if you’re not easily labeled, people lose interest. They don’t know how to categorize you.
Maybe they feel overwhelmed or challenged. Either way, they stop following. So in Bulgaria, and perhaps in the cultural sphere too, the only people who get real resonance are those who play into the expectations of a certain audience—an echo chamber, if you will. They work with prejudice, with grand narratives.
Anti-Western narratives, for example, are easily recognizable—they repeat the same themes. And anti-Russian narratives are the same.
If you step into one of those strong currents—if you become a “proxy,” in a sense—you can get lots of visibility, lots of reaction. You’ll be praised by your in-group, you’ll have media coverage.
But if you’re working with the idea that you want to offer a more nuanced understanding—if you’re not satisfied being a proxy for one side or the other—if you’re trying to build a bridge or stay true to a complex narrative, then you must be prepared for a lack of response.
That more complex perspective is actually the right one, because the others are ultimately propagandistic and manipulative.
That’s about the media.
In culture, I feel the same dynamic. As I said earlier, culture here is not seen as something transformative. It rarely pushes you to question yourself or learn something new. Culture is often treated like going to a disco, enjoying food—just consumption, not transformation.
But I would say Block 14 has had some success. People in Ruse talk about it with a certain respect. Maybe because a community has formed around it. People don’t just attend events—they stay after, they socialize. They’ve created a shared space.
At a restaurant or café, you pay to stay, but it’s not your space—it belongs to someone else. But at Block 14, as far as I know, the focus is on shared engagement—not just what’s happening on stage, but what’s happening around it.
Suddenly, a community forms.
People become more than just individuals.
That, for me, is Block 14—and also a model for a more complex culture. It even includes national-level Bulgarian projects. For example, you might get a very competent film critic from the Academy of Sciences in Sofia, or a sophisticated theater performance. So it’s both: grassroots and refined.
Still, even when we were travelling with Assen on our way to Giurgiu today, we realized that many people don’t know about Block 14. They’re unaware. They’re unengaged.
The transformative element hasn’t been fully discovered yet.
Conclusions
Assen Nikolov:
So, as we approach the end of the bridge… welcome to Bulgaria!
Miha Kosovel:
Yes, we’ve arrived. What final thoughts do we have?
You, Vladimir—how do we bridge this problem? Any reflections?
Vladimir Mitev:
You are a philosopher, so maybe you understand me better than I understand myself. But I think bridging happens through connection with the Other.
We must discover the Other within ourselves. We must nurture the Other within ourselves. And then, with time, the bridge appears.
I’m really fond of the fact that you are now making your own visit to our twin city.
Miha Kosovel:
Last question—for me?
Vladimir Mitev:
How did your visit to Giurgiu, and your experience with this podcast, change your previous knowledge of the people here?
Miha Kosovel:
I don’t know if it changed. That’s quite a global reflection.
We’ve taken something very arbitrary—like a border—and through our understanding and interpretation of it, we’ve touched on broader global dynamics.
This very local thing—our shared border—becomes a central point from which people from completely different places can discuss complex issues in the world.
It becomes a reflection on simplicity and complexity—and how we handle that.
I found your concepts around inertia and dynamism very interesting. I already quote them.
And I would really love it if, at some point, we could write something together—maybe develop a project, a collaboration that results in a book.
I hope that with you too, Assen, we can create a new episode—maybe a reflection on how our perceptions changed in the last years…
Vladimir Mitev:
I should mention that we were focused on ourselves in the car on the bridge. However, I specifically want to mention two people (in whose shadow we discussed – note of the editor): Kapka Kassabova and Smaranda Şchiopu. They are connected to Nova Gorica and to Raspotje Magazine, with which you are involved. Smaranda’s anthropological article on the Giurgiu-Ruse border area will be published in the new edition of Raspotje. Kapka Kassabova has become well-known for her book Border, which deals with similar issues. We didn’t discuss other authors. We were self-referential. However, we also discussed many important topics, such as how we experience borders and the periphery.
Miha Kosovel:
With these words, we say, “Bye-bye.”
Photo: Miha Kosovel (front left), Asen Nikolov (front right), and Vladimir Mitev crossing the Friendship Bridge (source: YouTube)
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